Remembrance

I held a small ceremony to mark the 20th anniversary of the passing of my mom. I wasn't sure how well it would be received or attended, but I really felt like I needed to do something. It has been so long without her.
I had seen many years ago that Hawaii started a lantern floating ceremony on Memorial Day that looked so peaceful and beautiful. People write messages to loved ones and then float them off the coast of the beach. I wanted to try and recreate something like that for my mom. I think it was a wonderful success. The evening started off with a sun dog appearing in the sky, and a small breeze sent all the lanterns with their messages safely to the other side of the lake.
It was a beautiful evening surrounded by friends and family. I feel incredibly lucky to have so many people still here to remember her by. I'm hoping to try and do it again sometime, to keep her memory alive.

65

Happy Birthday to you

Still lost without you

I just keep pushing forward

And try to live for you too

Five Years Long

The baby is 5 today!! I guess that means he's all grown up now. Happy Birthday to our funny, pint sized, littlest man with the biggest personality! Even when you grow to be 6 feet tall, you'll still be my baby boy! We love you always, Little Bear!

Birthday Princess

Where does the time go?? I can't believe Monkey is 9 years old today!! The last year before double digits!! You are our biggest kid with the biggest dreams!! We hope you make them all come true someday!!

The Middle

Happiest of birthdays to my biggest boy! I can't believe on my birthday 7 years ago I went into labor with you, and had to wait three whole days until you'd come out and meet us! To this day you insist on doing things on your own time, but you achieve everything you set your mind on! You are happy, funny, and smart. I love your smile and your effort to make everyone else around you smile too! Happy 7th Birthday, Scootch!!

Four

"A characteristic of the normal child is he doesn't act that way very often." ~Unknown

Here we are at the last cusp of toddlerhood, Little Bear, your fourth birthday! I can already see you have left almost all of your baby ways behind, and are forging ahead at top speed to reach that grown up place your brother and sister inhabit where nobody tells you you are too small. And you really are the biggest personality in this house. You let absolutely no one forget you are here. Whether its your antics, your laughter, your screaming, or your arms wound around my legs, I always know when you’re nearby.
I love your opinions slipping out. Even though its usually something unflattering, you speak the whole truth and nothing but. You still call your favorite restaurant “Old McDonalds” and lovingly mangle a whole other bunch of words, like "dysterical" and "skunkt" but I also have enjoyed discussing the past and the future with you. I love how you tell me what you want to be when you grow up - a pilot, a farmer, a fireman - and I sincerely hope you can make them all come true one day! You are my biggest helper in all aspects, from shopping, to helping me carry things, to making dinner or dessert. It amuses me how much your taste is similar to Daddy’s, and I can always count on you to pick out something he will like. You are feisty, and full of spitfire, but will still snuggle with me and offer me hugs and kisses with no prompting or warning. You are growing so fast into a little man, and sometimes I want to just wrap you up and ask time to stop so I can carry you around for just a little bit longer. Even when you are 6 feet tall, you’ll still be my baby boy.
Happiest of birthdays, Little Bear!

Eight is Great

A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip. ~Author Unknown

I cannot believe it has been eight glorious years since we welcomed you to this Earth! Right now you are crazy about animals, especially horses and cats! Your favorite toys are your Calico Critters, and your Legos. You love to create, and construct, and craft. You make pictures, and cards, and jewelry, and suncatchers. You also love to read, and one of my happiest memories was sharing my old books with you over the summer, and having you enjoy them as much as I did.

You are spontaneous, inquisitive, and passionate. Even though we are working through some challenges right now, you still take the time to be kind and giving to others - considerate and caring, like a good Girl Scout should be. I hope you stay like that always. Your mind is constantly going, going, going, and sometimes I fear there will come a time when I can no longer teach you something you don't already know. I wish that thrill of discovery stays alive in you for years to come.

I believe in you, even and especially when you don't believe in yourself. I have seen you learn and accomplish so many things in such a short time, and I know in my heart there is nothing you cannot master. It may take a little longer than planned, but we will get there. Hopefully together.

We love you, Monkey! Happiest of birthdays my sweet!

My Daughter, Myself

"And thou shalt in thy daughter see, this picture, once, resembled thee." ~A. Philips

Monkey and her classmates waiting in the wings during recital

I always wanted my daughter to be her own person, I just never realized how much it would hurt. Being so similar is a double edged sword; on one hand, you always know you can find things you'll have fun doing with her. But on the other hand, when she rejects doing something you treasure so much, it feels more like she's rejecting part of yourself.
Monkey has talked about being a ballerina ever since she was four years old and watched "Barbie and the 12 Dancing Princesses." When I signed her up for classes a year later, she was very put out that she was required to take tap as well, because all she wanted to do was be a ballerina. It took a year and a half, but she was finally in an all ballet class this year. Since this should have been a glorified accomplishment for her, to say I was taken aback by all her complaining was an understatement. She complained about the stretching, she complained about the pointing, she complained about having to repeat the routine over, and over, and over again, to get it right. The final blow came a week before recital - she calmly informed me as I was reading over the summer schedule that she didn't think she wanted to take dance anymore. I think my heart might have actually stuttered as I tried not to cry. 
What I would give to go back to ballet class. To feel that warm limbed exhaustion from working every muscle group you weren't aware you even had, or reveling in that in weightless feeling when you're flying through a grand jeté. I even miss the blisters and missing toenails displayed in old flip flops in November, because you put in six extra hours of practice in a week so you could join in a special production of The Nutcracker as a snowflake. But I had to remind myself that she wasn't me. I didn't want to heap all these memories on her to guilt her to keep going just so I could live vicariously through her.
So her second recital this year became a bittersweet one. I sat in the audience through the first show to try and soak up all the dancing I could, and then volunteered as the class mom with her and her classmates through the second show in the afternoon. Recitals were always my favorite growing up, with the anticipation and adrenaline mixing with makeup and costumes. And as I sat "backstage" in the freezing cold high school lunchroom, watching the girls playing tag, reapplying makeup, or doing one last run through of their routine, I tried to take it all in. The realization that this might be my last time experiencing this made a little lump in my throat. Lining Monkey up to go on with her classmates, I watched them as they sat in the wings wide eyed watching the older girls before them perform their routine and I was transported back in time to my own girlhood. The smell of rosin and gaffer tape and hairspray all mixed together in my mind, and I just sat there for a moment savoring the memories. And after her number, when she rushed out of the doors and into my arms all breathless and exhilarated from performing she hugged me tight and looked up at me and said, "Mommy? I think I still want to do just one more year of dance."
Maybe that means I'll get one more year of memories too.

6 Years of Wisdom

"While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about." -A. Schwindt

I can't believe our Scootch is six! He is truly my big boy and my baby all at once. Insistent on doing things on his own, but not too big yet to still want a cuddle or to be held. I think his birthday this year was more bittersweet for me because of all the trials we're trying to weather together with his evaluations for school. As much as its hard as a parent for your child to have to be "labeled," its also heartwarming to know that your instincts are justified, and that other people can see the good qualities and things you love about your child too. 

I think the most amazing thing about our journey together these last 6 years is how much he really has taught me. Being the second child, I went into his pregnancy thinking I had this in the bag, only to be blindsided with so many postpartum issues and complications. Trying to find yourself all over again is doubly difficult when you're doing the balancing act of new motherhood. Throw in the health issues with his feeding and food allergies, and sometimes I feel like I never was able to get off the roller coaster. With these last challenges at school, I am fully seeing what a gift Scootch is to our family, and especially to me. His attitude and happy nature are a constant reality check, especially when I'm stressed or anxious. This little boy reminds me to live life in spite of fear, and to love life despite restrictions. If he can get through his day with all his daily challenges still smiling and upbeat, then really, who am I to be throwing myself a pity party?

Happy birthday to our silly, smiley, lovable, Scootch! I hope you always find a reason to keep smiling, now and forever!

Let Them Eat Cake

I want to have a good body, but not as much as I want dessert. ~Jason Love

Easter dessert. Delicious, decadent, perfectly leavened, 4 egg pound cake. It is a wonderful thing to be able to bake with eggs again!

Speak To Me

"People see God every day, they just don't recognize him." ~P. Bailey

Albrecht Dürer - Praying Hands. One of my mother's favorite art works.

I had a funny conversation about religion today at a baby shower. And when it comes down to it, I guess my true answer is that I'm a very spiritual person, but probably not an overly religious one. Some of my friends are atheists, my own husband is most likely considered agnostic, and my kids aren't all that interested in church even though I try to drag them there on a regular basis. But be as that may, I cannot dismiss the power faith has in my life - including my daily life.

I have to admit the loss of my mother caused a pretty seismic shift in my childhood. My mother was the driving force of my own religious upbringing. She came from a very devout Catholic family, sent me to parochial school for my elementary education, and taught at one for about 9 years before she passed away. I'll never forget how excited she was to go see the Pope right before she died. Sure she was seeing him from the nosebleed seats in a sports stadium, but she was as giddy as a teenager getting backstage passes to One Direction. However, the event of her death, and the circumstances surrounding the people she worked and taught with, really soured my whole outlook on faith, religion, Catholicism, and for a little while, God himself. Sad to say, I was a typical angry teenager with the mentality of a toddler. I wanted to know "why?" Why, why, why, why, why? Why my mom? Why did this happen to me? Why not take me instead? Between the "why's" and the "what-ifs" my spirit was sucked down an abyss faster than Alice went down the rabbit hole.

It took me a long, long, time to accept what happened. Even longer to accept that it didn't happen to punish me or because I was bad, or unfaithful. And it was an even more lengthy road back to my spirituality. Sure there were the reminders, and the nudges to go back to my faith. I started attending a Youth Group with my girlfriend because I slept over her house on weekends, and that's where she ended up on Sunday mornings. Coincidentally, (or not), it was the same place my husband ended up on Sundays as well. I became a member of the E & C Club, and would only go to church on Easter or Christmas with another family when I went to their house on holidays. And then there were the little happenstances that kept occurring around me that couldn't be discounted or explained away. Things like certain songs coming on the radio when I was having a hard time missing my mother. Seeing people or having someone call me out of the blue when I was feeling frighteningly alone and desperate. Certain photos or papers of my mother's that would mysteriously fall out of books or drawers when I would least expect it. These little signs were like a tide ebbing away at the dried up remains of my faith. The more I got them, the more I could feel that empty little spot inside where my spirituality used to reside. The more I knew that spot was empty, the more I wanted to feel like it was filled up again.

I am now a great believer in "God winks" (to borrow the term from a book I once read). Mostly, I believe I receive them from my mother. But there have been other occurrences that have happened that don't carry her mark on them. These little signs and messages are treasured and cherished by me every time they occur. They're delivered to me through the radio, strangers, books, and my own kids. They remind me that I can still connect a part of myself with the one remaining essence of people who have passed away. That even though I might not be able to see my loved ones, they can still speak to me and be involved in my life. Because as much as I'd like to say I've matured, and learned to keep my faith overflowing, there are still events that cause those little tremors to return. Things that seem senseless, and cruel, and unfair, and revert me back to that demanding toddler mentality of "why? why? why?" But again, I am sent a sign, a message, an answer. 

On today of all days, I struggled with the 8 year "angel-versary" of the death of a friend's son. I have never been able to reason or wrap my head around this loss. Such wonderful parents having such a small window of time with their little boy. And they are such loving, positive, people despite that. The effect they have on others and for others in the name of their child is a beautiful thing to behold. Their courage and strength are amazing to watch, and because of that, it is so easy to slip back into that questioning mentality. Why? Why them? And in the Gospel reading at church today was a section that jumped out at me. My answer, if you will.

John 9:2-3
And his disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "it was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him."

For me, his works have never been displayed better. Faith, humility, dedication, love, and kindness. Thank you for the note.

Joyful Joyful - How I Miss Thee

"You're the one I want to be with, you're the reason that I came. And you'll find Me in the stillness as I'm whispering your name." ~Anon

The stockings seem much emptier,
The tree looks not as green.
The carols sound so out of tune,
And the traditions have just become routine.

I've relived all my memories
Of the twenty-fifth of December
To try and find whats missing now,
From the Christmases I remember.

Its not a certain flavor
Or a gift beneath the tree,
But more that special feeling
the season once brought to me.

After years of searching high and low,
through woods, on beaches, in shops, and pews,
I'm almost sure that what I'm missing
Is sharing Christmastime with you.

With you the season came alive,
A wonderland in any weather.
Its something I've lost bit by bit
Since we last were together.

Gifts and shopping hold no thrill,
I've no pride in well done decorations.
I still roll the cookies and pour the eggnog,
But I just don't feel much celebration.

What was the wellspring you possessed
That renewed your spirit from year to year?
I miss the peace, the joy, the laughter,
The successful missions spreading yuletide cheer.

Its still and cold this Christmas Eve,
The sky is dressed with its brilliant lights.
As I turn my face up to the stars,
I think of you, and send my love tonight.

And if you could still send me a gift
To open as tomorrow comes,
Please help me find that joy, that hope,
For this Christmas and for future ones.

Not the baby

A three year old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.  ~B. Vaughan

You're three! Three! Too old to call my baby anymore. Even you insist you're a "boy" now to anyone who dare say otherwise. You're independent, headstrong, and so, so, smart. I laugh at something you say every day. The questions you ask and the phrases you use blow me away sometimes. I love to hear you count, and say your letters and numbers. I can see your personality out on a daily basis now. Glimpses of the man you'll grow up to be. You love to smile and to use that smile to weasel out of getting in trouble, and you definitely are a handful at times!  You're my helper in everything we do; cooking, shopping, driving. You even have an opinion on the clothes I pick out and try on. I love that you get songs stuck in your head and will sing them to yourself while you're playing. And I love that you still snuggle. At least you're not too old for your mom, yet. Happy Birthday sweet Little Bear!

Mirror Mirror

The world is as many times new as there are children in our lives. ~R. Brault

Seven. How can it be seven years have gone by already? I can still remember her fitting on my chest, curled up in one arm, and having sweet milky baby breath while she slept. Now she’s old enough that I can recall what I was like at her age. The likes, the dislikes, the fears, the fights. In so many ways its like looking into a mirror of my childhood. Silly, goofy, giggly, passionate, hot-tempered, dramatic. (Although I don’t remember being as dramatic as she is.) But she is our creative, beautiful, Monkey-bean. And we wouldn’t have her any other way. Its going to be a wonderful ride reliving my childhood with you. Happy birthday, baby.

Big

We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up. ~Christopher Morley

Scootch's birthday is in June, like mine. I never realized how emotional that could be. How him turning a year older would coincide with other milestones in school to pack a double whammy punch. This year he graduated from Preschool only one week after his birthday. Truly a big boy in every sense of the word. He sang, he danced, and marched down the aisle in his little white mortarboard with a big wave and a smile. So different from the introverted little 4 year old who I had to drag to orientation the first day, and refused to participate in class for an entire week.This big boy can write his name (first and last!), knows his address and phone number, and loves to do simple math and word games. He can read Hop on Pop all by himself, and tries to tell me what other words say everywhere we go. Fine motor skills are still a bit of a challenge, but he tries his best instead of just saying he "can't do it," and that's half the battle. He loves puzzles and building things, and made a couple of best friends in school. He asks me at least once a day if he's going to Kindergarten tomorrow. He absolutely cannot wait to board that bus with his sister in September and head off to new adventures. I, on the other hand, wish there was a time machine so I could go back for another cuddle and just hold onto him for a tiny bit longer as my sweet baby boy. Where does the time go?

Blue Christmas

“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name; who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

I still pick out a Christmas gift for my mother every year, even though I haven’t shared the holiday with her in 16 years. I don’t actually buy it or wrap it, but usually in my shopping travels I see something that she would have liked, or just simply experience something that I know she would enjoy. It makes me wonder about what her preferences and likes would have been in this technologically advanced age. I like to imagine her with a smartphone and a Kindle, tagging me in numerous Pinterest posts and commenting on my progress on Goodreads. Its all very much a fantasy, though.

To be honest, I think she would be disappointed with me this year. Try as I might, the events over the last few days, weeks, and months have weighed me down this season, and I just haven’t been able to muster up much Christmas spirit. The tree and the house lights were put up, the cards were sent, but the other customs and staples of the year; the baking, the nativity figurines, the thrill of giving, were glaringly absent. From the outside looking in, I’m sure it seemed like a happy Christmas, but I’m still lacking that renewal of spirit I associate with celebrating the anniversary of a certain child’s birth. I find myself just unable to find the joy in wrapping gifts when I think about those parents and families in Connecticut who won’t have the joy of watching their kids opening their presents Christmas morning. Or make cookies with my own sons and daughter when theirs will never be able to sneak one again, or just simply enjoy licking the spoons. To watch my six year old Monkey catching snowflakes on her tongue in a magical Christmas Eve snow without remembering 20 five and six year olds that will never experience another snowflake. I can’t savor snuggling into bed at night with my husband when neighbors in my town - in my state - have no beds and no homes to gather into. The disparity of so many people banding together to try and make it a wonderful holiday for some, and others setting out to unleash their evil on the civil servants who selflessly sacrifice to help and protect us make it impossible for me to see the hope and goodness in our country. Maybe even in our world. There is so much arguing and blame going on right now. Everyone wants a solution, but nobody wants to work together to really get to the right answer.

This isn’t the world I had in mind to bring my children into. A country that is more invested in their individual right to bear arms, than in seeking to heal the people as a whole through proper health and mental care is not where I want them to grow up. Legislators who are determined to undermine and cut the pay and benefits of educators - the people who have the job of shaping the people who will lead our future - are not the people I want in power over my kids’ learning opportunities. And thinking about those teachers that died, who did the same things that they award medals to soldiers for when in combat, it seems like the biggest insult that they are not supported more by the public, or by our own government. Finally, I can't get those poor parents out of my mind. How many holidays will they spend like me, seeing gift opportunities for someone they can no longer buy for?

The future just looks bleak and unpromising to me. If ever a child’s birth could deliver us from evil, I believe it would need to be now. Searching for that feeling of Christmas while donning a lead mantle of depression is an exhausting and bitter enterprise. And yet.... and yet, even as I go to bed this Christmas night with a heavy heart I keep digging inside myself. For as in the words of Anne Lamott, “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.”

Surely the miracle of the season has planted a seed of hope inside me somewhere. Inside all of us. Somewhere dormant and ready to bloom in the light of the morning.

Two

Having a two-year-old is like having a blender that you don't have the top for. ~Jerry Seinfeld

Tomorrow you’ll be all grown up, and no longer a baby. Even though you’re already walking and talking, and spouting your preferences and denials in full sentences that could no way be attributed to an infant. You continually blow my mind with all you say and do and understand. I see your whole world opening up before your eyes, and it is bittersweet for me. This is the last time I’ll be traveling this road with my own child. The last time I’ll be amused by mangled expressions and pronunciations, or charmed by innocent looks and smiles. I see you growing up and away from me every second. It makes me sad because I miss the sweet baby you were. It makes me proud to see glimpses of who you will grow up to be. You stretched every last minute of my patience with your arrival two years ago, a habit you still continue to this day. But you are worth every second of the wait. Happy Birthday my Little Bear.

Six Years Around the Sun

A lot like yesterday, a lot like never.  ~Tim O'Brien

You're six years old today. Six years since you were a squalling pink bundle, completely unimpressed with your new surroundings. You've gone from plump and dimpled to as slender as a spaghetti noodle.You still sing and laugh and giggle. But now you can read and write and speak some Spanish. You're learning to tell time. You love to color and create masterpieces. To dance and make up stories and try to make people laugh.You're fierce. Fiercely loving, fiercely stubborn, and fiercely passionate about what you think is right and wrong. You are a great teacher to your brothers, a great sharer to your friends. You have your own sense of style. You insist on skirts over jeans, and dress shoes over sneakers, but your favorite thing to do is still dig in the dirt to find bugs, and chase after insects and butterflies.You like to dress up your animals and your Barbies, and take care of all your baby dolls with their cribs and strollers.You're wild over Hello Kitty, Cinderella, and My Little Pony. Have an intense love for horses, cats, and puppy dogs, and want to grow up to be a veterinarian. I hope 60 years from now you're still as bright and sensitive and full of laughter as you are today.

Happy Birthday, Monkey-bean!

Camo Cake

(Otherwise known as the obligatory after-party baking post) ;-)
I've become addicted fallen in love with Pinterest. (Its the same thing, right?) Anyways, I saw this great idea for camouflage cake that one mother made for her son's birthday. Scootch saw it and was over the moon excited. So I figured I'd give it a go for his bowling party.
It was actually easier than I expected. I have scratch recipes for cakes that are allergy friendly for him, and they only yield a dozen cupcakes, so I made a whole batch of vanilla, and a half batch of chocolate. The batch of vanilla I separated and made one portion green so I could get the three colors.

Then it was just a matter of dribbling the colored cake batter into the cupcake liners, and voila!

Bake

Ice

Eat!

Happy Birthday Boy enjoying a second cupcake! 

Sweet success!

Onwards and Upwards

“The prime purpose of being four is to enjoy being four - of secondary importance is to prepare for being five.”  ~Jim Trelease

Scootch turned four on Monday. Maybe its more bittersweet because I have Little Bear to compare him to, but he seems like such a grown up little man. I miss the snuggly baby boy I used to have. But he makes us so proud every day, which I wouldn’t change for the world.

He can sing the alphabet song, and identify almost all the letters. He can count to 12 by himself, and can read numbers up to 10. He loves to dance, and to sing and play music. He has such a curiosity of things going on in the world around him, and asks the most amazing questions. And his resilience sometimes makes me so emotional. Dealing with his food allergies isn’t easy, but for the most part he shrugs off the disappointment and sadness when he can’t have something he wanted to eat. 

This year, when i asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, he told me he wanted to go bowling. And so the Friday after his birthday we invited some friends and cousins out to play a game with us. I think it was a success, judging from the smiling faces and number of victory dances the kids did in the lanes while they were bowling. I’m hoping the years ahead are just as happy!