Not much to say.....but so much to say

Mourning is a many-faceted state of being. My sweet brother in law Tim passed away this week and this has been a week that can best be described as having a tornado rip through your life. I have felt sadness, fear, loneliness, gratefulness, unbelievable love, and shear exhaustion....sometimes all in the span of 2 minutes. There is no right or wrong to mourning, you just have to go with what is natural for you. It's hard and frightening to trust the process, both in your own life and in the live's of your loved ones. I am amazed as to how different the process is for each person and how that process changes day to day, moment to moment.

As a mother, watching my children mourn has been heartbreaking. I've seen it before only once when my grandfather passed away 4 years ago. It affected them so much that my daughter's still pray for Pop-Pop every night. This situation is so different for so many reasons. This was not an elderly, sick grandfather but a vibrant, young uncle. Someone my children could relate to on a different level than they could with their own parents. Uncle Tim was closer in age to them. He was fun, funny, loving, giving and always made time for his nieces and nephews. Also, he was seemingly healthy and happy. That makes this so much scarier for my kids. "Why did he die?" "Is what he had contagious?" "Are you or Daddy going to die too?" "When are we going to see him again?" Trying to answer these difficult questions often leaves me feeling utterly inadequate and hardly up to the task. Some questions are even more heartbreaking, "Does this mean we'll never get to wake him up again?" "You mean we can't play X-box anymore with him?" "Are grandma and grandpa OK?" I wish that I had the balm for their broken hearts, but I know that I can only offer them prayers, my love and lots of hugs. Time and God will take care of the rest.

This is my first experience watching my spouse go through a devastating loss. I'm not sure what my role is here. Do I give him space? Do I insist on keeping him grounded in some regular activities? How do I allow him his process while still protecting my children and making sure that they are getting what they need from their father? How do I deal with the fear and loneliness I feel as I lose him to this? It is so hard to watch the people you love suffer so deeply and to be utterly powerless to help them. I know full well that he has to go through his grief in his own way and I continue to pray for patience, compassion and understanding as his wife.

As a mother, seeing my mother and father-in-law suffering through this loss is one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever had to witness. I can't help but put myself in their places. Just earlier this evening as I was carrying my sleeping 4-year-old to bed I realized that she is my 5th baby as Tim was their 5th baby and I could never imagine burying my sweet baby, no matter how old she was. There must be a hole in their hearts so enormous that must seem to go on forever. Yet their amazing strength, love and just about the best hugs you've ever experience, is their very real legacy.

Then there is my very own loss. This one is especially complicated as I feel as if I don't have the time to feel it. I know how important it is for me to allow myself the time to feel my loss, but I am being pulled away from it so that I can be there for my loved ones. I still have to make sure the beds are made, the meals are cooked, the laundry is washed, the kids are clean....and on and on. When I do have the downtime to really feel my loss I don't welcome the pain, and it is very painful for me.

I met Tim right before his 12th birthday. Bill and I were a very new couple, but already we knew that we were both in it for the long-haul. Bill invited me over for church and Sunday dinner and at that dinner they were going to celebrate Tim's 12th birthday. I remember clearly all of us singing and Tim blowing out the candles on the cake and with that sweet blond head of hair and big blue eyes Tim smiled and said, "Yep, next year I'll be a teenager and I'll hate my parents for no reason." I knew at that moment that I loved this kid! He was adorable and so clever! I remember when he was so young, he was very protective of me and when I was struggling with some difficult things at that time he was always very verbal as to how he was going to protect me. I still have the little black-bear Beanie Baby he bought me for Christmas. I had the honor of watching that baby-faced boy grow into a handsome young man who could play soccer, and play bass and speak French. I got to take him to his first show at the Limelight and introduced him to one of my friends, a guitarist that he truly idolized and had hoped to play with one day. Tim and I often had heart-to-heart conversations. I don't know why, but he seemed to feel as if he could share things with me that he wasn't comfortable sharing with his parents or siblings and I felt honored that this intelligent young man trusted me so much. I remember the compassion he possessed for me too. When Bill and I first got married, I got pregnant almost immediately. I lost that pregnancy at the end of my first trimester and Tim was one of the first people to check on me. He was crying a little bit and he was so young but he really was concerned and wasn't too proud to show it. As the years progressed and as more babies were born Tim was always so anxious to be one of the first people to hold his new nieces or nephews. He'd visit in the hospital and so comfortably hold those newborn babies with a confidence that most young guys his age didn't possess. As the kids grew he made time for them in so many ways. Whether it was playing video games, or giving out bubble gum, or showing up to the father/son soccer game for Jay when Bill couldn't be there, Tim truly loved his nieces and nephews. In the most recent years Tim kind of holed-up in his room more, but would always come out when I stopped by during the days and evenings where I had to use my in-law's house as a "home base" while carting kids to and from activities in Bergen County because my own home was 20 minutes away. I'd make a pot of coffee and we'd sit together shortly and chat. I always tried to get him talking about things as I could tell he was suffering or at least struggling. He often didn't need my prompting and would open up to me.

He was always there to stand in when I needed an on the spot babysitter. Just 5 days before he passed, he helped watch Maddie on the morning that she had an asthma attack and I had to go to work. Sometimes he'd help me out just by sitting in the van while one of my kids napped and I had to run into a store.

The funny thing is what I'm going to miss about him most is the little things. The way that his hands were always playing some bass line while he was standing there talking with you. Sitting across from him every Sunday meal watching him make a lake with his mashed potatoes and gravy. Enduring his constant ribbing over my dislike of greenbeans...."What's the matter Sara? Aren't my mother's green beans good?" "I'll eat the green beans Tim if you eat the asparagus." The conversations over the latest movies we saw. That scruffy face and touseled hair as he stumbled up the stairs at 3:30pm to grab a smoke, say hi to the kids and get ready for bass lessons. Just his dry and yet so insightful, if not sarcastic, sense of humor that was so intelligent and could get me laughing like nothing else will so be missed.

I really wanted to see Tim live out his dreams of being a musician. Maybe see him play with Maddie. I had dreams for Tim that he didn't share. I wanted to see him married and I wanted to love the nieces and nephews that he was going to give me. I wanted to pay him back with supplying them with too much gum and baggies of quarters. I wanted to be able to make jokes at his expense and love them on a level that only an aunt or uncle could.


With him gone, those dreams are gone. I will say that every cloud truly has a silver lining though. As much as I loathe cliches, I have seen that silver lining even in the midst of this horrible tragedy. I have seen the hearts of my husband and in laws like I have never experienced in the 12 years I've been in this family. Usually quiet and holding their emotions close to the cuff, I've experienced the true depth of love that exists in the hearts of my mother-in-law, father-in-law and brothers and sisters-in-law. This has been a real gift that I don't think would have ever been realized without this tragedy. I've been allowed to take care of my mother-in-law who had barely allowed me to make so much as a meal for her all of the years that we've been family. I've been loved by so many people that my heart bursts and tears come down every time I consider the acts of loving kindness that have been shown to me and my family. I was able to see a strength and eloquence in my husband that I had never witnessed before. I have felt free to express my true love and gratitude in a way that I normally would be too shy or embarrassed to express. I've also witness the miracle of the gift of grace that the Holy Spirit brings.

I've had the honor of reading his journal and it struck so close to home for me as a lot of my journal entries at his age were similar. The darkness he often felt, coupled with the gift of writing that he possesed and the amazing insight of a special man truly resonated with me. The real relationship he allowed himself to have with his journal was one that I could relate to.

I just wish that he could have felt the love that others had for him. I wish that he knew just how much he was not alone. I wish that he knew that his nieces and nephews would forever be changed with his passing and that his entire family would forever have a dark cloud lingering in their hearts. I know that it never pays to dwell on the should've, could've, would'ves so I won't dwell on that. I will, however, hold onto the strength that God has been gracing me with, the amazing gift of the love that I experience from my friends, and the immeasurable blessing that my family is. I choose to remember Tim often and fondly. To celebrate his short life every moment I get and to honor it by encourgaing my children to be who they are and to love who they are and to know that they are never alone and worthy of love because God loved them first.

Take Me Out OF the Ball-Game..

OK, I have a confession to make. I loathe going to my kids' sports games. That was "loathe" people, not "love". Don't get me wrong, it's not the actual watching of my children playing the various sports, it's the fact that I don't get to actually watch any of it! I am always being distracted by the various siblings who are either bored, hungry, hurt, have to go to the bathroom, angry, tired....etc, etc.

This all started with my firstborn. I was so excited to finally be a "soccer mom" and watch my little guy play on his first sports team. I had no idea that there would be no sitting on bleachers cheering for my shining star, no cute cardigans tied around my shoulders. No, there would be pushing a double stroller with infant twins who had absolutely no interest in allowing Mommy even a moment to be a doting spectator. This would be followed by attempting to nurse said twins, and never actually being able to sit anywhere. Walking them around the soccer field over and over. The upside was that when Jason played goalie as I was making my laps by the goal I could tell Jason right to his face how proud I was of him. I can't even tell you how many of his goals or saves that I missed. I'd hear other people cheering for him and looking up from the puddle of baby vomit that I was trying to remove from my hair, I'd pretend that I saw it and give my guy the thumbs up.

Years went by and the twins grew up. They were finally at an age where if I could manage to shove enough food down their throats they were too busy to cause too much trouble. That's when I had Luke. Luke was actually a pretty easy-going baby so for a short while there it was enjoyable. I had a small glimpse of what it was like to be one of those happy parents who couldn't wait to cheer on their kids. Small glimpse. It was short-lived as the twins soon acquired the superpower of hearing a snack being opened from a mile away and I'd have to keep my voracious kids from eating everyone else's food. They were like a food-grubbing tag-team. This was about the time that Luke started walking. (One day, ask me to show you a picture of Luke around the age of 1. He looks like Rocky Balboa. I'm not exaggerating. The kid would fall head first about every 5 minutes. Usually on concrete. ) I spent a lot of time walking away from games with my screaming toddler so that I could get some ice from the snack stand. I think they had a First-Aid kit labeled "Van Goor" that year.

Without a break, sweet Charlotte entered the cheering team that was my fabulous little brood. She hated sports in the womb. Maybe it was all the yelling she heard while still in there as I was trying to keep my kids from ruining America's favorite past-time. At this point I'd already earned the reputation of the mom who had so many kids she was shell-shocked. You know like that that little old lady in the shoe? We only lived in town a few months and people would see my troop heading there way and clear a path. I felt like Forrest Gump on the school bus...."Seat's taken." Yeah, don't worry, I won't actually be sitting, I just need a place to put my diaper bag, first aid kit, cooler, toy box and coffee maker. OK, I'm ready to cheer now. I think at this point Jason would have preferred that I didn't bother coming at all. It had to be embarrassing when the soccer ball hit him in the face because he got distracted by the screams of his fighting siblings.

Well, like all things, the torch gets passed on. The time came for Maddie and Gwen to have their first soccer game. Bill was at another field with Jason and I was at Maddie and Gwen's game with Luke and Charlotte. Already an old-hat at this, I came fully prepared. Gone were the days of the stroller and here were the days where I could bring a bag of sand toys a few snacks and hand sanitizing wipes and sort of pay attention. Of course, the day before that first game we had torrential rain. Luke and Charlotte managed to fall completely into said mud-puddle. Great, it was cold and the one thing that I didn't have with me was a change of clothes. The game had just started and even though the field was a good 20 minutes away from home (in the same town as I live mind you), I figured I could run home, get them changed and run back to make it. I didn't know anyone yet as it was the first game, and being that I now had 5 kids, I felt very little guilt leaving my twins and running out. Little did I know that the game ended early because of the condition of the field and I came back to find my little girls sitting alone on an empty field. (Wouldn't you like to see the email that I sent their coach?) It'd be more normal if my girls were crying and scared, but after so many years of Mommy just doing the best she can, they were fine and all smiles, just wondering where I was. No, I did not get Mother of the Year that year either. Then there was the time that my girls had a softball game and Luke had to use the porta-john. Just love those smelly-cess pools. This was before had his operation. Let's just say that I can tell you just how pee tastes.....no I'm not kidding. Look thinks it tastes like stale pretzels.

Tonight was Luke's first soccer game of the season. For some stupid reason, (probably the same reason that we continue to have more than one child.....we forget! Otherwise human-kind would be extinct already) I thought that with the twins being 9 years-old and Charlotte being 4 this was going to be my year. I was going to show up at a game without looking like I just rushed home from school, got 3 kids to finish their homework, worked out Jason's transportation from his soccer practice, made dinner, fed it to my kids, got Luke changed into his uniform which consists of a shirt that goes down to his ankles and socks that are too big hand me downs and slouch like elephant legs, and actually look like a human being. This consisted of pulling my hair into a neater pony tail and trading my yoga tank for a long-sleeved yoga shirt. (Hey, I have to start out small.) After illegally parking so that we didn't have to walk a mile to the field, I lugged our chairs up to the field and a few water bottles for the kids. (We've scaled down quite a bit!) This is where Charlotte and Gwen decided to become the worst tag-team in history....the hysterically bored and starving divas. No matter that they just ate a huge dinner and were surrounded by hundreds of potential playmates. They were going to stand in front of me blocking my view of Luke dribbling that soccer ball towards the goal. I had one of those, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" moments. I told them to get out of my way or I was going punish them in a way that.....well, actually I had no idea how, but I wasn't going to let them know that....would make them very upset. Strong words, I know. I think they could sense the danger they were in. My kids know when Mommy has snapped. It's happened on a number of occasions. I'm not sure if it's instinct or if I turn green and muscles explode out of my clothing, but they know. They decided that they were going to take a sisterly stroll around the field. So there I was tonight, sitting on my portable chair, cheering for my Lukey and because things come full circle, my kids were walking themselves around the soccer field. Maybe it was comforting for them from so many trips in strollers that each one of them made as I pushed them trying to avoid the goose poop. You know a bit of nostalgia.

All I know is that I am still far away from saying that I love going to my kids' sports events, but if things truly come full circle I can look forward to sitting at my grand children's games and although I probably still won't be watching the grandchild on the field, it will be because I'm too busy laughing at my children pushing their children around that soccer field wondering why in the world they are there. Because it's fun kids. :)

See You in September...

I know I should be sleeping.... it's after midnight and I'm still in "summer mode". I think we can call this a classic case of denial. My kids start school tomorrow and I'm on the computer with an interesting movie on HBO playing on the TV. I can sleep in in the morning right? Tomorrow when that alarm clock goes off I am going to be hating myself. So why am I still up? I guess it's that stubborn little girl that's still in me. The one that keeps me banging my head against the proverbial wall of reality. The one that says, "It's not even Labor Day, there is no way that school is starting....right?" It's the reason that I did school supply shopping today, the day before school. (Thank goodness for Walmart!) I just spent over an hour organizing backpacks and supplies and lunch bags. That should be sobering, but I always find it comical how very automated, like a factory, I have to sort the chores of caring and preparing things for five children. The line up of backpacks, the mechanical filling of lunch boxes. It's sort of fulfilling. Seeing the chaos of the supplies on the table, neatly filling those backpacks. Knowing that these tools are going to be used by my children in their process of learning. The excitement of opening a fresh box of crayons. Remember that smell? That neat feeling of a newly sharpened pencil. Swearing that you'd keep them that sharp and neat all year long...... I guess I can relate to that and feel the nostalgia.

The excitement of seeing friends that I missed over the summer. That crazy denial (yes, I had it even then) that it was too hot to wear that new outfit I bought that involved long pants and long sleeves. The nervousness and yet positive anticipation of seeing friends that I hadn't seen all summer. I can remember the days before school started floating on a raft in my pool, thoroughly soaking in the sun and then the breeze would blow. I'd hear a certain rustle in the trees and smell a familiar smell and i knew that school was on its way. No matter how much Hawaiian Tropic suntanning oil with the scent of coconut and pineapple that I applied could cover the impending responsibility of the school year. Certainly, the fact that my high school was literally behind the fence in my backyard didn't make things easier for me...

I guess I always really loved the first day of school. Even though in my awkward days of adolescence and teenager-hood (is that a word?) the first day of school always was slightly frightening. Did I make the right decision with the outfit I chose? After all, first impressions were so important in those silly days of status-climbing/securing. Was my acid-washed denim skirt with the bandanna fringe "cool" enough to start the year off on the right foot? Apparently not as I didn't get the memo that everyone else that year was wearing a tapestry vest with jeans. Bummer, I couldn't quite afford that vest that year, but I'd try harder next year.....

I'm so glad that my kids don't have to deal with that kind of social pressure in the schools that they attend. Sure there is still the need to fit-in but is is surmounted by the emphasis on a relationship with God. Even thought the girls will surely be comparing outfits from Justice and Abercrombie and the boys will be making fun of each other for everything they possibly can, theyu are in a school where they have the freedom to pray for each other They can lose the socioeconomic bounderies and connect with their peers in a way I never could...

So as the bittersweet first day of school arrives. I look forward to the stability of a schedule. The amazing love that my children feel as they are enveloped by the Christian staff and student-body. The "freedom" for me that comes with my kids being engaged by others, and the comfort that they are in loving hands. I may mourn the passing of summer. I may balk at the progression of my children's years because it means that time is moving on and my "babies" are growing up. But deep down I know that wonderful things are to come. That the growth of my children is imminent and is a true blessing. I see where I am today and the path that has taken me there. From floating care freely on a raft in August to packing four backpacks years later. I am where God has designated I be, and I am blessed right where I am supposed to be.

Old Lang Syne

Wow, it's be awhile since I wrote here. It's already July 7th and summer is in full swing. I actually got suckered into playing Ms. Betsy Ross during the Ridgewood 4th of July parade and once again for a performance at the band shell before the fireworks. It was a red banner day as I didn't have a panic attack on stage (thank you Zoloft)....As I write this, my husband is whistling "Grand Old Flag," because it's stuck in his head from Luke singing it. We're definitely in a patriotic sort of way....

Summer is one of my favorite seasons. I definitely love Fall as by the time it's in full swing I'm ready for the change. The coolness in the air, the colors of the leaves, the smell on the breeze are all welcome after a seemingly long, hot summer. This year, it may be more welcome than usual as we've been having temperatures that have exceeded 100 degrees. But I remember summer-times-past fondly.

My earliest memories of summer involved me swimming by my grandparent's . They had an above-ground pool canopied by a cherry tree and we'd visit almost daily to take advantage of the cool bliss that it offered. I learned to swim at an early age. My grandfather would basically let me go and fend for myself in the water and I probably learned to swim at age 4. We'd swim all day, dine on a lunch of bologna sandwiches and maybe play a game of Atari Pacman (sitting on the floor in our wet bathing suits in the a/c) or maybe Pinball or Super Breakout. There were loads of twin ice pops, (you know the kind that were frozen together like Siamese twins with two sticks, mostly tasting like a chemical version of orange, grape or cherry). Watermelon was a staple during those hot, lazy days.

Dinner was always fun by Grandma and Pop Pop's house. There was the hot dog and french fry dinner t.v.-side while watching Scooby Doo. Or one of my favorites, fried fish from Rick's Fish on Rte. 17. Yum! Of course, a charcoal grilled hamburger was always a favorite. After dinner we'd run outside to play in the pool again, or have a fun game of H.O.R.S.E with the basketball net on the driveway. This was just a minor distraction as we waited for the inevitable sound of Little Jimmy's Italian Ice Truck. I still remember the quick rush of adrenaline as the tune of "The Entertainer", by Scott Joplin announced Little Jimmy's arrival. The promise of sweet and cool refreshment was always welcome. Rainbow flavored anyone?

After a day of fun and feasting the adults would make their way outside, sitting on lawn chairs with a cool drink in hand. The smell of citronella candles in the air, it was time to catch the lightening bugs. We'd grab a Mason jar from my grandma's cellar and poke a few holes in the lid and the quest would begin. The goal was to catch as many lightening bugs as we could and maybe make a glowing necklace out of them (I know, gross!!). Once the lightening bugs were gone, my mother had a bath run for me, complete with Avon pink bubbles. The chlorine and dirt of the day, washed away, I'd slip into my baby-doll pj's and get buckled into the car for the ride home where I'd inevitably fall asleep. The next day promising roller skating, jump-roping and lots of games of kickball, wiffle ball, sticker trading or Garbage Pail Kids card trading.

As an adult, I remember these times fondly and hope that I can offer my children experiences that can become fond memories for them. I guess that's why we went to the drive-in theatre the other night, and had a sleepover with a best friend, and went to the lake almost daily, and went swimming by Aunt Barbara's, and are going to the Jersey Shore for the weekend......There's no cherry tree-shaded swimming pool anymore. Atari has been replaced by Wii. The lake has taken the place of grandma's pool, but the memories are still ready to be made. The fun is ripe for the picking. The ice pops are still cold, the watermelon is still juicy, the sun still bakes the pavement, and I'll make sure that my kids get to experience each and every bit of summer.

Swings and Other Things

Wow it's been a whole month since my last post. I thought about posting a few times, but then when it came down to it, honestly, I got lazy. It's so easy to forget that putting my thoughts down is actually therapeutic for me. Speaking of therapy, I'm currently practicing my favorite form. The weather is actually nice enough for me to be sitting on my porch with a hot cup of decaf and the sun shining down on me! I missed this time for myself in the mornings. Winter mornings were bleak and drab. It was so hard for me to get out of bed, but when it's this gorgeous when I open my eyes I bound out of bed and don't look back. So what if the people on their way to work drive by and see me in my fluffy robe and slippers? I absolutely love feeling the sun on my face and listening to the wind chimes tinkle softly. The Spring robins are busy getting their early worms and there is even a woodpecker on one of our trees tapping out a rhythm adding to the music of my beautiful morning. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to have a few deer or the odd wild turkey stroll by.

During this time of Spring renewal I'm always reminded of the miracle of rebirth. Isn't it amazing how only a few weeks ago everything was brown, dry and dead? Now my lilac bushes have tiny green buds on them. The daffodils are promising to open any sunny day now. My forsythia are the brightest of yellows. My motivation re-awakens in Spring too. I feel the pull to start looking ahead. My garden planning has begun. In spite even of the fact that every year I have to fight the elements and the pesky wildlife and each time I wonder if it's really worth all the work, when Spring comes I look forward with excitement to planting my vegetables. The winter wonderland that was my backyard is quickly becoming my Spring and Summer paradise.

I can't help but be reminded of my childhood on days like today. I must've spent a lot of time outdoors because there are certain bird calls and certain smells even that spark distant memories for me. I heard a cardinal's call this morning and immediately I found myself thinking of my grandfather, who I affectionately called Pop-Pop until the day he died. He always grew excited upon sighting a cardinal. They are a beautiful bird and he found so much joy every time they'd come to visit his bird feeder. I think he felt as if they came just for him. I spent a lot of time with my Pop-Pop growing up. My mother worked full time until my younger brother was born and my Pops worked the night shift on the docks so he would watch me during the day. I have nothing but fond memories of him. He was strong and warm and loving. He was always smiling, (except when his Yankees were losing). His faith was what has helped me to build my own on. I was so fortunate to have been raised by such and amazing man.

I can remember on days just like today spending the morning with my mother's aunt who lived upstairs from my grandparents. Around noon my grandfather would wake up and I'd go downstairs to start my day with him. We'd begin by washing the breakfast dishes together. He always had the patience to let me "help" him. I'd pull the kitchen chair up to the sink and we'd have fun with the bubbles. I couldn't help but see the tree swing out the window that was over the sink and would begin asking as to when we could go outside. My Pops with a twinkle in his eye would promise that as soon as our chores were done we could. I think he looked forward to pushing me on that swing as much as I looked forward to swinging on it. This time of year the blossoms on the pear tree would be a thick and fragrant canopy over us as my cries for, "higher, higher!" echoed off the adjacent school walls. We would be sure to visit his green house this time of year and check on the seedlings that were coming up already. Another amazing gift of my grandfather's was that he had the greenest thumb ever. I loved the smell of the warm dirt in that greenhouse. As the weather grew warmer those seedlings would find themselves lovingly planted in his garden and diligently worked until they met their full potential. It amazes me today as a mother and adult that my grandfather had the patience to include me in each of his chores, making them seem like a game for me and still having the time to take me on adventurous walks to the local park, or to the corner store for an ice cream.

Yesterday was Easter. I host my family every year and we all can't help but feel the void that was left when my Pop-Pop passed away 3 years ago. His smiling face, him saying Grace before we ate are missing. I thought of him often yesterday as I watched the kids running with so much joy trying to find just one more Easter egg. He would have enjoyed their youthful exuberance so much. His spirit has touched me so that I find myself reminded of him in many of the things that I do. The most important, I think aside from his faith, were his patience and his ability to make time for what was important. Taking the time with all of the busyness of hosting yesterday to sit and partake in spending time with my family was so important to me. Every time I go into my garden I know he's guiding me. When I don't really feel motivated but I still take my kids for a walk to the park, he's smiling down on me. Most importantly I am reminded of his faith that kept him going through those hard years as cancer stole his strength to till the garden, his legs to take those walks and ultimately his life here on earth. He never once wavered in his faith that he was going to meet Jesus and that this life was wonderful but what lay ahead would be more amazing. I will never waver that one day I will once again find myself being pushed on a swing under a blossoming pear tree as my Pop-Pop and I bask in the love of our Creator together, once more.

Just Sara

So where've I been? I've been putting off blogging until my back was healed and I could share my miraculous recovery and my new found appreciation for my restored physical health. Unfortunately, I'm still in pain. I'm not healed, and I'm getting cranky....I have days where I feel better and you can see me walking with barely a limp. Then there's days like today where I had to stop eating dinner multiple times to lay on the floor of the kitchen to stop the burning in my leg. This has been a very humbling experience. I have been forced to do less than I am accustomed to. I have to count on others around me to do some of the jobs that I've always done myself. I am so limited physically that while teaching yoga, I can't even touch my own toes! Again, cranky....

This has really opened my eyes as to how I feel about myself. Where do I place my self-value. I have a history of acting like a human-doing rather than a human-being. Placing value on the things that I do rather than the person that I am. I struggle with the question, "How do I feel about Sara?" Now, I don't sit around (or lay around) thinking about myself constantly. I'm far too busy (thank goodness) and not as self-absorbed as that, yet when I try to do something and find out that I can't, it's a blow to the ego. It's so much easier to go about life effortlessly moving, not having to worry about how you're going to get in and out of the car, or whether or not you can carry that sleeping child into the house. When I can just move around unhindered, I don't have to think about it. However, when the simple act of driving can bring me to tears, I'm caught up in my own head. Truly in the moment. I don't always love the moment.

I get beat down and wonder if I'll ever feel like myself again. What if this is my new normal? Then there are moments of peace where the pain dissipates and I sigh in relief and remember sweet normalcy. I am filled with a gratitude that I haven't felt in a long time. I truly hope that my family and I are learning through this experience. As painful as it is, I know that God works through painful periods in my life. I know for a fact that I will not take physical health for granted after this. I hope that my kids will learn perseverance and humbleness by watching how I deal with this. I pray that I can act with grace (at least in front of the kids!) until this ordeal passes. I also hope that the next time I blog, it'll be soon, and I'll be pain free.

Fits and Giggles

You ever have one of those moments where you feel as if no one in the world has it better than you? I get them sometimes. Certainly not all the time, but when they come I'm usually surprised at what brings that feeling on. You'd think it'd be the big things, like when we're all on vacation together, or when one of the kids has a huge accomplishment like sleeping through the night. Don't get me wrong, I've definitely experienced big moments of gratitude during those times. It's moments like today that really hit me and remind me of how it's truly the little things that make the biggest impact on me. It wasn't at dinner today when Luke asked if we could plant sausage since they have seeds in them. It wasn't when all the kids did their homework without help. It wasn't even when they all ate supper and asked for seconds! Maybe all of those things combined paved the way, but it was the moment in the day when my back threw in the towel and I had to lie down on the kitchen floor. I had made dinner, served dinner and cleaned up dinner and I found myself square on my back in the middle of the kitchen floor just waiting for the searing pain to subside and then Charlotte comes into the kitchen. She sees me there and just starts to giggle as she makes her way over to me and sets herself next to me laying on her back. Both of us were just seized by a fit of the giggles and it was at that moment that I knew I was the luckiest person in the world. My oldest was at youth group because he desires to participate in a 30 hour famine to raise money for World Vision. He'll not only be fasting, but he'll be volunteering at a food shelter and participating in worship. All his idea to participate. Three of my kids were playing (nicely!) together in the living room. There I was, on my kitchen floor laying side by side with my little girl and I was filled with so much gratitude. For a moment, I forgot about my pain and wasn't thinking about the tasks I still had ahead of me for the evening. I just relished in those precious giggles from my little girl with the big blue eyes and long curly eyelashes and even when my pain subsided, I stayed there just a little longer talking about pink cupcakes, Pillow Pets and feeling God's grace wash over me.

My lucky number

840.....that's the estimated number of times a day I hear, "Mom, Mommy, or my favorite, Momma." How did I come to this number? Driving home from church last Sunday in the clown mobile, I found that the spiritual calmness that I walked out of church with was slowly beginning to drain as my replies to my name became shorter and more terse....."Yes honey? What's that sweety? Huh? Mhmm.....WHAT?!!!" So I decided to count. I was worried that maybe I was just being ridiculous. My husband didn't help as he was looking at me like I had 3 heads each time I uttered a number. I mean, how many times in a 20 minute car ride could the kids possibly need to call my name? Well, turns out, it's approximately a "Mom" a minute. So I took this number, multiplied it by the number of hours a day that the kids are awake, subtracted the hours that the older kids are at school, added a few for the car rides and came up with my number. That number is a double-edged sword.

I remember when my first-born was a baby and he started babbling. I wasted no time inundating him with "Ma-Ma's" until the day came when he uttered that magical name. There's nothing like that moment. I mean you know you're a mother when you're expecting. You may even begin to feel like a mother when that little life is wriggling around inside of you. When the nurse places that little soft bundle in your arms you may feel it then. But, something about that little child acknowledging you by your name for the first time fills your heart until it's about to burst. It was then that I wondered why my grandmother and her sisters used to tease me that they all taught their kids to say, "Dada" first and then they'd all chuckle to themselves. I couldn't fathom anything sweeter than hearing my little darling utter my name as his big blue eyes searched my face.

Many words came quickly after for my first-born and then we found out we were expecting twins! Again the time came after many exciting firsts (times 2!) like rolling over, sitting up, sleeping through the night and finally saying, "Momma." By then, I started to understand a little more of what my grandmother and her sisters were telling me. "Sara, if they learn to say 'Da-da' then guess who they'll call for when they wake up in the middle of the night..." Ah ha, so these women weren't cold....they were wise. Much wiser than I.

With each child thereafter I heard a lot more,"Momma's" and learned a lot about motherhood. I also learned that being a mother was a lot more about what I did for them and why I did it. Also, how my children felt about me and less about how quickly they learned to utter my name. Being a mother isn't one of those jobs where you complete a task and can either say that it was a job well done or not. There are so many factors involved. Our children are not little projects that we mold and glue together and end up with a finished product. Yes, it's important to guide them in their ways. To fill their lives with love, attention, security and morals is of utmost importance. Yet, you can do all of that and your child can turn out completely opposite of everything that you deam acceptable. Why is that? Two very simple words.....free will. Does this mean that we abandon our posts and let them do whatever they want? Do we just send them off into the world without guidance like sheep to slaughter? Of course not, that is not love. Love is guiding these little people, molding them into what you dream for them (but first check your dreams) and then letting them go and follow their dreams praying that it's God's will for their lives.

Sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I get REALLY tired. There are times when I've answered to, "Ma?" with, "She's not here right now, I've changed my name!" When you give your all to any job, it can be draining. Parenting is more than a job, it's a relationship. Pouring your whole heart, soul and time into 5 little people can literally suck you dry. Sometimes I kick and scream a bit. Sometimes I just brood and complain. When I choose to remember to do the right thing, I call out for my own source of comfort, "Abba. Father. I need you now." My empty cup is filled and once again I can listen to, "Mommy, Mom, Momma" and be grateful all 840 times.

Here I Go Again On My Own

So let's address a subject that mothers everywhere have pondered for centuries....why do we get sick after having children? In the genius of creation, how come there's not some trip switch that is set off while giving birth that prevents a mother from getting ill? I hate to say it but, "It's just not fair!"

C'mon, you all know that you've said it at one time or another. Maybe it was the time you were puking into the tub because your kid was using the toilet. Or maybe, like me, it was the time that you were nursing twins in between running to the bathroom every 20 minutes feeling as if your feet were going to come out of your mouth this time....Maybe it was the time you had the flu and couldn't get off of the floor, but that was just fine with your toddlers as they thought you being on the floor meant that you were fair game as a jungle gym.

Today was one of those days. I'm not ill, per se, but I might as well be. I was looking forward to sleeping in this morning with the delayed opening for school. Instead, I awoke sneezing and subsequently screaming in agony. A silly, little sneeze threw my back into such painful spasms that I was unable to get out of my bed for over an hour. Now, I've been in labor. I've given birth to 5 children. The pain I felt this morning was right up there. My husband just kind of stood there with that sleepy, lost look he generally has in the morning, except I know I detected a bit of concern and helplessness in the slits of his eyes. I knew that I had to try to get out of bed
(after all before the sneeze of death, I was dreaming that I was in Macy's and I couldn't find a bathroom). That was easier said than done. On top of this, the time was ticking away for the kids to get ready for school. My husband was supposed to be going to work, and instead he was offering his back so that I could hold onto it and make it to the powder room. Of course the children couldn't possibly understand. The older ones are definitely more sympathetic, but the 5 year old and 3 year old are only out for numero uno, themselves.. Apparently oblivious to Mommy's Lamaze breathing and fetal position Charlotte and Luke were placing their breakfast orders and fighting over who got to choose what show was on the TV.

At this point, I start to feel a little sorry for myself. I'm wracked with pain, and I know that I cannot come first here. I have to tell my husband that it's OK to leave me to get the kids to school. I have to also encourage him to plan on going to work, because I know that his shop really depends on him. Incapable of getting myself to the bathroom, I need to take care of Luke, Charlotte and the various animals that need me here and I need to do it on my own. I know what you're thinking, I should've kept the kids home, told my husband that his shop would have to survive without him and stayed in bed. Maybe you're right. I just couldn't fathom doing that.

I'm not sure what it is that prevents me from really taking care of myself. Now, when I didn't have kids and I was sick, I had no problem planting myself on the couch with a mug of Cup-o-Soup and watched Little House on the Prairie reruns until I didn't know if my nose was running from being sick or from sobbing like a baby. Since I've had kids, it's as if I've forgotten how to take care of myself. I have this, let's call it, mother's guilt that kicks in every time I hear the hub-bub of my family going on without me. Maybe I flatter myself too much. I'm sure that they'd all be just fine if I stayed in bed for a day. I just don't know how to do that well. I could do it, if I knew that there was another adult who was going to take over. Alas, that's rarely the case here. Bill rarely takes off of work (unless he has the sniffles....don't get me started on that topic. Men+Sick=Bedridden), my mother in law works full time and my mother doesn't drive up here. I'd gladly let Bill take over, but he never offers more than, "If you really need me to come home let me know." Well, the hour and a half of me crying in pain, and the phone call from the bathroom floor didn't give you reason enough? Why do I hate to have to ask? I want someone to offer. That is my stubbornness and that leaves, me, myself and I. To complicate things further today, I had to get Luke to the Dr. as his throat started to hurt again. Maddie had piano lessons and forgot her folder and Gwen had dancing school. Again, could we have skipped it all, well except Luke's Dr.'s appointment? Sure. I chose not to. I chose to push, because I don't know how to do it any other way.

I finally peeled myself off of the bed and realized that crawling on all fours worked just fine for getting me from room to room. Of course the kids found it hysterical and the dog figured that I was playing and continued to pounce on me the whole time, pulling my pony tail every time I stopped to rest. As I expected, the choice to move around helped loosen things up and I was finally able to stand up. Too many Advil later, a hot shower, and a little bit of food and I was mobile enough to function. Albeit, I looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Driving proved to be excruciating, but I knew that when all was said and done, I'd be heading to the chiropractor and that was the light at the end of the tunnel. The chiropractor x-rayed my back and showed me the problem. He turned me into a pretzel, jumped on me (I'm not exaggerating) and I found some relief. Dinner was waiting in the crock pot and I was finally able to sit without wanting to tear my leg off and beat myself with it until I was unconscious. My kids were happy, they were fed, they got their homework done, violins practiced, and most importantly they were felt loved.

So going back to feeling sorry for myself.....the whole time I was writhing in pain and my kids were either fighting or asking me for a. play-doh, b. chocolate milk, c. you name it, I couldn't help but feeling like "What about me?" I'm the one with the boo-boo here. I want my Mommy. Or at least my Mommy to take my kids so that I could lay down. How 'bout my husband coming home earlier than 7:30? No such luck on any of those. Then something wonderful began to happen. My kids prayed for me during grace. They asked me if they could help clean up. I got extra hugs and kisses. My husband came home and sprang into action, getting kids to bed and running to the store for me. As I'm typing this while lying on my back, he just placed a heating pad under my leg and is getting more Advil. Would it be nice to have the whole day off when I'm in such bad shape? Absolutely. That said, it's no less sweet when the sun goes down, the kids are in bed and I can allow myself to be taken care of. It isn't lost on me that I need to work on this. I know that I need to allow others to take care of me more and sometimes part of that means asking, no, demanding it of loved ones. This side of me is also indicative of my relationship with God. How many times do I need His help, but keep on pushing through it by myself? Sure, I can do it, but why struggle through it when I can step back and allow myself to be carried? Well, awareness is the first step towards change. Maybe this was a good lesson for me. Maybe you can relate.

I've Fallen and I Have To Get Up....

It was the early 80's. I turned off my Fisher Price My First Cassette Player and I laced my Strawberry Shortcake roller skates up as I headed outside. My hair in a long brown braid down my back, my terry-cloth shorts jumper keeping me cool, I was ready. I was 7 and about to do something really stupid. My girlfriend and I thought that it'd be a great idea to tie my jump rope to the back of her banana-seat bike. I, of course, would hold on and coast around the block on my roller skates. Now, these were the days before helmets (you'd look like a dork), knee pads and elbow pads. Just lots of that excruciating Band-Aid spray and large Band-Aids. Never mind that I wasn't even allowed to go around the block without an adult...I was going to go around the block holding onto a Rainbow Brite jump-rope and a dream. We headed out with our delusions of grandeur and immediately I had a rush of adrenaline. The wind whipping my long braid behind me like the tail of a kite was exhilarating. Then utter failure. I lived on a tree-lined suburban street in NJ. This was before the great blight of the Chestnut trees. One of my favorite past times was collecting shopping bags full of chestnuts. The chestnuts had their turn. At life-threatening speeds I felt my pink wheels hit something . They jerked to an abrupt halt and my feet stayed behind while my upper body, still being propelled forward by that magical jump-rope tied to the back of an engineering masterpiece, continued forward. There's nothing quite like the feeling of skin being raked away by concrete, is there? My teeth clattered as my chin hit the ground first and then my elbows, stomach and knees joined the party. I was crying as I was picking the pebbles out of my cuts. My friend drove speedily home, her pigtails and Rainbow Brite jump rope trailing behind her like a white flag of retreat. I was hurt, I was bleeding, I wanted my mommy and the worst part was that I couldn't even tell my mom the truth about what had happened because I had injured myself by disobeying her. I don't remember the excuse I gave, but I do remember the wet wash cloth, the stinging spray, the bandages and the ice pop that made me forget my tears and run back outside to play.

Now that was one of only a thousand spills that I took as a kid. I was all arms and legs, and never quite graceful so the ground and I were well-acquainted. When I think of all the hard falls that I took as a little girl and how I would just bounce right back up after a quick band aid or a little spit on the wound it amazes me. When you're a kid you really can take a beating! Not so much as an adult.

I learned the real truth of this for the first time in the summer of 2007. I had purchased a Slip-N-Slide for the kids. One super-hot day I set it up in our backyard. My children were excited, but not as excited as I was. My mother would never let us get one when I was little. "Too dangerous and a waste of water," was her reasoning. I, not being my mother, thought that our backyard wouldn't be complete without one. Feeling like a little kid again, I told my kids to stand back and watch Mommy. I took a few steps back and took off running. Sending my arms in front of me I dove onto my belly on that slippery promise of cool, summer fun. When my 5'10" frame hit that ground I felt, not bliss, but all of my ribs bending back in ways they weren't meant to and my shoulders being jammed into their sockets. What the heck was that? I quickly hauled myself up so as not to frighten the children (who were so worried they were laughing hysterically at me) and limped away. My oldest pointed out the warning label on the front of the slide which states that anyone over the age of 13 and over 120 lbs. should not use the Slip-N-Slide or possibly suffer serious injury. Seeing as how I was 13 years old and 120 lbs. a looong time ago, I wished that I had read that before my big leap of faith. The long and short of it? I ended up with bursitis in my shoulder. I cannot believe that I am admitting that I got bursitis in my shoulder from flopping onto a Slip-N-Slide. Not exactly the bounce back that I used to have as a kid.

Today was another one of those reminders that I'm not a spring chicken anymore. After school I took the kids to the Nature Center where we spent some quality time looking at the various reptiles and amphibians in the Wildlife Center. We bird-watched for awhile from the aviary room and even got to get up-close and personal with some deer and a wild turkey that kept pecking at his reflection on the bumper of my van. We headed out for some pizza at a local pizza shop and then stopped by my in-laws so that Jason could change into his snow gear. He was heading to a fun night at Camp Gaw for snow tubing with his youth group. I was loading the kids into the car and went around to the back of the van to load the gear in. That's when my feet went in one direction and my head went in another. Apparently there was a big patch of black ice in the sloping driveway that I didn't see and I went down like a ton of bricks. I smacked my right side hard against the back bumper of the van before I hit the asphalt. The only thing running through my mind was, "Oh sh*t!" I won't lie. It was quick, there wasn't time for too much introspection. Anyway, as I made my way, shaken and sore, but intact, to the driver's seat I noticed that my pinkie was throbbing. I remembered that I had banged it hard on the way down and just figured it would go away. Driving down the road the finger began to feel hot and then numb, so I lifted my hand in front of my face to asses the damage. Yikes, are pinkies supposed to bend that way? So now what? I have to get my kid to the slopes, it's almost 6pm so no Dr.'s are open. I do not want to go to the ER. I decided to drop Jay off and head to, "Dr. Bill" A.K.A my husband. He looked at it kind of cross-eyed and we agreed that taping it up until tomorrow would suffice. After all, it was now almost 6:30, the girls still had to do their homework, Bill had Praise Band practice, and someone would have to pick Jay up @ 9. Who has time for a broken finger? Definitely not I!

It's very different getting a boo-boo as a grown up. Seems like I'm a bit more fragile and susceptible to injury as I get older. It's funny how when I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be a big, strong, grown-up. It's a little harder to bounce back from things when your body gets set in its ways. No longer are bones soft for growth. They're already set and not willing to bend without breaking. Makes me wonder how am I in other situations, set in my ways unwilling to bend. When I get hurt now, I still call my Mommy and let her know. Sometimes there's some sympathy, but I'm a Mommy too now. I know how to comfort myself. I don't own that burning antiseptic spray, but I can stick on a mean band aid. When I get hurt from my own stubbornness, I also still call Mom, and she usually will talk me through it. Fortunately, I can also turn my injuries over to the Great Physician where I know that He will gather me in His arms like that little girl with the long, brown braid down her back, whether it's a physical injury or the sting of my own stubbornness, and comfort me as His precious child.

Little Blessings

So Luke and I finally cracked open the book, "Life As a Navy Seal" the other day. Riveting piece of literature for a 5 year-old boy. For myself, the most entertaining elements are the questions and reactions that Luke has to the book. The beginning of the book mentions that a good Navy Seal knows both his strengths and his weaknesses. Luke stopped me immediately after I read that, "Weaknesses?". I responded, "Yes Luke, we all have weaknesses and it's important to know what they are." He quickly brushed this aside and asked me to continue reading. After telling my husband about this, the next morning I decided to have a little laugh at Luke's expense. I asked him if he ever figured out what his weaknesses were. Without skipping a beat he responded, "Yup, poison. I'm definitely no match for poison." Ahh, to be 5 again!

I remember that feeling of immortality. The sky was the limit in my innocence. I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up, the possibilities were limitless. Of course, a poison apple would send me into a dreamless sleep like Snow White, but you always woke up, married the prince and lived happily ever after......and then you grow up.

I quickly learned that life isn't always about happy endings. That I, in fact, do have limitations to what I can and cannot do. Perhaps I learned a little earlier than some, and most certainly learned it the hard way. Some of my false notions of infallibility led me to some very dark places and brought me to my knees. I mourned the innocence of my youth. I missed that feeling of endless possibilities. I often felt trapped by my life's situations and even by my own physical limitations.

Fortunately, these moments of darkness and despair have always led me to a higher understanding. Accepting that God's will for my life is a happy ending, but that it may not be here on earth. Knowing that I have limitations when I rely on myself, but God's power is limitless and can carry me through anything has lifted my soul. Realizing my weaknesses allowed me to embrace the ones that I couldn't change and strive to better myself by working on the ones that I can. I no longer mourn my youth, but rejoice that I learned so much from it, embrace each day and look forward to the future with an excitement that I haven't had since I was a child. I know that I'm not trapped, but am enfolded and embraced by a God who loves me not in-spite of who I am but because of who I am.

It is with that childlike faith that I have, as an adult, become aware of my weaknesses and realize that they are often the reasons for my strengths. As long as I keep on turning my weaknesses over to the Lord, He keeps on adding to my strength. I saw a perfect example of this kind of faith in Charlotte the other night. After her bedtime story and prayer Charlotte said to my husband, "Daddy, when I can't fall asleep at night I know I need to pray to Jesus." Neither my husband nor I had ever told her this, but we were so tickled to see that she knew that turning to the Lord would help her in her time of need. The next night as Charlotte was going to sleep she turned to my husband and said, "You know what Daddy? Last night I had to pray to Jesus for a loooooong time." I have often heard Charlotte talking at night after tucking her in. How awesome it is that without being told, my little girl and her childlike innocence knew to turn to the Lord with her weaknesses and He bestowed upon her His strength.

Living the Sweet Life

Let's face it.....some days just really stink. Then there are weeks like I had last week and the entire WEEK stinks. It would be so easy for me to concentrate on the negative aspects. It's especially a draw for me to do that as that had been my m.o. for most of my early 20's. I was a young, single mom and life was tough. Feeling sorry for myself, although got me nowhere, became a place of,sadly, comfort. I was most comfortable while playing the martyr.

The fact that no one does anything without some sort of reward for themselves came up at our church's small group yesterday. I know what you're thinking. What about all of the things that we have to do as adults, and do, but are really comfortable and we don't want to? Where's the reward in that?Trust me, if there wasn't a reward, we wouldn't do it. We do the "right thing" even when it's uncomfortable, or downright excruciating knowing that somewhere, either in our conscience or down the road there will be a reward for ourselves. Even doing the right thing for reasons of salvation and karma, we have our own best interest in mind. Yes, even doing the right thing for the praise of a Higher Power, we do it because it's the right thing to do and it feels good deep down to do the right thing. Or, maybe we do the wrong thing sometimes because that feels good too. Sure, that is easier to point out. Of course, doing the wrong thing for pleasure is part of human nature. Well, doing ANYTHING for pleasure is part of human nature.

So why did martyrdom make me feel so good at that time in my life? I've never really pondered it too much. I kind of acknowledged that it was true, that I needed to stop because it wasn't healthy, and then moved on. But why, would engaging in a behavior where concentrating on the negative, become a place where I was most comfortable? I'm no masochist, in spite of some of my wilder decisions that I've made where it must seem that I've thrown away reason with wild abandon (puppy, anyone?). I suppose feeling "Woe is me," allows me to forgive myself in my imperfection a little easier. Oh wait, didn't you know that I am somewhat of a perfectionist? I forgot to mention that? Well, I am. There it is. I have very high standards for myself, and often times for others (just ask my loved ones). So I guess that if I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself, then I had an excuse when I wasn't performing up to my unrealistic standards. Do you see the pattern of sickness here? It really can be a vicious cycle.

What was the turning point? Has there really been a turnaround for me? I mean, here I am a mother of 5 with a schedule big enough to bring Donald Trump to his knees and I'm BLOGGING. Don't be fooled though. This blogging is (and here's that self-serving behavior) like therapy for me. There's something so comforting in journaling. Putting all of the insanity that is my life down in neat little words allows me to compartmentalize (OK sometimes BIG words) that insanity and make sense of it all. I know that a big part of my growth came from my vanity. Yep, not the kind of motivator that I am proud of, but if I'm being honest, I cared about what people thought of me. I hated to think that anyone would take me for a negative person.

I had to start off small. Awareness of course is always the first step. I had loved ones who would (sometimes not so gently) let me know when I was sitting on the pity pot too long, or seeing the glass as half empty all of the time. My husband gets to see the un-polished version of Sara on a daily basis and it's not pretty. Living with a person who is negative all the time can be draining. I know that he felt that a lot in the first few years of our marriage. You see, getting married didn't change the martyrdom I felt as a single mom, it simply morphed into, "I do so much more than you," (which I did btw haha). I would sit on that pot on a daily basis and there was little happiness, little harmony, but if I didn't get to that load of laundry that day it was OK because I-______________ fill in the blanks, so much more than you today. Not a healthy place to be in. So the small step I took after being aware and then being willing (amazing what a motivator pain can be!), was faking it till I made it. That's right, I pretended to be a positive person. I'm a pretty decent actress. Was Emily in "Our Town" in H.S. lit class you know......So I acted as if I was looking at life with rose colored glasses, when in the meantime I was thinking, you know what this happy nonsense is really just that, nonsense! Of course I prayed on it. Asking God for His will for my life and the power to carry it out, I knew that God didn't want me to be negative.

Slowly, but surely things began to change. My fake actions, started to come more naturally. I actually began to find myself looking at that glass as half full. It almost became a challenge that I gave myself. Seeing nothing but ugly? Where can I find the beauty. It was like a breath of fresh air that I craved. The more I got, the more I wanted it. Now, don't for a moment think that I am a PollyAnna in any way, shape or form. I'd like to think that I'm pretty grounded. I see the horror and tragedy in Haiti and I don't think, "Well, gee that's OK, this is a great opportunity for others to serve." That may be, but the horrors are real, and nothing can take that away. I guess the shift is, that I can acknowledge life's difficulties, tragedies and sadness, but I don't have to dwell on them. I acknowledge them, sometimes even hold onto them a little while just for old time's sake, and then I move on. Letting go and letting God.

Today was one of those days. Coming off of the week from hell (there I said it!), I woke up this morning to what seemed to be a mini-hurricane. It's January and it's 55 degrees and pouring. Lovely. What's even better is that my roof leaks in my kitchen when it pours. So I had about 5 pots lying around the kitchen catching the mini-waterfalls coming down my ceiling. My back was still killing me this morning and I had to go food shopping. My grocery bags, myself and Charlotte were soaked as we came home. Cold and wet, I drove up to my house only to find that the 200 year old stone wall in front of my property had washed out as if its very own landslide onto the street. I unpacked my soaking wet groceries and headed to pick up Luke and then went to the chiropractor. I got a little more relief for my back and came home to finish unpacking the groceries. At this low point in the day Charlotte came into the kitchen with a library book that we had taken out a few days ago and asked me if we could make the recipe that was in the back. It was a neat story about a little boy who's grandfather is a bee-keeper. After going through all of the work of taking care of the bees and harvesting the honey, the little boy and his grandparents reap the fruits of their labors by eating grandma's apple-honey muffins. The author includes the recipe for these muffins in the back of the book. Now, most of the pots that were filling with rain water were on the floor of the kitchen in front of my oven at this point, but I knew that this is just what I needed to do. Shift my perspective. Concentrate on something sweet. What could be sweeter than baking with my sweet Charlotte.....and 2/3's a cup of honey! As Charlotte helped to sift the flour and baking powder, smelling the cinnamon (mmm Momma!) and nutmeg (eww Momma!), I immediately could see that silver lining. The wind was still howling outside, but inside my oven was warming, the apples I was grating were sweetening the air, and my heart was full.

It made me think a bit. How amazing is it that something as frightening and potentially painful as bees, when handled correctly, can provide us with something as sweet and golden as honey? How many things in life are just like that? As long as I'm open to God's will, and accept that what happens in my life can be used to fulfill His will (notice how I don't say that all that happens in my life is God's will, but how I choose to handle what may come can be used to fulfill that will) I can only come out with something sweet and golden for my life. I just need to handle these episodes carefully. I also need to put them to sleep, just as the bee keeper lulls the bees so that he can collect the honey, I need to put my anxieties to rest in order to reap the benefits of the growth that has come by living through the hard times.

The muffins turned out wonderfully and as if that wasn't sweet enough, the rain began to subside and I noticed a pink glow out my kitchen window. My kids came running to me as they noticed it too. "Mommy, look outside! Look at that sunset!" It was, in fact, a most beautiful, glorious sunset. The horizon just over the nature preserve was tinged salmon, coral and soft pink, silhouetting the barren tree-tops. I watched for a while, as my tea pot began to whistle and as I settled down with a cup of hot tea and a warm homemade muffin, I forgot about the week before and the mess of today and could only taste and see the sweet goodness of where I was.

Nothing about our 4th child Luke has ever been average. Luke Thomas was born on Friday the 13th of August, 2004. I was scheduled to have a c-section on the 23rd of August, but Luke decided he was ready a little early. I went into labor in the early morning and finally realized that my contractions were a bit more than Braxton-Hicks in the early afternoon. I headed over to Valley Hospital, only to be met with chaos in the maternity ward. Hurricane Charlie had made landfall in Florida and Valley Hospital in NJ had its own hurricane with 85 babies born that day. Women were giving birth behind doors of offices, in hallways, basically anywhere they could fit them. I was shown to an uncomfortable chair near the nurse's station and was told to wait there. About 40 minutes and lots of contractions later, a bed opened up in the admitting room and they hooked me up to a bunch of monitors. I still remember the skepticism on the faces of the nurses and my OB when I "claimed" to be in labor. "But Mrs. Van Goor, you're only 37 weeks along. It's been hot out, you're probably dehydrated." I knew what I was feeling, but I just nodded as I panted. Reading the various monitors, it was soon decided that I was in fact in labor. The only problem was that there were no operating rooms available, nor were there any anesthesiologists. They told my husband that I still had lots of time and since they couldn't perform the cesarean any time soon, he should run home and get our affairs in order. Big mistake.

My labor progressed rather quickly, and as my husband was given the green light to "take his time", that is what he did. It became apparent that I was going to give birth very soon and since there was risk involved, they found an anesthesiologist and cleared out an operating room. Almost scolding me, the nurse told me that I had better find my husband. Well, you did tell him to leave! Of course, he wasn't answering his cell phone, nor the home phone. (I later found out that he was taking a shower.) Bill made it in the nick of time. I'd like to say that they wheeled me to the operating room, but since there wasn't a single wheel chair left, I had to walk myself there between hard-labor contractions. I will never forget that first hard contraction, and looking at my husband I said, "That had to be a fluke, they can't really hurt that bad?". Well, they did. Very soon, I was on the table, thanking the anesthesiologist for taking away my pain (I think I promised lots of things to him, thankfully he never took me up on them) and Luke was born weighing 8 lbs. 7 oz.

I wish I could tell you lots of things about Luke's infancy, but I really don't remember too much. For one thing, I had 3 year-old twins at the time and a 7 year-old who was playing soccer. The other thing was that Luke was an amazing baby. He really was. Barely ever cried, learned to sleep through the night right away on his own, never fussed. God truly gave me what I could handle in Luke.

There are a few things I remember from his first year. I can clearly remember the time that Luke was sound asleep in his car seat carrier on the kitchen floor. Gwen was busy talking to me as I was cooking and she kept walking backwards. Yep, you guessed it, she walked back into the car seat and plopped right on top of a very newborn Luke. I held my breath and all Luke did was jump as if he had a little dream and fell back to sleep.

Another incident from his infancy that stands out was the time I was taking the kids out of the car in front of our house. I normally unloaded the car in my driveway and I don't know why that day I parked on the street, but I put Luke's car seat on the sidewalk as I unbuckled the twins. I then heard a loud crackling noise and a "POP!". Afraid that something happened with the electrical wires overheard, I looked up. I saw, absolutely nothing. I looked around, and once again, aside from the newspaper delivery car, there was nothing and no one on the street. Shrugging my shoulders I went to pick Luke's car seat up to bring him inside. That is when I saw it. There was Saturday's newspaper sitting in Luke's little lap. The newspaper delivery man saw what happened and shouted, "sorry!" as he floored it down the road. Thankfully, Luke never even flinched.

Luke came into his own, right around the time that Charlotte was going to be born. His usually easy demeanor gone, he turned into one of the whiniest kids around. As his vocabulary progressed, the whining and crying subsided a bit, but the negotiating began. Luke earned the nickname of "Yeah-butt" around his 3rd birthday. "Luke, it's time for dinner."...."Yeah-but, I'm watching my favorite show." "Luke, please help Mommy clean up this mess," "Yeah-but, Charlotte made it." You get the picture.

So why does Luke get an entire blog entry about himself today? It's something that we've coined as "Lukeisms". Little things that Luke has said or done that make us crack up. Here's just a few:

When Luke was potty-trained, it became apparent that, well, let's just say that he cut a hard left. Before his corrective surgery, we had a number of rather humorous moments. I remember a trip to the pediatrician where they handed Luke a plastic cup and told him that he was supposed to fill it. He just looked at me and I could just imagine what was going through his head. This was a kid who had to stand to the far right of the commode to try to hit bulls eye in something the diameter of a beach ball. Now they were asking him to aim into something the diameter of a tangerine. Wondering how it went? Let's just say, one day why don't you take a water hose. Kink the hose and turn the water on. Grab a Dixie cup and put it right by the nozzle of the hose. Un-kink the hose and.... see how that goes. As you can imagine, both Luke and I needed a change of clothes that day. Luke's best quote from that experience kind of summed it all up, "Welp, I never tasted pee before. Kinda tastes like stale pretzels." Yes Luke, it sure does.

While driving in the car one day, Luke commented on Bob Dylan saying this, "Mom, I like the "Lay, Lady Lay"- Bob Dylan better than the "Rainy Day Woman" - Bob Dylan." Me too Luke. This was the same car trip where upon leaving Tom's River where we saw our cousins Leann and Tommy Luke said, "They should've named it Leann's River." Leann has always adored Luke!

At Jason's Christmas show this year, my mother-in-law brought a bag of mints to keep the little ones quiet. Luke, who has a real affinity for all things sugar, was eating a few too many. My father in law whispered to him, that if he ate too many, his teeth would surely have problems. Luke popped another mint in his mouth and said, "That's OK, I have a really good dentist."

Luke is always coming out with things that I should write down as soon as he says them. Some of the more memorable ones stick out. Guacamole -" Rock-n-Roley"......"I'm too pretty to be a zombie mom." "When I grow up, can I be Chinese?" " I looove Yew Nork city!" One day, Luke heard the song "It's Raining Men" on the radio. He had a strange look on his face for a moment, then picked up a fork that was nearby and using it as a microphone he said, "Stay away from NJ, reporting live, men are falling from the sky....I repeat, men are falling from the sky....Ugh, one got me!" I can assure you, I never thought of that when I heard that song before, but now that's all I see when I hear that song!

Then there was the time when I heard a loud thud in the boys' room. I dashed upstairs only to find Jason laughing like crazy and Luke, looking quite dazed. When I asked what had happened, Luke said that he had a dream that he was a Power Ranger. Jason, between hysterical laughter said that Luke had perched himself on the edge of his bed and belly flopped onto the floor. Luke didn't find it as funny.

Luke's outlook on things in life are always quite interesting. The other day Luke asked what happened to our bodies when we died. I explained that they turn into dust or dirt and went back into the ground. He sat pondering this for a while and then said, "So I guess the ground gets a little higher each time someone dies..." Um, I guess so Luke...

Did I mention that Luke's favorite movie in the whole world is Star Wars? Any Star Wars. He has been known to use Star Wars to describe many things in life. I've been told that I resemble Yoda when I wake up in the morning.....Thanks Luke......He also wanted to know if God was a Jedi.......When asked how Jesus was able to perform miracles, Luke said, "I think He used the force."

Luke has an amazing grasp of the Bible and its many stories. His teacher has often told me that his understanding of Scripture is amazing for a boy his age. Aside from injecting a few elements of Star Wars into them, I have to agree. Bill and I often say how Luke is going to make an interesting preacher one day. More importantly, Luke's understanding of God's love is very mature, yet has that awesome innocence of a child. One day while we were riding the elevator at the Dr.'s office a couple of years ago, Luke was singing his ABC's. An older gentleman asked him how he got so smart.....a barely 3 year-old Luke answered, "Well, God made me this way." He sure did Luke.

I'm glad that God made Luke the way he is. Whether it's while driving in the car and Luke is asking for his favorite song, "Mr. Mo-Jo-Risin please!" (LA Woman by the Doors). Or we're at the library and Luke decides that the books he's checking out today will be, "Life as a Navy Seal," and "The Pledge of Allegience." Or he's outfishing his father and grandfather on Greenwood Lake. Most of all, I'm glad that God made Luke my little boy.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

*Sigh* I could just stop there, really. It has been "one of those days." My poor Madeleine woke this morning crying and sounding like she had a bunch of golf balls stuck in her throat. I knew immediately that she had caught strep and made an early morning Dr.'s appointment. After loading the other kids into the van, I carried a pajama-clad Maddie to the car. That is when I wrenched my back. My back has been a chronic nuisance and the timing for this couldn't be worse.

After dropping off the kids at school, Maddie quickly began to feel worse, and the poor kid was seriously turning gray. I hobbled her into the Dr.'s office, to the elevator and we settled in for what was supposed to be the first appointment of the day. Almost 40 minutes later, our Dr. finally got into the office. Thankfully the nurse had already given us the strep test and it was confirmed.....a third bottle of pink bubblegum medicine would be on our refrigerator shelf. Getting out of the chair in the exam room proved to be extremely difficult for me and I knew that I was in trouble. My back was starting to Charlie-horse and I'd need attention ASAP. One problem, I had a very sick little girl who needed attention more than I did. Maddie just wanted to lie down so I dropped her off in the care of my brother-in-law and ran to the pharmacy.

A trip to the pharmacy is always an interesting adventure, don't you think? I was third in line to drop off the prescription. The first customer spoke broken English. Apparently his broken English was a different dialect of broken English than the pharmacy tech and it took a loooong time to determine that his birthday was indeed October, 3rd 1958. I understood the poor man immediately and wanted to scream, "10/3/58!!!!!!",but I decided to breath and pray. After him, there was a woman who had lot of prescriptions to fill. I don't think she had insurance, so the poor thing had to ask how much each would cost, and then if there was an option of only filling half. That took equally as long as Mr. October. Now it was my turn....except that I saw behind me an elderly lady waiting about as long as I had. She was leaning against a display of flu-prevention products for support and I felt a tug on my conscience to let her go in front of me. She was absolutely floored, but I think, quite grateful. Finally, it was my turn, and when I went to walk forward, my back said, "uh-uh." I almost fell over the pharmacy counter. Maybe it was an act of God, because the pharmacist took one look at my pained face and filled my prescription immediately. I ran into a dear friend who's daughter goes to school with mine, and her smiling face was a reassurance that I am never alone.

At this point, I couldn't wait to get the medication to Maddie and I also knew that I needed to go to the chiropractor if I expected to walk upright, because at the moment I was walking at a 90 degree angle. I quickly dispensed the medication and scooped Maddie up to run to the chiropractor. I grabbed a plastic bag on the way out as Maddie was looking a bit green. One quick trip to the chiropractor (with some relief) later and we were back on the road heading home. Turns out it was a good thing that I grabbed that plastic bag. There are few things that are as awful as having a child get sick in your vehicle. The smell is one thing. The utter helplessness you feel as a parent watching it happen in your rear view mirror because you are not in a position to pull over is another entirely. All I could think of was the fact that the antibiotics couldn't work if they didn't stay in her. Bag of vomit in one hand, Maddie held on my aching-hip by the other, we were finally home. Maddie's condition got worse and it became apparent that she needed further intervention. The poor thing was brought back to the Dr.'s and received an extremely painful antibiotic shot. I think they filled that syringe with a little bit 'o miracle. What a difference almost immediately!

So here are the silver linings (yes, there were more than one today!). My kids actually loved dinner today (boneless spare ribs, assorted veggies and egg noodles)! Luke, who eats most every meal with chop sticks asked me if he could be Chinese when he grows up, to which I replied, "Of course, honey, you can be whatever you want when you grow up." Most importantly, my Madeleine is sitting up eating pudding, and enjoying watching "Night at the Museum 2" with all of her siblings. Can anyone say, "Fire Powa!"

Would You Like Fries With That?

A moment of inspiration presented itself to me tonight as I was cleaning up the dinner mess. Mealtime with the family......Certainly blog-worthy. I should give credit where credit is due. As far as American children go, my kids are really, very good eaters. Sure, they'd gladly accept chicken nuggets and french fries every day and I am sure that you can find a petrified french fry on the floor of the car, but as that's not an option in our house, they really go with the flow most of the time. I recognize that the fact that my kids fight over the last pieces of asparagus or broccoli is downright enviable.

There are, however, obstacles that I have to overcome feeding 7 people. For starters, it's difficult to find one exact food that all 7 of us can agree upon. Once again, a fast food such as pizza is a safe bet, but I'm talking about a good home-cooked meal. I gave up most fast food, myself, a few years ago. I think it may have been the two BK breakfast sandwiches with sausage, egg and cheese that I would eat daily while pregnant with Luke. They were, ironically, the only thing that didn't make me ill during the first 3 months. I will treat the kids about once a month (much to my husband's chagrin which is ironic as he exists on coffee and ice cream.) but we barely ever eat fast food.

Fortunately I love to cook. Unfortunately, I love to eat more than I love to cook. Which means that to me grilled cheese and canned tomato soup, although my husband's favorite, does not constitute a dinner for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a food snob, I just see meals as an adventure for the pallet, not as a mere necessity. I use lots of resources to explore new and exciting recipes. Whether it's the internet, cook books or food magazines, I am constantly searching for something new to try, or the best recipe for a favorite dish. I've been known to be seen jotting down recipes in Dr.'s waiting rooms on the back of business cards.

Now, my kids would be divided as to whether or not having a gastronomically adventurous mom is a good thing. We've had some wonderful successes. I can remember Luke at 2 years old asking for more, "Rock-n-Roley please!" Guacamole, needless to say, has become a family staple. Some of our other adventurous successes have been grilled fish, calamari, pesto linguine, fish tacos and vegetarian chili. Then, there are evenings like tonight.......

Let me back -track a second and mention that my husband is a vegetarian. This not-so-simple fact has forced me to research and try many meatless meals. It has actually been a really positive influence on our diets as in the case of the vegetarian chili or the vegetarian tacos that my family loves. The real challenge with cooking vegetarian is trying to include enough protein in your diet. We do eat meat a few times a week, but on the other nights I really try to find healthy and tasty alternatives.

On the menu tonight was a new recipe that I got from Whole Foods, Soy-Ginger stir fry with winter greens. I love stir fries as they cook up quickly, and they're a great way to get lots of veggies into a meal. I took the recipe and added a few family- friendly veggies. In addition to the kale, I added sugar snap peas, carrots, sweet red peppers and broccoli. I made some chicken for us carnivores, but I really wanted to add a big kick of protein to the dish so I made my favorite soba noodle bowl. Soba noodles are made from buckwheat and are chock full of protein. This is where the adventure begins......My son Jason walks into the kitchen and observes the dry soba noodles as they're about to be immersed in the boiling water, "Cardboard for dinner, mom?" Yes son, cardboard has lots of fiber, you now get to have an extra serving of it. Charlotte and Luke come in the kitchen making sure that they add their special ingredients to the meal, which is running under my feet so that I practically kill them and myself while navigating my kitchen. They then catch sight of the Kale and announce that there is no way they can eat that because - a. "My tummy hurts from my medicine, b. "My tongue is still salty from the Scarlet Fever", c. "It smells like fart Mommy." Gee thanks for the vote of confidence guys. Taking into consideration the antibiotics in their systems and the fact that after having a sick husband home today I was in no mood for crying at the dinner table, I caved and dished out mandarin oranges and jello for Luke and Charlotte. Don't judge.......

Since I don't have a large metal triangle to ring, I shout, "Dinner!" and the rafters begin to shake as they all run downstairs to eat. Visions of The Sound of Music run through my head, if only I had that whistle.....I digress.....the exuberance that the kids had while running to the feast diminishes almost immediately as the 3 older kids see the mound of veggies and foreign-looking pasta. After a moving prayer of grace by Luke that started out with, "Now I lay me....whoops, I mean..", Gwen pushes her bowl away and asks if she can also partake in the mandarin oranges/jello feast. When you're 3 and 5 and just coming off of strep and an ear infection, it's OK. When you're 8, (and yes I know she had a thorn in her eye, but that was Monday!) it's not OK. The general rule of thumb in my house is that I am not a short-order cook. What I make for dinner is what you eat for dinner. If you don't, it will be sitting there waiting for you to get so hungry that your stomach is eating your back and you absolutely cannot stand it anymore so you begrudgingly choke it down. I might microwave it for you after it's been sitting there for an hour or so. I might not. Anyway, Gwen is informed that she must eat it, or can go right to bed. Upon hearing this, Maddie begins to compliment my meal as if it were the best thing in the world. Whether she really feels this way or not, we all doubt, but Maddie will never miss an opportunity to brown- nose while her twin sister is down. Jason silently, but slowly eats his cardboard and vegetable dish, then thanks me for dinner and honestly, I haven't seen him since. I'm not sure if we're on speaking terms or not. Gwen takes her sweet time moaning and groaning with every bite so that a deal is made that if she eats all of her chicken, all of the carrots and broccoli and some of the noodles, she can be done. Maddie once again, tells me how it's the best meal she's ever had. Not so ironically, Gwen actually eats more than Maddie does. Charlotte and Luke quickly devour their Dutch-side dishes that are now dinner. Hubby is sick so he's munching on toast in the other room. I am left with my culinary masterpiece. I would like to say that I can understand where the kids were coming from. But I can't. It was delicious! Bon appetit!