26 YEARS AGO THIS HAPPENED

So yes--twenty six years ago today at 9:26 AM, I was strapped down to a table when both my obgyn's said something to the effect of "It looks like you have a keeper"…and then I heard this cry.

Even though we had one baby previously, due to some complications, I had never heard the brand new out-of-the-womb baby cry before.  This time I heard it and it was loud and strong and fierce.  But then I saw what that piercing sound came from and wondered how that was even possible.  How could such a tiny, frail, petite little creature make such a memorable sound?

26 years later, I can answer that.  Looks can be deceiving.

This was our first baby girl.  Most of my friends had baby girls.  I was one of only two girls in my family.  All my friends were girls.  I knew girls…or so I thought.  This little girl was just that….little.  She weighed in at only 6 pounds, 11 ounces and she was long and lanky and it seemed like I would break her if I wasn't careful.  But it didn't take long for her to let us know that she would not break, nor would she be broken.  She had her very own spirit from day one and that loud, strong fierce noise we heard when she entered that world…that noise was to let us know that she was setting her course and would not be deterred, distracted, discouraged and certainly not broken.

And that is how this precious girl has continued through all 26 years of her life.

Over the years, what she lacked in stature, she more than compensated for in spirit and motivation.  She was never a lazy child.  Where her confidence lacked, her determination took over.  She never had a day without purpose.  When she began to give way to emotion, her self-control would carry her through.  She was a thinker, an observer.  All these things remain true, still today.

This baby grew into such a unique, wonderful little girl.  The little girl grew into such a smart, intuitive, purposeful young lady.  The young lady grew into such a creative, patient, persistent, caring woman.  She has talent beyond her years.  She is overly modest.  She is positive and she is wise…very, very wise.

Besides the beautiful person she grew to be, is the fact that she is a truly wonderful daughter.  She is an amazing sister to her two brothers and her younger sister.  She will tell you (and she would not be lying at all), that I cried for one entire year…one. solid. year. before she left for college at the mere thought of our youngest daughter (10 years younger) not having her big sister with her day in and day out.  To this day we miss her even though she gave us a wonderful bonus family member (our son-in-law) that she handpicked especially for herself ;-)

So, 26 years ago, while I was expecting sweet coos and pink bows and frills and cutesy sing songy behavior from this tiny, seemingly breakable baby, God decided it would be best to send me a sweet 6 pound 11 ounce baby girl who very quickly straightened me out on that stuff right away.  God is good and He wisely blessed me with this precious human being who, to this day, makes such a strong, loving, dedicated, beautiful and fulfilling life for herself, her husband, her family and her friends.

And for that I rejoice in that piercing sound I heard 26 years ago!!

Happiest of birthdays to you sweet daughter!

I love you,
mom

50 Super Cool, Kinda Weird, Pretty Neat Things About My Sister

1.  Well…obviously--she's a hottie
2.  She was terrified of dogs and flying insects as a child.
3.  She makes THE BEST mashed potato casserole ever (ask her oldest niece)
4.  She's a solid color kind of girl--not so much a print sort of girl.
5.  She's super smart, even if sometimes she says she isn't.
6.  She was a much better behaved teenager than her sister (me).
7.  She was a flight attendant for a while and I thought that was so incredibly cool.
8.  In any single day, she will drink virtually no water.
9.  She fell out of a jeep once in high school (old story, but not everyone falls out of cars)
10.  The first time she tried out for cheerleader she made it and I was pretty jealous.
11.  She was forced to ride stinky llamas every year during vacation in Ruidoso (or Juarez?)
12.  She broke her arm jumping on the bed when she was little.
13.  She broke her nose on the playground when she was little.
14.  She has a high pain threshold.
15.  She has the most perfect natural nails of anyone I know and they grow fast.
16.  She's had nearly as many shoes as Imelda Marcos. Ok, not really--she just likes shoes...a lot.
17.  She hardly ever changes her earrings and she has four earring holes to use.
18.  She's a super fast reader and she likes to read.
19.  She's a rule follower…most of the time…sort of.
20.  She has a really, really loud laugh.  It's great.
21.  She hates to exercise about as much as her sister.
22.  She loves mexican food.
23.  She is an amazing mom---amazing.
24.  She remembers lyrics to old songs and lines from old movies.
25.  She LOVED Michael Jackson (she probably cried when he died)
26.  She has the tiniest fingers of any one adult I know.
27.  She can look at any gory, bloody, gross thing and be intrigued and interested in it.
28.  She raised an incredible son---don't mess with him… she will and could kill you.
29.  She can recite the McDonalds Big Mac song…backwards.
30.  She is extremely organized and loves a good schedule.
31.  She probably still hasn't forgiven her sister (me) for pretending like she (I) was dead in the bathroom while babysitting her one time.
32.  She maybe didn't like her sister (me) for a few years…understandably so.
33.  She has a wickedly sharp, SUPERB sense of humor.
34.  She is not crafty, hates crafts, won't craft but probably secretly is a crafting wannabe.
35.  She calls her brother-in-law "Cousin", when she's not calling him by his first name.
36.  Gin and Tonic used to be her favorite drink (may still be)
37.  Sometimes she dances on furniture if she's had a lot of margaritas and if it's a special occasion.
38.  She had her purse "purse-snatched" on a street in Chicago.
39.  She has a less-than-good back that probably hurts sometimes.
40.  She has super excellent curly hair that she's never really liked, and I've always wanted.
41.  She loves the beach but hardly ever goes there.
42.  She is a very quiet worrier--you'll never know if she's worried.
43.  She is an excellent worker--she can whip any office into shape in a matter of days.
44.  Her favorite thing in the world is to see her son succeed and be happy.
45.  She would make an excellent stand-up comedian rock star actress.
46.  She likes quiet and alone time.
47.  She once gave her sister (me) the coolest gift ever--an enormous Santa painting that I kept up year round for years.  It was (and still is) that cool.
48.  She considered buying a cute Puppy Halloween costume with her sister (me) when she and her sister didn't even own the puppies yet.
49.  She's not a big fan of squirrels…especially when they are in her house.
50.  She was the very best gift her sister ever got.  And I remember the very first time I saw her knowing that she was THAT extra, extra special.

And, I am honored and thankful to have had her for my sister for 50…yes, fifty wonderful years.  She is a true blessing in my life.  She is always there at any time when I need someone.  She is fun and funny and sensitive and thoughtful and kind and gentle.  She is many things I wish I could be and I admire her immensely.  She is a great person, a great daughter, a great mom and, a really wonderful sister that I am so very glad I have.

HAPPY #50 SHEILA!!

Love,
Your Older Sister

What You Really Taught Me Mom

So, my eldest daughter posted this really cool blog about me for Mother's Day.  She mentioned "influences" I've had on her.  I'm glad she didn't mention any of the really crummy influences she now knows to steer clear of.  But it got me to thinking…

How did my mom influence me?  What did my mom teach me?

So here it is mom--here are the things you taught me…

1.  You taught me that soap opera time was not "kid time".  I never quite understood why soap opera and ironing time were basically "off limits" for me because I remember you spending inordinate amounts of time with me as a kid.  Little did I know, how important it was for you to have your time free and clear (except for the whole ironing chore thing) to rejuvenate yourself for all the hours in a day you spent with us---really with us, doing things, teaching us stuff and letting us be with you.   I've not always been real good at this one with my own kiddos--I hated playing "dolls" and "pretend"…but give me a coloring book, a Lite Brite or some puzzles and I could outlast any 4-year old!  I found out years later that you really weren't so keen on the whole Girl Scout Leader gig that you volunteered to do for a few years, but you stepped up to do it.  I was a horrible baton twirler, and I'm sure you knew I was, but I remember loving it and you encouraged me to continue (or at least finish out the lessons).  What you really taught me was that time spent with your children is the most valuable commodity a parent can give their child and how important it is to give your time and be present for your children unconditionally--this is what you did for me.

2.  You taught me that you could sustain a family of four on a loaf of bread, some flour, milk, salt and pepper, a jar of "corned beef" and a toaster for about a week…and most of the time they would be happy.  You cooked for us every night.  Every.  Single.  Night. You made great meals.  You could stretch that grocery money and get a meal for four on the table for less than $3.00!  And you never complained.  At least not that I know of.  You always acted as if you had just created another edible Rembrandt and I remember thinking dinner time was really pretty fun most of the time…yes, except for Wednesday nights--but we've covered that one.  What you really taught me was the lifelong value of a family having dinner around the table at night…every night--this is what you did for us.

3.  You taught me how to be clean and neat.  Our house was clean.  Our clothes were clean.  We were clean.  Our teeth were clean and our hair was clean.  Our nails were clean, especially on Saturday when we had them "trimmed".  I remember hearing "cleanliness is next to Godliness".  While I am certain you may not have believed that literally, I do know it was important.  It was important to be clean and it was important that things were neat.  We knew where to find stuff.  Yeah, I know, we didn't have that much stuff to find, but when we did…we knew where it was.  It wasn't about the act of "being" clean or neat, it was about placing value on our bodies, our possessions and the things we worked for.  I don't know if we had "a lot" or not--I doubt we did.  But I never knew any differently because what we did have was treated just as respectfully and with just as much care as valuable possessions owned by the wealthy.  What you really taught me is not that "things" were important, but that being respectful of the things you work for and have is a duty and an honor that shows thankfulness for those blessings-- that is how you approached our "things".

4.  You taught me the Envelope System wayyyy before Dave Ramsey did.  You were doing the envelope system before time.  I remember a sense of frustration when those envelopes would come out, but I knew they were important and I knew you had a good handle on what was written on those envelopes.  Those envelopes had something to do with our family's budget and your job was to make sure those envelopes didn't self destruct.  And you did it.  You never seemed too upset about it, but now that I know about those envelopes, I am sure it caused great stress at times.  All I remember really thinking was that come August we would be making a trip to Penneys and Trippets and I'd better "choose" wisely.  I don't think I was the one who really got to do much choosing, but you made me think I was!  I know now that being frugal was how you were wired and, while you fretted about us not having certain things, I never once heard you whine or complain about any of that.  I remained clueless for wayyy too many years until I really did have to have one of those new-fangled Envelope System classes, where I thought "My mom has been doing THAT for YEARS"!  What you really taught me was that living within a budget, being thrifty and making a dollar stretch was what responsible people did and doing so with grace and humility and class was what honorable people did--that is what you do.

5.  You taught me that change is good and positive attitudes are even better.  I remember quite a few houses and towns.  I remember you always smiling and looking for the next opportunity…the next church to join, the next bridge group, the next neighborhood to enjoy, the next set of volunteer opportunities, the next friendships to make.  I don't know what I was like outwardly way back then, but inwardly I was shy and I was afraid.  And I watched you go into new and different situations over and over with determination, a smile and a great attitude…whether you had one or not.  I remember a few glitches…a bad school, a rat in the basement, a tornado, but you just moved forward.  You were not going to be distracted from the mission you had and in the end all would be good.  And it was.  What you really taught me that change is inevitable and even if we're shy or scared or mad, it's still up to us how we deal with things--the better we deal with them, the better they end up--that attitude is still your guiding force today.

6.  You taught me that pulling your hair through a cap is a necessary beauty treatment.  I remember you sitting in grandma's living room having your hair pulled through a cap to be "frosted".  I remember watching you put your makeup on and thinking how cool it was.  I remember you laying down on the floor with some pulley contraption hooked on to the door knob that when you pulled with your arms, your legs would move up and down. I remember you doing your nails every single week.  I remember curlers and bobby pins and pig tails. I remember you playing tennis.  I remember you swimming and teaching us how to swim.  (I hated that zinc oxide though)  I remember bike rides and walks and your first aerobics class, power walking at the park and now yoga.  I remember shopping for the "perfect" prom dress, wedding dress and vacation attire.  You have always had such great health and style and beauty.  What you really taught me was how important it is to present yourself in the best manner possible, deal with a few gray hairs with grace and take the very best care of your body and mind that you possibly can--and you continue to do this daily.

7.  You taught me that laughter heals almost everything besides broken hearts.  There were so many times I screwed up growing up---some big screw ups and thousands of not so big ones.  Later in life I could think back and gauge my screw ups by laughter…your laughter.  If it was a screw up I remember you eventually laughing about, I knew it was "normal".  But if it was a screw up that even later never elicited a laugh, I knew I'd pushed the limit.  Fortunately for me, you laughed a lot.  I remember you laughing so much at times with friends and family that I'd start laughing too not having a clue as to what was so funny other than the sheer amount of laughter going on.  I remember you laughing with friends, with family and with us.  You were willing to laugh at yourself and never laughed at others.  You probably laughed a little at times to hide some tears, but I remember feeling like most of your laughter was joy-filled good times.  What you really taught me was that laughter is truly the universal language--a way to get along with people and a way to stay positive; and that a smile can be some of the best medicine a person can offer someone who's unhappy--and you still offer up that laugh and smile all the time.

8.  You taught me that church is where the action is!  I think I remember nearly every church we were members of.  You made sure I was dressed in Sunday clothes---dress, black patent shoes, hat and gloves required on certain Sundays. When I was very small, you would lean over and tell me (ever so nicely) to hold still and "shhhh" during services…I was usually given a finger with a ring on it to mess with or sometimes a piece of paper and a pencil.  You assured me that people would not see or care about the swimsuit I had on under the white robe I was fully immersed in for my baptism.  You smiled at me after my first Communion and I remember it.  I remember feeling so important handing out cotton balls before giving my youth sermon on "Warm Fuzzies" on Sunday.  You made sure to come in my room a few Sunday mornings and tell me that even though I'd been out super late the night before with friends, I needed to get up because I "was going to church"  You encouraged and I enjoyed youth groups and bible studies and choir.  I remember feeling like there were other adults watching me…watching over me.  I remember feeling loved and cherished by a faith-filled community.  What you really taught me was the blessing of God's love and how, more than anything else, that is the ultimate joy and grace we have in our lives and that we should, as adults, always be willing to worship and give thanks for that gift--as you grow in your love of God still today.

9.  You taught me that granddads hide money in their pockets and grandma's sneak candy.  I loved knowing my grandparents and my great grandmother.  I can tell a thousand stories about Grandma Ollie taking me to that candy drawer, about Grandma Helen teaching me how to make jewelry, about Pap-pap sitting me on his lap and having me peek in his coverall chest pocket for "dodders".  You made me ride those llamas for a year or two too long, but you made the BEST fried chicken, for our long trips to New Mexico for vacation.  The bottle rockets on the 4th of July were kinda scary, but you'd let me hang out with Grandma Ollie and watch her iron.  We got with Aunt Sharon's family when we lived in Kentucky and we went to Aunt Shirley's for Thanksgiving one year.  Uncle Jack teased me a lot, and I hated that I didn't get to throw rice at their wedding, but Aunt Kay helped me be BEE-UTIFUL for one of my dance performances.  You took me to Aunt Fi-Fis and Uncle Bobs to go water skiing.  And I got to take Anne with Grandma Helen every Wednesday for a Super Walmart run.  You took us to visit as much as possible and then took such great care of Grandma Helen when she moved here.  What you really taught me was that there is no value you can place on family.  It is the single most important thing in our human lives and that we should cherish and honor and enjoy every moment we have with our family…always--while you delight and take interest in your growing family year after year.

10.  You taught me that Life is Good.  Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that from you or read that in something you've written in the last 50 years?  I don't even know if you know there is a company called Life is Good (check it out--http://www.lifeisgood.com).  I think they probably stole this  little slogan from you and are making millions of dollars off of it all the time I believe YOU originated it!  You have car problems, they get fixed and you say "Life is Good".  You are faced with 40 things to do in a week when you may be a little tired, you comment that you are just glad to be waking up in the morning and "Life is Good".  You bust a knee up, have a health scare, need some medical procedure and you go willingly, be the best patient you can, get better and say how "Life is Good".  You give and do and think about everyone else constantly, never asking for a thing for yourself and in your mind "Life is Good".  What you've really taught me is simply….that Life Really is Good and that we only get one and that is goes by fast and that we better make the best of it and love all the people we can--just like you do.

And that is what you have taught me….at least for now.

Happy Mother's Day Mom!

I love you,

Stephanie

Today Our "Baby" Boy is 22

                                           


Twenty two years ago today a little 8 pound, 5 ounce baby boy entered this crazy world.  

We went to the hospital the morning of March 5, 1992 fully prepared to welcome a new baby boy or baby girl to our family.  At that time, there would be a 7-year old brother and a 4-year old sister awaiting the arrival of this new sibling. This time, when the c-section surgery began, I wasn't quite as nervous as I'd been in the past.   We were anxious for his or her appearance.  At 12:14 pm that day, it was announced that we had a healthy 8 pound, 5 ounce baby boy!  After letting it be known he had healthy lungs, our baby boy was relatively quiet.  The nurses did all the stuff baby nurses do when babies are born.  Dad looked on with a big smile on his face.  The nurses wrapped him up, and brought him over so I could see our new baby boy.  I will never forget that "first look".  I remember looking at him and thinking how much different he looked than our other two.  I saw a chubby little face--our other babies hadn't been as chubby!  I saw some dark curly hair--our other babies had little, if any, hair!  And I saw that God had graced us with another precious, unique gift that we would cherish for a lifetime.

My instinct was that this baby boy was different in the way that all new babies are different and special--each with their own unique personalities.  He was fairly relaxed from the beginning (probably because dad and I were more relaxed by this time too!)  This baby boy had the cutest little smile that was slightly ornery but went along with his sweet personality.  He was a cuddly baby. He loved being around people.  He was almost always happy.  His brother and sister doted over him and he loved the attention. But as much as he liked attention, he loved running and being outside and playing with his dog and toys and cars and trucks and sandboxes and bikes and moving. This little boy loved moving.  He loved his pets and he loved his friends and his family. He didn't talk very much at first when he was little but he loved to hear people laugh.  At a pretty young age, he learned he could make people laugh by doing funny things. And funny things, he did. 

As this baby boy grew, he was always sensitive, he was smart, he was fun and funny, he was a little ornery at times, he enjoyed being with people, he was an animal lover, he was a good dancer, he was strong, he was passionate, he was idealistic, he was talented, he was persistent, he was loyal, he was a hard worker, he was faithful and he was a blessing.

Today is no different. He is still all those things and so much more.  On his 22nd birthday we wish him all the joy his heart can possibly hold and all the love he is so deserving of.  He has enhanced our lives in ways he will never fully understand and we are greatly blessed to call this son our very own "baby boy".  Happy Birthday Ryan!  We love you.

I AM 53

Today I am 53.  In my mind, however, I have been 53 for 8 months as I change my "age" when the first of the year comes along.  This means that by August 7th of any given year, I am well settled into the idea of being older...or at least that is what I have tricked myself into believing.  Birthdays have evolved into a different type of celebration for me, and, if I am being honest, I struggle with birthdays.  Not the getting older--that has never seemed to bother me much---but the actual "day".

When I was very young I grew up in a household, much like most others of that time--a modest income, thrifty parents, no extravagant luxuries, clean, orderly and loving home.  We didn't know we didn't have much and we didn't care--or maybe we had just about the same as everyone else...regardless we just didn't care.  We were happy with our lives.  It was a far simpler time then.  But the day of my birthday was always different.  It was made to be a true celebration...all.  day.  long.  Or, at least that's how I remember it.  I remember being so excited because it was up to me what we ate, where we went, what we did and the day was all about me.  Or, at least that's how I remember it.  There was usually a party of some sort, decorations, cake, festive surroundings.  Sometimes we'd go somewhere and sometimes not.  There were always presents and usually a small surprise or two.  I never was disappointed on my birthday.  Or, at least that's how I remember it.

My memory isn't always that great though.

Once I got a bit older and was in college or away from the house, my parents always made sure there was something for my birthday.  They'd put thought into whatever it was--a gift, a card, a fun surprise--and I always knew I could count on there being at least a bit of excitement to look forward to on that day, whether I was at home or not.

When I married, birthdays continued to be fun--especially those "marker" birthdays.  My husband tried to do something fun and exciting.  Surprises weren't always his forte, but he managed to pull off one or two.  On my 25th birthday I was over nine months pregnant and hot and nervous and a bit cranky...three days later I gave birth to my first child.  On my 26th birthday I went about busily planning some type of low-key 1-year old birthday party---mainly for our adult friends and family of course.  On my 28th birthday I was busy planning a super fun 3-year old party and taking care of a 5-week old newborn, my second child.  And you can see how this pattern continued...

As the years progressed, my birthdays became more about summer activities and fun for my kids and less and less about my own surprises.  They became more about what our budget could handle and what we needed,  and less about what types of fun or unnecessary things I would have liked to have had.  I didn't always handle that very gracefully.  (yes, that could be an understatement)  In fact, some years I simply dreaded "that" day arriving.  Again, not because of the age, but because of the disappointment.  The surprises were no longer, the decorations long since gone, the presents dwindling and the attention sometimes lacking.  (my mom is excluded from this previous sentence however!)  While I realized this was a seemingly spoiled attitude to take, I used the "deserve" reasoning to be pouty.  Surely I deserved to still be the center of attention for a single day out of the year--"that" day, right??

A few years back I began to realize that I had it all wrong.  "That" day was going to come and go whether I was a part of it or not.  "That" day wasn't meant to be entirely about me---by this point in my life, I should know that I was special.  "That" day it was likely there weren't enough gifts and attention to shower upon me that would have made me truly happy.  I began to realize that "That" day WAS my gift, and I had better do something with it. "That" day wasn't a day simply to celebrate ME, "That" day was for me to celebrate LIVING.  My life.  My blessings.  My family.  My friends.  My talents, my strengths, my accomplishments and even my downfalls.  To celebrate learning and having the opportunity to live and breath and simply "be" another year.  To celebrate the times I'd enjoyed the company of friends, to celebrate the family times together, to celebrate the great fortune of being able to maybe even help someone else.  I wasn't always very good at that.  But through some hard work (mainly my husbands) I was now in a position to not worry about who was thinking of me that day, but instead, who might I think about.

'This" day is a day for me to be thankful.  Thankful that my mother STILL calls me first thing "this" day and SINGS Happy Birthday to me.  Thankful that my kids go to the effort of sending me a card, giving me a call, a hug, a kind word.  Thankful that I even HAVE kids.  Thankful that my husband worries about making "this" day special.  Thankful that I even HAVE a husband, let alone the same one all these years!  Thankful that I have a plethora of friends who are fun and funny and kind and wise and thoughtful and meaningful in my life.  Thankful that I can do whatever I want on this day.  I can make this day good or I can choose not to.

So, today at 53, I am not concerned about what THIS DAY will or will not bring my way.  Instead, I am thankful for having this day.  For the very gift of life and the blessing of spending time with my daughter and my mom, knowing that my husband wishes he could be here, knowing that family and friends have even thought about me!!  What Treasures I was missing all those years!!  It is a delight to wake up in the morning and be glad to have simply awakened to another day and all the opportunities "this" day holds.

It makes me think that tomorrow may be another birthDAY for me as well and for that I am grateful.

He Really Did Stop and Smell the Roses

Yesterday was Easter Sunday.  It was, like many other Easter Sundays, beautiful, full of smiles, family, friends and good behavior.  For me it was an end to a rather "failed attempt" to a meaningful and enlightening Lenten season.  Actually there was no "rather" about it...I knowingly was non-participatory this year.  I don't know why really.  It wasn't out of thinking I wasn't going to do (or not do) anything.  It was more out of a sense of I'm just too tired to think about doing more than bare minimum this year.  I went to mass, I abstained & fasted on the proper days and I participated in our parish mission.  But I didn't go beyond the "basics" for a more personal, deeper lenten experience.  Do I feel horrible?  No.  I feel like I missed out.  That's what happens when you fail to do what you know is best for you and your soul.  But, being the glass-is-half-full kind of girl that I am, I know I have an opportunity to participate and prayerfully reflect and sacrifice and meditate all year long...and I know I will.  So, in that regard, while I was remiss in my efforts for making Lent more special,  I felt no less joy while attending Easter Mass yesterday.

We had most of our family here.  We always arrive early in order to save the necessary 7-10 seats together.  We were successful in that endeavor yesterday.  It's nice to be there early and listen to the choir practice.  Hear the noises of all the people arriving.   To see the happy (and some not so happy) children adorned in their Sunday best.  To meditate and pray and reflect.  To give extra time for extra thanks.  And yes...to spot the one, and only one, big, floppy, bright coral Easter Hat.  It wasn't hard to spot.

I am often accused by my family of paying attention to the unimportant trivial matters during our worship time each week.  They think I am not paying attention to the mass.  I am.  I am acutely aware and very much in tune to the rhythm of our service, to the responsorial songs, to the creeds, to the coming and going of readers, to the readings, to the instructional and often enlightening homily, to the offerings, the intentions, the blessing and consecration of The Body and Blood of Christ, to the partaking of that Body and Blood by nearly all who attend, to the concluding blessing given to me and others, to the call to honor God's promise by going forth and doing good, and to the grace of God's love.  It is rare for me to go a month or two without holding back tears in my heartfelt joy and heavy sense of humility for the privilege to have become Catholic nearly thirty years ago.  Do I understand my Catholicism perfectly?  Not even remotely.  I don't even understand all that goes on in the mass as I should.  But I am always happy to be there and I try and not think about my ever-present to-do list in my head.

Yesterday, while waiting for mass to start I thought about how lucky I was.  Lucky to have my family with me.  Lucky that the ones who were missing were with family that loved them and that they loved. Lucky to be so privileged in the world.  Lucky to be faithful.  Lucky to simply be.  The mass began in all it's splendor.  Trumpets trumpeting, people standing straight and tall, uplifting voices in song and a joyful procession with more than the average number of people processing (to accommodate the more than average number of attendees).

One of the altar servers who was processing seems to be unique and maybe extra special.

I don't know this particular young boy.  I don't know his name.  I've watched him for several months, if not a couple of years.  But until recently have I begun to really pay attention to him.  He is, I guess, what would be considered "special needs" in today's world.  I do not know what his affliction is.  I can't really tell how old he is, but I would guess 12-13 although he could be much older.  He is an average looking kid in stature and physical attributes, with the exception of thick-lensed prescription glasses and a conspicuous, somewhat thrashing, limp.  He's at nearly every mass I attend.  He is never there as an observer, but always in the capacity of an active participant in the mass---a greeter, an offertory collector, a people counter and most often...an altar server.  He needs some assistance, mainly guidance.  But, for the most part, he seems to know what is going on and what his role should be at the moment.

Recently, while watching the boy more attentively, I've noticed a couple of things.  He is always smiling...always.  He seems genuinely happy.  He knows a lot of people...or at least is comfortable with many people.  He is not afraid.  Last month I saw him during a communal confession anxiously and impatiently waiting to visit with the priest.  He did so with such enthusiasm and excitement--not the typical attitudes exhibited by most everyone else who was there for the same purpose.  He is very active and animated and spirited and energetic.  I wonder if he could be a handful to care for.  I can't tell what his cognitive development may or may not be.  I do know he is happy to be at mass.  Does he know he's at a mass?  I have no idea.  But I do know that at least in the setting I've seen this young boy, he is happy in those moments and living those moments fully.

A couple of weeks ago he was working in the capacity of an usher.  It was time for him to head down the center aisle and usher the rows of people to communion.  As people came out into the aisle he would "help" them by guiding their arm in the direction they should walk...whether they really needed the guidance or not.  But what was wonderful was when he clearly recognized someone he knew, he absolutely could not resist giving them the biggest strongest hug he could muster up.  Even if it meant holding up the line.  It was a wonderful sight to see!  After everyone had participated in communion and it was time for him to retreat to the back of the sanctuary, he'd see others (generally women) he recognized and would smile and laugh and try and lean over three or more people to make sure they, too didn't go without his admiration.  One lady stood up while the entire congregation was seated, stepped over the three or four people she was sitting next to so that he could give his friend the special hug he'd saved just for her.  It was like watching the Saint Benedict's Ambassador of Love and Kindness and Affection top off the mass!  I was sad I didn't know the boy that day.

Yesterday at our Easter Mass, the boy was an altar server.  This was nothing new to him.  He had the proper assistance with a much older alter server and he knew the drill.  But yesterday our church, in particular our altar, was covered...and I do mean covered in flowers and beautiful spring flower arrangements.  They were potted and standing and assembled around lecterns, the table, the tabernacle and the candle stands.  They were pink and blue and lilac and minty green and they were all gorgeous.  At one point in the mass the boy had retrieved something to bring to our priest.  He did so dutifully and turned to retreat to his position alongside his older counterpart.  As he lumbered less than gracefully back to his spot, he stopped abruptly right off-center of the altar by one of the large candle stands and just at nose height he leaned forward and took a giant whiff of the ornate floral arrangement adorning the candlestick.  He didn't hesitate, nor did he hurry, but took his time looking at and enjoying what must have been a sweet smelling flowery aroma, normally not present during the masses which he usually assists.  It was one of the finest signifying moments I could remember.  Our homily had just been about living our faith.  Going out and "being" Catholic...not being ashamed, taking time to profess our faith, to appreciate our graces and share them with others.

And, while Fr. Joe gave a wonderful uplifting homily, he couldn't have possibly given better example than the young and very special altar boy did by being unabashedly heartfelt in his need to stop and enjoy one of God's gifts to us on earth...a simple flower.  This is one of God's children who understands what it means to "pay attention"...to not only understand, but feel and live in the feeling of God's grace and then to share that with everyone and everything he encounters in his day to day life.

In the middle of the pomp and circumstance, the special choral renditions, the additional brass accompaniment, the added responses, the sprinkling of Holy Water, the fancy clothing and the packed church...in the midst of all that, there was a wonderful moment where one could see God's love in its tangible existence.

...that is...If you were paying attention enough to actually stop and smell His flowers.

Let's Make A Deal--at least for today

I think it's time to be a consistent blogger.  It's sad that I looked back and saw that over the last seven years (almost exactly) I have only written 48 blogs and only posted 39 of them.  So, there are 9 unposted thoughts covering what are surely most crucial thoughts.  Let's see....wedding tips (or really "don't do's"), a facebook rant, a lake perspective, a pre-teen conversation, I'm so dang busy thoughts, it's a scary world topic, doctor office rant, a touching oldest son story and a death of a child story.  So, the question is do I go back to those topics, some of which are terribly mundane (seemingly of great importance at the time); others are of serious and sincere nature--Or...do I just move on?

It seems a bit unsteady for me to move on when I am nearly certain I'd feel better telling all the stories leading up to this point.  But the point they lead up to today is fairly anticlimactic.  That's the great thing about blogs--one day a crummy boring story, the next day maybe not.  Maybe I'll just grab and pull from all over.  Maybe those thoughts from four and eight and twelve and twenty months ago needed some fermenting before they could be best told.  Doubtful, but it's possible.  Personally I like a good and accurate "at the moment" rendition followed up by a "reflective" rendition later.

I think for today I'll just tell today's story and work on yesterdays story a little later--maybe with a glass of wine or two.

Today's story is simple...interactive simplicity with a hint of compassion.

Today was a simple day for me.  A Monday, which is usually one of my favorite days in the sense of "re-grouping".  After teaching a Sunday school class last night, I'd decided it would be a good idea to try and put my money where my mouth was and actually practice the challenge I'd made the 8th grade kids--a devotional time specific to our Catholic faith, just once this week.  So after things were tidied up and in order this morning and while wrestling with my daily morning desire of going back to bed at 6:52 when everyone has left for the day, I decided to take on the challenge in addition to a personal commitment to read the Bible daily.  I had some Bible reading catching up to do today, and I did.  And I took the challenge...well...at least part of it.  I fully intend to fulfill it completely today, but for now, the real point on this issue is my intent and attempt--all of which I'm awarding myself good points for simply starting somewhere.

Since my catch up reading took some extra time, my rosary was only partially complete.  But the rosary card I was referencing "gave me permission" to finish later which I found slightly humorous and quite relieving since I had exactly one hour to ready myself for my six month check-up with my wonderful doctor.  So, off I went.  My appointment had been changed on Friday from 9:00 with the wrong doctor they had mistakenly scheduled me with, to a "work-in" with the correct doctor at 11:00.  I was my standard five minutes late.  And I waited.  And waited.  This normally would have frustrated me terribly, and I have to be honest in saying that I was getting a bit antsy had it not been for multiple tries of Spider Solitaire and the expert level of Sudoku on my handy dandy phone.  But they eventually called my name, went over the standard "how are you feeling today" interview and left me to wait some more in solitude.  Dr. Reese is always very aware of his tardiness and, at about an hour into this "appointment" he ducked in to promise me he'd be with me shortly and thanked me for my patience.

Dr. Reese and I have a bit of a history together...especially after the last 15 months or so (see previous blogs).  He's a kind, concerned firm doctor.  He knows his stuff and is somewhat "old school" but is generally willing to consider newer theories if they are scientifically logical.  I like that about Dr. Reese.  Today proved he is a reasonable man.  The question for me at this point in my life is how many prescriptions can I avoid.  One has to do that by being healthy right?  Well, if that's not incentive enough then maybe a hard-core whirlwind spring trip with my youngest daughter and 50 other people will keep my mind on the healthy ball---but more on that later.  Regardless, I have to take one prescription pill daily, or I eventually croak.  (Google thyroidectomy for further proof)  So I take it since I really like living.

I also have this issue with my blood pressure.  It's up, it's down, it's up, it's down...but it's ALWAYS up when I see Dr. Reese.  White coat syndrome I think they call it.  But he doesn't buy it.  So last year he insisted I be on a very low-dose blood pressure medicine--something called Bystolic which helps with the high heart rate I had as well.  I did and I eventually felt worse taking it, and he allowed me to stop it.  Then there was an appointment where we "bargained" a bit so I wouldn't have to go back on it.  I did better and won.  And now we are at "today" and blood pressure time comes and he's not real happy.  It's not super, super high, but it's kind of high.  We talk about my diet, which has been Weight Watcher approved now for a few weeks and we talk about exercise which has been increased in the last month moreso than the last five years.  No results so much, but I feel really good and contend that should account for something, right?  After a standard amount of him-ha-ing around he "asks" if I would be terribly opposed to trying a new medication.  I him-ha around the appropriate and respectful amount of time and sort of blurb out a "wlll, a...ya...Imn...k"---something pretty much like that.  As he discusses the new medication I keep thinking about that show Let's Make a Deal and the effervescent host Monty Hall.  I loved that show.  Dr. Reese is no Monty Hall, but I can tell he's a player.  Before he finishes up with his calm instructive presentation about "XYZ" blood pressure medicine, I blurt out,

"Wait a minute...remember how I told you I haven't been taking my blood pressure because I'd felt good?

Yes...

Well, what if I started taking it again (would have been good if I could have pulled the machine out of my purse just like in the show!)...and then I'll check back with you in a week or two or three or...whatever you say and.... I pinky swear to let you know the accurate readings?  Could I hold off on medicine "XYZ" for a while?

Hmmm.... well, yes, I think we could try that.  It's not terribly high and your heart rate was very good.

Ok, so readings twice a day for a week or two or....??

No, just two or three reading a week.  Why don't we say for six weeks...maybe eight.  And then you come back in and we will re-group.

What if it's consistently high in the next two weeks?  (well, I'm not stupid...)

Call and we need to get you on a low dose of something."

Whew--dodged that bullet (pill) and now have to go prove myself via Jillian Michaels or some other similar torturous method.

So see...that, (and my religious challenges!) being the highlight of my day surely makes some of the aforementioned topics even more mundane and the other more serious topics seem at least unbalanced next to a post like todays.

That's how life is...at least for me.  But I've learned that these Let's Make A Deal doctor appointment experiences put a scary world story or a touching son story or even the death of a child story into much better perspective. And vise versa... It was nice to not be frustrated an hour and forty five minutes later when I was finally leaving the doctors building.  It was nice of the lady in the waiting room complimenting my hair "style" and it was nice to visit with Dr. Reese.  These are the experiences of day to day living and it's important that I remember their value---every breath is a gift, no matter where that breath is taken.

My Teacher is 14

I had a dream last night.  It was pretty weird as most of my dreams are.  It involved me wandering into a camp that cared for animals which was smack dab in the middle of a beautiful fancy neighborhood.  I was looking for the person with whom I was supposed to speak about a job.  My neighbor saw me and, as my neighbor is normally in "real life", welcomed me to the group, introduced me to my new boss (a kind and gentle elderly woman) and I was not only put to work immediately, but also in charge of meeting the animal inspector who was there...now.  Somewhere in this dream there were also a multitude of big, giant, humongous angry snakes that were all after me or in my way.  I was supposed to be looking not only like I knew what I was doing, but that I wasn't too afraid of all the snakes that were everywhere.  The young and understanding inspector caught on, assured me it was okay and that I was doing just fine.  Finally I explained to him that it was my first day and he said he'd come back later.  Realizing it was closing time, I needed to leave to get my daughter.  Someone stopped me as I was hurriedly rushing to my car and let me know that Mrs. So & So (someone I apparently knew) had picked her up and she was swimming with the other children in the pool in the back.

I walked to "the back" which was a vast expanse of majestic rural beauty off the back of the mansion "camp" I had been employed for the day.  I couldn't see the pool, but walked in the general direction of activity that I had spotted.  As I drew closer I began to hear laughter--kid laughter.  The closer I got, the more familiar one particular laugh was...

As I came up to the pool which was also not so shabby, I saw my daughter romping around with several other kids.  Most younger, a few her age.  None she or I knew.  I looked at Mrs. So and So (who I knew in my dream) and she smiled and nodded.  I watched a few of the other parents who seemed to know each other and they were visiting and periodically glancing to the pool smiling at their own children and that "new girl" who was playing with their kids and then they'd politely smile at me.  I watched her for a while and took a lot of pleasure in seeing the happy contentment that she had in simply splashing around with some kids who were total strangers.  She eventually saw me, knew it was time to go, hopped out of the pool, told each and every child bye and I woke up.

Yes, I have very detailed dreams...I can tell you more, but that's really not the point.  The point is about that daughter of mine, both in the dream and out of the dream.  In the dream I was so unsure of myself.  I was persistent, but unsure and at times afraid.  (the snakes WERE really bad ones).  I remember feeling awkward and uneasy and out of place.  But as I watched my daughter play in that pool she was everything opposite of that.  Not at all unsure, not awkward, seemingly comfortable and feeling right at home with perfect strangers as her peers in that moment.

That's where dream and reality meet.  Granted, in the dream she's playing in a swimming pool...not a whole lot of pressure there.  But in real life, she's the same way.  She always has been.  

Fourteen years ago today my life was graced with this small wondrous child.  She certainly wasn't my first, but she was my most intriguing.  She hadn't exactly fit into our family's plan at the time. Again, I was nervous, unsure, awkward and sometimes afraid of what her birth would be like, how life with her would impact our lives, my life, at the time.  She was a novelty to our group of friends, an initial shock for several family members and a constant source of Q&A time with our three children, who were old enough to realize that none of their  friends moms and dads were still adding babies to their family.  

So she entered the world amidst a great deal of love and excitement.  She was happy and easy and sweet and funny and intuitive and amazingly "wise".  She was a teacher from the moment she was born.  She taught me how to be less uptight.  She taught me that things would be ok even if everything wasn't done "just right".  She taught me that I could be patient and that patience was comforting.  She taught me that time spent together was a true bonding experience.  She taught me how to see my older kids in a different, less critical light.  She taught me how to pay attention and recognize growth and achievement in small things.  She taught me how to be a better mom.  She has unknowingly continued for the last fourteen years to teach me.  Not just about myself but about family, relationships and other people.  

But listening or learning with my heart has never been one of my strong suits, so I was a bit of a slow student.  I remember nearly two years after she was born I was telling my mom something about her--nothing bad, just some thought I had about her and being a "baby mom" again.  I was appreciating the baby time more this time around.  I "got" that it wouldn't last long and I needed and wanted to treasure it.  But I guess I still felt somewhat awkward--as if I knew what to do, but was still in disbelief that I was "having" to do it.  Without missing a beat, my mom said, "Stephanie, when are you going to come to grips with the fact that you have another child?"  She was kidding...sort of.  But she made her point--I hadn't made the leap to the "oh-I-keep-this-one-all-the-time-now" part.  I'm pretty sure she used the word "denial"

I loved this little girl with every fiber in me, and I have thought of that interchange many times and wondered what made it so different for me.  Part of it was that I really was older.  How we think and accomplish things in our mid-20s and late-30's are very different.  But I think the real reason I was still "in denial", as my mother had so gently referenced, was because of the same insecurities I had in my dream--being unsure and awkward, out of place and afraid.  What if I don't do a good job this time?  What if I'm a crummy parent?  What if I get tired?  What If I can't find enough time for everyone?  What about when she's older and we are a LOT older?  What will people say, or think of her...of us?  What ... what...what...

And there she would be...there that little girl was, looking up at me with a dirty face and dirty hands from playing outside, half of her clothes pulled off and all she wanted was to smile and laugh and have a hug or a belly rub.  And, a cookie or goldfish would be good too.  She didn't care one bit about any of those things.  She was here.  She was doing her job.  She was happy and loving and smart and yeah---everyone loved her.  She wasn't just a gift, a bonus, a jackpot...she was our gift, our bonus, our jackpot...she was the love that not only wrapped our family up, but put a big, fat, sparkly bow around us.  She was love.

And today, 14 years later, she still is.

I pray that she remains confident and comfortable, outgoing and yet still naive of the "bad stuff" of life, caring and concerned, smart and intuitive, loving and kind and happy.  Eager to be an active part of life, interested in other people, willing to help and share and learn. I pray that she is well-loved and well-taught--at least half as well as she has loved and taught me. I pray that I continue to have an open heart that learns from those precious unassuming moments when I am presented with a gift of insight into God's creation and love for us.  Mostly I pray that she know in her heart that same love and insight and that God graces her with a "gold star" or, better yet, a big, fat, sparkly bow...if nothing more than for being the most amazing teacher a mom could have. 

Happy 14th Birthday Anne!

Love, 

Your Mom, the student

A Letter To My Son--

Tomorrow you will be getting married.

Yesterday you came into this world in a big heap of curly-headed preciousness.  You are still precious.

I have been extremely blessed that God picked me to be your mom.  You have not always been easy.  You have challenged me and made me angry and made me sad, much the same as I have you.  But mostly you have challenged me to be a better person--to be a better mother, to strive to be more patient, to open my mind and heart to possibilities that I was unfamiliar with, to be more gentle, to laugh a lot more, to hold in more regard the time we are given, to try and understand more deeply the feelings of others.  Those are things you did for me and I am grateful.

As much as we hear people say "they grew up so fast", it is true.  You have.  You have grown up far faster than I was prepared for.  You have done things the way you wanted...since you were three.  You have failed in a few and succeeded in most.  I have wanted to be there to catch you when you fall, to help you up when you were down and to wrap my arms around you and hold you like when you were little when you were sad--even when you didn't want me to.  But, in recent years I haven't.  I have tried to support and advise and comfort in a way that you would appreciate.  In a way that would lend itself to you learning on your own.  And I think you have.

I believe that however quickly you have grown, you have grown into a responsible, intelligent, personable, kind-hearted, hard-working, talented young man.  I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.  I believe that you can pick yourself up after a fall, to help yourself when you are down and to understand the gift of God's love when you are sad and alone.  I believe you are, not only my child, but one of God's children.  I believe you are destined for happiness and contentment as long as you simply do what's right.  I believe that the very worst thing is to have regrets, and if you always try to do what's right you will never have regrets.

Now you are moving on to another chapter of your life.  You will be sharing your entire life with another young lady.  You will start each day and end each day together.  Together, you will have joyous times, wonderful experiences, happy days, memorable events and special connections.  Those are the sweetness of married life--hold on to them with her and cherish them together.  Regardless of how small, they are all equal in their importance in your marriage.  Together, you will also have heartache, sorrow, anger, fear, hurt, pain and frustration.  Those are the challenges of marriage and of a meaningful life together.  These are the things that require great resolve in your dedication and devotion to each other and to your married life together.  These are the things that will bond you far more than the happy times.  These are things that will make you strong and resilient and faithful.  These are the things that will require you to be patient,  gentle, understanding and to have an open mind and heart.  The conflicts and hard times are what you will look back on as your greatest lessons.  These are the times that you need to ask for help from God and then, later, thank Him for your getting through those times as well.

Keeping God in your life will help your marriage more than any one single thing--but since I'm your mom, I am thinking I have earned one moment of time to impart any small bits of wisdom I may have acquired over the years...

Pray - don't be too busy.
Ask for help - don't be too proud
Forgive and ask for forgiveness - don't be stubborn
Be kind - don't be hurtful
Laugh - a lot
Be tender - don't be harsh
Allow people to love you - don't shut down
Be helpful - don't be inconvenienced
Give a lot - don't be selfish
Remember birthdays, special occasions and "to-do's" - don't be forgetful
Be cheerful - don't whine
Keep learning new things - don't get "stuck" in old habits

Always be honest and tell the truth with others and yourself - don't hide and manipulate

Work hard - don't be lazy
Be thankful - don't complain
Go to church - don't make excuses

Remembering that God and family are the two most important substances in your life and marriage, above and beyond anything you can imagine.  Both will always be there for you.

My speech is over and your day is nearing.  I am anxious and excited for you and your wife to experience all the blessings of married life.  I am wishing you all the very best that life together has to offer.  I am praying for you both--for both of your resilience, for your contentment and for your happiness.

But most of all I am telling you that not only will you always be precious to me, but your wife is precious to me.  She is precious because she has chosen you to live out her life with.  She is precious because she's your friend.  She is precious because she thinks you are funny.  She is precious because she is willing to help you and cherish you and sacrifice for you.  She is precious because she loves you. You have chosen well, and I know she is precious to you.

Ryan, I am so proud of the young man you have become.  I am proud of the husband I know you can and will be.  Enjoy your day--every moment, every person, every word...they will fade away in your memory over time, but will remain precious in your heart...as you remain precious in mine.

I love you,

Mom

#19-Final Thoughts-Part B

This is the second part to the "Final Thoughts-what those thoughts say about you as a human and do you really want to know?" in the It's Still Here post on September 19th.  This was after my September 13th "Event", where I nearly croaked after a routine elective surgery.  The nearly croaking part is what I'm referring to when I say "Final Thoughts".  I had them...final thoughts that is.  I knew I was dying--there was no doubt.(I really prefer the word "croaking" much better but the frog reference isn't perhaps serious enough for my thoughts here)  One can not have their airways slowly fill with fluid and not know they will eventually be kicking the proverbial bucket.  So during that time I chose to do and think the following:

1.  Panic.  Yes.  Panic.  I know it is always better to STAY CALM, and surprisingly, in an emergency I am usually fairly calm.  However, try drowning and see how calm you stay.  You can't.  It is physically impossible.  So, I eventually panicked.  I think that just says that I'm normal.

2.  Became irritated and eventually angry.  Surprise, surprise.  Any of you who know me will laugh at this.  But I must say in my defense that it sure didn't help that my medical "team" (and I use that word VERY loosely) at the time didn't have the sense to realize there was a real emergency going on here.  Maybe it was because in my trying-to-be-a-good-patient phase I threw out a bit of humor here and there and they just  couldn't imagine a patient as clever as me being in danger; maybe it was because the uber good looking firemen had just high-fived my ambulance team of three women and distracted them from the situation at hand; maybe it was because this was assumed to be a training run and blowing out one of my large veins with their largest needle while I am bleeding out in my neck seemed a good training method; or maybe they were just clueless.  But having to argue that you aren't going to "make it much longer" with your emergency ambulance person so that she will just get the vehicle GOING in the direction of the hospital, is a frustrating position to be in.  Never mind the extraordinarily circuitous route "Shelly" took. So yeah, I got a little cranky, which again, seems a bit normal to me.

3.  Concentrated.  At least I thought I was concentrating.  When you are in this situation and you know you have to be as calm as possible but you also know that you are slowly and steadily losing your physical capabilities to stay conscious, concentrating becomes a bit tricky.  I decided it was NOT a good idea to focus on the bright lights in the ceiling of the ambulance; instead I would focus on the scenery going by out the window of the back of the ambulance.  I would try not to listen to the blaring siren and I would think (hopefully calmly) about things that were important to me.  So that is what I did.  I'm not sure what this says about me, other than that, even then, there may have been a few moments of good judgment left within me.

4.  Think.  Amazingly, not once did I think "wow my pants are unzipped"; "jeez my hair must be nasty looking"; "I wonder when the new version of iphone is coming out" or "I wish I could get that new dining room set now"  What I did think was, oh my gosh...my KIDS...do they know how much I love them?  Were my last words kind or not?  What about Steve?  Does he know the same?  Will he be ok taking care of Anne? Do my parents know how much they taught me and how much I have always valued it?  Did I ever tell my sister how much I loved her? Do my friends know how much they meant to me?  Will these ladies in this ambulance be able to keep me alive and why can't they go faster?  It's amazing how much your mind can really "think" when you are concentrating on nothing more than living.  I'm glad I thought because now I can make sure that all the things I was worried about aren't something I'll have to worry about again when I really do kick the not-so-proverbial bucket.

5.  Pray.  I heard someone say recently that non-believers are one crisis away from being a believer.  Very true.  What he left out was believers are one crisis away from becoming beggars.  I did a lot of praying on that ambulance ride--some of it practically begging.  However, no bargaining.  There was no time for any bargaining.  The ride seemed long, or my thoughts were succinct.  But I realized that I was going to need a little extra help on this one and there pretty much wasn't anyone left to ask for assistance besides Him.  So praying came quickly.  I prayed for help and strength and protection and grace.  I prayed for myself and for my family.  I think I forgot to pray for the ambulance ladies, which may have been part of the problem.  But honestly toward the end--I prayed for courage.  I was very scared.  Very.  Very. Scared.

and finally, the most quizzical or telling Final Thought...

6.  Candor or Humor?  As the ambulance was approaching the hospital I knew I wasn't, as my mother says, "long for this world".  I honestly don't remember if I was attempting verbalization or just panicky or struck with the silent-deer-in-the-headlight look.  What I remember is knowing I couldn't hold on much longer. I remember them whisking me out of the ambulance, ramming my gurney into the Emergency Center through the doors that open very quickly when rammed into.  I remember a sensation of speed (as much a sensation of speed as one can feel on a hospital gurney) into a hallway and then, what I remember is bolting myself forward, trying to yell something to the effect of "COULD SOMEONE PLEASE DO SOMETHING HERE?", only to hear a sound of loud irregular gurgling which I then realized was me...my "yelling"...my words were no longer real words, only thoughts in my head that I was unable to convey.  And then I clearly remember thinking to myself this exact thought...

"Maybe I'm just being too dramatic"

...and then I fell to my right side against a hallway wall and life went dark.

Truly, that's exactly what I remember. I don't know how accurate it is in reality, but I DO know THAT was my final thought. I'm a bit disappointed in that.  I'd hoped for something far more brilliant.  Something people could ponder and reflect on for weeks, maybe even months or years.  Something that my kid's kids would tell their kids.  But no.  I simply had the thought that perhaps I'm just being a bit overreactive at the moment.  Now, when I think about what that says about me, I'd like to think it says something wise or strong or meaningful. All I can come up with is that there may have been a glimmer of humor in my submission to the physical situation at hand.  That I'd decided "hey--it's all yours and I really can't do any more to save myself here".  I've never really thought of myself as a dramatic type, a drama queen.  But at that Final Moment, that was my Final Thought--it was "Really Stephanie.  Settle down. Relax. Step aside. Let the professionals do their work and quit your belly-aching."

Maybe that Final Thought is exactly what needed to happen.

They're Baaaack!!

All I wanted to do today was/is sleep.  I. Am. Tired.  There, I said it.  I got up to send my daughter off to school this morning, sat at the computer to contemplate editing some pictures and quickly decided to just go back to bed.  I called the vet and asked if they had a later appointment for today (in hopes that they didn't and I could cancel today's appointment altogether).  No problem, they did.  I tried out the several different "comfort" positions to see which would elicit the quickest slumber, and two hours and forty five minutes later I woke up. I didn't really want to get up then either, but the humiliation of calling the vet again eventually spurred me onto my feet..

Of course the first thing I do when I wake up is stumble into the kitchen for my daily vitamins.  While stumbling that direction I caught sight of something outside.  SomethingSSS outside.  Under the back patio fluttering all around were a couple of birds.  I have a hard time seeing right after waking up in the morning.  So at first glance...robins.  But as they continued to fly back and forth out from under the patio their wings would catch the sunlight and the familiar hues of blue would appear.  The Bluebirds are back today!

And back they were.  I walked into the living room which is completely visible by the entire south side wall of windows, where one of the bluebirds had flown back under the patio and landed on the light fixture next to the back door and right by where I stood inside.  He (she?) looked at me as if to say, "ahem....you haven't been keeping up with our care you know.  It's about to get darned cold and we've got several friends and family and for some reason you expect us to cram ourselves into the one and only house you have prepared appropriately for our stay. Would you mind getting your butt in gear, getting out here and getting that other house closed up, some fresh water added and the feeders filled.  Oh, and by the way...thanks for making an appearance today".  Yep--I guarantee you if that bird could have talked that's what it would have said.

Now the only person who may "get" this without thinking I've lost my marbles is a newfound friend we affectionately refer to as The Birdlady, Marla Bender.  She WILL get this.

I felt a little guilty standing there all messed up and ill-prepared to leap into action on behalf of my guests.  But I did scurry outside to the worm box, brought them in, sifted out a good amount and went outside in the back and sprinkled these well-loved bird treats about the edge of the patio while calling out for my fair weather friends as our Birdlady friend had previously suggested.  Had it not been for my bright aqua flannel snowflake pajamas I would have also, at that very moment, gone out and shut "their" birdhouse that is in the front.  But that was a bit much for me to risk with my neighbors.

Got me to thinking though---a.  how nice that I got to sleep so much this morning--I think I really needed it. b. I find it just a bit ironic that I didn't want to get up and yet, it felt like I was just in the nick of time to see the needs of one of God's creatures, almost as if planned, and c. I wonder what else I missed during that extra sleep?  Just a little longer and I wouldn't have seen the birds that I have been obsessing over and that have been mysteriously MIA lately.

Which leads me to the point---not so much about multiple bluebird sightings, although that is something I can get quite excited about, but more about time and the use of it.  It's clear we all need rest.  Some more than others.  What I find frustrating now is that each day I wake up and think to myself--wow, this day is going to be over before I know it.  Get up & get going, stat!!  There is so much I want to do.  So much I want to accomplish.  Most of the time I feel like I just can't get it all crammed in to a single day or week or month and why?  Well, in today's case the "why" was that I really needed rest.  But I really hate missing stuff too.  I hate enjoying things and not being able to find or make the time to participate in them.

So much to do, so little time--we've all heard that one.  And then all the sudden a bird, or a child or a friend or even a stranger calls out to us in a way that makes us stop and think about or reassess what we are filling our time with.  I know I could do much better.  I waste a ton of time.  I also wish there were just a few hours more in the day.  I contend that is why I used to be such a night owl--packed more into my day that way.  But my body can't do that quite like it used to, so I must readjust.

I am participating in a class on creativity and saw this quote which absolutely summed up how I want to feel now:

"Everything changed the day she figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in her life."

I guess at the end of today I can look back and see exactly which things were important for me...I hope the bluebirds enjoyed their tasty mealworms today and their warm house tomorrow.

Facebook Quandaries

I need a Facebook diversion.  It's out of control.  I'm sensing a desperation on the part of several "friends".  I've decided it's not the forum.  I want to like some of these people, but when I read the despicable, pathetic vitriol that spews forth in some of these "posts", I have second thoughts...and that makes me sad, frustrated and angry.

I get having an opinion, I really do.  I get wanting it to be heard, I get being frustrated that "things aren't right in the world" and I get not liking what "the other side" is saying.  On facebook you REALLY get that last one though.  The anonymity of fb; being able to just write and post and "like" and "unlike", gives us a sense of mysterious power that a lot of us would have the common sense not to display in any other social setting.

I've decided this is the way to go...blog it.  Let's just see how many people give a hoot about your griping and complaining and anger and fist waving.  They have to go to your blog, click on your link, seek out your opinion.  That, or I need 1146 friends like my kids---no wonder they never comment on my posts.  They never see them!  When you have  a mere 209 friends and you consider that only a small portion of those are active, you see every stinkin' status update that comes along.  And, clearly, some folks are getting paid a tidy little sum at their day jobs to do not much of anything outside of web-surfing and reposting links.

I'm so tired of the partisan ranting.  My dad is a rantor.  He rants about ranting.  Most of the time I agree with him, but I'm even tired of that ranting.  I realize the why-can't-we-all-just-get-along approach is NOT going to work...ever.  Ever.  But people have really gotten out of control.  I know people who have recently posted comments so absurd that, if the tables were turned point by point in their "posts", they would be appalled that someone had the audacity to even think some of those things about them, let alone write them in a status update.  But, if they are the ones saying it, if they believe themselves to be the higher intellect, if they don't see a need for compromise, then...well...then they must simply be right.  Oh, and by the way, the rest of you who disagree are stupid, ignorant fools.  I'm sick of that.  It's not right.  And, it's not a good means to any solution, far less one they will like.

I don't think there is much of a solution here other than avoidance.  There are certain people that I know to avoid like the plague.  They are toxic.  They will fight and argue a point for the sake of doing so.  They are never wrong.  They are always more brilliant and, for all they care, you really can go take a flying leap off of a bridge somewhere.  Does that make them "bad people"--I don't know.  But I know it sure as heck makes them difficult to be around by anyone than other people just like them.

I am proud that I have a very diverse group of friends.  At least I think I do.  I have friends who are from different political parties, friends with different skin color, friends from different countries, friends of different ages and economic backgrounds and religions, country-club golfing friends and camping in the woods fishing friends.  Are these all uber close see-all-the-time friends?  No.  But I consider them friends and I would stop to talk to them in Walmart or Talbots, Arby's or Mahogany's (ok, not in Mahogany's because I just can't force myself to pay that much for a steak that my husband can cook just as well in our backyard...how 'bout Fusco's?)  Anyhow, my point is this: If I find out the world is coming to an end tomorrow, I sure hope that I can surround myself with people with different ideas, suggestions and beliefs.  Because if I can't--I'm at a real loss as to any additional viable, thought-provoking, helpful solutions other than my own.

Now my ideas may be better in some instances.  But maybe there are better solutions elsewhere for other instances.  I have a set of values and morals that I would never waiver from.  I believe in God and I have faith in what my church teaches.  Those would always be guidelines I would base my decisions on.  But assuming that someone outside my "circle" doesn't have something of value to offer, or is ignorant because of their stated beliefs does nothing but short change me in the long run.  There will be people with little to offer, and there will be those who are ignorant...both outside and inside my little circle.

It's when we become that person within our own circle that we've really lost touch.  I'm seeing a lot of that and it makes me terribly sad.  So, I'm giving everyone a break from my own spewing. I'll spew to myself, because that's really what that little "status update" is about...and often times it combines itself with quite a bit of pot-stirring.  But in my own blog I can post my little opinion and then, if you so choose, you can go to the trouble of clicking on it, reading it all and commenting...or not.  No harm, no foul.  And, if you don't have more than 209 friends like me, then you don't have to see, read or think about any of my angry, condescending, ignorant, insensitive, thoughtless, cruel, opinionated opinions.

You can thank me later.

#19-Final Thoughts-Part A

This is a tough one. Seriously it is. It could be touching, maddening, terribly hysterical or downright embarrassing. That's why the rest of the title was "....what those thoughts say about you as a human and do you really want to know".

I'm going with the second part first. Yes. Yes, I can honestly say, I DO really want to know. Of course I will certainly be crushed to find out that a few people (surely not many, right?) saw me as a selfish, mindless, lazy, wasted bag of flesh--lots of flesh--that only thought about her own needs and the stuff she wanted. Hopefully, there are also a few who would disagree with the former view. (ah-hem...kids, to whom I was sliced open to give you birth from somewhere deep inside my body never to have those muscles again...)

BUT--the "Final Thoughts" part can be interpreted two ways. #1-Final Thoughts others have about you upon your death, or #2-Your own Final Thoughts at the moment you die. #2 will have to be considered in Final Thoughts Part B, for another post. For now, I'm considering Part A...what on earth will they say??

I find it interesting how we all think of our "final times". Coincidentally, our priest gave a homily on this very thing just last Sunday. He talked about death and dying and how you really don't ever know when your time is up, clock stops, Father Time comes knockin' at your door, so it is imperative that we not be screwing up too terribly bad at that point. What's funny is that I tend to think of myself as the same person dead as I think of myself alive. For example: Look back at that second paragraph...I wrote, "....I will certainly be crushed to find out..." like once I croak I'm going to be looming about to see and hear what everyone's got to say about me. "Hey, Hey you guys down there...let's get on with the show". But I've never thought about when the show is over. What happens if I do know what's going on and then suddenly people just begin to disperse and move on. They go on with their lives. They aren't going to talk about me that much, so I'm going to have to know what they are thinking about me when they think it. That's going to be a little bit sad I think.

I think about that too. For some reason I talk to my mother-in-law a lot. And I talk to her out loud a lot...probably more than any other deceased person I know, or, in this case, have known. I think I do it because I wish she was still here. I wish I could call her up and tell her, "Maryann, do you know what (my) kid so-and-so did now..." I know she would know exactly what to say. She had nine kids, for pete's sake! I can see her smiling ever so slightly and nodding her head with that twinkle in her eye that quietly indicated that she was bursting out laughing on the inside at all the stupid stuff I had thought or said or did as a parent. Anyhow, I think about people I've known who have died and I almost always think of them in a positive light. So, I wonder if Maryann knows that I think about her a bunch. I wonder if she hears me talk out loud to her and I wonder if I'm going to know or hear people's words and thoughts when I'm dead?-much later on down the road, of course.

Maybe that's what happens when you die. Maybe all of the sudden people don't remember all the crummy stuff you did because you are gone and those crummy things aren't as comforting to those you left behind as the good things. Or maybe positive stuff really does over power the negative stuff. Or maybe people just feel guilty for thinking a bad thing about a person who has died. But what about the people I've know who have been crummy, or what about the people I know now that are really crummy? I can't say that I've known too many really crummy people who have died already. I know some who made some really crummy choices and did some really crummy stuff that resulted in them being really dead so maybe that's the same thing. But it's interesting to take note as to whether or not we are thought of crumm-ily by those we leave behind, if, in fact, we really were a crummy person... I think the best remedy for that is for me to try to not be a really crummy person from here on out.

So, what are people going to say about me when I die? I don't have a clue. I know what I'd like for them to say. I know what I would hope they say, but who knows what they will say. People are a little funny about this too. I know my husband is. It's like he thinks it's almost "rude" to wonder about that--as if I'm overstepping my boundaries or being presumptuous. I've tried to explain that's it's more of a curiosity than anything. It's not like I'm writing out my eulogy and making someone pinky blood swear that THIS is the EXACT thing they will read at my service. I'll be honest in saying I have written a "eulogy" of sorts for a person or two, pre-death...wayyyy pre-death. I know it sounds a bit peculiar, but it's somewhat cathartic. It's a great way of getting down on paper and not forgetting what your thoughts are about a certain person and their connection to your life. Now wouldn't that be nice to know for yourself? Now. Before you pass away? Ask a friend today. See what kind of look you get.

There's another thing---the whole death and dying terminology. Do you have any idea how many people I know who think it is in bad taste to use the word "die" when someone...well..."dies". I find it hard to use anything but "that" word. But it is treated somewhat like He Who Must Not Be Named in the Harry Potter movies. Death, dying, die--that is what we do as mortal humans. I'm not sure what people mean when they say "pass on". I understand the life-after-death concept and I have great faith in that. But what if they don't pass on? Or what if it's a while before they get to the passing on part? And, where exactly does everyone who use this phrase, think the deceased is passing to? I am reminded that we are not the arbitrators of that gig. Not to mention why those who don't even believe in God or life with God, far less an after-life with or without Him may use this phrase. So, there is "passing on" and then there is the older, more simplified version where someone has simply "passed". There is also "passed away" which is very similar to "passing on", but a bit more terse--as if there is a definite finality in never running into each other, ever again. Like the difference between "Shirley has gone on..." and "Shirley has gone away". With the second, you are quite certain you will not be seeing Shirley for a very long time, if ever. The first leaves you feeling that Shirley has simply meandered her way elsewhere and you may run into her again soon.

And then there is "lost". This is my very, very least favorite. That is, if one can have a favorite or least favorite term regarding this topic. I think there should be an enforceable rule that "lost" should always, without exception, refer to a child missing in the woods somewhere...or a football or soccer game. But, "...they 'lost' Jim yesterday..." ugh. Jim is NOT lost. In fact, Jim is anything but lost. Jim now has to be transported, and then attended to in whatever way the family has deemed necessary. Someone is having to do that with and for Jim and I bet you a Diet Dr. Pepper they too would disagree that Jim was "lost". And "lost", very much conflicts with "passing on". "Lost" has a connotation of "Jim doesn't know what to do, where to go or how to get outta here now". It is very possible that Jim has always been a little air-heady like that, but Jim is dead now and I like to believe there is a definitive systematic method for soul removal, even if it's being shuffled somehow to Gate #4 for those "not sure yet", or being shuffled somehow directly to Gate #666 for those who were clearly crappy folks all along or a gentle shuffle and nudge on to Gate #9 3/4, for those who have always been headed to the "good place". A "lost" soul, still needs a place to go I think.

But I digress a bit with terminology. The point is what do the things people have to say about you after you are gone, say about you as a person. Maya Angelou said, "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel". I think that's nice. I hope that's true. And it would fall in line along with the aforementioned "crappy" person too--probably didn't make us feel so great, so we'd have less than great memories of that person. But, I think most of the people I know are kind, decent human beings who do make me feel nice, make me laugh, make me think, make me feel special and I bet that's how and what I would remember about them if they were to die. I sure hope I've made people feel nice.

I started this list of 20 brain storming notions as a result of my own Event, as my dear friend has coined it. So, I have that as a point of personal reference. Ironically, the morning of the first initial surgery, while my husband was driving me to the hospital, I told him, "you know what I want if something happens, right?" "What are you talking about?" "You know...if I croak or something" "What do you mean 'what you want'? You won't be here". "Well I think you underestimate my ability to make your life miserable even in my own afterlife" "True. What do you want". "Well the first thing I want is that I don't want anyone to see me dead. No open casket thing. No finding clothes or doing makeup or hair to make me look nice. I want to be cremated. And I want to be put in a pretty little pottery vase and placed in a nice quiet place of worship that is spa-like. I'd like it to smell like lavender. And a nice meaningful service and then a bang-up party. And make sure that everyone has a drink, a toast of sorts. And then give all my scrapbook stuff to Teresa. Don't let the kids toss everything right now. It may mean something to one of them later" Yep, I got all that in from 101st & Sheridan to 71st & Hwy. 75. It's a long drive, but he listened, so that was good.

But, the next day, while I was desperately trying to hold on to life's last breath, literally, I thought about my family in a different way. I hoped my husband would be sad--I mean, you know...he'd miss me for something more than the fact that I keep his underwear drawer fairly tidy, not to mention filled with super duper clean underwear. I don't ever want someone to be sad, but I kept thinking that I'd hoped I'd done enough. More than the underwear and the dishes and the taxi service and the crummy meals. Enough to make my family feel happy about me and think of me in that positive light that I do my mother-in-law. What's funny is since I didn't die, I got to hear some of the things they were thinking. They were personal, but the one that surprised me the most was that they thought how sad it was that I'd never see or know my grand-children. You know what that means? That means that I may have grandchildren one day and I hadn't even thought about those things during my Event. But they had. They knew how much I loved being with people and family and friends. And that made them feel sad for me and for themselves.

People have told me they were glad I didn't die. I'm glad they were glad. That made me feel nice. I was glad too. Of course, for you who haven't mentioned that to me, don't worry that I'm sitting around making a list of who was glad I didn't die and who wasn't. I'm not. I just think it's an eye-opener of sorts. To almost maybe sort of die and then not--it makes you and the people around you think about all the "what if's". And it makes you wonder about the "would've's". I want people to say nice things about me when I pack 'er in, hang it up, kick the bucket. I want to be missed. And, after listening to my priest this past week, I want my family to grieve...that is, when the time comes for real.

Until then, I want to remember the do-over I get so that when the time comes that I am hovering around all of you and watching and listening to all of your comments I won't be crushed to find out that I blew it--not once, but twice.