The Butterfly and the Bear

A Man Without A Country

Yesterday my seven year old niece said to me, “Mandy, I like your blog but you need to write more about Terr-bear.  He is REALLY interesting.”  To which I replied, “You don’t find me interesting?”  After thinking about it for a minute she replied, “Uhm, yes, but he is cuter.”  I can’t argue with that, the little bear is indeed cuter.  And is at that stage in his life where everything is new, amazing and exciting.  He is learning to communicate and when you understand what his little grunt paired with his finger point means he kicks his legs and giggles in excitement, like, “You know what I want! YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT!  Yay!” When you ask him what a lion says he lets loose a big, “ROOAAARRRR!”  He has an amazing sense of humor, a ready smile and a big belly laugh.  He is a complete joy and a blessing.  I literally have the best job in the world, as my niece is fond of saying.  

 It is such an amazing job and responsibility that when I am having an off day I feel like a total failure.  I think to myself, "You are molding a little person!  You are in charge of his safety and well being!  Pull it together woman!"   Yesterday was one of those days where I felt like I was not on the top of my game.  Terr-bear and I drove up to my parents for a visit with them, my sister Claire and my niece as well as my aunt and uncle.  I figured we’d visit, take a dip in the pool, have some summer time fun.   We drive up to Connecticut and hit no traffic for the first time in 2 months, smooth sailing, this day was going our way!  We got to the house and I took the bear out of his car seat and decided to just carry him and and then head back out for all of our many bags that carry all of the baby accouterments.  After depositing Terr-bear into my Mothers arms I head back out to the car and realize the car keys are in my bag...INSIDE THE CAR!!!  And being a good German car it has of course locked and armed itself in the time I was in the house.  So, my purse, his diaper bag, his food bag, toys, bathing suit, EVERYTHING, is locked in the car.  

Excellent, I have a hot, tired and hungry baby and have no supplies.  We call AAA and the guy they sent was useless, after messing around for maybe five minutes he turns to me and says, “You don’t have a spare key?  Like a valet key or somethin’?”  Oh!  You mean THIS key?  Would that help?  Silly me, let me just unlock the car!  NO!  I don’t have a “spare” key, I wouldn’t have called you If I had a spare key.  Whatever.  He left and mumbled something about us never having to worry about our car being stolen.  Thanks for NOTHING.  

My parents during this fiasco were amazing, my Mother had some food and diapers stashed away for her grandson so we weren’t completely destitute.  My Father was going through the garage looking for tools to jimmy the door open.  My sister arrived and was immediately solicitous and offered to run to the store to get him more food, a change of clothes, whatever we needed.  As I’m feeding Terr-bear I hear my Mother on the phone, “Hello, this is Eileen McCorry, my daughter is here visiting and she came with the baby and locked the keys in the car and AAA came but couldn’t open it and well, all of the babies bags and such are still in the car....oh, no the baby is not in the car thank God!  But perhaps you could help us?  Well I live in Wilton, but quiet close to New Canaan, to tell you the truth sometimes I feel like a man without a country!  Yes, I am in Wilton.  Oh!  You could!  Well wonderful!  Thank you so much!”  I’m listening to her thinking, is she talking to the Police?  No.  Is she?  Well they either will think she is insane or be totally charmed by her.  Well check one off for charmed because she hung up and said, “That was the police, they are going to come and unlock the car!”  Woo-hooooo!  Nice one!  I was thrilled!  And couldn’t believe she did that and they agreed to come and unlock the car!  Terr-bear had pureed peas all over his face and when Nana told us the good news he began clapping and chanting “Nana! Nana!” Seriously, this kid is beyond.

So up pulls the police car and a handsome young officer gets out, so of course my sister Claire practically shoves me out the front door to greet him.  Excellent.  I am sweaty, frazzled, and wearing a pool cover-up.  Not my most glamorous moment.  He is really patient and sweet and helpful and he is armed with he same equipment the AAA guy had but the officer seems far more competent and helpful.  He attempts to unlock the door, pull the handle from the inside, pop the back door, he keeps trying everything in the scorching heat and this damn car won’t open!  After a while it is looking like he won’t get it open, I am losing hope and mentally kicking myself in the head, “Stupid, stupid, STUPID!  How did you lock the keys in the car!”  So my Father says, “May I try?”  And my Father, A.K.A Pop, A.K.A MacGyver gets it to open!  I have never been so excited to hear the sound of a car alarm in my life.  

So we get all of Terr-bears things, I feed him, change him and we take a dip in the pool.  The poor bear is exhausted, all the excitement and tension has worn him out.  So we say our goodbyes and by the time the car rolls out of the driveway he is sound asleep.  As I drive home I reflect on how lucky we are to have such a loving and caring family and that they all made a miserable situation better with their help and patience.  Last night when my sister got home from work I apologized for bothering her at work and interrupting her meeting with my calls about the keys being locked in the car and she replied, “You are doing an amazing job with him, don’t apologize.  Things like that happen, he wasn’t in the car when you locked it, he was fine.  That is all that matters.  I don’t care if you destroy the car, as long as he is ok and you are ok.”  So I have stopped mentally berating myself for locking the keys in the car and said a prayer of thanks that he was in fact not in the car when it locked and reminded myself how blessed and lucky I am to not only have the best job in the world but a family that loves and supports me. 

Come On In! The Water's Fine!

 I spent a large part of my childhood and young adulthood feeling timid, shy, and scared.  As a child I would lay awake at night running through various possible catastrophic scenarios.  If there was a fire how would I get out?  How would my sisters and parents get out?  What about an earthquake?  What if a ghost materialized in my room, what would I do?  If a madman crawled through my window would I scream?  Or just stare dumbfounded?  My teachers often complained to my parents that I seemed tired at school, that I lacked focus.  Well, duh, I was mulling over the problems of the world each night.   My sister found these small little hand crafted mexican worry people.  They came in a little satchel and at night you took them out, told them your worries and placed them back in the satchel under your pillow.  I loved them at first.  I was so happy to unload all of my fear, anxiety, doubt and dread on them.  Those first few nights I whispered my fears to them and placed them under my pillow and slept soundly knowing they were working on it so I didn’t have to.  Then I began to worry about the worry people.  Did they understand what I was saying?  Was I being clear and cohesive and detailed enough?  Did I have to tell them in order of importance or did they know what issues I was most concerned about?  Did they pray for your worries?  Or did I still need to say my prayers? After a few short nights the worry people only added to my uneasiness.  

I was scared of strangers, I would become flustered when my Mother would make me run into the Chinese laundry to pick up her dry cleaning because I didn’t understand the woman and I thought she was yelling at me.  I wasn’t good at standing up for myself, I often would allow other children to mock me and would sit by and pretend not to hear.  Teachers would often tell my parents I lacked confidence, that I relied too heavily on my sister Robin, that I wan’t independent enough, that I was shy to the point of muteness.  In fifth grade I actually believed at one point I was being followed by a ghost.  First it began at night, in my bed, when I was unable to sleep and was running through my various calamitous scenarios, then it seeped into the day as well, when I was riding my bike home from school, at school, this feeling of panic would sweep over me and I would be sure I was being followed.  Now, I was already a total nerd, had precious few friends and was a target for bullies, so the whole being followed by a ghost thing I’m sure only made me act like a bigger misfit. 

I realise now as an adult looking back that I was most likely suffering from anxiety, but as a kid I felt like everything frightened me, other children, strangers, teachers, the unknown, the dark, change, the local news.  I got to a point where I was sick of being scared.  I was tired of being timid.  As I wrote in an earlier post, I made a conscious descion in my late teens and twenties to overcome my timidness and self consciousness, I made a point to be more out spoken, to stand up for myself and for what I believe in.  I pretended to be the outgoing, funny, friendly girl until I actually felt I was able to become her.  However, as an adult I still struggle with my fears and overcoming them.  Who doesn’t?  It is amazing though how a seemingly small occurrence can remind you of your fears and the feeling of paralysis that accompanies them.  

This past weekend I was up at my sister’s beach house with her, her husband, her stepson, Terr-bear, my younger sister Jamie and her boyfriend.  We had a wonderful, fun, laid back weekend.  And best of all I finally was able to swim in the sound for the first time this summer.  Usually I am the first one in the water at the beginning of the season and the last one out at the end of the season.  I love the salt water and am an avid believer that it is good for the skin, hair, and soul.  On Saturday there were a few jellyfish sightings, no big deal, I’d seen them before and still swam regardless.  Jamie’s boyfriend asked me about it and I made a point of saying that they are always around, but you can see them and they never stopped me from enjoying the water.  Later in the day I was pulling Jamie on the float when I felt stinging on the back of my legs.  I freaked, of course, and began frantically pulling her and the float to the shore.  By the time I reached the sand my chest had also begun to sting.  I went back to the house and took off my suit, I had red marks across my chest and on my calves and I found two teeny, tiny jelly’s in my suit.  I must have walked through a little school of them, hence all the stinging in different places.  For a few minutes it started to feel really uncomfortable, then per my brother in laws instruction I doused the marks in vinegar and took some advil.  I was beyond lucky, both helped immensely and by the evening I felt fine.  So, I wasn’t stung by a man o' war or some other crazy huge jelly, I have seen people in excruciating pain from being stung, I simply had some uncomfortable stinging.  Nevertheless the next day at the beach I had this Gollum like internal monologue going on in my head, “Crap, what if there are more jelly’s in the water. Ugh now the ocean is ruined for me!  I can only swim in pools now.  But I LOVE the salt water.  Ugh damn jelly’s!  I can’t go back in.  You HAVE to go back in!  Yes!  It wasn’t bad yesterday but what if I get stung by a big one today?”  I was starting to get really ticked off at those bastard jellyfish when I had a flashback of me as a teenager at the beach in the summer, sweating and feeling uncomfortable in my own skin because I was wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and shorts instead of a bathing suit because I felt too pale, fat, and ugly and was scared people would judge me.  That’s when I snapped myself back into reality. “Mandy, get over it.  Go in the water, do not sit on the sidelines.  You spent way too long being scared on the sidelines.”  Now, some of you may be snickering and thinking, “Grow a set woman, it was just some small jellyfish!”  However, from a young age I learned to avoid anything that made me uncomfortable or made me feel bad.  15 years ago I wouldn’t have gone back into the water.  I would’ve sulked on the beach.  Well, I went back in.  Twice!  Albeit briefly both times, I didn’t do my usual floating and lolling, but I did go in completely, cooled of and felt the lovely briney feel of the salt water on my body.  A small victory, but a personal one none the less.  Life is too short.  We all know this, we all say it.  I need to start living it.  Here’s to not being scared and to jumping in and enjoying the water! 

The Flustered Butterfly

Terr-bear had his one year checkup on Wednesday.  It was a little hectic due to the change in routine and schedule, however, as usual he was a little hero.  At the one year checkup they get two shots and have blood drawn.  He barely cried when he got the shots, he laughed and giggled as the doctor gently pressed on his belly and sides, he chatted away and smiled at the nurses and doctor.  Now, I may be biased but when the doctor said his communication skills were advanced for his age I thought, “Uh, tell us something we don’t know!  He’s a baby genius!”  He was a pure delight.

After meeting with the doctor we headed downstairs to the lab to wait for his blood to be drawn.  It was a little crowded in the waiting room and we had to wait for a half hour or so.  At one point when Robin, his Mother, went to the bathroom he began to fuss so to distract him I stood up and started swaying and slowly dancing with him.  He loves dancing and started kicking his legs and bopping up and down in my arms.  Suddenly the front of my sun dress felt warm, I pull him away and a stream of urine sprays out just barely missing some innocent bystanders and hits one of the waiting room chairs.  Shocked I quickly pulled him in and pressed him against me to abate the stream.  Oh boy.  A nice woman who had narrowly missed getting caught in the crossfire asked, “Do you need help.”  To which I competently replied, “Uh, uhm, uhh, no, his Mom will be back in a minute.”  Robin came out and we went into the bathroom, I changed his diaper while she juggled him in her arms.  The front of my dress was drenched in urine.  Great, I thought, everyone will be wondering who the homeless woman is with the cute baby and nice woman.  Finally it was time for his blood to be drawn and again, he was a total angel, cried for the briefest moment and then was back to his happy self. 

Once at home I was anxious to take the doctors advice to have him try some baby puffs before his meal.  Because he got his teeth late he hasn’t really caught on to the whole chewing thing.  So with the doctors blessing we were going to try to get him to eat some puffs.  I placed 5 or 6 on his highchair tray as I prepared his jar of food and got him his water.  Naturally he flicked them in the air, shoved them in his lap, threw them on the floor, essentially put them everywhere but his mouth.  I went over put one in my mouth and chirped, “Look! Look! Yummy! YUM-MEEEE!”  He looked at me like I was insane. So I took one and placed it on his lips.  He rolled it into his mouth and immediately looked disgusted.  In my mind I heard, “Uh-Oh.” As the puff retreated further into his mouth he looked totally revolted.  Then the gagging started, and as I am reaching to get him out of the highchair the vomit began to flow.  Once, twice, three times.  Damn puffs!  DAMN PUFFS!  Once it was all up he stopped throwing up and I felt terrible.  Why did he need to chew anyway?! Crazy doctor!  Why not stick with pureed food until he is say, 6 or 7?  

So now we REALLY needed a bath.  The bear loves his baths, he is a total water baby.  Up we went and I placed him in his little tub.  Usually his bath has a calming effect on him.  Not this time, he was splashing, squirming, trying to stand up and/or pull me in.  Funtimes.  So I go to dry him off and we have to do his least favorite thing in the world: place him on the changing table.  He starts flailing, crying and banging his head.  I am beyond frazzled and for some reason the head banging while not a new occurrence,  totally upsets me.  However every time I say, “No.” in my stern I’m-not-messing-around voice, this makes him laugh uproariously.  Then he would resume his crying and head banging, and again I’d say no and he would laugh hysterically.  Oh boy. I finally managed to fasten his diaper and I picked his squirming body up and placed him in the crib for a “timeout”, probably more for me than him,  and went to drain the water from his tub.  At this point my sister who was working downstairs came up to see what all the crying/laughing and repeated “No banging!” was all about.  She went in and picked a disgruntled and crying Terr-bear out of his crib and explained that he is still too young to understand a timeout and that if the head banging was hurting him, he’d stop.  Right.  I know this.  I am a logical person.  I felt like a total idiot and I felt bad that I had allowed myself to get so flustered and had let him feel my tension and anxiety.  My sister of course was wonderful and told me not to be so hard on myself.  I was having visions of him crying and pointing his little pointer finger at me and instead of calling me “My Mandy” changing it to, “Mean Mandy!”  However, luckily 12 month olds don’t hold grudges and he seemed to forget all about the puff induced vomiting and the crib timeout.

Yesterday when I went to change him he started up with the squirming and head banging and I pretended to not see it and instead said, “Oh, look, I’m putting on your diaper!  Is that Elmo on your diaper?!”  He looked at me and stopped his head banging and looked around and clearly was asking himself, “Hmmm, what else can I do to get a rise out of her.”  So instead he took his little hand and began slapping his mouth and laughing uproariously.  Sigh.  He is my nephew after all. 

Everything's Fine

This past weekend I met some of my girlfriends from college at an inn and spa in Pennsylvania for a girls weekend.  It was long over due and difficult to orchestrate with everyones crazy schedules, however, after many emails back and forth, we finally made it happen!  And it was well worth it.  Some of these ladies I hand’t seen in over 4 years, and yet once we were all back together it felt effortless, it was fun and we all slipped back into our old familiar roles. 

Laura is the stalwart.  She is always a riot, always up for a laugh and a drink.  She was the first person I befriended freshman year and we stuck together all four years.  I count her among on of my closest friends to this day.  We can go months without seeing each other but immediately slip back into our usual banter.  We bicker like sisters, make fun of each other, laugh our heads off and support one another.  She and I used to drive to and from college together during school breaks and we still seem to find ourselves carpooling for hours on end.  The only thing that can make 7 hours of traffic bearable is laughing and talking smack about the old days with her. 

The mother hen: Michelle.  In college her room was like an oasis, a stocked fridge, candles lit, calm music playing and she always offered sage advice.  Her room was where we went when we had a problem, when we needed to escape the chaos of dorm life or just to chat and get some peace and quiet. As adults she is the organizer, the one who keeps us all in touch, who helps orchestrate our visits.  She greeted us all this weekend with personalized notes, letting us each know individually what she appreciated about us and our friendship.  For years after we graduated it was Michelle who would compile all the happenings in our lives and sent out a “Rosie Newsletter” updating us all on engagements, promotions, new homes, and any news going on in our circle of friends. 

Lynn is the chameleon.  In college she looked like the shy, sweet quiet catholic school girl, now she looks like the patient and reserved mother of a one year old.  However, what is always so surprising about Lynn is she manages to say the most outrageous things.  Just when you think you’ve crossed the line and said something totally scandalous she tops you.  And she has the ability to sneak up on you and stealthily out creep you.  With her you never see it coming, one minute she is there smiling sweetly, the next she is blowing your mind. We roomed together this weekend and in our otherwise lovely suite was a weird set of crow statues.  Several times throughout the weekend she managed to sneak up on me and startle me with these damn birds.  Of course when I went to pack up my things one of them was in my bag, the other sat perched on my laptop. 

The quiet one: Lisa.  Again, this one can be deceiving, you think maybe she’s not really listening, she isn’t fully engaged, then she says some funny aside or one liner that lets you know she’s in on it and she’s been listening the whole time.  She will say a line from a private joke you had 10 years before, she will remind you of a hilarious and embarrassing story you thought everyone had forgotten.  

The kid sister: Katie.  Katie is Lynn’s younger sister who also went to school with us and is beyond hilarious.  Having the Packuska sisters together is always a good time, and Katie always manages to keep things a little more classy.  When we start to slip into total obnoxiousness she helps elevate the group.  It doesn’t hurt that she also has a wicked sense of humor and is a fantastic story teller. 

And I guess I am the joker, or as Lisa said to me as we got into the car, “You are a one woman show, you do realize that?”  I am perhaps a wee bit too loud, I like to make fun of everyone, and myself.  When my friend Michelle proposed a toast and spoke sincere, heartfelt and kind words about our gathering I was the one who snickered, “WAIT!  Are you crying?!!!”  fast forward to a half hour later and I was the one proposing a toast that I was barely able to articulate due to the fact I was full on crying, which then of course turned into maniacal laughing at how absurd I am. 

The third person: Michelle’s partner Christy.  She went to college with us but was two years behind us and she is the one who will tell us we are insane, her laughing combined with an incredulous head shake only spurs our lunacy along further.  Having someone who knows us but can step outside and look in is rather entertaining to have around, she is the one who said, “You’re drunk” after my tearful speech, and she is the one who will remind us we are being obnoxiously loud in the restaurant.   She is almost like the narrator of the story, she can step back and comment on the insanity going on around her. 

We went to dinner, drank too much, reminisced about the old days, caught up on the present day and what was going on in everyones lives...drank some more.  Plans for Karaoke and dancing were abandoned in favor of going back to the Inn and hanging out in the suite to gossip, laugh, and of course drink some more.  We stayed up way too late and I talked until I almost lost my voice, just like we were in college all over again.  The next morning we all had breakfast together at the inn before setting off in various directions.  For over two hours we all listened as each of us opened up about where we are in our lives at the moment.  We talked about Lynn’s job, how challenging, exhausting and heartbreaking it can be to work with troubled children and how difficult it is to leave it all behind when she gets home to her husband and toddler at night.  We spoke about Laura’s husbands hospital scare a few months back and how she juggled 3 young children while battling her fear and anxiety over what may happen to him.  We discussed Michelle and how she deals with Rheumatoid arthritis on a daily basis and how she balances a heavy work schedule and her health.  Lisa talked about packing up her home and moving in the midst of her job giving her more responsibility and the stress piling up while she raises two young children.  And sadly our other “Rosie”  Colleen was unable to join us for the weekend because her Grandmother had just passed away.  As I listened to the struggles they face on a daily basis, the stress they carry I thought to myself, “I will never complain about working in retail again.”  I was in awe of how these girls I met in college had grown up to be such amazing women, how they handled life's stresses and pressure with such grace and humor. I was proud of and impressed with each of them. 

Finally after much reluctance we realized it was 20 minutes past checkout and we said our goodbyes.  Laura and I got in the car and as we pulled away from the inn and left the weekend behind she commented, “Wow, we all have adult problems now, big girl issues.”  She’s right, we all have our issues, we all have times of stress, anxiety, and fear.  We all are short on time and spread too thin, however, I am so very happy we all were able to put the real world aside for a weekend and take the time to come together to laugh, reminisce, and support each other.  Virginia Wolf said, “Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.”  Is there anything as comforting, as familiar and as reassuring as old friends?  I hope my other “Rosies” found the weekend as restoring, entertaining and ridiculously fun as I did. 

Trout and Marge

Marlene Dietrich said, "It is the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter". I know it may sound like a second grade mentality but I strongly believe everyone needs a “besty”.  You know, your very best friend, your BFF, if you will.  Your soul sister, sista from another motha? Granted my four sisters are all my best and closest friends, but you still need your besty!  The girl who you can disagree with like you are sisters and she won’t hold a grudge, the one who will laugh at you and herself when you bring up all those cringe worthy stories from the past.  The girl who will tell you if those jeans do in fact make you look fat, but in the kindest way possible.  The gal who will champion you and support you when you decide that you are going to change your life for the millionth time.  She always has your back and she can always make you laugh even when you feel like you are losing it.  

My besty and I met in college, we bonded over our love of obscure bands from the ’80’s, all things anglophile, James Bond, Euro trash, and our disdain for our current situations.  We assumed we were both destined for greatness.  We were like Gail and Oprah, Lucy and Ethel, Blanche and Dorothy.  To this day we will marvel at how we feel we are funnier, more outgoing, more confident and more ourselves when the other is around.  Like together we can charm a room, win fans and influence people, whereas apart our powers are diluted.  We travelled around Scandinavia together, survived an all womans Catholic college together, and were roomates the year after college in a dismal flat in London.  When I lost my job just before heading home to the states for Christmas and couldn’t afford my rent, she was the one who lent me the money.  When a nasty little trollop called me a name in a pizza place on the upper east side of Manhattan, she read that girl the riot act.  

I was in her wedding party, saw her walk down the aisle, move into her first apartment.  When I moved into Manhattan she convinced her hubs to move into the city within 6 months, less then 10 blocks away from me of course. I cried when she left New York to move abroad, rejoiced when she became a Mother for the first time, marveled when I saw how amazing she is with her daughter.  We were always a team, our names often synonymous with each other.  So rarely were we apart that often our other friends would ask where the other was if we were not together. 

 I was lucky she married a man with immense patience who tolerated me being a constant third wheel in their life and who endured our dance off sessions in the middle of her apartment, our American Idol duets, (I would always make her sing the male parts as I insisted she had a deeper voice than mine.) endless games of M.A.S.H and “would you rather”, and our constant rehashing of our “glory days”.  Now that she lives 4000 miles away I miss the late nights in college and later in Manhattan spent chatting, gossiping, laughing and conspiring.  It has been 16 years of friendship and I am so blessed to have someone who I never have to explain myself to, I never have to feel like I have to be someone else around, and I know will always make me laugh until my stomach hurts.  Every girl needs a besty, someone who always has her back and will kick some ass in a pizza parlor if need be.  Miss you Con!

Does This Thing Have Brakes?

Do you ever have one of those moments in life where you think, “I don’t want to be an adult anymore.”  Like, stop the ride,!  I want OFFFF!!!!!  It doesn’t necessarily even have to be in the middle of a major crisis, it can just be one of those moments where everything seems to come into too sharp a focus and you realize, crap, this adult business is HARD.

I remember saying to my sister Robin  last year during a time when my job and life in general felt a little joyless, and I felt like I was sleep walking through life, that I sometimes wished I could take a break from being an adult.  Her reply, “Oh I always wanted to be an adult.  As a child I couldn’t wait to be in charge of my own destiny, make my own money and my own decisions.”  This from the girl who at 10 had a combination locked money box full of wads of cash, a room more immaculately kept than most homes and her goal was to be a businesswoman with a large corner office with a gold phone.  As in a solid, 14 karat (or higher) phone in which she imagined herself barking orders.  I'm pretty sure she came out of the womb clutching a "to-do list" and shouting directions to the doctors and nurses.  Yeah, so she kind of wasn’t understanding me.  I actually didn’t necessarily even mean I wanted to go back to being a child, although that sense of wonder and pure joy we experience as children is fleeting and does not often occur after a certain age.  That mix of anticipation, excitement and joy Christmas morning before you run downstairs to open all your presents, that feeling when you blew out your birthday candles and you KNEW if you just focused really hard your wish would come true, the feeling when you first rode a bike without training wheels.  There is no way to get that euphoric and yet naive innocence back.  

However, I really wasn’t interested in becoming a child again, I was more thinking about that in between time, that cushy middle place between 18-22 when you felt independent, but you still had that safety net beneath you.  Those halcyon days of youth when we were defining ourselves, but our parents still ultimately carried the burden of providing for us.  For many of us it was the first time we were away from home, away from the watchful eyes of our parents, out from under their rule, making our own decisions but still in the safe and rarefied surroundings of our dorm and college campus.  I know not everyones experience was necessarily like this, that for some the burden of providing and fending for themselves came at a younger age.   However, for me when I feel the pressure setting in and I am looking for the escape hatch, I often look back to that time in my life with rose colored glasses.  It was so freeing to not be restricted with the encumbrance of car payments, rent, mortgages, and all the tediousness of “real life”.  You could define yourself by totally and completely forming different beliefs than your parents, but you could also go home one weekend for a home cooked meal, some motherly love and coddling and sleep in your childhood bed again.  We could indulge in hours of soul searching, stay up late into the night having conversations about who we were, where we were going and how we were going to live life.  It was like free therapy for crying out loud!  Now if you try and bore your friends with all this “Who am I?  What am I doing with my life?”  mumbo-jumbo they refer you to their therapist.  It felt safe, cosseted and yet totally “grown up”.  The possibilities were endless, it all stretched out before us.  

The fact is, that time wasn’t as idyllic as I am remembering.  For starters I was kind of a loser until I hit 20, and even then I was always pining after some guy who wouldn’t give me the time of day, I always wanted to move on to the next big thing and often felt I was missing out on life, I had a poor body image and I didn’t appreciate myself and my God given gifts.  Hunh, well.  Lessons I apparently still need to learn.  

I suppose when I want to hit the off switch and slow down the ride I have to remind myself, enjoy it, because it doesn’t slow down and you don’t want off, you WANT to be on it.  Yes, life can be stressful, but if you shut your eyes and cover your ears you miss the beautiful parts as well.  So, here’s to learning to go along for the ride. 

I've Gone to the Birds

My guest post at For the Birds is up! Please check it out and enjoy Ryan's frighteningly accurate account of our college experience!  

The Bird and the Bear

Apparently it is quite difficult to write a blog with a bear on your back.  Last week my sister was in London on business so I was taking care of little Terr-bear during the day and doing double duty and helping my brother-in-law with him at night.  Add to that the fact that the bear decided that last week would be the week he wouldn't nap and the house seemed to be host to a constant stream of people coming and going, and well, I was burnt out.  All week in the back of my mind I was verbally berating myself for not blogging.  I would appease myself by vowing to hunker down in the evening and write before bed.  Then I would feed Terr-bear, play with him, and perhaps even bathe him and pretty much right after he was asleep I was not far behind.  I don't know how all the Mommy bloggers out there do it.  I was beyond fried and could barely string a coherent sentence together let alone write a blog post.

Then there was the fact that truly I didn't feel inspired last week.  I felt like I had nothing to say.  And this fact freaked me out.  Since I started blogging about 2 months ago, my fear of having a lack of ideas and inspiration has been nipping at my heels.  With each post I completed and felt confident was at least readable if not Pulitzer prize worthy, once I clicked publish I almost immediately felt a slight low grade panic and wondered to myself, "But what will you write tomorrow?!"  So as exhausted and time crunched as I was last week, I also was allowing myself to use the change in schedule and circumstances as a crutch and an excuse not to blog.  One night after the bear was asleep and I perused the gossip sights, the school marm in me reprimanded myself and said, "You could blog now.  Instead of reading this mental garbage about people you don't know, you could actually think for yourself, do something productive and BLOG!"  I pushed the thoughts aside and  jumped over to facebook, my most favorite of time sucks.  

Then there was the fact that I felt a little toxic last week.  My mother had commented the weekend before how she liked that I kept the blog positive, that even when I had started my no carb, no sugar diet I had described my foul mood as a case of the "mean reds" and kept it all constructive and avoided being negative.  Well, last week I didn't feel like being constructive or positive.  I was tired, and I was overwhelmed at times, and it seemed like everyone I encountered (besides my Terr-bear of course) was majorly pissing me off.  I felt like everyone simply wasn't GETTING IT.  Then I stopped and asked myself, "Could it be that I am the one not getting it?"  If everyone seems insane, maybe I am actually the crazy person?  I still haven't figured that out, I do know I may need to take a closer look at how I am relating to  others.  Perhaps I am demanding too much from people and have set my expectations too high.  Paging Dr. Freud.  I don't know.  I do know I had no desire to write anything and when I did try to force myself to mentally compose a post last week it was all venomous and exasperated thoughts.  Not a fun read.  And not exactly productive.  So, I let myself feel tired and allowed myself to tool aimlessly around the web until my eyes literally shut themselves each night.  I allowed myself to devote most of my time and energy to caring for and playing with Terr-bear while his mother was away.  I indulged my negative thoughts and promised myself come Monday, I would have turned it around and would have somehow stumbled upon a brilliant post in my minds reserves.  Hiding behind all the annoyance, snark and exhaustion would be a luminous, thoughtful, amusing, and engaging post.  Well, as the weekend wore on I started to panic.  My foul mood wasn't really lifting and even when it abated thanks to some enjoyable family time, a brilliant post didn't magically appear.  I was freaking out.

Then Sunday night a friend of mine who writes the For the Birds Blog and whose writing I have enjoyed for a long time emailed me and asked me if I would like to guest post on her blog this week.  I was beyond excited, and then had major trepidation.  I was a black hole of ideas.  I had no inspiration and earlier in the day had been mentally trying to talk myself into giving up the whole blogging business.  But I couldn't say no, I wanted to write a post for her, and more than that I REALLY didn't want it to suck.  I didn't want her to read it and think, "What is this crap?!  I am SO not posting this to my blog."  So I wrote about what was dominating my thoughts for the entire week, no not the fact that everyone was getting on my last nerve, the fact that I felt like I had nothing to write about.  It wasn't my best post and it certainly wasn't original, but it got me to write and it officially ended my 6 day slump.  And it got me back on my own blog.  Essentially a little birdie swooped in and without even realizing it got me to focus, swallow my fears, and write.  So while I know this is not my most hilarious, engaging, thought provoking, and engrossing blog post, it is a post.  I did it!  I faced the demons of inertia and fear and wrote SOMETHING.  Now I'm off to make that therapy appointment and to figure out if the lunatics really are running the asylum.  

Happy Birthday Bear!

This week has been hectic so I haven’t been able to blog.  We are in the midst of planning and preparing for Terr-bear’s first birthday this Saturday.  It is going to be an amazing party for a wonderful little guy and he is a major cause for celebration.  He is a sweet, loving, kind, intelligent, curious, cuddly, affectionate and hilarious child.  He makes everyone who encounters him smile.  He has brought immense joy into our lives and truly is a blessing.  His Mother has put many hours of planning and thought into his party and I have been lucky to have been brought into the fold of the party planning.  It will be a blowout worthy of it’s guest of honor!  First, second, and third cousins will be there, great aunts and uncles, friends, and lots of children, almost 70 people in all to celebrate the first year of this wonderful little guys life. 

My sisters and I are all very close and I feel very protective of them and vice versa.  You don’t want to mess with a girl and her sisters.  Anyone who ever did them wrong, gossiped about them, fake friends, boys who broke their hearts, I would immediately despise.  It could prove to be tricky and uncomfortable for all involved when friendships would be mended or crushes rekindled and I would still hold on to my hostility. They may forgive and forget but a sister never does.  It doesn’t matter if they are your younger or older sister, you simply want to protect them and wish only for their ultimate happiness.  For this reason  the years between when Robin started trying to get pregnant and Terr-bear being born were at times heartbreaking and harrowing.  

Summer three years ago as we all sat beachside in Cape Cod one evening and huddled around the bonfire, Robin announced to the family that she was expecting.  The joy that spread through our family was palpable, we squealed in delight, we cried tears of happiness and relief, we danced and hugged, this was the most wonderful of news.  A few months later my sister Claire called me at work, Robin had lost the baby.  I left work and drove the forty minutes to her house praying the hail Mary and begging God to give me the mettle to hold myself together for Robin.  When I got to her house my other sisters Sheila and Claire and my niece were already there, we all hugged her and cried, our sisterly love  acting as a salve on her wounds.  Robin has always been focused, positive and proactive. In life she has never played the victim or allowed herself to wallow, this time was no different. She grieved but she kept focused on eating well, exercising and preparing her body.  She once again became pregnant, and again miscarried before she even shared the news with the family.  She kept her grief mostly to herself, her excuse always that she didn’t want to upset the rest of us.  She sought out expert advice, underwent acupuncture, underwent numerous tests, and again focused on preparing her body for a healthy pregnancy. 

 One night several months later I took my nephew, Robin’s stepson, out to dinner while they attended a business dinner.  When they came home I noticed Robin looked tired, however, that didn’t stop me from talking a mile a minute about all the “drama” in my life, work was crazy, I was BEYOND stressed, blah, blah, blah. Finally it dawned on me how quiet she was being, “So, how are you, you seem tired and quiet.”  She teared up as she admitted that they were pregnant, however, an ultrasound had revealed an abrasion, the fetus and amnio sack were detaching from the wall of the womb. The doctor had offered Robin very little hope, the chances for survival of the fetus were slim in situations like this.  She had begun spotting and that too was a bad sign.  She was defeated and devastated.  What could I say to her?  How could I lessen the pain she was going though?  I was her sister but I felt completely helpless to do anything for her.  I was angry and inconsolable. I drove home that night struggling to see the road through tears. Why, God, why?  Why would you deny someone so deserving and so kind who would be a wonderful mother this blessing?  Why do drug addicts get pregnant?  Why do underweight and careless celebrities get pregnant?  But not my sister?  Robin soldiered on, went to work the next day, kept it together.  I wish I was as brave, I went into work, haggard from not sleeping the night before and broke into tears while putting stock out before the store opened.  I  left my colleagues all speechless and concerned and went home and crawled into bed.  Robin continued to eat well, pray, and  go to her Doctors, still the prognosis was not  favorable.  She carried this stress, this anxiety, this anguish with grace, told no one what was going on, continued to do her job, showed up for family functions.  She came to Thanksgiving looking tired and told me quietly in the kitchen she had been spotting earlier in the day.  No one else in the family knew this constant unease and fear she carried around with her.  She and her husband endured people asking her if she was pregnant yet. Were they trying?  Had she been tested, had she tried this Doctor or this treatment? 

Then one day the prognosis flipped, suddenly they were cautiously optimistic.  Her belly grew, she came to Christmas with a green scarf covering her middle and carried a glass of wine as a prop against curious eyes.  Then around the new year she shared the news with the rest of the family, she told everyone with joy in her heart but advised us to remain cautiously optimistic, to pray, but to not get our hopes too high.  Then it was Easter and she was glowing, her belly high and round, her hair long and thick, her eyes glowing, her skin radiant.  We all talked amongst ourselves, “Look at her, she’s radiant!  So healthy!  The baby will be perfect!” we were talking ourselves down, we were scared, we were unsure, we wanted absolute truths, so we comforted each other and kept up the prayers. The 3d ultrasound revealed a beautiful little bird of a child, perfect looking in every way.  That image hit my gut like a ton of bricks, I started to relax into the knowledge that this baby was healthy, when I prayed a calmness swept over me, this baby is healthy, this baby is healthy.  It was our mantra.  Her shower was upon us and finally we could truly celebrate her pregnancy and the impending arrival of this wonderful baby!  Caution was thrown to the wind, we talked names, weight, gender, made plans, and looked to the future with excitement.  The baby was due July 3rd, so I made sure I took the 3rd through the 5th off work.  My sisters teased me, “That’s just the due date the baby may not arrive exactly on that date.”  I replied, “If this baby is anything like it’s mother it will be here on the 3rd.”  

July 2nd Robin called me at work, her doctor advised her to go to the hospital, the baby was too big, time to get it out.  Suddenly it was upon us!  All the apprehension, anxiety, hope, joy, and planning and it was finally happening!  She went into the hospital, I left the city and took what felt like the longest train ride of my life to Connecticut, ran to my car and drove to the hospital.  Everyone descended on the maternity ward of the hospital, the nurses grew weary of her sisters coming in and out of her room, her little niece running in and out, but we didn’t care!  The baby was coming!  THE BABY!  We went home and slept that night dreaming of the baby, waking intermittently to wonder if she had given birth yet.  While we slept and prayed Robin suffered through some painful bouts, things weren’t going as smoothly as they wanted, finally they insisted upon a C-section.  We awoke in the morning to my mother calling to tell us Robin had given birth to a healthy baby boy!  The first boy in our family and a wonderful blessing!  He was born on his due date, July 3rd, almost 3 years to the date after Robin lost her first pregnancy.  He has a onsie that says, “Mommy’s little hero.” When he wears it I think, “you have no idea little man, you are all of our hero.” 

He is a beautiful, healthy, loving, sweet little boy whose feet never touch the ground because his 4 aunts just want to hug, cradle and kiss him.  He gives hugs generously, laughs easily, smiles widely and gives big wet kisses.  He has these big blue eyes that crinkle up and sparkle and look like his mothers when he smiles, his voice sounds like the sweetest song, and when he rests his head on your shoulder your heart melts.  He is the most precious and wonderful gift and one that my sister deserved so completely.  Happy Birthday Terr-bear and thank you for bringing light, levity and joy into our of our lives.