Great Day In the Morning!

I have been awake for hours now. Mom rang me up around 3:00 AM and our festivities began as we waited for the royal ceremony to begin. It seems like yesterday, I was sitting on the couch watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana. I hadn't begun my adult life. I was still in high school, waiting patiently (me), or impatiently (Mom) for my life to begin in earnest. I had no idea that I would marry, have children of my own, or live the extraordinary life I have been afforded. Mom and me sat and watched, remained awe stricken, giggling at times, having one of the many mother/daughter moments we would eventually have. Naive, hopeful and happy about what was to come for us both.
Dressed in pajamas and pearls, I sat huddled on the couch with my coffee, wrapped firmly in my favorite blanket as my mom told me of history she had learned about the royals. "Is she not wearing a hat?" we both whispered aghast at a potential faux pas. "Oh, how beautiful..." was our response to the wedding dress. My phone died and we broke momentarily for coffee and bathroom breaks. After a respite, we got back on the phone to finish watching a grand celebration of an old tradition made anew.
We spoke about watching William and Harry follow their mother's casket, not that long ago from the very church that held the wedding. I told how I never could have imagined watching my own children follow their father's casket a month later. My mom responded with a verbal hug, as she always does for me, "Oh, Kel..." I felt her deep inside my heart. That is the way of it with my mom and me. I feel her even when she remains so very far away. I may not have the good fortune to have her so close I can see her, but I always have her deep inside in my heart.
Mom is not as young as she was when we first watched royals say their vows, but for me she got up in the middle of the night to watch with me, just so we could have one more memory to keep with us forever.
Every time I approach my mom with some cockamamie idea, she gladly follows my lead. I can't really wrap my brain what it must be like for my very traditional mother to have her very unconventional daughter. I have dragged her around to things she would never have gone if not for me. I ask her for ridiculous favors, tease her endlessly and say horrendous things that make her blush; all the while my poor mother often red-faced, flustered and frequently embarrassed, continues to allow me to be me. Today it was pajamas and pearls, next month, I guarantee I will come up with something just as ridiculous that she will laugh at and join me.
We hung up a little while ago, promising to call again soon. It's been a lovely morning, watching the sun rise, two young people wed, and giggling about hats, dresses and boys choirs. I miss my mom every day. Moving to be with my husband was a huge sacrifice for all of us. Today, I missed her a little less, feeling her next to me, sharing another marked day in history.
I hope to see my mom in person soon. When I do I will have planned something completely ridiculous for us to do in order to share a giggle. Maybe, just maybe if she is really lucky, it will be something where we have to rent full head to toe costumes. There is nothing like abject humiliation to pull a family together.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Living with college age kids is a little like having gray hair and acne at the same time; sometimes life just isn't fair. Don't get me wrong, there are times when I enjoy having them around, but I am looking forward to having an empty nest. Well, maybe just a partially full nest as opposed to the clown car we currently live in.
I saw where Nate Berkus was looking for a family who were living together in a small house. I wrote in, but truth be told, I don't think he would last a minute here in the frat house. One is required to have a strong stomach, stronger bladder and patience so long it could circle the globe. The good news is we are not homeless, the bad news is that is the bar we have set in order to survive this is a bottom feeder. Our bar is set so low...(c'mon, everybody now, say it with me, "how low is it?")our bar is set so low we could play pick up sticks with it, a snake could use it as a football goal, I'm too old to reach down for it...well, you get the idea. Making this work is a full time job. The really crappy thing is it has turned out to be my full time job. 3 of my 4 kids require my car for work, school, etc. This means my wheels are gone and I am in a hostage crisis. One would think I was able to get everything done I need to at home, but I am finding out what wasting time really means. I know I accomplish things, but what it is I am accomplishing is what is troubling to me.
My house is clean. Don't applaud or do a cartwheel on my behalf just yet. It takes me an extraordinary amount of time to clean a very small house. By the time I just "pick up a few things" four hours have passed. Here's a little word problem for you: If five people leave two pairs of shoes laying around a room that is approximately 15 feet wide and 20 feet long how long does it take to put them away? Why this math equation didn't show up in my high school class is beyond me. That is math I can get behind. The only isosceles triangle I have seen in my adulthood is the one formed by the piles of dirty dishes left on the counter, but that I just had to know. Go figure.
I ran out of cleaning fluid. This shouldn't be my big conundrum, but I will confess I buy the giant 500 gallon drum and have never run out before. Who owns a lifetime supply of cleaning stuff and runs out after three weeks? It turns out, I do. I run out of the most curious supplies. I have a current run on glass cleaner. We are always out of glass cleaner. I buy a bottle, use it once, put it away and the next time I see it is less than a quarter full. Is someone mistaking it for mouthwash? Are the dogs doing windows while I sleep? It's a mystery, one of several new mysteries that has me dreaming about paper towels and scrubby sponges.
I am currently obsessed, no strike that, possessed by the amount of time I need to do the shopping. I put things in the pantry, never to see them again. It's the Bermuda triangle of food. I never witness anyone eating, but the food magically disappears. It isn't the type of food you think would disappear, either. We're not talking snack crackers, people. It's bizarre combinations like, beans and beef bouillon cubes, or canned green beans and egg noodles, spam and anything. Weird ingredients disappear in the middle of night. I will tell you that I have two "kids" who are of age to drink, so that may explain some of it. But they are also the ones working who go out when they are hungry, so I am not convinced of that answer.
All of this odd ball household behavior leaves my grocery list looking like it is a list from a sci-fi movie. Mike looks at the list and very puzzled asks,"Are you really having to pick up duct tape, lemon cleaner, cat toys and meatloaf fixings?"
"Why, yes, Michael Darling, I need to pick up the oddest combination of things I have ever witnessed in my life!" I say with a smile, while wearing high heels and pearls. "Why are you dressed like June Cleaver?" Michael asks. "Because, the last time I went to the store and picked up this weird, miss-matched bunch of stuff the people stared at me like I was a serial killer. Evidently rope, paint brushes, dog food and dryer sheets are not something people pick up by as a grouping. I narrowly escaped before I got questioned by the stock guy in automotive supplies."
I am perfectly used to my car keys always being gone, or my wallet being broken into for gas or milk. I am not daunted by the endless times I cannot find the remote, my favorite and frequently borrowed flip-flops, or even the stack of mail I had laid down only moments before. What completely freaks me out is this really crazy endless grocery list of all things strange. I hear Michael out in the garage yelling, "Are you serious? We are out of silicone caulk? And where did my WD40 go? Have you seen my head lamp?" I act like I can't hear him, lest he come ask me where all his stuff went. I have my own problems finding things we used to own for decades. Sometimes, I hide in the bathroom if I hear Mike yelling for stuff. I never know where it is anyway, and I have no rational explanation for where it went, so my thinking is why be in the mix?
I had planned on taking single items out the kids room, one at a time, day after day, to see who cracked first. I had this elaborate plan in my head about how I would move things around their rooms, rearrange furniture by mere inches, unplugging things, taking out light bulbs from ceiling fixtures, just crazy stuff just so I could get an "all things weird" confession out of someone. What I hadn't counted on was how time consuming devious behavior is. I learned that I am honest because of the large work load involved in lying and stealing. I got kind of paranoid and thought maybe that is why the little buggers keep leaving their shoes lying around; if I spent all of my time picking up after them, then I wouldn't have the time it takes to be devious and rotten. Now that, is an evil genius plan!

Fairytales

I was putting my picture wall together when I sat down and looked at Michael and my wedding album to pick out pictures to use. I have never been the kind of girl who wanted all the pomp and circumstance when it came to getting married. I like planning weddings, I am just not all that hip to having to be in them. I like our wedding pictures, a perfect day in June with the sun shining, puffy white clouds in the sky adorned with a rainbow. It was lovely that day, if I don't think about all the ridiculous things that happened behind the scenes, with two left shoes my one bridesmaid had, or the seating chart problems, or the children resenting having to get dressed up in the heat of summer. Little did they know that Ohio hot is actually a reprieve. I had thought, a while back, I might like to be a wedding planner. I am good at finding things for next to nothing, squeezing every drop out of minutes, stretching them into fast moving hours to get everything done. I just never wanted all that for myself. I was an awkward bride, feeling very uncomfortable as the center of attention. Every eye on me as I walked down the isle made me very nervous, feeling nauseous and as though I might fall over. On our wedding day, I stayed focused on Michael at the end of the isle, glued to his smile, his eyes, I practically sprinted. While I had no desire to wear the gown or walk the long white covered isle, what I did want is the marriage. I looked at it as a small price to pay.
Years ago, my mom and I sat and watched Lady Diana Spencer marry His Royal Highness Prince Charles. I am a few years younger than Diana, so I was about seventeen at the time. We sat huddled on the couch, sipping coffee, watching the long procession, and the very young girl marry the prince. The royal wedding with all of it's traditions was something to behold. Mom and I oohed and ahhed at every detail that was carefully taken into consideration. And that dress...holy cow, I think about her dragging that huge dress around with a train that literally looked as though someone could climb into it and get lost forever.
The royal wedding itself, was magnificent, but what I remember the most was being with my mom. As a teenager, I made my mom earn every minute of her motherhood. By the time Prince charming married the girl, I was just starting to have a real relationship with my mom; up to that point we stayed in our separate corners, just trying to survive it. So many of my friends have lost their mothers. I see the pain in their words, the grief still barely visible to the naked eye. I called my mom yesterday and we made plans to watch the impending royal wedding on Friday together, by phone, only this time, my daughter will join us. I had asked Christy to get up and watch, too, but she declined saying, "I don't give a crap about that stuff." I knew she didn't care, but gave it a shot anyway, desperately trying to repeat the magic of the moment I had with my mom. Betty is the one who jumped at the chance to get up early and spend the morning with us old dogs, as we watch the next generation of royalty start their lives in earnest.
I surprise my husband with wanting see a wedding broadcast on TV. He knows I am not a wedding person, but this is different for me, it's more about the history than the wedding. I think some of my attachment has to do with the fact that Diana died a month before Danny. Her children were motherless, mine were were fatherless. I had watched the princes walk behind their mother's casket, only to watch my own children walk behind their father's casket a short while later. I felt an attachment to the young boys who were trying to cope with a devastating, life altering loss. Watching Prince William marry his long time girlfriend, seeing him happy, well, I think that gives me hope that these children, theirs and mine will be OK. For years, I worried about my children and the effect of losing their father. You get one set of parents. While Michael has been a brilliant step father, loving and kind, my children can not look at him and pick out which physical traits belong to them both. They all have so much of Danny within them. It's as plain as the nose on their faces, which belongs strictly to him.
I have all these emotional reasons for "royal watching". Back in 1997 when it seemed the tragedy in our lives would never evacuate, I wondered how it would all turn out. Would my kids be happy again? Would they grow up and be well adjusted people, or would this single event alter their future to the point they could not recover? I have heard it said, ad nauseum, that children are resilient. I believe whoever said that had no children of their own. That statement could not be made if one had ever spent time with a two year old. You cannot so much as take a toy away or refuse them a cookie without having them throw themselves to the ground screaming at the top of their lungs about how they could not continue in this life without that cookie. Does that sound even remotely resilient? I believe children are just tiny adults under construction. They don't handle things any better than we do. The difference for me is they have no choice, but to get on with it. They aren't healed at that point, they are merely mobile.
Friday's wedding is a marking of time for me. Where it had once been me sitting next to my mom with my entire adult life ahead of me, this time it will be my child, my youngest daughter, sipping coffee, laughing, acting awe struck by all the ceremony of the day. Every night when I tucked my kids into bed we had a ritual. We said "family prayer", we read favorite books, and in the end I stole a Steve Allen line, tucking them in, hugging them tight, I would whisper, "Remember, you had a happy childhood". As I look around the frat house, seeing bits and pieces of their childhood memories, I get to witness for myself, that indeed, they had. It turns out, they lived happily ever after.

Mouth Shut, Open Heart

So, after being away from things for a week, my self imposed exile taught me I have a lot to learn. So much about my writing started out about telling what I know, but being more quiet than ever, I found myself learning so much more than I thought possible.
Good Friday I cleaned the house and prayed while I did it. It wasn't about being religious. It was more about being faithful. As a Catholic I could talk all day, every day about how we as a church have gotten it wrong. I don't believe in one religion or one church. I am much more open minded than that. I am Catholic because it suits me with all of it's rituals, it's deep seated traditions. Sometimes I feel like I need to explain that, mostly because I never want to perpetuate any idea that I or the collective we know the answer. I don't think I am any closer to God than anyone else who believes in a higher being. I have no want to be exclusionary. All that judgment seems dangerous to me. Besides, it's not my job. God said He would handle it, and I believe Him.
As I scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees, I felt closer to my God. Cleanliness is close to Godliness for me. One of my favorite movie scenes has Morgan Freeman as God, in Bruce Almighty, talking about manual labor. "Some of the happiest people come home after a hard days work, stinking to high heaven..." I am paraphrasing, since I don't have the memory to retain movie lines or memorize poetry or verse, but you get the idea. That was the thought in my head as I cleaned up after four kids, and seven animals. I prayed the rosary, or "bead party" a reference my friend said on FB. I cleaned and prayed and prayed and cleaned. Before I knew it the day was gone, and I lay exhausted on the couch.
Saturday came and I finally made it to the store. I bought most of the groceries we will need for the month. The cart was overflowing and I felt relieved to have finally made it there and back, without a single phone call from home. Of course, when I got home I realized I had forgotten my phone, but nobody even tried to call, so I was still good.
Saturday night we had friends over so I talked and talked and talked. I also drank wine, ate cheese and laughed a lot.
Easter came quietly, with most of my brood working. I cooked, took it easy and watched movies. I never made it to church, but I have no real regrets about it since the pews, I am sure were packed to the rafters. Maybe next year...it's what I say when things don't work out as planned. It would be tough for me to regret sleeping in since Michael and I rarely get to do that. When it happens, I see it as a gift.
So there it is, my week of trying to keep my mouth shut, a success in that I am still growing, learning, still seeing things with new eyes. I am still able to look at nature, my family, my own life as if seeing it for the first time. That in itself amazes me, the childlike heart that remains in my ever aging body, is my personal miracle, and one I try never to take for granted.
I had tiny epiphanies all week long. One made me laugh out loud, while I sat watching Oprah alone. Oprah had a show highlighting her friendship with Gayle King. In the audience there were best friends, all women. The show was about best friendships where the women share everything. My best girlfriends and I don't share everything, we share a lot, mind you, but we don't have time to talk every day. My Gayle King is actually Michael. He is who I would have taken to that show. He is the person I talk to every day. He has been the person I have talked to everyday, long before we were married, and remains the one I want to share everything with still. I knew he was my best friend, but I just realized he was my very best friend, like the ones other women talk about referring to their girlfriends. I hear some women talk about their husbands and I think sometimes men get marginalized, compartmentalized into a certain role. For Michael and me, we were such great friends before we got married, talking, laughing, carrying on, I had already established my real self in front of him and he was his true self in front of me, long before we committed to each other. Our expanded roles in our lives makes things richer.
There have been many moments where I discovered things I guess I knew, but had never before recognized. My quiet allowed me to see things rather than just talk about them. My house has been more peaceful recently than in previous days. I know it's partly due to my quiet, but it's mostly due to my feeling more peaceful, so it turned contagious.
I have gained things from the past week, I will continue to carry with me. I wrote more this week, got more accomplished, found myself valuing things I had taken for granted. I think the family gained a few insights this week, too. Some of the wisdom was hard earned for them. Only they know how much they will retain. I plan on scheduling more quiet tome for me. Quite frankly, I have earned it. I know now without a shadow of a doubt, what I gained was much bigger than sacrifice I thought

No Silence From the Lambs

Day 4-
Today was a bad day. Not an earth shattering "Oh My God!" day, yet a bad day none the less. It started off pretty good with a hair appointment with my beloved Genell. The very same pebble in my pond I wrote about a couple of years ago. I went in, got treated like a queen, was coiffed, coddled and cherished. I got home to oohs and ahhs from Michael before he went off to work. So far so good.
Then the car, the only car for 4 people was being fought over. Schedule changes prevented me from running the errands I needed to run, and children too old to be doing this started fighting over theft of food and time using MY car. Originally I tried not to get involved, but escalating sound and profanity made me get up taking action. As I tried to unravel the overblown, ridiculous fighting I couldn't help but think how stupid it all was. Then this came out of my unbound mouth: "If you don't like sharing, being decent to one another, or living in this house, then by all means start exploring other options! YOU DO NOT HAVE TO LIVE HERE AND WE DON'T HAVE TO LET YOU!"
There it was, all the emotions I have been shoving into my silence splayed out before the children. They are not in high school anymore. I did raise them to be better. It seemed to me they opted out. I love my kids, but all this unnecessary squabbling about things that don't even belong to them is out of control.
I know I should feel some remorse and I do, but only that I felt driven to say what I had been thinking out loud. This is Mike and my house. They are guests because they are grown. I know they are only in college, but it is no excuse for bad behavior. The youngest boy is exempt from today's fight, but unfortunately it is today's fight only. As I look at the brood who seems like they were raised by wolves, I wonder where the sacrifice is for them. Working and paying your bills after the age of 18 is your job, not some bonus to ease a parent's burden. Mike and I never get a shiny, gold star for paying the electric bill, or keeping the insurance up to date. I needed to go grocery shopping this morning, something I had to give up in order for the others to use my car, and yet they will be the first to complain about the lack of food.
I went back to quiet after most of them left. The boy who is not currently in trouble is still here and avoiding me like the plague. I don't blame him. My whole day got thrown off, and all the others could do was think about how it effected them.
Quite frankly, I am disgusted by this behavior. There is no excuse to be that selfish, no matter the age, which ironically they were never that selfish as small children. As a tight group they always made sure everybody got equal parts.
The heart in me knows this will pass. The roommate in me wants to evict them. They are not very nice or helpful around our house.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, a day in which I always spend much of it in prayer. It is a day of reverence for me. When the church bells go silent on Friday until Easter, I spend much of the day getting my heart ready for my least favorite holiday. I have to be honest here, how we got bunnies, pastels and eggs out of a Savior being tortured and dying is beyond me. For me this time of year is solemn, a reminder of man's inhumanity to man. I know how it ends, without seeing the movie, but I do get kinda stuck on how it all snow balled into a tragedy first. Maybe that is why my kid's being mean to each other bugs me so much now. Things do snowball out of control, entire avalanches can begin with a single small rippling movement or sound.
Here in Texas our entire landscape is changing because of fires. One of the most beautiful state parks we have is now smoldering ash. It took nothing to start the fire, with the current drought situation, a single match could make the entire state go up in flames. For me that is really what Easter is about, singular acts, Ponces Pilot, Judas Iscariot, and ultimately Christ himself as He allowed the atrocity to take place in order to save the people, the world He loved. For Christians, a few singular acts changed the world.
So, the lesson for me today is not a bright shiny happy one, but maybe one of he most important ones I have learned to date; it takes next to nothing to change your world and the people in it. We all sort of have the ability to create heaven and hell right here on earth. Our intention, whether in selfishness or selflessness, will be the determining factor in how we live, with whom we live and what legacy we leave behind.
Tomorrow I will not write anything. It is day for me and God. I will fast, pray, take the day seriously, because as a Christian, I promised I would recognize at least once a year what sacrifices were made on my behalf. I will be peaceful, because I really do know how the story ends. As far as my kids, well, the jury is still out. One thing I know for sure, is they are healthy and we are together so they have the ability to take everything for granted. But God forbid, something really big happen to anyone in this family, they would deliver like Dominos.
Maybe that is why I have the opportunity to be so peaceful tomorrow, because when push comes to shove, it all works out in the end.

Silence is a fence around wisdom. ~German Proverb

I didn't get the chance to write last night, due to the fact I was busy living my life instead of writing about it. No snarkiness intended, just a bit of truth.
Day 3-I was pretty quiet most of the day until my oldest told me she wanted to take me out to eat. With Michael gone for the evening, the only plans I had was clean, finish some laundry and languish well into the evening missing my man/friend. Yes, I was more than a little free to go out and shake the dust of myself, since most of the week I looked more like a dust rag than a human.
My daughter, a college graduate and full time waitress, while waiting to go back to school for her second degree and grad school, has been dating someone for a while now, whom I have never met. She is a little secretive about her life, since she has no privacy in our house. Once a week we catch up on what is going on in her world. We talk about everything, including the mystery man. I had seen pictures of him, but no face to face contact. She waits when it comes to her personal life, before she lets me in. I have always thought it was more about her wanting to control her own life, than her being embarrassed of me. The truth is, I am a bit brutal when it comes to her and my other kids. I still do that thing where I ask "What are your intentions?" Now that, she is absolutely embarrassed by.
We had a quiet dinner where her "friend" (she hates the word boyfriend) waited on us. I watched him watch her. I watched as he asked her about what she wanted to eat, made suggestions, and gazed in her direction. That was my take-away from the evening, the way he looked at her. To be quite honest, I could give a crap if I like him, or what my opinion is about the man. What I am fascinated by, is how he feels about her and her about him. So I watched them both, their body language, the small smiles, the secret glances, the way they postured themselves. Removing the stalker-like attitude of my watching, I enjoyed seeing her life through their eyes. The man is 23, in college and wanting to be successful, all good things. He is handsome, bright and polite. And he is smitten by my girl.
At the end of the evening, I got the chance to meet his mother, who I must say is completely lovely. We chatted for nearly an hour, just talking kids, jobs, school, houses and parents. I get why he is smitten with my girl. His mother, whom he adores, is all of the things my girl is.
So, last night I was chatty. I allowed my life to go past any self inflicted silent treatment. I was thinking about sacrifice, as I let go of any preconceived notions of what this week was going to end up being and let it happen organically. I know what real sacrifice is, I have 4 kids. I could spend all day, every day listing out all the things I have sacrificed in the name of motherhood. What I sacrificed yesterday, by letting myself live rather than sit in my quiet place, was just another small thing in order to be there for my kids. It's always in retrospect that the sacrifices can be named, but at the time, they seem so small, so innocuous, so nothing. These small moments are the ones that take minutes and build into years, all the adult years of my life. I wouldn't change a thing.
When my girl and I got home, we had a glass of wine while sitting in the balmy evening, just talking. We talked for hours, sitting cross legged on our seats, looking into each other's faces, about family, friends, men, life. As I sat there looking at my grown child, so beautiful, smart and funny, I saw what the man in her life saw. She is extraordinary in her grace. When the night ended, she disappeared and I will not see her again until maybe next week or the week after, due to scheduling conflicts.
I learned something invaluable about myself last night and even verbalized it to the new man's mother. I have the gift of time right now. For years, I worked multiple jobs, ran to school, band and sporting events, did chores and house work, vet visits, orthodontic appointments, all the things mother's do every day. My only real wish was to have time. When I prayed, I would beg for it. I never felt as though I had the chance to catch my breath. When my careers ended, I spent my time panicked about not working. When I prayed, it was always for new job, a new opportunity, something else. I believe God answered my original prayer by giving me the time to spend with my kids, my husband, even my pets get more of me than ever before. I had been whining about getting the very thing I had asked for. Just a couple of weeks ago, I had decided it was time to stop panicking and let things happen the way they are supposed to. All that fretting did was make me tired and anxious. I am sinking into my new life, releasing the guilt of not "working" outside the home. I do have jobs, they are different from anything I have ever had before, so I had no idea how to act. What I did, ultimately, was act like an ungrateful brat. I have no idea how long I will have all this time on my hands. It came up suddenly, and in truth, it could all disappear. I know many women who would give their right arm to have as much time and freedom as I do.
So even as I broke my silence, I still was able to connect to a higher ideal than when I started this. Instead of viewing the change as failure, I viewed it as evolution, continual growth, and indeed that is exactly what I was able to receive.
Don't you just love it, when out of nowhere you get exactly what you asked for, long after you forgot you asked for it in the first place? The journey continues. I am back to holding my tongue, watching my words like word balloons from a cartoon hanging over my head. I'm just really happy, I chose to veer off the planned path. The experience was invaluable. And I held my tongue just long enough not really embarrass my daughter.

Do You Hear What I Hear? Nothing...

I am writing a little earlier tonight than I usually do. I have been almost silent all day. I did something I have been wanting to do for about 6 months, I put family pictures in frames and hung up all the frames to create a picture wall. It's actually something I have wanted to do since the kids were little. After we bought this house, I bought matching frames to hang pictures I love. Those frames sat in a corner of our bedroom for months, gathering dust, accomplishing none of the joy that I had originally intended. That's a funny thing about me, my intentions are almost always surrounding joy. I gave up the belief that "the road to hell was paved with good intentions" a long time ago. If I have no intention before I even start, then what is it I am heading toward? I figure, the very least I could do is intend to do good, intend on staying on the right side of things. The work certainly has to come after that, or it will sit and gather dust, just like my frames did.
I got every picture re-formatted to fit the frames of my good intention. Some copies came out less than perfect. When I hired an organizer to look at our small house, she told me I was a perfectionist. I thought that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. Me,a perfectionist? I hired her to tame our mess. I thought an outsider would see the chaos immediately and start making calls to "Hoarders". Turns out, I am not as messy as I thought. We are a far cry from perfect, so because of my perfectionism, the organizer said, I tend to give up, feel overwhelmed. Yep, that sounds about right. I hate clutter, except at Christmas when I pull everything out. But if it ain't Christmas, it ain't welcome here. I despise cleaning around things, including people. Nothing gets me more fired up than having to ask someone to lift their feet while I vacuum. I am more likely to try and suck the socks right off their feet, than politely ask them to move.
Since I am out of the land of denial about my personality perfectionism trait, I decided I would be more productive getting something finished, even if it was flawed. I couldn't help but be fascinated by the fact that I am infinitely aware of how flawed I am as a human being, as I work everyday at forgiving my misgivings, but if it's the house, I go ballistic. That's a real thinker for me. I'll get back to you when I know what the hell that is all about.
Michael left a little earlier for work today but will be gone longer. I worked second shift for a long time, it has never been my favorite. It's not really his either, although he sleeps better when he is on it. I miss walking the dogs together, having dinner together, the small stuff. With us it's always been about the small stuff.
A package came today by UPS. They are hiding something from me. My birthday is in a couple of weeks, so it might be that. Or, just like my horse head, it might be something terrible they are afraid I'll freak over. Either way, Betty and Tom were scrambling to hide a box far from my view. Something tells me I am better off keeping my distance, lest my tongue leap from it's current cage.
I battled the bugs again today. Seems like I may be winning. Please don't tell Charlie Sheen I used his phrase. The last thing I need is to piss off Mr. Stability. The animals seem more peaceful and cats are eating again. Their food is laced with a flea killer , so I am hoping they don't notice. The oldest bratty cat, now 18, has a discerning palate. I keep telling him he is too old to be this picky.
I continue on my vigil. Slowly I am getting quieter and quieter, motioning rather than speaking, nodding or shaking rather than answering, and staying away from every gadget in the house. I haven't started the book I was sent yet, but Library Thursday is right around the corner, so when I take my books back, I can start this new one. I hate to start it now. I will feel like I am cheating on the library.
I have to work tomorrow in earnest, deadlines, ya know. I wear sound reduction head phones while I work now, so tomorrow I won't be able to hear or speak. I am one monkey away from being an old adage.

The Silent Treatment

OK, so it's day two. Much more quiet today. Still had to talk a few times to deal with things. One of the things is fleas. Everybody has got them. The cats are sick, the dogs are scratching and the bunny, well he pouts because I have to vacuum so much.
This is the only thing I put online. I have been staying off. I have to check my work email, but other than that, I am computer free. I won't lie, since I work at home and writing is such a solitary gig, I miss seeing what everybody is up to. I would much rather be catching up than dipping animals in a flea bath. But then again, who wouldn't?
I had time, real time to think about when I had been intubated and I couldn't talk for real. No air passed my vocal cords, so no matter how hard I tried, nothing came out. I remember the sheer frustration of trying to be heard. I think in some ways, that is exactly where I am now. I am trying desperately to be heard. I try getting the grids to hear me, my husband to hear me, the animals to hear me, I am constantly shoving my work out into the world so that gets heard, and yet I feel completely mute most days.
There have been days, as recent as this winter, when I thought if I disappeared, would anybody notice? If I never wrote another word, would it matter? Have I outlived my usefulness? It was a dark, cold winter this year for me. What I had was time, what I wanted was to feel relevant, if not in the world then certainly in my own household.
Back to me being a little in my head...when I was in the ICU, it was me and the nurse who watched me all the time to make sure I was still breathing, even though I was hooked up to so many machines, there was no way I would not keep going. She would ask me questions while I tried to sign my answer. Eventually, frustration of how hard it was to communicate without words overwhelmed me and I would close my eyes turning away. After that I stopped trying altogether. I didn't care about my condition or if I would speak again. Everything in that room was annoying to me. I felt zero gratitude for having lived. The state I was in, I felt like they got it wrong by saving me...until they brought the picture of Betty. If you have the book, then you know what happened next. A mother will walk through fire for her children.
I got an email from the lovely Assistant Editor that a package came to work for me. My response was, "Was it ticking?" I had lost my hopeful, optimistic nature and had fallen into pessimist-ville. I call that "falling down the rabbit hole."
I think we can all agree that me not talking was a very good idea, now. Michael, of course, thought the best and gave a group of scenarios where it is something lovely. I painted it to be a horse head. The reality was a book. In a manila envelope from Maine, there inside was a worn copy of "five people you meet in heaven" by Mitch Albom. I held the book in my hands for few minutes, flipping through the pages to see if there was note, or book mark or anything that might say why this book came my way. It is one I have wanted to read, especially because the writer writes the way I think. I hadn't gotten around to it for a number of really poor reasons. In my head I said "thank you" to the stranger who for whatever reason sent me this book. I will thank them next week properly in my column. I felt grateful it wasn't hate mail. I hate- hate mail. It makes me sad that someone took time out of their day to write awful things to a complete stranger.
I also had this thought as I held the book, I was asking if I was heard, and it turns out someone all the way in Maine, heard me loud and clear. I took it as a sign. I am not one who often knows what the signs mean, but I am trying to see them when they happen. Maine has come up as relevant in my life, two different times today. Two weeks ago Steve Martin was everywhere for me. I saw a book of his, heard music of his, Biology channel did an expose of him and then I had tweeted a response to one of his jokes and he tweeted me back. It's now in my favorites column. I got tweeted by Steve Martin. I haven't had anything that cool in a while. The book is a sign of some sort, now i just have to read it, stay present and wait for the answer to why it's here, and who in Maine thought of me enough to send it.
Mike is working a different shift, so I am trying to figure out how to run my day differently so I can be with him. It's a good thing I am trying to be mute, or the amount of griping at the change would just get obnoxious.
So, change, flea baths, Maine and books. That has been my day. I keep waiting for all my other senses to heighten since I am not talking. So far I haven't noticed anything I am acutely aware of, except when I see things repeatedly I actually pay attention. Oh, and my foot stays flat on the floor where it belongs instead of taking residence in my mouth.

The Sound of Silence

The night before my first quiet day, I dressed up, went out with Michael for a little wine and romance. With Italian Pinot Grigio in hand, we dined on delicious sea food and decadent chocolate desserts, while over looking Lake Houston. The breeze was balmy, and heavily scented with honey suckle and jasmine. We dined early and went back to the house for espresso from our imported espresso maker. We sipped and giggled the evening away. Full of rich food and thoughts, we drifted off to sleep.
Day 1- I wasn't as quiet as I had wanted to be. Michael felt like my silence on his only day off was more of a punishment than a sacrifice. I thought that was humorous, since many men I know would pay nearly any price to have their wife be silent for a week. After being married for 10 years and knowing each other for nearly 29 years, he still enjoys the sound of my voice. We spent the day together, as we do every time he gets a day off. We putz around in the yard, do the odd chore and eventually end the day with walking the dogs and a bike ride. We talked about our options when he gets transferred to Chicago. I feel his frown while we walk. Michael gets so sad when forced to deal with his current job situation. It breaks my heart to see it. We tell each other we will figure it out. We remind ourselves how lucky we are he still has a job. I get home and find a message on my phone from one of my adopted kids. I call him to find out he has big things coming at him from every direction. Many kids he went to school with are losing their teaching jobs. I remind him he is exceptional. I remind him I love him and think he has become a wonderful man, one that his mom and I can be proud of. He tells me all that he is facing. We speak quietly for minutes and then he is gone, with the assurance that he will let me know how things go. Moments later, Michael and I are packing up the bikes to go riding. Ice water, bike locks, sun glasses, and cell phones in case of emergencies, almost always emergencies that have nothing to do with us but others. We ride going along as I get lost in my thoughts. We don't talk much while we ride because one is always in front. Holding a conversation is nearly impossible. As my hair waves in the back of me I try and stay present, looking at the scenery. It's beautiful here now, lush, green, heavily coated in vines. We are riding to a park several miles away. I wonder if I am going to feel too tired to make it. I feel my hands buzz from leaning on them so hard to keep some of my weight off my posterior. By the time we get close to the park, I am just happy to be out. Our speed is not what Mike truly likes to do. We average 9-10 miles per hour. We call this speed toodling. When we pick up speed, I feel as though I am missing things. "Did you see that turtle?" Nope, going too fast, so today we toodled. Suddenly, a large bug hits me square in the eye. Luckily I have my protective sun glasses on. Both of us slightly dazed I continue on while he breaks open and falls to the path. We got to the park and locked our bikes to a near by bike rack. We wander down the wooden path to the pier overlooking the lake. I am still not talking, but I am "HmmmHmmm"-ing a lot. The afternoon is a lovely lazy Sunday and it seems everyone is out enjoying the weather. We sit drinking our cold water, watching nothing, doing nothing, just being in each other's presence. I look at my husband and smile. He smiles back and says he can't tell what I am thinking since I forgot to take off my glasses. I laugh and slide the glasses down to the end of my nose. My eyes say "I love you" and he immediately gets it. He slides his hand in mine as we continue to sit.
Eventually, before the rigor mortus sets in, we decide it's time to head home. We begin the journey back with me in the lead position. Our speed tops out at 16 miles per hour. Hair soaring straight back, I switch my position to having my elbows set in their padded aero-bars and get off my hands for a while. There is so much less wind resistance it feels as though I am flying. Before we know it we are home. We eat a simple meal of wild/brown rice, salmon and a salad. We get ready for him to go back to work tomorrow, saddened by the short amount of time we have together. We shower and now are headed off to bed to rest up for another day of quiet.
Tomorrow will no doubt be quieter than today was, since Michael will be gone for most of it. I have told the kids I am not talking and they seem to be fairly happy about it. No one is pushing me to give up this crazy idea. I can't really say I blame them. It's a nice reprieve for all of us.
I know this so far...I am tired of the sound of my own voice. I find myself repeating the same things over and over. Today was about simple pleasures as I tempered every time I opened my mouth, asking "is this really worth saying?" Maybe this habit will stick, and we will all be a little happier.

Shhhhhh

I am taking the week from verbiage. I will not be talking, going on inter tubes, or doing anything else that might require me to talk.
I am not doing it as a political stance, or even some heavy religious reason. I am doing it between Palm Sunday and Easter for my own little "I do not want to lose sight of what's really important" religious reason. Being Catholic we are required to give things up during lent. We are required to fast in sacrifice in some small part, so we show respect for the sacrifices that have been made on our behalf. This is something I have wanted to do for a while, just be quiet. I almost canceled my personal facebook account. I still might. I like the series of tubes, but the truth is, it is a time sucker, a mind boggler and sometimes a major time waster. Time is the one thing I have more than at any other period in my life. It seems rude to waste it. My kids love to point out to me that the clock is ticking and every day is a gift. Though, I must admit the way they say it, it doesn't seem like a lovely reminder, as much as a veiled threat.
Living with 4 Grids (Sinbad's term for half grown, half kid people living in our house)the noise level is something even industrial ear protection can't muffle. It is like living in a frat house...again. Technically I lived in a sorority house, but the chaos is the same, only it smelled better. Fast talking, loose lipped, foul languaged, pessimistic, beer drinking, last minute acting, sticky floor people surround me. I haven't had a floor this sticky since they were all pre-schoolers. The minute the mopping was done, I was walking the bucket full of dirty water to the utility sink, I would hear, "Uh, oh!" I knew I had to empty the bucket just to fill it up again with suds to clean up the disaster that awaited me. One kid recently misjudged a pass into the kitchen with beer bottles to the fridge when they all crashed to the floor. That is really when it became official I was living in the "Animal House". I still catch a whiff of it every once in a while.
I love my grids, I do, Your Honor, I swear. But I am old and tired and completely over living like a 20 something. I do remember all the "fun" we had. No one had any money, cheap beer was our beverage of choice, food came in wrappers only, and loud music was the only sound filling our living quarters. I do remember all the unnecessary drama about people I do not even know anymore. I remember doing laundry every other week, because my quarters were lost in a bar during our favorite drinking game. Remembering it is not my issue, this time. Not wanting to re-live my past is. I like Italian and French wine now. I listen to R&B music in the background under the volume of conversation. Fast food doesn't agree with me anymore, so my meals consist of quality over quantity. I do Yoga, meditate in the morning, take long walks, ride my bike, write in my notebooks. My life is quieter now. I lived loud for a long time. Having 4 kids in 4 years, I had no other choice but to live out loud. There was always clear and present danger.
"Mom! The boys put Betty in the trunk!" "Mom! Tom climbed out the second story window into the tree!" "Mom! Christy is chasing Dan with dog poop on a stick!" "Mom! We are out of lunch meat!"
Every phrase was at the ear deafening, high pitched, piercing scream. There was no real inflection, because it is hard to show inflection at the top of your lungs. The kids would ask why I yelled so much. My answer was I had gone deaf during their childhood and it was the only way to get their attention. I wasn't always loud. I had moments when I would sit by myself and be quiet. Living in a small house with 6 people sort of prevents those moments.
I have made up signs for the answers I intend to give for the next week, so I do not have to break my silence. "Yes", "No", "I have no idea", "Go ask Mike", "I am not interested in this right now", "DO NOT take your drama to your Mama", "Stop it", "Put that/them down", and last but not least, "Dinner is whatever you make, buy or scavenge".
I had thought I would put together a survival package for the family so I could take this time. But the truth is I gave the kid's the tools they need to survive a long time ago, so doing anything more is redundant. They are Grids, not Kids. They will get through this, somehow. My hope for them to appreciate the fact that if I am not talking, then I am not nagging them either. If I am not actively participating in their life, then I am not passing judgment on it either. We'll see if that is the teachable moment they come up with.
It's a tough world out there right now, so I am happy to lend a helping hand to my grids. But for now, I am happier doing something nice for me. Last week for a brief moment, the entire house was empty except for me and the petting zoo. I was having a private dance party when the Fed-Ex guy busted me looking in through the front door. Unabashedly, I went answered the door with sweat dripping from my hair, out of breath. He looked a little stunned at first, I think, because I was not embarrassed to be caught. "Do you have kids?" I asked. He said quietly, "Yeah, two little ones." I smiled sweetly at him. "I have four kids, all in college, all who live at home." He slowly shook his head in awe of my survival. Any signs of judgment about my dance party were history now. He handed me my package and shuffled off to his truck. I knew he was thinking that all the plans he and his wife had made about living alone were blown to bits. I used to think that way. It is part of the survival kit we parents have to endure the children's high school years. "Once they are in college, we are home free..."
I giggled at the naive delivery guy who had just learned things don't always happen the way you plan and went back dancing like a maniac, until I heard a key in the locked front door. Next week I will take my party one step further and pretend I am living the life I am so ready for.

If It's Not One Thing, It's Your Mother

I spent the morning arguing politics with my mom. Over an hour on the phone we bicker, site sources and quote people making our point, counter-points. At the end of the heated debate we say we love each other and hang up. The last thing I say,"I'm done teaching you today. We'll continue this tomorrow." Laughing my mom says she misses me before she puts the phone back on it's cradle. It's what we do. I call my mom at least 4 times a week, sometimes everyday, sometimes we tell each other stories of what is happening in our lives, sometimes we reminisce about the past, and sometimes we argue to the death over political differences.
My mom is reticent to admit when she is wrong, which is where I come in full force and tell her she is. She laughs at me frequently when I correct her and remind her that she is growing more feeble everyday. The truth is my mom could move mountains if that is truly what she wanted. I do think sometimes she is frustrated that the mountains would yield, but her youngest child refuses. I am a formidable foe for my mother because she raised me. I am just as stubborn, just as determined and just as smart. That really peeves my mother the most, the fact that she grew the very person who now stands toe to toe with her.
Politics make strange bedfellows, but even stranger family members. My parents are dyed in the wool Republicans. I am an estranged Republican who has distanced herself from any party and now refers to myself as a Humanitarian. I am all about people first. Call yourself anything you want as far as I am concerned, but if the people of your country are suffering at your hand, you are not anyone I would follow. That statement goes for both sides.
My parents tend to think my "ignorance" comes from my youth. It's literally the only time anyone calls me young and inexperienced, which is probably why I still fight with them. I say they are old and out of touch. Round and round we go back and forth arguing well strategical political points about where the other is completely off their rocker. Dad usually caves pretty early on due to he would rather do anything else than argue, without a resolution. Mom and I being women, can do it all day long, without so much as a potty break.
I love the humor in it all. One minute we arguing health care, the next my mom is talking about the neighbors garden, and how the strawberries are coming up. We argue some more when I tell her the garbage man almost knocked me over when I went out to get the can, which then leads to a heated discussion about city and state paid workers, which leads to unions which leads to another heated debate. That's the thing about my mom, she is agile enough to go back and forth without missing a beat, which for an old lady is very impressive.(I just wrote that to see if she reads this)
Mom and I have a complex relationship. We are not a stereotypical mother/daughter relationship. That is of our own doing. I could have stayed the child in my moms eyes, but it isn't what I wanted. It isn't what she wanted either. I grew up, had my own family, made my own decisions without asking her permission. There have been a million things she has actively and loudly disagreed with me on. Too many, in fact to list. I have the relationship I do with her because I am strong, independent and run my life the way I see fit.
One day I was thinking out loud about the second book and talking with my mom. "I want it to be just a little edgier. I feel the first book is good on it's own, but I want to work at being just slightly more me and a little less 'nice'." I waited for my mom to say not to swear in the next book, or to maintain the kindness level, or to encourage me to be polite. That is the standard lecture series I have gotten all my life so I figured this was the perfect occasion for her to pull it out. As I paused for her rebuttal, I steeled myself for the next installment of the never ending debate club. "I think you should write what YOU think is best. I trust your instincts." I sat a little stunned by the completely supportive role my mom had taken, not because she has never been supportive, but I had really thought she would argue the point with me. "MOM! MOM! Are you there? Someone else has cut into our line and I think I may have lost you!" "Very funny, Smart-ass." My mom says flatly, nonplussed by my attempt at humor. When it comes to my writing my mom gives me as much rope as I say I can handle. She patiently awaits for the next chapter to come her way, me usually making fun of her, family or myself. The only near critical thing she has ever said about my writing was, "I'm in this chapter, too? Don't you have someone else you can pick on?" "Nope. You are my comedy gold." Mom laughs and reads on. At the end of reading she will tell me, "I am so happy I was able to give you so much entertainment." "Not just me. Just think, your antics are around the world now! My readers thank you for being exactly who you are." "Ohhhh" my mother groans. "Hey, speaking of the world..." my mom then moves on to a hot topic in world relations that sparks yet another argument. As we battle on, I pause for just a second to smile thinking how my mom said she trusted my instincts. In that second I realize I won the biggest battle of all.
I won a place as her friend, as well as being her child.