If You Ask Me To Go For Ice Cream

 If you ask me to go for ice cream, I'll always say yes...

It's true what they say, the days were long, but the years, the years went by so quickly.

I remember filling our days with trips to the park or the playground. I would put you in your car seat when we were done, and you would smile and say, "can we go for ice cream mama? '

I always said yes, knowing one day I would miss it so much. You would inevitably wind up covered in ice cream, with that big smile of yours. I would wipe your hands before putting you back into the car, and you would give me a big kiss to say thank you.

As we were driving home, I would see you fighting the urge to drift off to sleep, but you always gave in eventually. My sweet little boy, with the chubby cheeks sound asleep in the backseat was one of my favorite rear view mirror views.

The years passed by faster than I could have ever imagined they would. You sit in the front seat now. Every so often I catch myself looking in the rear view mirror, knowing full well that the seat is now empty, but the memories are full.

We talk in-between the silent moments while you Snap your friends.

Every so often we both agree that this is in fact a great song, and I turn it up. You put your phone in your pocket, and for those moments it's just me and you kid. I like to tell you a story about those little years. Sometimes it's one that makes us both laugh, like how you used to say, "PU mama I smell a stunk!" I never corrected you because stunk was way cuter than skunk. Sometimes it's a story that makes us both miss those simple days, like how we used to pick up your great-grandmother and go for ice cream. She always claimed she wanted to take you, but I knew she wanted ice cream just as much.

So, today when you asked if we could go for ice cream, I said yes. We sat on a bench for a half hour talking and laughing. I have perspective now, and I know one day years from now I'll be driving, and the seat next to me will be empty. I'll still see you there, my teenage boy, smiling and saying, thanks for the ice cream mom.

And just so you know, if you ask me to go for ice cream, I'll always say yes.

Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat

I know you hear me complaining. I know you hear me when I sigh and say the laundry in this house never seems to end. It's true, you know, it doesn't. It started out small. Little socks for little feet. Tiny shirts for my two little boys. Blueberry stains, applesauce spots, orange juice spills. 
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

As the years moved on, the hamper seemed to fill faster and faster. Bigger socks for bigger feet. Larger shirts for bigger boys. Grass stains, ketchup spots, grape juice spills.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

Before I knew it you had both grown so much that you needed your own hampers. Soccer jerseys, baseball pants, ski clothes. Different clothes for my boys who were changing and growing right before my eyes.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

The truth is that behind my complaining is a mom who is desperately trying to remember the smell of your baby pajamas. I remember folding rompers and bibs. I remember losing baby sock after baby sock because there was no way something so tiny was surviving the sock monster that clearly resides in our dryer. 

I remember cleaning skinned knees and kissing boo boos, then hoping that the bloody knee spot would come out of your new cute toddler pants.
I cheer you on at your baseball games knowing full well that the hamper will be full of grass stained pants, ketchup stained shirts, and smelly socks. Sure I roll my eyes, but the truth is I will miss this. The other day as I grabbed all of your clothes out of the dryer I had a flash back to the days of the two of you lying in the grass, waiting for dusk so that you could catch fireflies. I remembered the smell of your clothes after a full day outside. I remembered folding the clothes of my two small boys and feeling happy and content about the day.

The truth is one day I will open that dryer and it will no longer have your socks, or your shirts for me to fold. The two of you are already helping so much with your own laundry, but late at night when you have both drifted off to sleep, I sigh and open the dryer. I sit and I fold your baseball uniforms. I look at the piles and I know that one day they will no longer be there. I look at the piles and I see the both of you. I see your hobbies. I see your favorite shirt that I beg you to stop wearing every other day. I see your pants that you are about to outgrow. I see your sweatshirt you begged for on vacation. I see you. I see who you are, and I remember who you were. As I drift off to sleep I see two little boys lying in the grass waiting for fireflies.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat.

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Dear Mom, Before They Were Mine, I Was Yours

Mom...
Before they were mine, I was yours.
Before they wrapped their tiny little hands around my finger I wrapped mine around yours.
Before I knew how to walk you taught me I could fly.
Before I learned to doubt, you taught me to always believe. 
Before they were mine, I was yours.

Mom...
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.
When the journey felt too long, you reminded me to take one step at a time.
When the heartache felt unbearable you reminded me to breathe.
When my dreams seemed far fetched, you helped me reach higher.
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.

Mom...
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.
When I felt stuck in the storm you handed me an umbrella and told me to dance in the rain.
When the sun was shining you made sure we soaked it in together.
And together, we jumped into the ocean, and leaped into the lake. Together, we chased fireflies, and picked dandelions.
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.

Mom...
Before they were mine I was yours.
Before someone called me mama, you showed me what it was to be a mom.
Before I felt my heart grow, you taught me it was possible.
Before I held my sweet baby boys for the first time, you told me they would be the best gift I had ever received. You were right.
Sometimes when I hold their hands, I remember holding yours. I remember you brushing my hair, and telling me the world was waiting for us, and sometimes, I remember our days at the lake...when the world stopped for us.
Before they were mine, I was yours.

The Space Between

There was a time that I counted your little toes because the time seemed to allow for it. There was a time that I used to pull your head slowly into my neck so I could breathe you in. Oh how I miss that. There are pictures that remain in my mind, and they are full of baby pouts, chubby cheeks, and moments that seemed to move in slow motion.  They are moments I didn’t realize I should have been recording. They are the moments that defined me as a mother.

Somehow, despite the amount of warnings I received telling me just how fast time was going to move, I didn’t quite grasp it until I myself was caught up in the time warp.  So here I am watching you. Here I am trying to figure out this time we are currently visiting. There are all these people talking about babies, toddlers, teenagers, and college kids, but you don’t fit into any of those groups. You are somehow residing in the space between.

You are still a little boy, but you are trying to navigate a bigger world. You are holding onto your forever friends, while finding your crew.  You are still excited to see your mom and dad, but equally excited to wave goodbye.  The funny thing is, you’re aware that the wave goodbye makes me sad. You are still okay with making sure we are okay.

You are currently in the space between. You are not yet old enough to venture off on adventures of your own, yet not young enough to have us navigate them for you. These are new waters for all of us. No matter how prepared we feel there are moments that make us realize we fell short.

No one told me about the space between. No one told me how fast we would wind up here. No one told me that there was a time between chubby cheeks and teenage angst. No one told me. So here we sit in the space between. Here we breathe in. Here we breathe out. Here we talk about things that don’t involve baby toes or teenage love. Here we talk. Here we fight. Here we love. Here we try the best we can to navigate the next steps. Here we laugh. Here we stay silly. Here we teach our boys about forgiveness. Here we teach them about love.  Here we stay. Here we remain. HERE. Here, we embrace the space between.

This Is Ten

This Is Ten...
Ten years ago I was not yet a mom. Our eyes hadn't met yet. I had not yet held you in my arms. 
Ten years ago I was full of nerves about the unknown. Would I be good enough? Was I prepared? Did I even have any clue what I was doing? The short answer is, not really...but the long answer is, that ten years have shown us both that we are more than capable of navigating life together. 

Ten years...it's a big one my love. It's a decade. It's a milestone. You are officially turning double digits in the morning, and the magnitude of that is not lost on me. 

Ten years ago you came into the world. Most importantly you arrived in my world. With one sniff of your newborn head, and one finger wrapped around mine, I knew we were starting a journey I would cherish. 
With every new discovery, every giggle, every tear, every sleepless night, and every hug, you taught me that I was good enough, I was more prepared than I thought, and I did in fact have a clue. 
I have tried to teach you everything from your first words to your colors. I have tried to teach you to be kind, loving, empathetic, and giving. Somehow though, during all that teaching I learned more than I thought I could. 

Your curiosity has taught me to wonder more. Your enthusiasm has taught me to be excited about little things. Your generosity has taught me to give more. Your patience has taught me to breathe. Your empathy has taught me to understand more. Your kindness has taught me to watch my words . Your laughter has taught me to let go more often. Your tears have taught me that it's good to feel. You have taught me to choose joy. I barely remember me before you, but I know for sure that you have made me a better person. It's funny because I always thought my main job as a mom was to make you into a better person, but I've realized along the way that allowing you to do the same is the best for both of us. You see after ten years on this journey, I'm fully aware that you have just as much to teach me about this life as I have for you. Thank you for ten years of motherhood. I can't wait to see where the next bend in the road brings us. Happiest of birthdays. This is ten.

A Glimpse

I caught a glimpse of you through the window one afternoon. The sun was just at that spot where I had to squint to see. I watched you while you helped your brother practice his pitches. I watched you knowing that you wanted to do something else, but saw you were determined to help him feel successful. I remembered staying outside with you until the sun began to set as you tried to take your first steps.

I caught a glimpse of you as I walked down the hallway bleary eyed in the morning, rushing to get my first cup of coffee. I stopped in my tracks as you stood in the bathroom, tall, confident, and busy doing your hair for school. I saw you standing there and remembered the days when I washed that very hair.

I caught a glimpse of you laughing with your friends and it brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of how much your dad and I loved to make you laugh. Those initial baby laughs were the sound of pure joy.

I caught a glimpse of you as you ran around the yard pretending to be a professional baseball player. I remembered your tears after your first T-ball game because you were so tired and wanted to take a nap.

I caught a glimpse of you sleeping soundly in your bed with your long limbs, and feet that suddenly peak out from the bottom of the comforter. I remembered when you fit in my arms. I remembered when I would place your tiny little body into a crib and hope and pray that you would sleep for more than an hour. Now there are times I secretly wish you would wake up just to talk to me for a little while before I go to sleep.

I caught a glimpse of you. You are kind. You are smart. You are considerate. You are loving. You are a good friend. You are polite. You are gracious. You are thankful. You are curious. You are everything I imagined you would be when you first wrapped your tiny fingers around mine.

I caught a glimpse and it stopped me in my tracks because I have no idea how time could have possibly moved this quickly. As much as I loved who you were, I love who you are becoming more every day. I loved your baby feet. I loved your chubby legs. I loved your giggles. I loved the way you looked at me when I picked you up with your arms held up to the sky. I loved it all. I caught a glimpse of you though. I caught a glimpse of who you are and who you have the potential to be, and I'm excited for the next stage. I'm always going to love who you were, but I'm going to try to stop missing the stages that have passed so that I can start enjoying the stage we are in together.

One day you will understand. Parenthood is amazing, but it's hard. The hardest part is the letting go, especially when you catch a glimpse.

Nightmare In America

I watched my first horror movie when I was in fourth grade. I was at a sleep over at my friend’s house and her parents made me call my parents for permission first. I remember my mom saying it was okay, but to remember it was just a movie and if it felt too scary just to turn it off. As I watched the plot unfold, I remember thinking, why do these people keep going back into the house, into a shed, or up a flight of stairs when it has repeatedly not worked for anyone else up to this point? The dark woods alone? No. DO NOT be an idiot.

I made it through the movie, albeit not without a couple of nightmares that week, but I was able to forget about it and sleep. I was able to sleep after telling myself over and over again that horror movies are not real. After all no one keeps doing the same dumb stuff over and over again, knowing that it will surely end the same way it did for all of their not so lucky horror movie friends that came before them. In real life when danger lurks we seek real safety. We go to the authorities. We head into a crowd and scream help. We don’t run into the dark woods alone even though we hear a chainsaw in the distance. Because that would be stupid. Obviously.

I don’t watch horror movies anymore. I’m more of a romantic comedy fan. There is quite enough horror movie material in this world without having to seek it out on the screen. Once I became a mom everything became a little scarier. I started to see the world in an entirely different light once my boys were born. That whole mama bear instinct people talk about is true. I would do anything to protect them. I would do anything to ensure their happiness and safety. Which has me begging the question, what if I can’t though? What if I can’t protect them? What if?

You see we are living in a real life horror movie here in America, and anyone who doesn’t think this is a problem isn’t paying attention. Seventeen lives were lost in Parkland Florida yesterday. Seventeen lives at a high school, another school shooting. We all bow our heads as the news flashes across the screen. We whisper, not again. We shout profanities. We feel angry. We feel heartbroken. We feel confused. We watch intently as all the information unfolds as if there is going to be some new revelation. It’s like that horror movie. It’s the same plot. It’s the same scenario. We know how it’s going to end, but we don’t seem willing to rewrite the script.

No one seems willing to talk about the hard stuff, and trust me we need to talk about it. We need to stop sending our thoughts and prayers as if they are magic. They are clearly not working. It is not enough. I keep seeing the same question all over social media, when will it be enough?  Every time I read that question I feel hopeless because it reminds me that the lives of twenty children between the ages of six and seven didn’t change anything. It reminds me that all we seem capable of in this country is fighting for “our side.” I have learned that gun owners really love their guns and while not all, most get completely defensive when the words gun reform are even uttered. Why? Why can’t there be a middle ground? Why can’t we have real discussions without everyone getting so angry with each other? We owe it to the families who are grieving. We owe it to our children because without them there is no future for our country.

I don’t claim to have the answers, but I am willing to have the hard discussions. I am willing to fight for what I believe is a start. I am willing to roll the rug up, watch the dust clear, and talk about what we have been continuously pushing underneath that rug for far too long. Yes we need to talk about gun reform and yes we need to talk about the mental health of our nation. No I am not saying that all guns need to be taken away from law abiding citizens, and no I am certainly not saying that all of those suffering from mental health issues are murderers. This is not about lumping everyone into one category. This is about coming together to rewrite the plot of this horror movie. This is about putting our own strong beliefs to the side long enough to hear one another. No solutions have ever come from a shouting match. It’s going to take listening, on both sides to really make a difference.

I am a mother and despite all the things I do on a daily basis, it is how I define myself. I know this because my two boys are the last thing I think about before I go to bed, and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I know this because the day I held them in my arms my priorities all changed. It is because of this that I cannot sit silently by as our country allows this epidemic to continue. We are the land of the free and the home of the brave, but right now it doesn’t feel that way. We aren’t free to feel safe in our own country, and up until now we haven’t been brave enough to do a single thing to change it.

As I write this I’m watching my boys sit at the dining room table. They are coloring. They are bickering and giggling together. I feel sad. I feel blessed. I feel scared, and I know many of you share in these emotions. I cannot even begin to wrap my head around the thought of sending them off to school and not having them return, but that is our reality in this country. We cannot think that it is impossible for it to happen to us because it has been proven time and time again that it is in fact possible. We need to rewrite this script. It’s time to stop running into the dark woods alone. It never ends well. We need to come together. We need to sit in the light and figure out a way to make this horror movie stop playing. We can rewrite the ending. We just have to be willing to change the script. 

In A Blink

Yesterday I went grocery shopping to prepare for the snow storm because kids eat A LOT. I bought all the ingredients for things to cook on our day off. I was happily driving home thinking about homemade French toast for breakfast, roasted butternut squash soup, pulled chicken sandwiches and a nice glass of wine.

I started looking forward to sledding with the boys and I was excited that my husband promised to take the day off. As I drove home listening to the radio, I had no clue what was about to happen. I was blissfully unaware that in a mere three minutes time all those thoughts would be replaced by the sounds of sirens, the smell of smoke, and a feeling of panic and confusion. Another driver ran a stop sign on the side street I happened to be driving directly in front of at that exact moment. It was as if my car was completely invisible to him. I don’t know why. I have no clue what distracted him, but what I do know is that his moment of distraction, caused him to barrel full speed into the driver’s side of my vehicle.

Just like that my day was completely altered. It all happened so fast. When I looked up I could see people running towards me. I could see their mouths shouting words, but I couldn’t hear what those words were. My ears were ringing from the impact and the smell from the airbags was overwhelming. As I started to grasp what just happened I immediately started to cry. A woman started banging on my window telling me to put my windows down because my car was full of smoke. Another woman shouted to turn the car off because the street was full of fluid. I had not even put the car in park yet. I felt like everything before happened in an instant, but somehow everything after was happening painfully slow.

I put my passenger side window down and a woman with a calming voice told me they had called 911 and they were going to stay with me. She asked me if I was able to unlock the vehicle and I did. She opened the door and took my hand. She introduced herself. “My name is Marge. I saw the whole thing. I’m going to stay with you. I’m so sorry this happened. We are going to take care of you. Was anyone else in the car?” I nodded my head no still unable to speak through my tears. “How old are your kids?”

“They are nine and six. Am I bleeding?” “No honey not that I can see but your hand looks hurt and your face looks swollen from the impact. The police are on their way.” I could hear the sirens in the distance. Within minutes several police cars and two ambulances were on the scene. The police took my information and assured me they would take care of me. They told me my car was going to be towed and that the tow truck was on its way. I saw them speaking with witnesses one after the other. As I sat there in my car watching all of the activity around me, I remembered I had a trunk full of groceries. Groceries are flipping expensive. I was not about to have these groceries towed. I quickly called my friend, Melissa who lives right there. She didn’t even hesitate and probably had a hard time understanding me through my blubbering, but I heard her say I will be right there. 

Then one of the police officers asked if I wanted him to call my husband. I imagined my husband on the other end of the phone hearing that I was in an accident from an officer and I asked if I could call instead. He said of course. I tried to remain calm as to not scare him, but as soon as I heard his voice my calmness changed to tears yet again. I imagine there are a bunch of police officers today who have nick named me the lady of many tears. It’s fitting. Trust me.

My husband immediately asked where I was and said he was leaving work. Then two paramedics came to bring me into the ambulance to check all my vitals. Blood pressure? High. Heart beat? Rapid. Tears? Tons. They asked all the questions about dizziness and nausea. No to the dizziness. Yes to the nausea. Can you dehydrate from crying too much? I think you can. I told them my nose felt swollen. They replied that my nose looked great, but to keep in mind I was smacked in the face by an air bag and while that impact is better than a dashboard it can still cause swelling and bruising. I told them both my hands were hurting and they told me they were both bruised and my left hand had suffered burns from the airbag. It was blistered and red.  I told them I had never been in an ambulance before and that I talk a lot when I’m nervous. They laughed and then the guy who was checking my blood pressure said, “I think your friend is here for your groceries.” “How do you know?” “Well she looks upset and she has the same hat as you. She’s not in a uniform so I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s your friend.”

Sure enough there she was loading all of my groceries into her car with the help of one of the officers. She has no idea, but seeing her made me so happy at that moment, a familiar face, my friend, someone who would cry with me so I didn’t look like the only cry baby on the scene. The officer who took the report was so kind. He joked when I needed it and consoled me when I needed that instead. I have no idea if I’ll ever see Marge again, but I hope she knows how much she helped yesterday. In fact I can still see all of the faces of the people who ran towards me eager to help. They all took the time to stop and wait for the police. They all took the time to care for a stranger. I promise to pay that forward because I never realized how important those people are during the initial stages of an accident like that.

I spent the better part of the day at the hospital getting x-rays. They treated my burn and wrapped my hand. They told me to see my doctor about the burn within two to three days.  We left the hospital and headed to the tow yard to gather any personal belongings from my car that the police may have missed. When I saw the damage I realized just how lucky I was.

We left there, got a rental car for me, and headed to my parents to pick up the boys. I have never wanted to hug them more than I did yesterday. We arrived home and friends and family started texting and calling to check on me.

There was a knock on my door and there stood my friend Trish with a full dinner for my family. I could have cried, but I’m fairly certain my tear ducts were like, listen lady we are all out of tears. Pull yourself together. So instead I hugged her and thanked her because honestly despite the fact that I now had a house full of groceries, having a homemade meal that I didn’t have to prepare was one of the best gifts.

I went to bed last night shaken up, but feeling ever so blessed. It could have been so much worse. Life can change in a blink. I started off my morning joking about the prediction of another snow day, and I ended it so happy to know that when I woke up in the morning the people who mean the most to me would be home with me all day. I have no idea why my path crossed with the other driver when it did, but I do know why my path has crossed with all the people I choose to have in my life. They show up. Every single one of them shows up and I would do the same for them. Cars can be replaced. People cannot. 

*Distracted driving is the cause of most motor vehicle accidents. The text, the phone call, the radio station can all wait. It can be the difference between life and death. It can wait.*

The New Year's Resolution That Came Without a Warning

The other morning was the same as every weekday morning in our house. The kids came to the dining room table to eat their breakfast, one wide awake and giddy, and the other not so much. I stared at my coffee maker as the coffee dripped at a pace that felt far too slow while my dog danced around the kitchen willing me to let him outside. The kids ate their breakfast, and I put the ice packs in their lunch boxes. I began emptying the dishwasher in my usual mechanical way, mugs and glasses first, dishes next, and finally silverware. Just as I finished, the kids both ushered in with their dirty dishes. It’s our morning dance. It’s a dance we have perfected with time.

Next I moved on to the stage where I feel like a sheep herder. I shout short commands that are either met with silence or frustration. Boys brush your teeth, make your beds, hurry up it’s time to get your shoes on. The bus is coming!!! We meander out into the cold to greet the big yellow school bus. I give them each a kiss and tell them to have a good day and just like that the day is in full go mode. Like every other parent on the planet, I never feel like there is enough time in any given day. I rush from one task to the next hoping to be able to check off most of my list before that bus pulls up to drop the boys off because once they get dropped off, it’s homework time and then we rush off to our activities. Once we arrive back home I make dinner while fantasizing about climbing into bed and falling asleep.

My girlfriends and I often joke that we feel like hamsters on a wheel. The laundry can feel all consuming. The meal prep never seems to end. We are working, all while trying to delicately balance the daily life that comes with having a family. Homework, grocery shopping, permission slips, school theme days, doctor appointments, cleaning, science projects, meetings, soccer practice, and the list goes on and on and on. Sometimes I feel like I’m a catcher and the pitcher is whipping ball after ball with no break in between. Sure it’s exhausting, but it can also feel isolating and overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong my husband does just as much around here. We are all just trying to keep our heads above water.

I have never been someone who makes New Year's resolutions. It’s not because I don’t think I have room to improve, because I do. We all do. It’s because I don’t like to set myself up for failure. I always thought New Year resolutions had to be these grandiose proclamations. I’m just not ambitious enough to decide on January 1^st that I’m going to change my entire body composition or go to bed by 9 pm every night, or write a book. Okay, so going to bed earlier probably wouldn’t be completely crazy, but somehow it would still feel like a lot of pressure to me.

The other morning though something changed all that. After the kids and I completed our regular morning dance, I went into my bedroom to make my bed. My youngest son was brushing his teeth and then he called for me. I went into the bathroom and saw his little smiling face staring back at me from the reflection in the mirror. Then I saw my reflection and I noticed how stressed I looked. Just as I was about to say; What buddy? You have to hurry up.  I stopped myself and instead I looked at him and smiled. That’s when he looked at me and said, “Mommy will you comb my hair for me?” He handed me the comb. As I started to comb his hair I had a moment of clarity. I think moments of clarity often come during the simplest times. Although they seem to come when we need them the most, if we don’t take a minute to notice them they can pass us right by without so much as a warning. As I stood there combing my 6-year-old’s hair, I realized there will come a day when I will do this for the last time. I won’t know it’s the last time though. There will come a day when I no longer have two kids chattering away at the breakfast table while I stare at the coffee brewing. There will come a day when I no longer have lunch boxes to pack, or a full dishwasher to unload. As I tried to hide the tears that were welling up in my eyes, my son looked at me and asked if I was okay. “Mommy is fine bud. Actually mommy is really good.”

I brought the boys to the school bus, and kissed them both goodbye. I waited to watch the bus actually pull away and round the corner until it was no longer in my sight. I realized that stressing over my list of things to accomplish is causing me to miss out on the two most important parts of that list. There will come a day when that school bus leaves my sight for the very last time. There will come a day when the sound of the school bus in my neighborhood will remind me of the two little boys who used to run off every afternoon, eager to tell me all about their day. As parents we take note of all the firsts, but we don’t do the same for the lasts. It’s not because the lasts aren’t important, it’s because we don’t get a warning that they have arrived.

As I walked back into my house I made my first New Year's resolution. I decided to make a valiant effort to be present instead of worrying about every little thing I should be getting done. When my son called for me I could have said I was making my bed and told him to finish up, but I would have missed out on a moment that felt so much bigger than a comb and a mirror. I saw him. I really saw him. I saw a mother and a son. I saw a little boy who still wants and needs his mommy, and for a brief moment I saw a big teenager who would no longer need me to comb his hair. Far too often I tell my kids they have to wait because I’m in the middle of vacuuming, or cooking, sending an email or making a phone call. What will happen if I skip the vacuuming, order takeout, or put off the email for an hour or so? Well, with any luck I won’t miss out on any of their lasts. We can’t control how fast time moves, but we can control how we spend that time. I tucked them both in that night and as I closed their doors I silently willed them to give me some type of warning when the last tuck in is near. I know I won’t get a warning though, so until then I’m going to make sure I don’t miss one. 

My Best Gift

Every year I tell myself that come December, I am not going to get all bananas about the holidays. I tell myself I’m not going to stress about every little thing, and that I’m going to enjoy the little moments. Yet every year when I look in the mirror on any given day in December all I see is a big old bunch of bananas.

I see someone stressed about Christmas cards, decorating the house, getting everyone on my list the perfect gift, shopping among all the other bananas during Christmas week for all the food that I just have to bake and cook, because if I don’t will Christmas even happen? Spoiler alert, yes, Christmas will in fact happen whether or not I find the time to make my peppermint bark. Yes, Christmas will happen no matter what we do or don’t accomplish, but the bigger question is, how do we find the simplicity in the season?

I’m not going to claim to know the answer, but I will say, there is something about knowing another year is coming to a close that makes us all feel nostalgic. The years seems to fly by especially fast when you become a parent. The more I thought about it the more I realized that Christmas is actually the time to celebrate all the gifts we have already received throughout the year. When we receive gifts we want to offer our gratitude.

Dear Friends, Family, and all of those who have impacted my year,

Thank you. Thank you never feels like enough, but it still feels important to say.

Thank you to my friends and family, new and old, who showed up for every small moment. Thank you for picking up the phone when I needed to cry, or I wanted to vent, or shout to you with excitement that I was able to finally figure out how to stop having all my important emails go into my spam folder. Thank you for loving my children like they are your own.

Thank you for making me laugh, and for laughing with me. Thank you for understanding when I need to cry, and for crying with me. Thank you for trusting me with things you wouldn’t share with the entire world. Thank you for allowing me to share the things you would.

Thank you for showing up for the big moments. Thank you for cheering me on when I wasn’t sure if I could do it. Thank you for routing for me during the times I doubted myself the most. Thank you not only for accepting me at my worst, but loving me anyway. Thank you for the Mexican, Chinese, Tai, Italian, and Polish food that we used as our focal point for our gatherings. 

Thank you for never allowing my wine glass to be empty or my coffee to be cold. Thank you for never allowing me to quit, even when I told you I was going to do just that. Thank you for sharing my words, not because you felt like you had to, but because you wanted to. Thank you for listening to my endless stories about my grandmother and seeming entertained throughout each and every one. 

Thank you for showing up at my front door when I said I was okay, but you knew that was a lie.

For every laugh, every tear, every accomplishment, and every moment of defeat, I needed you all. Every gathering around a table, in a kitchen, or on a porch taught me something. Every time we got to talk, really talk, was a time I appreciated. 

Every small smile. Every brief hug. Every kind word. Every ounce of love and support. It was all a gift. So this Christmas I hope you all know that my biggest gift is you. You see Christmas is one day.

 Most of the gifts we open are packed away for when we need them, but you? You are a gift that will keep giving day after day, and year after year. One day when all the boxes are put away and all I have are my memories, it won’t be the gifts I unwrapped that I will remember. It will be the people I had in my life. 

You are the gift that I am so very happy to have. The best part about this gift is that I get to enjoy it every day for the entire year. Thank you for being my best gift!

A Beautiful Mess

My youngest son is in first grade this year. The other day his teacher told me she had something she wanted to share with me. Immediately I thought, oh boy let’s hope it’s not too embarrassing. He’s a good kid, but he’s six years old so you know how that can go. She went on to tell me that they had been discussing heroes in class that morning. She decided to go around the room and ask each child who their hero is. Many of the kids named their firefighter father, police mom, nurse mom, veteran grandpa, and even some superheroes. When she got to my son she expected him to say my husband- after all, he is a firefighter. Instead he quickly replied, “My mom is my hero because she makes me feel safe and happy.” There I stood crying in front of my son’s teacher not because it made me sad, but because my son expressed what I have always hoped my children know. At the end of every day no matter how long or difficult the day was, I hope that my children feel loved. I hope they feel safe and I most certainly hope they feel happy.

After all that is what family is right? Family is both our armor and our cocoon from the rest of the world. Family is never perfect. Not ever. Family is messy, but it’s a beautiful kind of mess. Family is a big old mess of a morning. It is a one kid can’t find a shoe, dad ran over the garbage pail on his rush off to work, the dog stepped in the only mud puddle in the yard, and the other kid let him back in the house kind of morning. Family is mom getting her kids onto the school bus and coming back into the house to cry into her coffee about the morning she wishes she could do over. Family is the kids running off the bus in the afternoon with big smiles and hugs as if the morning is but only a blip in time on their memory, because it is.

Family is the ups and the downs. Family is dedicated to celebrating the ups and finding our way out from the downs. Family is full of surprises. Some are good and some are not. Family is sitting in a waiting room for six hours while your husband undergoes open heart surgery and praying to God that if this all works out you will most certainly be a better person, because you just can’t even begin to imagine your life without that man. Family is holding the hand of your dying Grandmother because she has done it for you from the time you were a little girl in pigtails until the day you had your very own child. Family is jumping for joy when your sister tells you she’s having a baby. It is crying when you hold that baby for the first time because somewhere in your memory bank you remember the day your parents brought her home as if it was yesterday. Family is looking at your children and feeling ever so grateful for your own parents because you realize that without them you wouldn’t be the mom you are today.

Family is sitting around the dinner table and listening to two little boys talk and talk and talk. It is catching a glimpse of my husband and promising him with my smile that we will catch up at some point. We will have time to talk to one another even if it’s as we start to fall asleep. It is listening to the stories that these little boys are telling us in the hopes that they will never stop talking to us. Family is a hug in the kitchen to remind us how important we are to each other and that talking isn’t always necessary, it’s the listening that counts. 

Family settles into the night with a story. It’s a tired mom trying to stay awake while her six-year-old reads the book because he’s so very proud. It might take longer but she knows it’s worth it. It’s a dad stressed about his day at work tomorrow but hiding it so that his nine-year-old can tell him all about the game he played at recess. Family is those two tired parents making time for one glass of wine and a five minute adult conversation. It’s a wife telling her husband not to stress and a husband telling her he’s sorry he has been so busy lately. 

Family is honest.Family shows up even when you tell them not to. Family drops everything. Family is all in. Always. With no questions asked. We figure it out, together. We fight loud but we love big. We get on each other’s nerves. We say sorry. We say I love you. We laugh. We cry. We celebrate. We grieve. We embrace the mess because somewhere within that mess lies the beauty of life. And at the end of the day no matter how good or bad it was we feel safe and happy because of the love of family. So jump in and embrace the beautiful mess. We will catch you if you fall. 

This piece was featured on the TODAY Parenting Team

We Are The Helpers

It was rainy and colder than normal today for August in New Jersey. The boys and I piled in the car and headed to the grocery store with a very specific list. They helped me get the items and fill the cart. When we got home they helped me unpack all the items and line them up in the kitchen. My boys are helpful when asked, but today they did everything without being told to do it. Today I could see a change in their motivation.

While we were away on vacation last week I received a group email asking for help for a family we know. The mom underwent unexpected, emergency surgery and the email was asking for volunteers to provide dinner for their family during her recovery. I chose today. I bought all the ingredients to make chicken pot pie and I explained to the boys why we were going to the store, and why I was cooking in the middle of the day. They were eager to help. I remember people doing the same for me seven years ago when my husband underwent emergency open heart surgery. Our oldest son was only 18 months and everything is such a blur, but the one thing I can’t forget is the help. I remember the meals that were delivered and the people who offered to take my son to the park. It was a hard time, but I mostly just remember the helpers.

The devastation in Texas right now is vast and hard to even comprehend from far distances. Friends of one of my closest friends went through an awful ordeal that echoes many others. They were stranded on their roof with no help in sight and as each minute turned to an hour and each hour turned to hours the situation seemed to be hopeless.

 Only it wasn’t hopeless because my friend decided that instead of doing nothing from states away she was going to step up and be a helper. Nikki and her husband Brian took to social media doing everything they could to get as many people involved in hopes of getting their friends, Kris, Mary, Matt and their pups rescued from the rising flood waters. People from all over began calling the police, and fire departments as well as the Red Cross. They were able to provide help with the necessary GPS coordinates because all street signs were of no use. After hours of not knowing if they were going to make it, they were rescued via helicopter. According to Mary, “We saw helicopters. We saw boats. We wondered. Our anxiety grew. When will ours come? It will get dark soon. 

 Then at 3:56 the text came from Nikki saying, “rescue is coming they are 2 miles away.” They lost everything, but they have been nothing but positive and grateful for their lives and the help of others. I have never met Mary, Kris or Matt but it doesn't matter. My good friend asked for help for people she loved and without hesitation I jumped and I was not alone, not by a long shot. 

You may be asking yourself why I am sharing these two stories with you. It’s simple. We are still good. We are still in this thing we call life together. Everything has felt like a big old mess recently, but in the end we are human. We still love. We still want to help. Sure helping makes you feel good and that’s fine. I told my boys today that helping others is rewarding and it’s meant to be that way. When we feel needed we feel useful and that in and of itself is rewarding. When things feel messy, clean them up. When people need, provide. When you are in need reach out and ask for help. When it feels like everything is falling down around us, pick up the pieces and start to rebuild.

You see in the end it doesn’t matter who you voted for, or if we are the same religion, or if we route for the Yankees or the Red Sox. It doesn’t matter if our parents are first generation Americans or if our relatives were here since the Founding Fathers. It doesn’t matter if you like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. It doesn’t matter if you prefer the city or the country or if you’re a night person or a morning person, none of it matters. In the end all that matters is our ability to be human. All that matters is our ability to step up to help our fellow human in a time of need. We all have more in common than we realize and it shines through during times like this. We are all mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends, daughters and sons. We all have the fight in us to try to safely land on our feet during times of distress and we all have the instinct to step up and help when we are on the other side of the disaster. I have been watching the coverage in Texas and I will say that our ability to come together in a time of need is still strong. We are not as much of a country divided as we thought we were in the past couple of weeks. We are stepping up. We are not just looking for the helpers. We are the helpers.

Here are some links for places to help as well as uplifting stories about those who are stepping up and helping. 

Kris, Mary and Matt's story

These amazing helpers

This furniture store owner

These pictures of people coming together

The Red Cross answers how to give help and how to get help

How You Can Help

Donate to help Mary, Kris and Matt
Remember hero SGT Steve Perez

Teach Your Kids That Words Are Powerful

Choose kind words. Lead, don’t follow. If you see someone being picked on, say something. Make us proud with your actions. Don’t say something behind someone’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face. People are different. Our differences are what make us awesome.  We say these things in our house often. We are not however, naïve enough to think that our words are always being absorbed. After all I have told my kids approximately 3,786 times that toothpaste only belongs in their mouths or the sink and I can tell you that 3,656 times it has not ended up that way. I don’t stop telling them though because kids need to hear things. They need to hear them often in order for them to eventually take hold in their brains. You have to plant the seed, but you still need to water the plant in order for it to grow.

Bully. It’s a word thrown around in schools and said by parents and kids often these days. Some people will argue that it is unnecessary to discuss bullying issues so much, but stories on the news beg to differ. This week a young girl in a neighboring town reportedly took her own life due to constant bullying. She was twelve years old. Let that sink in for a minute.  It’s awful. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the grief and devastation her parents are dealing with right now. Sadly I’m fairly certain that her story here in New Jersey is echoed across the country for other devastated families who experienced something all too similar.

I’ve been trying to figure out why kids as young as ten and twelve have such anger and aggression towards their peers. I don’t have an answer. People often blame the parents of the bully and while yes in a lot of cases apples do in fact come from apple trees, I don’t think that is always the case.  I’m going to be 41. I have the gift of perspective at this point about what a small blip of time middle school and high school really are in the story of our lives. I also know though that those years play a vital part in shaping who we become as adults.

When I was a kid our middle school started in seventh grade. That meant that all the elementary school kids I had spent all those years with were suddenly thrown into a big pool of kids from all the other elementary schools. Taking a bunch of kids out of their comfort zone when they are chock in the middle of puberty can be tricky. Suddenly the friends who you were comfortable being yourself around are running with a different group. It’s a confusing time. Our school sent us all on a camping trip in the beginning of the year. We stayed in cabins and worked on team building. My guess is if you were able to look in from the outside, the kids on that trip would have looked like a bunch of lost sheep desperately trying to figure out which herd they belonged to. It was a new world for us and none of us had a clue as to what we were doing. I definitely didn’t have a clue. I had just gotten braces. All the other girls seemed to be developing at a much faster rate than I did and I was uncomfortable in my own skin. Back then we tried to mask our insecurities with hairspray and blue mascara. One look at my hair and it was obvious just how much I was trying to mask.

At some point during that trip I decided to start a rumor about one of the girls I had gone with to elementary school. When she found out it was me she confronted me head on. She asked me why I would do that to her and there I stood with no answer. The honest answer was that my actions had nothing to do with her. They had everything to do with me. I took my insecurities and tried to bring her down with me. I apologized and I meant it. She forgave me and we moved on, but I never forgot that feeling I had when she looked me in the face with sadness and disappointment because of my actions. I never wanted to feel that low again. I was the mean girl and I hated myself. My parents had taught me better than that. My parents were never anything but kind to everyone they ever met and I knew that I was not being the person they expected me to be.

I dealt with my own fair share of mean girls in High School but I eventually learned that you are in fact able to choose your friends and when you find them you hold on tight. I didn’t need people in my life that made me feel bad about myself. I think it’s important to teach our kids about not being bullies, but it is equally as important to teach them that they are not defined by someone else’s opinions. They will find their people. It may take longer than they want it to, but they are out there. Of course this is easier to say as an adult than it is as a struggling preteen or teenager.

At the risk of sounding like my grandmother I can honestly say that preteens and teenagers are ill-equipped to deal with social media. They are not ready to be armed with such a weapon. Kids can’t get behind the wheel of a car before the age of sixteen or seventeen in most states, they can’t vote until 18, and they legally cannot drink until 21 yet here they are roaming the Internet when they are just not prepared yet in how to do it. Most adults, sadly not all adults, know that once you throw your words out on the internet they are there forever. If you regret something you write, and you delete it, chances are someone already took a screen shot of that regrettable statement. It’s like that toothpaste. Once you squeeze the tube you cannot shove the toothpaste back in. It’s out there.

As a writer I have seen the worst of the worst when it comes to internet trolls. There is something about being able to hide behind a keyboard that brings people to an all new level of low. When I first started writing for larger outlets I was not prepared to deal with the cruelty and judgment that was thrown my way over what I thought were simple articles about my love for my children. Oh and don’t even try to make a joke because people get all butt hurt and take everything way too seriously. There were many times I thought about stopping, but I knew that only meant evil wins. I could write an entire article about puppies and someone would have something awful to say about me. Words are bigger than we realize. Words can move people. Words make us laugh. Words make us cry. Words motivate us. Words separate us from all the other species. We choose how we use them and when we knowingly use them to hurt someone we have altered them. We have essentially turned them into a weapon. The thing our kids need to realize is that being the bully feels awful. I still remember how bad I felt for making someone else that sad. I can’t even imagine how a kid would feel when they realize that they are the reason a peer took their own life. That is unthinkable, but it’s happening.

Our kids need to know that words should not be used as weapons. Our kids need to know that when they choose to use them as a weapon they will inevitably hurt someone. Our kids need to know that their actions have consequences. They need to know that starting rumors or attacking someone on social media for how they look is a sure fire way to be known as a bad person. Kids need to know that their words can be the reason that one of their peers sits in their room and cries every single night. Their words can be keeping parents up at night with worry and fear about their child’s depression. Their words can be the reason the girl in their class has started starving herself. Their words can be the reason the boy in their class is starting to steal his mom’s pain pills. Words need to be chosen wisely. While they are trying to navigate a world that feels too big for their still small frames, their words are larger than life.  Tell them. Tell them often because their brains are still developing and eventually they may just keep that toothpaste in the sink.

“In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

Rest in peace Mallory.