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.