Photo by By 53 mm photogRaphy

Our 13-year old still believes that the main reason for Friday’s tragedy is that a man was mad at his mom and went looking for her. We now know that the two had little or no connection to the school, and I pray our son never finds out. He is a black and white guy so once he processed his version of the story he locked it up in a box and stuck it in the back of his head. I could almost hear the key turning. Our youngest stayed quiet and I watched a wisp of innocence float away into the distance.

The TV stayed off all weekend, except for the Giants game. I, on the other hand, watched the news live on my iPad all weekend. I just need to know the names of these babies and their brave, fallen protectors. When President Obama got tearful on Friday, I wept. His words last night were eloquent whilst at the same time laced with the frustration we all feel.

The second amendment was written at a time when individual states had their own militias. Many scholars have interpreted the amendment to mean that the right to bear arms was for the militia, as individuals carry arms and our protectors bear them. This kid’s mom was a hunter but I will never be able to fathom why she owned a gun that could shoot six bullets a second. A rifle isn’t sufficient? If you know me, you know I am pretty conservative. But enough is enough.

God himself played on every news outlet along with the pundits. A survivor of Columbine who lost his brother that day was on the airwaves pleading with parents to not allow spirituality to be taken out of their children’s lives. Others spoke of a society where we are pushing God away and thus, we can’t blame him when things go wrong. The President spoke of a loving God last night as he spoke of Jesus beckoning that all little children come to him for they are welcome in his Kingdom.

Our sadness will linger this season as many of us open presents on Christmas morning and all of us ring in the New Year. It is still far fetched to say, though, that our misery could even be a spark on the flame of those who lost their loved ones.

Those of us who rely on faith have only our beliefs to comfort us. I imagine 27 people in heaven today, rejoicing in their arrival, the horror of Friday a forgotten memory. I also imagine one man banging on the gates, being told that he can’t come inside. I know God is not capable of vengeance, but I am not that perfect.

Photo by mcmamauri

Last night I spent a joyous evening with a group of girlfriends from the neighborhood.   It was the culmination of a week in which I was back to my very social self.  It seems like a long time ago, but honestly, it really has only been in the past year that I have found myself behaving more like a recluse.

As one friend put it, it was as if “I had gone dark.”

It started when Danielle left for college fourteen months ago.  A chunk of my heart was now living an ocean away.  Soon after a very close friend passed into eternity and a month later my grandmother chose to do the same.  Random accidents took the lives of those we knew and I am weary of asking some who are very close if their prognosis has a timeline attached to it.  Through it all I have put thousands of miles on my car.

Then the storm hit, and for me, it turned out to be a gift in disguise.  On the surface, my family watched as I cleaned and purged rooms that had been left for dead.  Pictures that had been sitting around for months got hung and every little thing on Brian’s workbench got repaired.  The children never complained about the work or the loss of power.  They knew that our situation was still far better than that of many others.

What the children could not see was the cleansing of my heart.  Despite all that has gone on around me I have worked hard to remain in a state of gratitude.  Yet the constant motion of my life served to simply push other emotions to the back of the closet, so to speak.  The quiet of the storm’s aftermath allowed the dust and cobwebs of mourning to be swept away as the floodgate holding back tears was released.

As we say thanks on Thursday, I will be amongst those whose list of thanks is a mile long.    There is as much chance that mourning and loss will show up instead of joy and laughter on any given day.  Thus, I will be especially thankful for the lesson learned this year that rose above all others.  Embracing all that life has to offer – the good and the bad – ensures that we live life in the fullest.  By doing so we embrace the light, making the path much easier to find when the shadows appear.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

I’m sitting in the kitchen watching the tree limbs let go of their leaves. Each leaf will end up on the ground, yet each one has a slightly different journey. Some flutter down quickly while others sway back and forth, looking for a gentler landing. I wonder if the trees feel anything at all as each leaf is stripped away.

During these past six weeks many things in my life have been stripped almost bare. Danielle left for her second year at St. Andrews. She shares a lovely flat with three other girls in a choice location. The girls take turns cooking gourmet meal after gourmet meal, pay their rent and share the upkeep duties In fact; neither Brian nor I took her back in September. Danielle’s things were already in storage and whatever was needed for the flat, the girls would buy themselves. A year ago she was a confident teenager going off to school. She is now a very competent adult who just happens to be a student.

In between trips to and from New Jersey, I’ve tried to help our second daughter with her college application process. She really doesn’t need my help, but I am happy that she still feels I am worthy enough to read her essays. I’ve known since she was little that when she leaves next year, she will lunge headfirst into the rest of her life without turning back. That’s why when she turned to me last week and said, “I’ve missed you,” it was all the more poignant.

I’ve had to miss some of the boys’ games, something I really don’t like to do. Hearing about the games afterwards, though, in their own words, has been a gift of a different sort. They see the games with a purity that we can’t grasp on the outside.

There are still pictures from the summer that need to be hung and Halloween decorations that won’t go out this year. Truthfully, I’m enjoying the simplicity of the bare walls and the lack of clutter. The laundry doesn’t get put away like clockwork anymore and the meals have been a bit simpler, but that’s OK, too.

The children know that my absences will ebb and flow over the next few months, even a year. They know that they are my first priority. Yet, they also understand that I have been one of my parents’ top priorities for 47 years and it is now my turn to give back. My mom tells everyone that she has seven children – four by birth and three by marriage. Together, the seven of us will make sure
they have what they need.

Thus. If the trees could feel anything, I imagine it would be a sense of yearning for the leaves that are lost, coupled with an eager anticipation of the beauty that lies ahead in the spring. We are no different, as long we remember to remain with grateful hearts for all we have and all that will be. Worse days may be yet to come, but the better ones always lie just ahead.

I am sitting outside typing while three of my children spend this beautiful morning rotting their brains with video games.  This is the only week of the summer when there is no camp, work, baseball or piano lessons.  This is also the last week that “Nice Mom” will live here.  “Mean Mom” arrives on Tuesday and hangs around until mid-October most years, though she did linger until Christmas two years ago.

The annual visit of “Mean Mom” began years ago, around the same time that technology started creeping into our lives.  The level of torture is geared to each individual child.  Our senior is allowed to keep her iPhone until we receive her interim report because she has her entire catalog of classical music on there and all of her Chinese flash cards.  The only thing I can threaten her with is lack of access to the piano for days at a time.  Now that Danielle is gone, we don’t even have the nightly ritual of 40 minutes of a DVR recording.  It is really quite boring.  Luckily, there are others.

The boys don’t have it as easy.  All of their electronics and gaming systems will be packed away the day before school begins and they will be returned when I see their respective interim reports in October.  Two years ago I was not pleased with one of the reports so my 6^th grader did not get anything back until Christmas.   He learned his lesson and 7^th grade started much more smoothly.  When the electronics are returned, they may be used only on the weekend.

As an eighth grader, he will not be allowed to have any play dates (aka hanging out sessions) during the school week and he must attend prep sessions with a tutor for high school entrance exams.   He may very well stay in the public school system, but there is no sin in learning some extra vocabulary, especially in one’s native tongue.  The sessions started this week and when he told me he didn’t want to do any extra work, I used my most nurturing tone and replied, “I don’t care.”  That was the end of that.

Both boys will have lights out by 9:30 pm since they get up at 6:15 am.  I’ve even raised the bar this year by inviting a post-grad student from Mexico to stay here for seven weeks.  I’ve asked her to help me speak Spanish with the boys.  My cup overflows!

On the flip side, the children know that I will never pester them about homework or piano practice as I simply expect it to be done.  Each child has a grade above which he or she never has to show me a test or homework.  The expectations are different for each child and plays to his or her potential.  If an assignment falls below that grade, I must see it, sign it, question it and when appropriate, yell a bit.  They’ve learned it is much more worthwhile to study than deal with me.

On my part, I will stay on full alert as this fall brings us the advent of 6^th grade, high school applications and college applications on top of everything else in our lives.   It is my job to keep things calm and help each of them navigate the travails that the start of a new school year brings.  I will be a study partner; a go-between when needed and I will still tuck them into bed, even when I am not asked.    I’m sure many have called me a “tiger mom” and who knows what my kids might call me if allowed. I prefer to think of myself as a “lioness,” sheltering my cubs until they are ready to roar on their own.

I wish all of you a Happy Labor Day and a wonderful end to the lazy days of summer.

For someone who always has so much to say, I surprise even myself when I have writer’s block.   One page a week should be easy enough to write.   Last week the writer’s block was so debilitating that I simply gave up.  This week I asked my daughters for a topic to write about and I was pretty surprised at the response.

Boyfriends are a pretty constant theme in this house of late, as in our girls don’t date.  Most parents would be absolutely thrilled that a 17-year old and a 19-year old had better things to do with their time than chase boys.  Unfortunately for my daughters, I do not fall in that category.

One daughter skypes from college on a regular basis to tell me about her studies and about her travels.  I start and finish each cyber-visit with “Do you have a boyfriend?”    She came home for the summer and as soon as she started working, I asked, “Any chance of meeting a boy at work?”  The other daughter is spending her summer writing a children’s book in Chinese and studying brain scans.   After each day’s review of her academic pursuits, I always ask, “So, any boyfriends?”.

First of all, the window of opportunity for embarrassing a suitor is closing quickly.

By the time a child gets to college it is probably not a good idea to purposely do anything to embarrass your daughter’s boyfriend.   Brian and I started dating at the beginning of sophomore year and I would have been crushed if my parents had tried to humiliate me.  There is only one more year before the second one heads for college so I am a tad panicked.

Will I never get the opportunity to ground a daughter for the rest of her life for sneaking out to meet a boy?  Do they realize that it is very hard to have late night chocolate chip cookie sessions after a breakup if there is no startup? What about commiserating with one of the girls about how much we don’t like her sister’s taste in boys?  What about their poor father?  Do the girls think he grew to 6’5” for any other reason than to intimidate their dates?

In fact, the more I think about their selfish ways the more I realize how many people are being affected.   Our sons are in their prime for idiotic behavior and their talents are being wasted.   A boyfriend or two would provide my sons with a brand new audience to entertain.  How selfish can two sisters be?

At the end of the day it really is OK that the girls aren’t dating but it is sure fun to give them a hard time.  They are good sports about it and they know my one wish is for each of them to meet a man who makes her heart sing.  That, and a few grandchildren.

The best part of gardening, for me, is the element of surprise. I only started
gardening a few years ago and despite the time I put into it, I am still a novice.
One can check acid levels in the soil and study the movement of the sun but I would rather take my chances to admire what nature does all by herself. The science behind how a flower grows is easy enough to understand, but the brilliance of the colors and the variations in shape remains a blissful mystery.

One year I planted sunflower seeds and the sunflowers grew to about nine feet
tall. This year there are orchids growing all over the place, despite the fact that
orchid season is supposed to end in late May. Since I can’t remember what I
did last week, I certainly don’t remember where I planted bulbs last fall and this
element of surprise brings me pure joy. The hydrangeas change color every
year, dependent on how the soil survived the winter. This year they are bright
pink and pale blue.

Four years ago, a beloved religious education class gave me an apple tree.
The tree is thriving and it is certain to bear fruit next year as they graduate high
school and grow anew at college. Danielle could not be home for Mother’s Day
this year, so she asked her father to buy me a rose bush from her. What she
didn’t know was that we planted a rose bush in her honor when she was born.
Whenever I drive by our first house in NJ, I make sure that it is still there.

Gardening serves many purposes, not the least of which is solitude. I
don’t bring a phone outside and I don’t listen to music. It is just my tools, my
wellington boots and I. It is the only time I welcome dirty hands. The bugs and
I have negotiated an agreement whereas I will leave them alone if they do the
same for me. The bees don’t always read the annual memo, but we are working
on it.

Patience is something that I do not own in buckets, yet I am always patient with
my flowers. Planting a butterfly bush one year and seeing it grow three feet
the next never becomes boring. Then, of course, there are the questionable
flowers, the ones that bloom but are considered weeds. A little girl once told
me that just because we humans have decided something is a weed doesn’t
make it so. Her expression was so earnest, as if she knew how fallible we are
compared to nature. My rule is that a flowering weed with a soft leaf gets to stay.

My grandmother told us for years and years that when she died, she wanted a
blanket of daisies on her casket. This was a woman who started out with the
simplest of roots and grew to have life experiences that one could only dream
about. She could have asked for roses or lilies or some exotic flower but she
identified the most with the daisy, humble and elegant at the same time. Nanny
got her daisies this past February. This year was too soon, but they will
certainly make a debut in my garden next year.

Late last week I held a pity party.   We were two weeks into summer vacation and I was more exhausted than during the school year.  This did not seem possible.  It is unfortunate for my family that they all misplaced the invitations to the pity party and decided not to show up.  This led to a hissy fit of which I am extremely proud.  I announced that it was my summer, too, and I was going to enjoy it!

Now, there are certainly no expectations of summer days spent lazily at the beach with not a care in the world.  This summer idyll only exists if you have full-time staff.  All I wanted was a few hours a week when I could work on my tan and get caught up on some reading.  Here’s how I am tackling my goal:

–  The first Peapod delivery from Stop&Shop arrives tonight between 6:59 pm and 8:59 pm.  I purposely planned the delivery for when I would be at a baseball game so that someone else can unpack the groceries.

–   Full laundry service will resume in September, but until then I will launder clothes for only four of us, as my husband wears a suit every day and the boys don’t seem to be changing their clothes too often lately. The girls are on their own.

– Everyone, though, is responsible for getting their laundry to the laundry room.   Anyone who allows mold to build up on the their bedroom floor from wet bathing suits and towels will be expected to pay for the removal of aforementioned mold.

– There are now two teenage drivers in the house and I will not help with car negotiations.  They have the old car that they now must share.  On days they can’t work it out, we are only a mile’s walk from the train.

– Dinner will be on my terms.  The new kitchen was designed for me. Cooking by others must occur when I am not standing in front of the stove.  People who don’t like what I serve are free to have a peanut butter sandwich.  Add a piece of cheese and an apple and all of the food groups are covered. Just ask Dr. Oz.

– I work very hard at staying focused on all of you in the late afternoon and evenings.   So, when I am in front of the computer or on the phone during the day, DO NOT TALK TO ME.  The only exception is if you can’t stop the blood yourself.

– Finally, please stop grumbling about how I treat the youngest. Instead, you should be taking notes.  He is always nice to me and pays me compliments on a regular basis.  Flattery will get you everywhere.

Just writing all of this down has made me feel more relaxed.  As the summer progresses I will let you know how this plan is going.   Please send me a note if you have other suggestions that work for you.   I’m sure my family will thank you!

Despite the fact that all of my siblings and cousins are now in their thirties and forties, we have always seen ourselves as the “kids” while all of the relatives now in their seventies and eighties are seen as the “parents.”  Our grandparents and those of their generation lived such wonderfully full, long lives that it never dawned on us that someday we would become the “parents.”  This has all changed since February, with the death of our Nanny at the age of 98.

This subtle shift in the family is undeniably complete, as evidenced by a gathering we had at our house yesterday.  There were twenty-two of us, which for us is a normal gathering number.

As the afternoon unfolded, there were discussions amongst the elders comparing walkers and medicines, procedures and doctor visits.  There were hours of reminiscing and a few bouts of not remembering what was said a few minutes before.  Some of us spent the day watching their movements; silently guarding their sides as they walked while others needed to be more overt as they half carried someone down the stairs to a safe landing.  We had to raise our voices for some to be heard, and lower our voices for others as a wave of a memory enveloped them.  There was no teasing about aches and pains as we have done for years, as these are all too real now for some.

Lest it sound as if the day was always calm, I can assure you that the air was littered with calls for “Mom” and “Dad” all day long.  There were real scrapes and invisible cuts that all required multiple Band-Aids.   A wasp stung one child and another one hit the back of his head.  Yet another child had baseball practice and the others held their own diving competition until he got back.  The kids did not seek out the grandparents yesterday, as they intuitively accept that their grandparents are available to them now for quiet conversation, warm hugs and unconditional love.  The days of piggyback rides and long walks are over.

Dinnertime arrived and for a short while, everything seemed the same as it had always been.  We set up three tables but everyone attempted to crowd around one.  There was a minimum of three conversations going on at once, yet everyone managed to be heard somehow.  The meal ended and without hesitation, four generations of women (and one husband) were crowded around the island to help clean.  I pointed out to my daughters that the reason we all love family gatherings is that the burden of entertaining is always shared and thus isn’t a burden at all.  The joy of this moment would be fleeting.

As we said goodnight, I heard tears and quickly realized that they weren’t coming from the little ones that didn’t want to go home but rather from the older ones who now fear that each good-bye may be forever.

So, it really does feel like I am part of a “sandwich” generation, layered in the middle of two generations who both need our attention and our care.  Luckily for all of us, love is one of those things that grows in every direction.

No matter which generation you celebrate with this Wednesday, have a wonderful Fourth of July!

Our youngest has his “moving up” ceremony this week and our family’s elementary school years will officially end.  They started 15 years ago when Danielle joined her reception class at Hall School Wimbledon in the UK.   I remember standing on the stairs with all of the other parents wondering if my four-year old would be able to handle the rigors of full-day school.  The friends I made that year are still dear and close.  It didn’t matter whether we were English, American, or even Japanese.  Many families in that year were sending the eldest or only to school and our shared experience bound us together.  I did not think that a last week of school could be any sadder than the one I experienced at when we left the UK.  I was wrong.

Our nine years at Increase Miller have been wonderful.  Some things have changed but the teachers’ commitment to the children has never wavered.  Each of our children was treated uniquely and gained what she or he needed to flourish.   Danielle was only there for one year but her homeroom teacher made her feel as if she was the most special child in the room.  Our second daughter was there for three years and it is not an exaggeration to say that her fifth grade teacher changed her life and showed her that the world was her theater no matter what obstacles were set in her way.  Our older son learned that kindness and academics come before sports.  Being a jock certainly has an upside on the social scene, but he continues to remember that there is much more to be gained in school.

Our youngest is in a category all his own.  He is 11 years old, almost 5’3” with 44” shoulders and a body type that best resembles a brick wall.  His personality (and his heart) is as big as his frame.  He tried out for the fifth grade musical, “Jungle Book,” and he landed the part of Baloo the bear.  I just assumed he got the part because of his size.  He participated in every costume design workshop, set design workshop and of course, rehearsals.  Along the way he said very little about his part in the play and never asked for help in learning his lines and songs.  I grew increasingly nervous, as he is normally shy and avoids drawing attention to himself at all costs. He appeared on stage and the transformation was unbelievable.  He sang, he danced and he didn’t miss a cue.  Several teachers around me had misty eyes that matched mine.  Six years of nurturing by his teachers led to our son growing wings and soaring.

The tears are running down my face as I finish this blog.  The memories don’t belong to the children alone.  Along the way the teachers, administrators, support staff and custodians have become friends.  We shared news of graduations, weddings, babies and losses.

As a child leaves his elementary years behind he brings his memories forward and leaps to the next adventures.  I will join our youngest soon, but for now, I look behind me and mourn the passing of these years.   It is certain that I will miss them most of all.

You are all nice enough to read my blog every Monday and here I am paying you back by releasing one on a Tuesday. I offer an apology and an explanation.

The explanation is that yesterday I forgot that I was the adult and that the kids’ lives should not rule mine. I’ve always thought I was doing a good job of preserving my adult identity but sometimes I seem to lose the plot. It is not the fault of the children. We are the adults, after all.

My parents taught us that a couple should go out without the children at least once, if not twice, a week. Brian and I pulled this off for seventeen years until Danielle started high school. Five years later, we often find ourselves at games and other child-centered events on weekend evenings. Somewhere along the way, we adults forgot that children should see their parents going out with other adults and making being an adult a priority. It is our fault that we have allowed events to take place after 6 pm on weekends for our younger children. I even lost the battle for Sunday mornings during football season, a time that was seen as sacrosanct until this generation.

Meals have become another disaster. No one seems to be home at the same time, so a fresh meal is only fresh for a chosen one or two, depending on the night. Last night the three older kids did their best to put dinner on the table before I arrived home from the baseball field at 8:30. Things went awry and we ended up eating after 9 pm. I both congratulate my kids on their self-sufficiency and secretly mourn that I am not able to be in the kitchen on a regular basis to cook (which I love) for the people I love.

Education comes before all in our house, even sports. I completely respect that coaches, like Brian, volunteer many hours for our kids but I have always made it clear that if a child misbehaves, disrespects or does poorly in school, I will pull him or her from a game. Harsh? Maybe. Negotiable. No.

Our schools have “e-chalk”, a site where a student and his parents are able to see all homework assignments and scheduled tests and quizzes. I joke about never having been on the site, as I never bothered to receive a username and password. It is not that I don’t care, but rather the complete opposite. My job is to be a mom and a wife and a volunteer and a business owner. The children’s job is to be a student and a person of good moral character. I will spend hours helping them review for a test if asked, but otherwise, I expect them to do what is asked of them.

I drink soda, you kids may not. You have Facebook when you are 14 and I must be your first friend. You act inappropriately on the Internet and you will only be allowed to use your computer for schoolwork, in my presence. You want to keep your door closed at all times. Tough.

You forgot to tell me that you need a new white shirt for your concert. I will get you one ASAP. You lost your homework, your calculator, and your earrings. I may not replace those, but I will respect that you are having a bad day. You need help with a teacher. I will set up a meeting for the three of us. Someone hurt your feelings. I will say nice things while I secretly want to hurt that someone back.

This whole parenting thing is really just another type of dance. Some days we get all of the steps right and we leave the dance floor with unblemished feet. Other days, we don’t.

Yesterday, I danced a polka even though the music demanded a waltz. Today is another day.

Have a wonderful week.