I'm So Glad I Got to See Your Face

Dr. Kretzing was 85 years old when he died.  Of those 85 long years, I only had 2 1/2 years with possibly the most iconic Doctor in Carlisle.  Most people would be disappointed, even angry that they were slighted.  I am incredibly thankful for the 2 1/2 years, the 32 short months I had.  

I knew who he was for many years, but only from the back.  He was the big guy standing next to Mr. Burkholder on the field.  Football games, soccer games….mostly soccer games.  Mrs. Kretzing was at every soccer game. She was surrounded by a cloud of dust and activity that sometimes took the form of a little boy or two.  I was never really sure how many younger brothers there were, they moved around a lot. Mrs. Kretzing took it all in stride.  Always a bright smile on her face and a “What can I help you with?” attitude.  My brothers played soccer with the older Kretzing boys and they spent a lot of time at our house, but I was just the kid sister.  But all I knew of the family patriarch was the back of a forest green coat, jacket, or sweatshirt.  

As a Carlisle High School Cheerleader, we spent a few years back to back.  He was facing the field and I was facing the stands. We shared a love for Carlisle Sports.   

When I finally did come face to face with Dr. Kretzing, it was in his living room.  I was being “reintroduced” to him as George’s girlfriend.  I was more than a little nervous.  He was larger than life, it’s true, but he was also really, really tall! Here I was: 48 years old and instantly I was 12 again, and a nervous wreck. After all, I was separated, the mother of five kids, and seven years younger than his oldest son who apparently thought I was worth dating.  He was quiet, a little stoic even.  Of course, Mrs. Kretzing was full of chatter and immediately tried to feed me.  

While George was living in NC he would fly up to see me a couple times a month and stay at his parent's house.  Little by little, I got more comfortable sitting in the family living room now face to face after only seeing his back for most of my life.  Inevitably, Mrs. Kretzing would need George’s help moving something or other and I would be alone with the Doctor.  Most of the time, he would work on his Soduko puzzles or read the paper.  The small talk was sparse, but he eventually began to tell me stories of his childhood, Perry County, college and med school.  I knew I had touched his heart when he looked at me one day and smiled, “You know, my grandmother’s name was Mary.”

I began to stop by even when George was not up.  He enjoyed the crab soup from Spoon’s and he was a fan of Beaman’s carrot cake….I made some big points when I delivered these.  He liked to stand to greet me so I would always come in and rush to his chair before he stood up.  We never spoke of it, but he would smile as he shifted his weight to lean back.  His greeting eventually became leaning towards me with his cheek, waiting for his kiss and he always got it!

As I said before, I was still married when George and I started dating.  Dr. and Mrs. Kretzing were understandably concerned about the situation.  Once I explained that I needed to stay married for a little longer to keep my health insurance, he told me that was important.  As they learned more about my situation, they embraced me and gave me nothing but support during an extremely difficult time in my life.  Like I said, not much came out of his mouth in those early days, but he made it clear he approved.

He was always interested in my kids, the sports they played, and any medical conditions they may have.  One time, I thought one of the girls had strep and he told me to bring her by so he could take a look.  I’d always been taught not to ask Doctors medical questions, so I was hesitant.  He could see that “This gives me an excuse to be a Dr again and pull out my bag.”  So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when, after receiving a dog bite, there was a knock at the door.  I limped my way to open the front door only to see Dr. and Mrs. Kretzing.  He, holding his black bag and she with banana bread.  A Doctor who still made house calls!

In the last phase of his life, he started forgetting words and had trouble keeping up with the conversation.  Every once in a while he would throw in a zinger.  Everyone would stop talking for a minute and he would look up with that smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.  I loved that.

I was lucky enough to see him almost every day in the last month of his life. Shortly before he died, I kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him.  He looked me in the eyes and said: “I love you too.”  So, no, I don’t feel cheated that I missed his first 83 years, I feel blessed and incredibly thankful that I got to know him as more than the back on the field…I got to know him face to face.

A Night to Remember

***Senior year is full of "lasts."  I went through it with Tali last year and am doing it all over again with Josie this year. (Who thought it was a good idea to have kids 14 months apart?)***

Josie decided to try out for cheerleading in 7th grade.  What was a whim because she didn't make the volleyball team, turned into what would come to define her high school career.  A shy, nervous, anxiety-ridden child, was replaced with a smiling, confident, happy young woman on the track or court.  It truly was remarkable.

After cheering for Patton Jr. High in Fort Leavenworth, KS, the family was moving to Carlisle, PA (my hometown) and Josie decided to try out for the high school squad.  The coaches in PA reviewed her tryout submission via YouTube and she was told she made the JV squad.  She went on to cheer for Varsity the next three years becoming a Captain of the squad this, her senior, year.  Cheer became a year-round sport as our basketball team had gone far into playoffs the last few seasons.  They regularly played well into March and open gym practices for next years tryouts would start in early April.  It was her life.

With the loss of some talented seniors, this years basketball team had little to no hope of making it to the State Semi-finals like they did in 2017.  Regardless, we made it to the playoffs and with the regular season over, every game could be the last.  Josie was well aware of the season coming to an end.  Not a fan of change, she dreaded what would become her most cherished "last."

She called Tuesday saying she was running home at lunch to grab some stuff for the game.  I was at work.  She texted later asking if she could take something for a headache, I said sure.  I knew she was stressed about this possibly being the final game and as Captain of a drama-filled squad, she took her responsibilities seriously. A headache was certainly in order.

The coach bus left the high school at 4:30 with both players and cheerleaders.  Charlie and I got on the road at 5:30 to travel to Wilson HS near Reading.  The trip was an hour and a half.  My 13 yr old had his headphones on the entire time which allowed me to listen to my country station with no complaints.  At some point, I got a message that the team bus had broken down and they were waiting for a new bus.  This was concerning only because I didn't want this to cause the boys to be unfocused.  When we pulled into the school parking lot, I was relieved to see our bus.  As we waited in line to get inside the gym, it was obvious that the host school was allowing extra time for warm-ups due to late arrival.

The closer we got to the door, the more obvious it was that this school had some money.  Upon entering the "facility" (I can't even call it a high school gym), it was hard not to notice the indoor track that looped the upper level of the court.  Charlie immediately started counting the basketball hoops that were raised to the ceiling and informed me that there could be seven courts inside the place.  He then rattled off they had a built-in snack bar, four scoreboards, and TWO sets of bathrooms right off the track.  Oh, and Gary Collin's (Cleveland Browns) high school jersey was hanging across the way along with some Gilmore guy whose first name, I was assured, was not Happy.

We found some friends to sit with, and I was able to find Josie among the cheerleaders warming up.  I lifted my hand signing "I Love You" in American Sign Language as we have started to do whenever she is farther than my voice will carry.  She pointed to her head and I knew she must still have a bad headache.  I got some ibuprofen from my friend Leigh and made my way down to see her.  Headaches are no stranger to my kids, unfortunately, and Josie suffers from migraines along with some of her siblings.  She was in a ton of pain, but, much like Senior Night when she took to the court with a fever, I knew she intended to cheer.  Leigh had followed me down.  When she saw Josie, she offered Excedrin instead of the Motrin she had just handed me.  I agreed the caffeine might help knock out her headache and Josie left to take it.  In the meantime, we were getting the bus story from the coaches.  The bus driver was a bit of a shakey driver and wasn't sure of the protocol when the transmission light came on.  They had to wait for quite a while on a hot bus full of teenagers who were nervous and hyped about the game.  Not sure if any of these facts contributed, but my kids are also prone to motion sickness and I began to realize the perfect storm was erupting in Josie's brain.  There was a small room off to the side of the end bleachers.  One of the cheer coaches told Josie to sit in there, where it was quiet until the game started.  I almost just went back up to my seat, but stuck my head in the room and told her I loved her.  As an afterthought, I actually pointed out to Barbara, one of the coaches, where I was sitting if they needed me.  "Total Helicopter Mom move," I thought to myself as I made my way back up the bleachers.

Charlie and I were watching the other team warm up and trying to decide how the game was going to go.  I love Josie and would sit through a 3-hour turtle race to watch her cheer, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention how much I love sports.  How much I Love high school sports.  How much I LOVE Carlisle High School Sports.  Oh, did I mention I was also a Carlisle High School cheerleader?  Trust me when I say I am watching the game as much as I am watching the cheerleaders.

Our boys came out for the intro and Charlie and I noticed that their very full student section faced the other way when we were announced.  Exactly like ours does.  Having home court advantage in this game was going to be a factor.  I was recording our boys coming out and briefly, looked and noticed that Josie was not in her typical spot.  A few girls quit just a day or two before the game (don't get me started) and I assumed they had moved things around.  They announced our last player and suddenly Barbara appeared, "Josie threw up."

Okay, if you know me and my kids, this will not surprise you.  I constantly hear that my kids are the pukiest kids people have ever met.  They are all quite adept at puking (i.e. hitting the target -be it trash can, toilet, out the bus window).  I was almost annoyed that I had to post the players introductions on Snapchat without having the time to add text to my story.  Alas, I am the mom.  I must respond.  I followed Barbara around the upper track to the end of the court and down the bleachers.  What I saw was not my 18-year-old daughter, it was my 3-year-old daughter.  She was standing like a statue, arms stiff out to the side, legs slightly apart, as if waiting for a pat down at the airport.  There was vomit everywhere.  Seriously.  You know when a toddler pukes and they don't really even understand what happened?  That was it.  My eyes took her in as she silently said: "Momma help me!" with tears streaming down her face.  The trash can was directly in front of her, but the contents of her stomach were to the left...on the floor, to the right...on several cheer bags and backpacks, straight down...her left sleeve and spotted all over her uniform.  Wow...just wow.  And after what felt like 10 minutes, but was probably 10 seconds, the world around me started to spin again.  I suddenly heard the man standing in front of me talking, "trainer for Wilson HS...headache...pupils...pen light...vomit."

I was trying to make sense of it all when the National Anthem began.  Seasoned military brat that I am, that Josie is, we immediately turned to face the flag with our hands on our hearts until the song ended.  I'm guessing now, the trainer probably thought it was weird.  Regardless, he was telling me that he was called over.  He wanted to see if she could track his finger, then turned his penlight on to check her pupil reaction and she immediately got sick.  He told me, "she should probably be taken out of here."  I explained that she gets migraines and that her pattern is; headache, vomit, sleep, rejoin the rest of the world.  He seemed a bit skeptical.

As I was trying to process all this, he is handing her wipes, like mini Lysol wipes, to help her clean up. One...at...a...time.  She is glaring at him and throwing them almost immediately into the trash can.  "Can someone just get some paper towels please?"  That was Josie's version of yelling- I could tell she was angry.  Finally, someone, (it could have been me) said: "Let's get her to the bathroom."  I hope it was me, it was a very sensible idea.  After consideration, the thought of having the bathrooms at the top of the seating was no longer a nifty idea. While I was deciding what section of the crowd would be best be suited to a barf parade, she pointed at a door that had a picture of stairs.  Thank you God!  I walked behind Josie and was amazed to see she had a trail of vomit down the length of her long ponytail.  The stairwell opened up to the track with the snack bar on the right and the bathroom to the left.  Leigh and Josie turned into the bathroom before I realized I had walked right past it trying to get a glimpse of the score.  We were winning.

The bathroom had one of those big sinks with four faucets all draining into the same basin.  This was helpful as we had some cleaning up to do.  At this point, the tears were starting to subside and she could tell me the story.

She was in the small room with her head resting against the cold cinderblock wall and two of the cheerleaders came in.  They asked what was wrong.  She told them her head hurt.  I'm not sure exactly how the telephone game started or who was playing but the translation became that she hit her head.  The trainer was summoned.  Someone told Josie "the trainer is coming with ice."  She asked if they meant ice water.  No, she was told, a bag of ice.  She didn't understand that.  When the trainer arrived, he asked where she hit her head.  She said she didn't.  We are thinking that he thought she was lying so she could cheer.  He said he needed to check her out and proceeded to have her stand up to see if she could track his finger.  When she had trouble, he took out a penlight to check her pupils.  As a mom of kids with migraines, I can tell you, shining a light into a migraine sufferers eyes is akin to....all kinds of things, but my metaphors are too graphic and gory to subject the reader to.  Let's just say, OF COURSE SHE BLEW CHUNKS!  She had a migraine and you shined a ridiculously bright light into her eyeballs!!!

Now, let me be clear, I am NOT blaming the trainer.  I believe he was acting on the information he had and was genuinely concerned about not allowing a child with a possible concussion go out to cheer.  He followed protocol and I have no problem with that.  I will say it was a frustrating miscommunication.  He had also mentioned that if she had the flu she needed to leave.  Looking back, I should have told him we already played the "let's infect a gym full of people with the flu game" on Senior night a few weeks prior.   It was no longer entertaining.

As she is telling the story I am holding her ponytail under the water flow trying to remove the solid pieces as I went.  There was a paper towel dispenser in the bathroom, but it was empty.  Someone went to get paper towels from the snack bar.  She returned to report that Wilson HS does not believe in paper towels as they become too messy for the janitors to pick up.  Okayyyyyyy.  Also, I have to add that a school who is rich enough to have a water polo team (yes, a water polo team) should be rich enough to have hand sensored faucets.  Can I tell you how many times I had to push the button for 30 more seconds of water?

Barbara went down to clean off the cheer bags and returned with a bow and a brush that needed to be cleaned.  Leigh cleaned the brush and proceeded to use it to finish getting everything out of Josie's hair and then braiding it.  We then let her change into her t-shirt and pulled off her uniform.  The left arm of her liner was the worst, but her outer shell had a decent amount of "substance" on it as well.  (How many words do you know for vomit?)

I washed her uniform in the sink with the hand soap and did a pretty decent job if I do say so myself.  I then began to try to dry the uniform with the hand dryer...because, well, Wilson HS does not believe in bathroom paper towels.  Did I mention that?  Apparently, what they do believe in, is rationing snack bar paper towels as we had to return to the concession stand about 12 times to get more.  In hindsight, we should have demanded a roll.

At this point, we have been sink-side (as opposed to court-side) the entire first half of the game.  We politely stepped away from the left side of the basin when women and little girls came in to use the bathroom.  I even took a break from the dryer to allow them to use it.  During that time, we could hear the announcements of points.  I was trying to keep track of the score in my head, but addition and math are not my strong suits.  Leigh's son scored and she decided she should stay in the bathroom while he was playing - it was working so far.  I went out at the end of the first quarter and we were ahead.  The second quarter was not a good one.  I heard way too many of their names and not enough of ours.  We were down by 5 at the half.  At one point they announce a 3 pointer for a kid from the other team and a woman in one of the stalls whooped!  She came out and said, "Sorry, that was my son.  It's his first three...well in this game."  I tried really hard to be happy for her, and I smiled.  Inside I sort of wished he would lose a contact or something.  Not get hurt, mind you, just maybe not focus well.

This could be Josie's last game and she was devastated.  Her makeup was almost as much to clean up as the puke.  I was holding back tears as well, trying not to feed into her emotions.  I acted confident and told her they would most certainly win so she could cheer Friday night at the next game.  I prayed silently and fervently that the season would not end tonight.  Not with her being sick.  Not like this.

I reminded her, and myself, that she is having an amazing senior year.  Cheer captain, Homecoming Queen, Leader of Tomorrow Award winner, etc.  Not everything will be perfect.  "I know that, but my last high school game ever..." and fresh tears appeared.  I reminded her, and myself, that she was selected as a Big 33 cheerleader for PA and would have a full week of cheering in the summer and what an honor that will be.  "I know that, but it's not Carlisle...it's not the same."  I reminded her, and myself, that things don't always work out the way you want or expect.  Maybe she was sick tonight so that she cheered her last game not knowing it was her last game so that she could enjoy it and not concentrate on the "last" part.  "I know that, but..."

Julie, the head coach, was in and out of the bathroom checking on us.  We decided that Josie could cheer the second half if she wanted to.  I stayed in the bathroom trying to dry the uniform as much as possible.  I went out towards the end of the half and she looked exhausted.  She thanked me and said she didn't want to mess up the other girls because they had reorganized everything to cheer without her and she didn't want to confuse things.  She would sit with the coaches for the end of the game.

With 4:25 left in the third quarter, I went back to my seat.  Our boys were falling apart, I could see it.  Wilson was hitting everything they threw up and we could sink nothing.  It was frustrating.  The atmosphere changed and we started playing desperate ball.  Not playing as a team, trying to force shots that weren't there, and inexcusably missing free throws.  (My biggest pet peeve of Carlisle bball- they lose games b/c of missed foul shots!  But I digress...)  I am rarely one to accept defeat easily, sometimes even after the final buzzer, but I absolutely refuse to accept defeat before it is over.  Tuesday night was different.  I could see it slipping away, I could see our boys losing faith in themselves and each other, and I could see it registering on Josie's face that this was the final game.  Watching her watch the last few minutes of the game was heartbreaking.  I allowed myself a few tears before I went to wipe hers.

So in the end, she did not cheer for the last game of her high school career.  Who could have ever predicted that?  I tried to tell her that in a few years this was going to make a great story.  Of course, she is not quite ready to think about it that way.  But I am.  Somehow, it does comfort me that she didn't know she was cheering in her last game as she was actually cheering in her last game.  She had a great night that night and we won the game.  That was the way to end it! 

And as far as Tuesday night is concerned; it was a night to remember.  A night to remember how much her coaching staff loves and cares about her.  A night to remember how Miss Leigh, who coached her in 9th grade, had no problem brushing vomit out of and then braiding her hair.  (Not everyone would be willing to do that)  A night to remember watching her friends play their last game without having to worry about what cheer to call when.  A night to remember that all things come to an end and even if you aren't happy about it, the sun continues to rise and set.  A night to remember that growing up isn't always easy, but when you're surrounded by friends and family, it can seem a bit less daunting.  And a night to remember that her Momma loves her enough to miss almost 3 (THREE) full quarters of a CHS basketball game.  That's alotta love right there!

Just another trip to the store

Dear Employees and Customers at Dick's Sporting Goods on the Pike who were there from 5-6pm on Tuesday, June 28, 

Thank you for not making a very difficult situation worse. 

Looking back, all the signs were there. On the way to the store, Sawyer said he didn't feel well. I carried him in and he felt warm. There were also storm clouds coming and impending rain somehow discombobulates him. (I realize that sounds crazy, but ask other Moms of Special Needs kids, I bet at least one will tell you the same.) Dick's is far enough away from home that once there, I did not want to leave without the lawn game Charlie had been begging for, the cheer shorts Josie needed for camp, a pair of cleats that were not falling apart for Lyra, and perhaps a basketball net for the pool.  At best, I should've postponed the trip for another day, at worst, I should have gotten in and out as quickly as possible, but I saw a friend.

If you Google the word, this is what you get:  Friend /frend/ noun - a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection.

If you ask me, this is what I would say:  A lifeline.  A person for whom I care about but am not in charge of raising.  Someone who knows my situation, my chaos, my neurotic tendencies yet, still likes me enough to talk to me anyway, usually in a kind and reassuring manner!

Stupidly, I talked to said friend for far longer than I should have. I know better, but sometimes my craving for contact with others beyond my kids is so strong that I get selfish.  I am that person who texts too much, needing to know there is life beyond my four walls and yet not enough time for a normal phone call or conversation.  The kids did fine initially.  Yes, I had all 5. (Should I start numbering the reasons this trip was a fail?)

The kids were getting restless and I figured it was time to get serious.  Charlie and Sawyer had played a game with a friend about two weeks ago.  Kuub or something.  Since then, Charlie has asked EVERY DAY if we could go buy it.  I refused, but then found an unused VISA gift card from Christmas which I could use to pay for it. I looked in every store in Carlisle with no luck. I promised the trip to Dick's to finally purchase the thing and get him off my back. 

I sent Lyra off to find some cleats, Josie off to look for her shorts after pulling up the email to see what colors were required, Tali was admiring herself in a baseball hat, and I went to see if they had this game that was invading my ability to have a conversation with my son about anything else!  I told the boys they could go to the putting green as that is the reason that Dick's is the sports store of choice.

While I was in aisle 258 looking at the dwindling supply of lawn games, Sawyer apparently whacked several golf clubs baseball style with the putter in his hand after losing a game to Charlie.  The winner ran up first stumbling over his words- from the sounds of it, Sauce had taken down the entire golf dept and perhaps tennis too. I sent one of the girls to surmise the damage and report back to me.  Sawyer glared at me when he arrived repeating, "Not Fair, Not Fair, Not Fair." He dropped to the floor in a ball and sat muttering to himself quietly while the rest of us debated the merits of a pool basketball hoop that also doubles as a volleyball net VS a more durable hoop that is twice the cost. The consensus was to wait, maybe they would go on sale.  I hated to do that to them, but at that moment, I had to agree.

Once that was decided and I was informed that there seemed to be no permanent damage to the store, it's merchandise, any employees or customers- I announced we were leaving.  I told Sawyer that he would need to come with me to apologize to the employees in the golf section of the store.  He said, "NO!" with a tone that exhausted me.  This was not going to be good.  

I am trying to keep from playing the Special Needs card with Sawyer.  He's the youngest, he's spoiled and so many times I don't have the energy to parent him the way I would my other kids. There, I said it!  I will own the fact that he gets away with shit because I am tired.  But, in an effort to hold him accountable, I've been working on leveling the playing field.  I told him again he would have to apologize.  He kicked off his slides in my direction.  Honestly, I don't know if they even hit me.  Josie asked for the keys and said she would take Sawyer to the car.  It would've been easier, yes, but I knew I should really follow through.  I gave her the keys and permission for any of the others to bail right then and there.  She was the only one who left.

I picked up Sawyer, (sometimes my ability to carry 50 lbs of dead weight impresses even me) and we walked toward the other side of the store.  I told the kids to meet us at the registers.  I didn't say anything until Sawyer asked where we were going.  I told him to apologize and again he said, "No."  I sent a quick plea to Mary, Jesus' Mom, for strength and continued through the store.

We arrived in the forest of clubs and all the employees were with customers.  I knew I didn't have much of a window so after a quick and calculated scan of my options, I went to the female employee at the counter who was talking to a woman about my age who looked like a Mom. They were in mid-conversation and I cringed knowing how annoying I was about to be, but I blurted, "Excuse me.  My son has something to say to you."  By the grace of God, they both looked at me and Sawyer with kind and gentle faces.  The sales girl raised her eyebrows and Sawyer lifted his head that had been buried in Frogs and Blanket on my shoulder and seethed "Sorry!"  with a stabbing hiss.  The two then looked at me for explanation and I explained, "I was on the other side of the store and Sawyer swung a club and hit some other clubs...all I really know is that he needed to apologize to someone."  

The girl said,  "Well, I work in shoes, this isn't my department.  Don't worry I'm sure it's fine."  So sweet, but I needed Sawyer to understand it wasn't completely fine.  The customer got it.  She said, "You know what?  It's not always easy to apologize and you did a great job.  I would probably be having a bad day too if I was in this cool store but had to shop for pink shorts!"  I realized then I was holding Josie's shorts in my hand.  I almost laughed.  I thanked them and headed to the front.

We were in line behind two people. I put him down which was a mistake.  Despite the quick transactions there was time for Sawyer to see the gum he wanted when we entered the store.  My foggy memory told me I had not promised the gum, but said "Maybe."  Not buying the gum would be the consequence for any of the other kids.  I stuck to my guns.  I told him he couldn't have the gum, perhaps next time. He said, "I want it now."

He immediately moved about 5 feet away and assumed the ball position at the entrance to the register.  At this point, Charlie was telling me that the sales girl told him he could order the game he wanted on line and it would come to the store.  It was too much to process.  Lyra handed me the cleats that she picked out, tried on, and was happy with and I put them on the counter.  I offhandedly asked her, "How much are these anyway?"  I hadn't even looked in the box, much less at the side.  "I don't know."  (Lyra is not super money conscious when I am footing the bill.)   Tali smiled sweetly and said, "Can I get the hat?"

As I'm looking at her and keeping tabs on Sawyer a manager walked by.   "Hey Buddy!  Are you okay?"  I smiled and said "He's fine, thank you."  He looked at me and I could see the wheels turning.  "Are you okay?" he said again, making a point to ask Sawyer and not me.  Everyone within earshot, looked at my nine year old child who was hugging his knees, rocking slightly, and quietly repeating the word "now." I know he was torn and I was trying to stay calm and forced a probably too cheerful smile and said, "No really.  We're good.  Thanks though."  Meanwhile, I was calculating the time it would take for him to call social services and if I could make it out of the parking lot before they arrived.

My child is not dumb, unfortunately at school this year, whenever he got loud, he was given what he wanted.  The repetition was endless and got a bit louder.  He wasn't yelling the word by any means, but it was a constant beating of the drum. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. 

I looked at the side of the box and saw what Lyra's cleats were going to cost me.  I looked at her and said, "This says $200. Are they on sale?"  "I don't know."  Now, seems an appropriate time to tell you that one of the things I was telling my friend at the beginning of this excursion was that I have had my eye on a tennis racket for the last six months, but $50 seemed a ridiculous amount to spend on something I wanted when the kids NEEDED things like shorts and cleats.  

I don't even know why I asked the girl to check the price, everyone there KNEW I was buying those cleats because at that moment, the box could have said $500 and I'm fairly certain I would've paid it for the reward of leaving the store and not needing to come back.  They were in fact $179 and somehow that made me feel slightly better.

As time ticked and Sawyer rocked, other customers came up to pay for their things.  Sawyer was blocking the walkway back to our register and I went over and picked him up.  

Still the throb in the background, "Now. Now. Now. Now. Now."  To the credit of the cashier, and the other workers in the vicinity, they played the game my kids have learned.  Pretend you don't hear a thing.  I threw about 13 coupons, offers, and my rewards card on the counter and said, "See what you can do for me."  She so patiently looked through everything and applied whatever discounts she could.

Sawyer gave me a louder "Now!" right in my face somewhere along the line.  I matter of factly said, "No."  He hauled off and punched me square in the throat. There was a time where I would've been bracing for a punch or a kick, but it's been a long time since Sawyer really hurt me so I was unprepared. Once I knew he did not crush my windpipe I sensed my kids concern, and just quietly said, "Do not hit me."  At this point it occurred to me that if that manger had called the police, maybe I would be considered the victim- I almost laughed which kept the tears from coming.

The bill came to $234 which seemed high, but I did not inherit my mother's math skills.  I didn't question the total as again, I would've paid almost anything to get out of there.   As I am writing this at 5:42 am, I went to get and double check the receipt.  She rang up Tali's $30 baseball hat (which Tali told me was $20) twice.  The fact that this was the only mistake in the midst of the exchange is impressive. 

Sawyer kicked his shoes off again and Tali matter of factly walked to pick them up almost as if we were in some sort of "After School Special."  The plight of a teenage girl with a single mom and a bunch of siblings, one with Special Needs. Like we were going to have to get on a bus to ride home and eat our TV dinners.  I realized once again, my kids aren't perfect, but they are good.  Even Charlie had abandoned the "can we order the game before we leave" idea.  Unfortunately or fortunately, they know the drill.  Mom needs to focus on Sawyer, don't make it harder for her.

We left the store as the drum beat got louder.  Perhaps he knew that he could release his frustration more in the open air, or maybe he felt the last possible seconds of gum slipping from his grasp.  As I crossed the threshold of the double doors, the monotone thump of "Now" became a relentless scream of "NOW!"  The kids and I walked silently to the car amid the screaming.  Someone opened the side door for me and I tried to put him in the seat.  Like a toddler, he immediately arched his back so I could not buckle him in.  Then he started to flail, but I was prepared and he did not get me too badly.  His next course of action was to start picking up things to throw out of the van, but I shut the door.  

I sat in the drivers seat and concentrated on breathing.  It's amazing how sometimes amid the screaming I can almost shut it all out to silence.  Hard to explain, but like you are watching a movie during a war scene and they cut off the volume.  Surreal.  Another exhale and the silence was shattered.  I told Sawyer I was not moving the car until he buckled.  That was when I noticed Charlie crying.  It's hard.  I need to get that child some help to deal with his brother, but that fire has not gotten big enough to cause more than a thought of "I need to..." here and there.  I am guessing that Josie who has a knack for getting Sawyer to comply got his seatbelt on.

The radio was off and the 20 minute car ride was silent except for the constant repetition of the word "now" which was slowly getting quieter and quieter.  As we turned onto our street, Tali looked back at him and whispered for me to look.  I did.

My child.  My sweet beautiful boy was lying with his head on the middle seat, sweaty, hair a mess, looking like any other exhausted 9 year old.  No noise was coming out of his mouth, but he continued to move his lips...."now."

I am grateful.  Grateful that we live in a world where people seem to have a better understanding of kids who have issues.  I know that it is certainly not always the case, but in this instance, today, in this store, I was treated with nothing but kindness and compassion.  The employees did not skip a beat, did not glare at me, did not yell at my kids, did not let on that we were anything but just another family on a trip to the sports store.  So thank you Dick's for the understanding.  This is meant to be a compliment, so don't take it as a threat.  We will be back!

Sincerely,

The weary single mom of 5 athletic kids who always seem to need something

It's a Two Way Street

Dear Dickinson College Student who stepped out into the street without looking,




Good Morning! I trust your day is going well.


Mine is, however, my son Sawyer is having a tough time. You see, last night he wanted a pizza yet he had an awful headache. By the time I went downstairs, made a pizza and brought it up to him, he had fallen asleep. Because I am chronically exhausted, I fell asleep forgetting to put the pizza in the fridge for the morning.


Upon waking up this morning, Sawyer reached for his pizza. I do, on occasion, try to be a decent Mom and so I did not allow him to ingest the now dry, wrinkled, sad excuse for 'za.
Despite my efforts to sway him towards a toaster strudel, he refused to eat anything but a DiGiornio personal pepperoni. This took time and caused us to be late for school (again). Because the "getting to school on time" ship has sailed, I was not even rushing.


Sawyer had settled comfortably into the back seat and was munching away on the 2nd qtr of his meal, when you took the opportunity to look left and step into the street to cross. You did not, however, look to the right to see that I was almost upon the crosswalk. As vehicular homicide is not on my bucket list, I was forced to stop somewhat abruptly.


Although I cannot recall it off the top of my head, I know there is a physics law that perfectly describes exactly what happened next. Something about "an object in motion?" The car was in motion as was everything inside the car. When the car stopped everything in the car continued its forward propulsion except for the one thing that was not secure or heavy enough to do stop as well. As a college student I am hoping you can pinpoint what that was. If you said, "Sawyer's pizza," you, my darling daughter of parents rich enough to send you to an overpriced school, are absolutely right! Well done!


The result was the plate flying out of Sawyers hands, hitting the seat in front of him and landing on the floor. Once the initial shock of the seat belt cutting into my upper body had subsided, I was excited to see that the paper plate had landed right side up and one of the two remaining slices was still sitting on the plate. Here we may insert another science lesson on the benefits of melted cheese cooling and attaching itself to objects with which it has come into contact.


 It is with a heavy heart, however that I must tell you, the fourth and final square o' pepperoni deliciousness did a face plant into the minivan floor. The 5 second rule does NOT apply to food in which the moisture level is such that it absorbs everything not attached to the rubber floor mat. (And believe me, there was plenty to be absorbed- mud, hair, lollipop wrappers, I have 5 kids, use your imagination)


Realizing the final piece of pizza was inedible was more than my poor Sauce could take. He refused to eat the remaining "clean piece." He refused to get out of the car. He refused the option of bringing in the "clean piece" and finishing it in the office or the Special Ed room. He then refused to finish the piece he was currently eating out of spite for my negotiation tactics and threw it out the car door. Once inside the building he refused to move. He positioned himself in the corner just inside the doors and put his hand on the fire alarm until the Special Ed teacher was able to come and coax him down the hall. (I have to admit, the hand on the fire alarm was a brilliant touch- I, for one, was paralyzed).


So you see, Miss Born with a Silver Spoon in your Mouth, yet you try to dress like a penniless gypsy so as to encapsulate your liberal connection with the lowly have nots, your decision to "go for it" across the white painted lines this morning started a chain of events that could have possibly ended in my child being suspended for pulling a fire alarm.


A piece of advice from a 17 year veteran Mom who has now sat in the car and wasted 1/2 hour writing you this letter because I want you to know what you have done; "Look Left, Look Right. No cars in sight? Then run across with all your might!"


Otherwise, stay on the sidewalk you entitled brat!!! Lastly, be thankful you are sitting in a college lecture drinking overpriced coffee daydreaming about the frat boy you hooked up with last weekend who hasn't texted you back instead of on a gurney getting transported to Carlisle Hospital.


Sincerely,


An exhausted bitter woman who may just gun it next time.


PS- I almost forgot, when you do run out in front of cars who screech to a halt to keep from hitting you, it is generally suggested to give a gratuitous smile or wave to the driver. It helps them not to hate you so much!

The Year Without a Leprechaun

It started out as a fairly calm evening.  Pick up boys from school, take Lyra to soccer practice, make dinner, fight with boys about homework, make sure Tali didn't need a ride home from Minithon and that Josie had a ride to cheer.  Pick up Lyra from soccer, eat, feed Lyra and boys and race to CCD.  We are late...as usual.

After catechism, I pull up in front of the house and get a text from Josie. "I'll be home soon, xxx had to stop at the store on our way home."  It hit me like a line drive to the left cheekbone- TOMORROW IS ST. PATRICK'S DAY!  I mean, I knew it was, the looney lady down the street had all but spray painted her house green.  Her yard was like the aftermath of a riot at Party City when everything goes 90% off.  I mean, it always is, but the current menagery of decorations were of the Lucky Charm persuasion.

So here I am, 8:30 pm, it's been a long day and I have not bought the chocolate coins wrapped in gold that the Leprechaun brings every year.  I call Josie and beg her to ask the girl driving to take her to CVS.  I must say that having this option of kids running errands is completely new to me and how cool that I didn't have to drive to Walmart at 9 pm!

Getting cocky was probably the first mistake.  It started to go downhill as soon as I thought things were under control.  I went in the house and grabbed the dog and took him for "a walk."  A walk around the back of the house so I could get into the basement that must be entered from large barn like doors by the small square of blacktop formally, and foolishly, known as the driveway.

Now would be a good time to tell you that I hate this house.  I have lived in houses that I wasn't thrilled about during my 18 year stint as an Army wife, but this takes the cake.  Just trust me when I say, as wonderful as it is to live on this post, and there is plenty to love, this drafty cardboard shoebox does not deserve the title of house.  Not with 5 kids and a Mom living here...oh, let's not forget the psychotic dog with, of course, no fenced in yard.

I will tell the story of this house another day, but for reasons including, but not limited to, a poor pack out from Kansas, an impending divorce, a house that's too small and the chaos of being a single mom to 5 busy kids- the house never got fully unpacked when we moved in over a year and a half ago.  

Back to the basement.  It is really is more of a dungeon. I used to complain about our basement in Leavenworth, but that was Cinderella's ballroom compared to this.  Not only are the walls crumbling, but what must have once been insulation, is now hanging from the beams in shreds of brown paper and fiberglass padding circa 1973. To top if off, pun intended, my beautiful and organized Rubbermaid bins are veiled in what I have deduced to be either mouse or bat poop.  Most likely a mix of both.  Everything not in a bin, is in a box.  Many of these have been wet during one heavy rain or another and in order to get them out of standing water they have been half emptied and piled on top of each other much like you would see in a Dr. Suess book.  It is horrific and only a select few have been allowed to view the insanity that is the cellar!

But I digress. The dog and I walk into the dungeon and I tie his leash up.  I climb over and under and around two rooms of boxes, bins, bikes, and beach toys to get to the back room where at least most of the boxes are still taped shut and there is some semblance of...okay, there's no real order, but I can usually find stuff.

Much like the $%#¥ Elf on the Shelf on November 31, the Leprechaun who usually appears on St. Patrick's Day with gold coins and chocolates and turns the toilet water green, is not where he is supposed to be.  The February and March holiday bin is clearly marked and when I open it, I find the bubble wrap which usually cushions the ceramic elfin figurine (which was once a whiskey bottle found in Nanas basement and somehow became our go-to for the big day each year), but no Leprechaun.

For those of you who follow my pathetic life, you may recall that at some point on that frustrating November night, I realized I had not put the EOTS back in his box, but in my nightstand drawer so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours looking for it this year.  I was too brilliant for my own mind.  I decided that perhaps I had done something similar with the magical sprite!  

I grabbed a handful of green crap out of the bin.  Again, due to my mental, emotional, and physically exhausted state - I have put a large damper on all occasions in this house.  Large. Damper.  Decorations for holidays are minimal at best, non existent at worst.  Except for the required few items at Christmas, holiday bedecking has been avoided for almost two years.  I have promised the kids that the magic will return once we have a "real" house of our own!  The dog and I walk around the house and up the steep hill to get to the front porch.  I deposit the shamrock confetti and little green hat and a few other items on a chair to grab once the kids are asleep.

Now to find that darn Leprechaun.  I start looking in cabinets and closets, in baskets and behind booze.  He is about as large as the mid-size bottle of Jim Beam, so it's not like I could really hide it. But I knew it wouldn't be in plain view.  Either Sawyer still believes in Santa and such characters, or he feels sorry the rest are so stupid and he doesn't want to spill the beans.  It's kinda hard to tell.  Last year, the Leprechan appeared on top of the kitchen cabinets among some hand painted Italian dishes that are on display.  Each luncheon plate or bowl has a single tulip on it.  They are bright and cheery and wayyyyy to expensive to eat off of.  And truly, pretty plates require pretty food.  In my house, your pizza is served on a paper plate, and if we have soup you get a hard core Pfaltzgraff bowl that you really need to throw in order to damage.   Anything fancier than that means we are hittin' Panera for our midday meal.

I though the drunken brownie looked so at home among the flowers and garden decor last year that I forgot about him.  Half way through the summer Sawyer sighed and grumped, "Isn't that Leprechaun EVER going home?"  Amazingly, he disappeared shortly after. The Leprechaun that is, not Sawyer. I continued to walk around the first floor, which took about 9.3 seconds and deducted that I had put him in a box with other miscellaneous junk, to bring downstairs because there was no place to put it in the house.

Josie arrived home at some point and had hidden the chocolate coins in my room. I asked if she remembered seeing what was quickly becoming my nemesis and she said no.  I told her I was going back to the basement to find it.

What happened next was more predictable than a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I open the door and turn on the light to the front room.  I am lifting and rearranging boxes and looking in bins and getting increasingly annoyed at my inability to be perfect.  Maybe I hid it in the armoire in the back room. The boys would never bother to open that and it would be easy to hide and grab again.  Maybe I really was as smart as I thought I might could be!  I walked into the middle room and felt for the light switch that turns on the light for that and the back room.

What the....did that light just blink? Wait...again...Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, it's a shadow!  It's a shadow of something which is a bat which is flying at me! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod! 

***Let's pause for a moment shall we? This whole fight or flight instinct they talk about in Psychology 101 is BS in my book.  For me anyway...there is no cerebral decision making going on...it's FLIGHT MOTHER F-er!  (Excuse the language but desperate times require desperate language in my book)

Picking back up:   Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, I think I have to get out of here.  I am running through the basement like a West Point Cadet on the Indoor Obstacle Course Test!  It occurs to me that I am also screaming.  Additionally, I realize that the rat with wings is following me.  Swooping, yes swooping at me!  Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod!  I finally hurdle a wagon like OJ running through the airport and make it outside.  I have no recollection of closing the door, I only remember the bang as the metal hitch fell and secured it shut.

Once I realized I was no longer under attack, there was a few moments of "Ohmigod" and "breathe, you're alive."  I heard a noise above me and I yelped.  

"Mom?"  

"Josie?"  

"Yeah."

"Uh, did you hear me yelling?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be up in a minute."

"Should I wait outside for you?"

"No, I'm good."  I mean really, who wants an audience when they are trying to figure out if they've peed their pants or not?

My shaking was such that every step I took on the wooden staircase sounded like the damn woodpecker that's been driving me insane lately.  I made it up to the porch behind the kitchen, took a deep breath, and went inside. Josie was sitting at the table trying to look like she was more interested in her dinner then her mother whose teeth were chattering by now.

"Was it a snake?"

"No.  Good guess, but if it was the thing that looks like a stick that is not a stick, I woulda screamed much louder and the MPs would be here by now.  It was a bat."

"Ewwwwwww!"

"I knowwwwwww!"

More discussion ensued but the gist was several "ohmygosh's" as Josie doesn't like the other phrase and me describing the whoosh of air I felt each time the rodent dive bombed me.  She was not too impressed.  As a matter of fact, she had some stories to tell me about cheer practice and now, right now, was the time she needed to tell them.  Josephine has the gift of making a long story longer - I have absolutely no idea where that comes from and neither does my father!  I am back to searching kitchen cabinets because it dawned on me that I still didn't have the stinking gnome wanna be. Crud! (Remember Josie is in the room.) While I am getting the blow by blow by blow by blow of cheer practice, I decide I need a drink.  This is where God's grace appeared.  She did not even make a face as I cracked open the Mike's.  Jesus himself must have hugged her and said, "it's okay Jo, events like this are the reason We've given man alcohol."  

My heartbeat was back to fat burning mode (which is a bit less then cardio mode according to the treadmill), I was catching my breath, and the shaking was calming.  We discussed what I was going to do.

"Maybe he was too sick to come this year?"

"Perfect!  Lyra was home two days this week and BC was home two days last week.  He has a cold."

"Maybe he should have the flu."

"Nah, if it's the flu he can't get out of bed.  With a cold, he could come leave the coins, turn the milk green, pee in the toilet and have to get back to his rainbow or whatever to take some medicine."  Am I seriously debating the ability a non-existent fairytale character to cause chaos in my kitchen depending on his level of illness?  Apparently I am.

All I wanted to do at this point was shower.  Heebe-Jeebe mode had not quite worn off.  I turned to leave the kitchen. 

"Can I tell you one more story?"

Every ounce of remaining strength in my body rose up and defeated my urge to audibly sigh.

"Of course sweetie."

The importance of this particular story was fairly high as it involved some punk girl potentially wanting to beat up Josie.  See?  This would've been my first story if I were her, but I was channeling Dr. Laura who feels, correctly I might add, that all their stories are important and what matters most is that they are talking to you.  Deep breath.

I yell at the boys to go to bed and stop in to see Tali and Lyra who are already half asleep.

"Did Josie tell you?"

"About the girl in the library? Yeah."

"No. I mean yes, keep your eye on your sister, but no."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"You can't do that."

"Okay.  Do you know the St. Patrick's Day Leprechaun?  Do you know where it is?"

"Yes," says Lyra.

"Ohmigod! Where is it?"

"I know what you're talking about, but I don't know where it is."

"Ugh!"

"What is wrong with you? Tell us what?"

So I tell them the story.  Given the 20 minute passage of time the bat now has the wing span of a teenage owl and I think it grazed my hair.

"Ewww, an animal almost touched you!  Get out of my room!"  (Please tell me I don't have to tell you that was Lyra)

"Mom?" Tali chimed in.  My sweet Tali

"Yes Babe?"

"There's a bat in your pocket."

"Whaaaaaa?"  I jump, they laugh, I call them brats and go to take a shower.

As I am trying to scrub the bat breath out of my hair, I think about the girls asking if it could get in the house.  I had told them no and I don't think it could, but this house....Ohmigod!  When we moved in, there was a hole in the laundry room that was big enough for a softball to fall through.  You could look right into the basement.  I asked them to cover it and they did.  All the way.  I think they covered all the way.  They did.  I hope.

Alfred Hitchcock has psychologically scarred thousands of children.  I am one of them.  During the next few minutes, my imagination played out what could only be described as a mash-up of two of the most terrifying movie scenes of all times.  

Join me in a ride through my brain:

Picture the hole. Perhaps it was not covered completely. Perhaps, there is more than enough space for a bat (even one the size of a large kitten) to squeeze through.  Perhaps this bat has a large extended family.  Perhaps they like to hunt together.  Perhaps, at this very moment they are popping from the cellar into the laundry room faster that one could count them.  Perhaps they will congregate in the kitchen until they form one large black cloud.  Perhaps they will then fly up the stairs, down the hall and start swooping under the bathroom door.  Perhaps they will attack me in the shower like The Birds attack Tippi Hedren in the phone booth. Perhaps there will be blood flying everywhere like when Norman Bates stabs Janet Leigh in the shower scene.  Perhaps.....

"Moooooooooooooom!"

"Sawyer?"

"HURRY UP!"

"Okay buddy,  be right out!"

In conclusion, "Yes, Virginia, I mean Sawyer, there is a Santa Claus.  However, there is no Leprechaun. Or, at least he didn't feel well enough to stay this year."

  

A Walk in the Snow on Saturday January 23rd

Intro note:  This post was coming fast and furious the other day. It was flying out of my fingers faster then I could think, but I didn't have the silence I needed to finish. Since I started, I have been thinking of friends that will read this.  Friends who have lost people they love recently.  Some deaths were expected, others sudden.  Some unexplained medical phenomena, others suicide.  I can't talk on suicide with much authority, and I don't mean for it to sound like I can.  I can only tell you about me.  I can tell you that as someone who has a past of self-harm, as someone who tried to take their life, it never quite goes away as an option.  I can tell you that this is NOT a cry for help.  I am fine.  But as I often tell people, although I have a healthy eating lifestyle now, I will be a recovering anorexic and bulimic for the rest of my life. I feel too, that as someone who contemplated suicide multiple times and who almost succeeded on at least one occasion, I will never be completely rid of those demons.  I have dark thoughts at times.  Never anything I would truly act on and if I felt compelled to do so, rest assured that I have a support system in place that would drop anything and everything to keep me safe.  Also, I love my kids with a ferocity that crushes any demon.  There is no question. I pray that friends who read this don't find it offensive or flippant.  That said, I wrote exactly what was going on in my brain because, well, it's what I do.

The last few days have been hard.  Harder than the norm anyway.  There are several things that have contributed to that, but mostly I'm learning that it's hard to grow.  I have been telling myself and everyone else that I can't wait to get out on my own, then I can start my new life. That right now I'm stuck and there's nothing I can do.  A friend told me yesterday as I was texting her from the side of the road in tears, "Baby Doll, embrace this moment.  Don't rush through it.  Trust me on this. Please get to know you. Show your kids who YOU are." And I texted something back that equates to "I can't do that here and now."  And she responded,  "but you're finding yourself now...you will understand when you look back.  Stop fighting your journey...you hear me?"  I can't stop thinking about that.  I wanted to schedule my growth and my new life for when I was ready...but life doesn't work that way.  

My general mood lately has been low.  Again, nothing in particular, just several things that add up.  So I cried yesterday and I cried last night and I cried in front of my husband which I DID NOT want to do today.  Sometimes it's just too much.  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  That is actually the crux of it right there. I'll say it again so you can see what a brat I am:  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  A friend suggested I go for a walk.  I debated, and when round three of the waterworks started, I bundled up and headed out.  It was actively snowing.  Visibility was low and the wind was showing off.

There was a group of neighbors on my sidewalk as mine is the house next to what is the closest thing to a sledding hill in the neighborhood.  They were chatting, drinking glüwein, watching the little ones sled and I thought maybe I would just hang for a bit, but quickly realized I had to be alone. I said I was going for a walk and went down the street.  They yelled after me to be careful because there was ice under the snow.  They were right. Thankfully I did not slip, though I mentally formulated a scenerio should I break a bone from falling and how I would get back to the house and they'd have to call an ambulance and the kids would freak out. Some with excitement, others with fear.

I wanted to walk down by the creek behind my house, but after following what must have been a plowed road several inches and hours ago, I could not find any trail going that way.  The snow was up to my waist at times when I went off the path, so I doubled back and walked toward the health clinic.  I was trying to avoid people so I steered clear of housing areas, which really wasn't necessary because there was next to noone outside.  As I came upon the clinic parking lot, a plow was heading in my direction.  The sidewalk was nowhere to be found so I stepped away from the road and toward the parking lot.  I was up to my thighs in a patch of snow.  The plow driver was doing some acrobatic manuvers with his rig, so I figured I'd better just stay out of the way.  I didn't know if he was going to go back where he came from or pass me and continue up the road where I had come from.  He didn't seem to know either so I looked at the parking lot and thought "I wonder...."  Frankly, I have no idea what I wondered. Next thing I know I had decided to trudge the length of the parking lot, maybe 40 yards.  It might be less, but I'm sticking with 40.  Sounds somewhat impressive right?

I started heading toward the clinic building.  The snow was up to my waist.  I will walk the length of this parking lot I decided.  I knew I could do it, but it wasn't gonna be easy which was enough of a reason for me to compel me. I was completely alone at this point, the plow was gone in some direction, I wasn't even sure which.  It was me, the snow, and the far end of the parking lot.  As I was pushing my way through I thought, this is wild. One of those bizarre experiences where you feel like you are possibly the only person on Earth. Cue the Dr. Zhivago theme music. 

I knew I was making progress, but the length of the lot seemed longer suddenly. I felt like I was moving my feet and not getting anywhere. Suddenly I was angry for thinking this was a good idea.  Now, it just felt dumb.  About 3/4 of the way, I stopped.  I had to catch my breath.  I was so very frustrated thinking "geez, this is gonna take forever."  And it hit me.  It was a perfect metaphor for my life.  Pushing through snow, or jello, or molasses. Anything that makes it hard to keep moving.   And I thought, my feet and legs aren't even cold.  There is not a soul around.  I could just lay down and go to sleep right here. Calmly. Quietly. Peacefully. But I didn't.  After about 13.8 seconds of cost-benefit analysis, my head was filled with the faces of those 5 little babies I held as newborns all over the States and in Germany and promised that I would never leave them intentionally.  I also promised Baby Gerard that I would take care of his siblings here if he would watch out for us from above.

I started walking again.  Now the tears tried to come, but it's hard to cry when your face is frozen.  The first few tears that dropped froze into tiny little rivers on my cheeks.  The next tears didn't even make it that far. They froze on my eyelashes.  The only thing that wasn't freezing into solid matter was my snot! And yes, you are welcome for the visual.

I stopped a second time.  Partly because I felt like I was in a dream where the hallway elongates and you can never reach the end, but also because I realized that this was a brutal workout!  I have a few freakazoid exercise friends.  I could suddenly picture Stanley, Leigh, or Sheila bringing people over here on a plow then making them trudge through the parking lot repeatedly while they yelled upbeat, chipper, annoying as hell encouragement to their students!  The thought almost made me laugh.  I figured I'd at least burned enough calories to have a Mike's when I got home so I finished going the last several yards and circled back around to the road.

I got on a road that had already seen a plow and only had a few inches of packed down snow on it. I was able to get home reasonably easily.  On the way home I didn't feel much better.  I was still frustrated, and in turn, depressed.  But I was physically tired.  Somehow that helped a little bit.  It was really the only thing that changed so I had to go with it. I pondered again the metaphor of trudging through the snow and how it was so similar to my current situation.  It was eerie I thought.  And then I thought, wait, what if no one else would think that's cool?  Maybe they would think it's weird...maybe they would think I'm weird.

This journey of mine is not only to find Mary again, but also, to love her.  To appreciate her quirks and accept that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  If someone doesn't like me, I need to learn that that is okay.  I like me...or at least I'm trying to.  Yes, I'm dramatic. Yes, I can get very deep.  Yes, melancholy and depression are familiar faces.  Yes, I laugh so hard that I cry.  Yes, I feel like 80% of song lyrics are somehow directed at or describing me, my life, my situation.  Yes, I take them as my own and quote them in general conversation. Yes, I see metaphors all over the place.  Similes? Not so much.  And Yes, I crack myself up.  Yes, I do.  And yet, I still am unsure that Mary is worth the love that I hope she deserves.  Even from myself.

What if, I wonder, I end up alone?  What if no one else ever understands me the way I am finally learning to understand myself?  Will that be so bad?  Yes and No. Yes, as my first thought that came to mind when my marriage shattered was "Who will I be buried next to?" True story -  my sister, who made me repeat it three times because it was such a bizarre question to ask at that moment of hysteria, will attest to it. No, as these kids will always be here for me.  (I am hoping figuratively, but kinda nervous it may be literally). Additionally, I have friends that amaze me on a daily basis with their love and support.  But what if, I never have a partner that not only understands my metaphors- but likes to hear them?  What if, I never find someone who feels music the way I do? What if, I never find someone that wants to ride with me on the highs and lows? What if?

I was almost back home and not feeling much better.  But you are physically tired I told myself,  physically tired is good.  Physically tired is too tired to cry. Physically tired is too tired to fall apart. Physically tired is too tired to fight or yell. Many years ago I learned that physically tired was too tired to hurt myself. Ie:  Physically tired is safe.

And then I remembered; there was a person who understood me once.  A person who picked up on my metaphors sometimes before I did.  A person who understood my need to connect through music.  A person who could see into my soul.  He was there and gone in the blink of an eye.  I won't bore you with the details, but once upon a time, there was a person. It suddenly occurred to me that I found one person that "got" me.  Just because he wasn't the one, doesn't mean there won't be another. Maybe. That was my thought as I trudged back to the house and was met with wet hats, gloves, and boots, dirty hot cocoa mugs, and hangry kids.

Was I happy? No.  

Did I wonder why I didn't lay down in the parking lot?  Briefly.  

Was I physically exhausted? Yes.  

Did I take a journey? Yes.

Did I grow? Yes

And that, my friends was success.

Epilogue:

Later that night I took the dog for a walk, because, you know, I have no children capable of such activities.  Actually, I volunteered as I enjoy late night snow walks where the moon is out and it is bright in an ass-backwards kinda way.  My walk began on the same road I had started out on a few hours before.  I can't remember how I spent the time between walks, but I was a completely different person than the one who trudged up this street earlier.  Really.  I was at peace.  I was comfortable.  I felt at ease in my own skin.  I smiled.  AND I was happy.  The highs, the lows, this journey- it's time to embrace it.  "Man I love this life."

Changes

What a day.  What a week.  What a year.  What a life!

Music.  It defines so much.  How many times do you hear a song and it immediately reminds you of a person, a place, a time?  For me, many MANY times.  I am sometimes amazed at what I remember when I hear an obscure song.  A tune comes on that you rarely hear on the radio or it was never very popular in the first place, but it was playing when something significant happened.  It spoke to you about whatever you were going through at the time.  Someone you knew loved that song or made fun of that song.  Your boyfriend dedicated it to you on the radio in 10th grade. (You know, when you held the cassette recorder up to the radio to tape it?) You did a cheer dance to it, it played at your wedding, you heard it sung at a funeral.

Bruce Springsteen was a huge part of my childhood, mostly, because I had four older brothers who liked him.  In trying to be cool, I memorized most of his songs.  At that point there weren't a ton of 3rd graders musing over the lyrics of "Greetings from Asbury Park," but I digress.

It just seems fitting that a line in an Eric Church song which sums up my feelings for music, is in a song called "Springsteen."

"Funny how a melody sounds like a memory..."

That. Is. It. Exactly.   I shouldn't have to describe it beyond that.  If you feel that I should, perhaps you should just stop reading here because we are obviously not on the same wavelength.  Bye Felicia!

For all those who have stayed, I'm glad you get it.  

As I think about this, I'm tempted to make a list of songs and what they conjour up.  For starters, and in no particular order, here are a few examples:

I will never be able to hear _________  without thinking of _________ .

"Buddy Holly" by Weezer - driving my sister to the hospital when she was in labor.  (I started to sing...her head spun around 3 times.)

"I Love Rock N' Roll" by Joan Jett - my first real kiss on the Minuteman ski lift at Roundtop.  (I had a runny nose.  I'll leave it at that.)

"Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads - being in a dorm room at Rutgers.  (It was the first song I ever heard on a CD. It was the first time I had White Castle. It was a night which did not end well.)

"Changes" by David Bowie - driving myself to the doctor on the day I found out that Baby Gerard had died inside of me.

I remember it coming on.  I liked David Bowie.  This was a good thing because I was trying to stay calm while I drove.  I had realized a day, maybe two prior, that the baby wasn't moving as much.  Was it moving at all?  This was my fourth child, how could I suddenly not know if the baby was kicking?  At the advice of my sister, who did in fact manage to keep her head despite the spinning and delivered my niece that night of Buddy Holly, I made an appointment for an ultrasound.  It was really just to put my mind at ease.  If you know me, you know my mind is rarely, if ever, at ease.

I was about 23 weeks along.  Was already in maternity clothes, showing enough for the Germans to glare at me while I walked down the street with three kids shoved into a double stroller.  You could see them mentally doing the math and realizing that, although they looked alike and were a cloud of chaos, there were in fact three children in the stroller and this foolish woman was about to unload a fourth. Not to mention that this STUPID AMERICAN was allowing those toddlers to suck on icicles they picked up off the sidewalk like they were popsicles. (Yeah Fraulein, sue me!)

.  

Back to David Bowie.  I liked him.  Again, a good thing to have a song I could sing along to as I drove to keep my mind off the fact that I somehow already knew I was about to get the most devastating news of my life. 

The song along with the following argument with myself ensued:

"Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. 

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes...."

Oh. My. Word.  God is trying to tell me something!  

Don't be an idiot. It's a song on AFN.  

No really, think about it.  He is telling me it's bad news.

No really, get a grip.  Coincidence, that's all.  I knew I should have asked a friend to come with me.

"I watch the ripples change their size, but never leave the stream."

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Calm down.  Don't run over that tiny German car.  Be glad you have a jeep so the Germans will stay out of your lane.

I can't calm down.  How can I calm down?  I'm in a foreign country.  I want my Mom.

Wuss.

"Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes..."

I don't want to face any changes.  I want everything to stay exactly the same.

Oh Lord.  Don't be so stupid.  If this child is alive, things are gonna change fo' sho!  Maybe that's all this song means.

"Time may change me but you can't trace time."

This is the time that is going to change me forever.  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

We're in the hospital parking lot.  Turn off the car, open your door, get out...

I can't.  I need to sit here until this song is over because maybe if I do, it will be okay.

Great.  It's official.  I'm crazy.  

Seriously, think about it.  What if nothing is wrong?

Uhhhh?  How about going to find out?

Well, if nothing is wrong than I will love this song forever, because it talks about facing time and change head on.  And the baby will have an anthem!

Honestly, I have NO EARTHLY IDEA exactly what this song is about. Except maybe it's about The Breakfast Club.  Yeah, the baby will have an anthem, we'll all have an anthem, it'll be anarchy!

"I said that time may change me but I can't trace time."

It's over.  Oh no!  Oh God.  I have to go in there.  I don't want to go in there.  Maybe I could just drive home and not find out and everything will be fine.

Dude!  Did you hear that?  

What?

Well, first he said "you can't trace time" but the last time he said, "I can't trace time."  Huh.  I never noticed that before.

Seriously, my baby's life is in the balance here and suddenly David Bowie's choice of pronouns is what I am debating in the German Hospital parking lot?

Well, yeah.  It's like that time I was reading the Exercist late at night and when the book closed, I saw the 666 on the cover, but I had never noticed it before, so really, was it ALWAYS there?  Creepy!

And I went in.  And the doctor turned on the monitor.  And the doctor swung the monitor around so I could not see it.  And the nurse frowned.  And the doctor said, "This baby is kaput."  And the doctor left the room.

My first son was delivered a few days later.

That was over 12 years ago, but I remember like it was yesterday....every single time I hear that song.  It all comes back; the fear, the drive, sitting in the parking lot forcing myself to listen until the haunting sax notes at the end.  And in those 12 years I have only heard the song in it's entirety a handful of times.  If I can change the channel, leave the room, put my hands over my ears and hum, I will do it.  Anything to not go back to that moment in time.  But I do anyway,  it only takes a few notes.

David Bowie's death five days ago, conjured up so many memories for all of us who were touched by his music.  Major Tom completely freaked me out as a kid.  True story.  I loved the song, but it scared the daylights out of me.  Ziggy Stardust seemed like it was cool, but I really had no understanding of what he was doing.  And then came the 80s!  God Bless the 80's in all their musical glory.  "Let's Dance" was totally awesome because an established rock star of the 70's had embraced the pop style of the day and had everyone I knew dancing to "Modern Love" at the Carlisle Barracks teen club. Good stuff.

When I heard years later, in some TV interview, that Bowie came to despise some of those songs it broke my heart.  If I have it right, he felt he was being forced to do the pop thing when he really wanted to do the David Bowie thing.  He was mocking "under the moonlight, the serious moonlight."  Wait, "the serious moonlight" was a profound statement was it not?  Suddenly, I worried everything about my formative years was a lie.  I was totally bummed.  In time, I got over my disillusionment and tried not to think about that interview when the radio station had 80s weekend.  Instead, I just sang as loud as I could to annoy my children.

Seeing the news and posts about David Bowie's death has made it difficult to not think about his song that took on such meaning for me. I love to use music to help me tell my stories my way.  Who knows, maybe I have misinterpreted all of his songs, all of his lyrics. Like how when I was very young I thought Carol King was singing about a broken down car causing someone to miss a birthday party. "It's too late, baby, now it's too late though we really did try to make it.  Something inside has died..."  But isn't that one of the gifts of music? We can hear what an artist has given us and find a meaning that maybe only we understand. Maybe everyone takes something different away from the same song and how cool is that?

On that cold October day, David Bowie sang.  He sang about searching for something, for himself perhaps, for who he wanted to be.  About how time changes things, but it's not always so quick and obvious.  About how time goes on, and history repeats itself in the children we raise.  About how we age, and there's nothing we can do about it.  At least, that is what he sang to me.

Rest in Peace Mr. Bowie and thank you for being there.