Divine Introduction

I don't know why I'm surprised when a homily at church applies to me--He knows the words I need to hear long before I do. Last Sunday, our priest talked about marriage and how married people are called to fulfill our "assignment." After we say "I do," we need to spend the rest of our lives "getting married." Not just that day. Long after the cake has been cut and the dance is over, we should spend the rest of our lives getting married to each other. (LOVE that!) He then asked: "How did you meet?" which is always a fun, nostalgic trip back in time. And it was VERY fitting because we got to spend this weekend in the college town where we met fifteen years ago.

Since graduating in 1998, I think we've been back to Homecoming once. We usually get the flyer and it goes directly to the trash since it's a four hour drive. Something made me open it this year. And I immediately saw that Doc was retiring. Doc was my husband's mentor in college. R worked as an athletic trainer under Doc for the men's basketball and football teams. After forty six years, Doc finally retired. I knew we had to go. So we left the kids at my parents' and headed out to ESU.

I went to a community college for two years before transferring to ESU. R was in my VERY first class at ESU--which I would have already taken had it been offered at AC. I remember seeing him, but I was dating someone at the time (and so was he.) Then I kept seeing him every Sunday at the Catholic campus center which really impressed me. What kind of guy goes to mass every Sunday when he's away from home? I remember thinking he just looked like a good guy. Flash forward to the next semester. We were both single and I literally ran into him at a club. My two roommates at the time were on the track team and they spent the next few weeks hounding the blonde haired guy in the training room to call me. They came home one night to tell me it was his 21st birthday and he had said that I should come out. Well everyone I knew was either 1) back home for the weekend or 2) staying in because of a track meet the next day. This gal went out to the clubs ALONE just to see R. And then sat at the bar all night and talked to him. (He was taking it easy after living it up the night before when midnight rolled around. ha!) I even made up some lame excuse about my "friends" finding other ways home just so I could give R a lift. He invited me to his birthday party later that weekend, and then an official first date the next week. And here we are.

Last Sunday, Father said that the more important question was not HOW we met, but WHY. WHY did we meet? Why did God bring us together? Looking back, there were so many "coincidences" that had to be God. I should have already had that general ed Developmental Psychology class. I wasn't even supposed to be living with the track girls, but my previous roommate moved in with her boyfriend and I needed a new place to live. (Ironically, my old place was right BEHIND R's complex... ) Why were R and I at the exact same place at the exact same time? Where we just "happened" to bump into each other (and I got to use my oh-so-smooth pick up line: "Hey, weren't you in my Developmental Psych class?) :) I didn't know it at the time, but God was working things the way He always does. Quietly, purposefully, perfectly.

With each passing year, I'm realizing more and more what a gift he is and I'm SO grateful for the chain of events that brought us together. I'm blessed.

I get to spend the rest of my life getting married to that blonde headed trainer from ESU.

Bookworms

I love words. I'm the girl who would sit and read the cereal boxes at breakfast time, got in trouble for bringing a book to the dinner table, and followed along with the readings at mass before I knew what the words said. (I was destined to be a writer . . . or a nun. . . ) To this day, I almost obsessively compulsively consume EVERY word I see. I really thought everyone's brains worked this way until I met my husband who is neither literate nor observant. He doesn't notice any signs, billboards, license plates, announcements, etc. Meanwhile, the letters are flying at me, a mile a minute while I try to process EVERYTHING. (It does sound more than a bit strange now that I, ironically, write it out. . .)

I decided in sixth grade to be a writer. Mr. Brown wrote in my graduation card that he'd never seen talent like mine from another sixth grader. Maybe he wrote it in everyone's cards, but I still have it somewhere--never underestimate the power of a teacher's words! Of course, right before college I got scared that writing wouldn't pay the bills so I did the next best thing--I spent nine years teaching eighth graders HOW to write. I hope someone somewhere is keeping a note that I've forgotten I wrote. I LOVED teaching, but when it came time to consider a master's, I wondered if I should consider another option--just in case. It didn't take long to figure out my other love. In college I realized that while waiting tables WAS paying the bills, it probably wasn't doing much for my resume. So I worked at a public library. WOW. It was an obsessive-compulsive-word-consumer's dream! So here I am, now in my fifth year as a school librarian. In many ways, it's a lot like teaching. Little pay, lots of work, not much glory or glamour. But then a kid comes in and tells me the book I recommended was "UHHH-MAZING!" or kids are fighting to get to the coveted shelves of state award nominees or another kid who has moved on to the high school tells me he misses MY library. And I think: How is it that I'm getting PAID to do what I love?

And I'm proud to report that my love of words lives on in my girls. Forgive me for a moment because I'm going to be one of those moms. Sassy just started first grade and she's devouring Magic Treehouse books. She really took off this summer and I would catch her reading nonstop. It's been so fun to see her beg for bedtime so she can read “one more chapter.” She's read 17 books so far at school this year—and most are nonfiction that are right at a 4th grade reading level. I love the notes that her teacher writes across the reports: “Holy canoli!” “You've got to be kidding me!” “What? Saaaweeeet!” Several are on the fridge—again, the power of a teacher's words!

And Keke goes to bed each night with a huge stack which is great until I remember the morning of that our library books are due and I've got a flashlight and an arm shoved down between her bed and the wall looking for missing books. I'm almost certain that we returned one of those books with some birthday money left in it, but that's a different story. . . . At night after I've tucked them in, I hear Sassy reading her book out loud and Keke “reading” hers to all the toys in her bed.

I keep saying that “someday” I'll write that book I've always wanted to write. But for now it's pretty cool to share my love of books during the day with middle school kids. . . . and even better to share it with the two little people waiting each night on my couch.

Weekend Woes

I've decided that we could have prevented this summer's drought had we just camped every day. Yes, we attempted to camp this weekend. To our credit, it was supposed to be beautiful and then the dang weathermen changed the forecast on Thursday. Friday night was actually great. R and I sat around the campfire until about 1 am and the weather was PERFECT. It was that "crisp, cool, need a sweatshirt and a fire" kind of night. Ahhhhhh. Of course, that all came to a screeching halt when it started raining a few hours later. It was that "steady, constant, not quite a downpour but not gonna stop any time soon" kind of rain. Which was still going strong at 10 am when we finally pulled out. Bleh. It was our shortest camping trip ever but there were plenty of moments to remember.

1. When my newly potty trained little lady woke at 5:45 to tell me she had to pee, I quickly won the "Worst Mommy Moment" award. It was raining, it was early, I was warm and sleepy. "You have a pull-up on. Just go." Even worse is that she did and didn't bat an eye. I think an hour later when Big Sis and I needed to go (next time maybe we'll all wear pull-ups) I changed her. Go ahead, judge me. I totally would. :)

2. The tent leaked a little, nothing like before and we all stayed dry. However, the girls still wanted to climb up onto our cots. I commented that there didn't seem to be as much room this time with KeKe on there (She's declared that she doesn't like "Stinkus" anymore.) Sassy: "I know! I think Dad must have gained some more weight." Oh my. I laughed. And laughed.

3. A little while later when Daddy and Sassy got up, KeKe ran over to grab the empty cot. She hunkered down in the sleeping bag, sniffed the air rather dramatically and announced: "I smell toot. . . Daaaaaaaaddddddd!" HAHAHAHA! Poor Daddy.

4. I was pleasantly surprised that despite waking up at 5:45, the girls kept themselves busy while R and I "slept in." It was pretty sweet to see them laying in bed reading, coloring, and playing board games. And even sweeter to roll over and doze for a little while later. Too bad I didn't have a pull-up on. I could have made it for HOURS.

5. Despite all the stuff I packed, it was inevitable for boredom to set in. And when it did, apparently our girls see cots and an air mattress as WWF arenas. Sometimes I'm not sure we truly had girls. They were jumping off the cots, body slamming each other, leg wrestling. You name it. Of course, it was great incentive for me to get the cots and mattress packed up. . .

6. I realized once again how very blessed we are to have R. He made umpteen trips back and forth to the tent to load everything up, carried the girls under a poncho, and then while we three sat in the truck, he took the entire tent down in that "steady, constant, not quite a downpour but not gonna stop any time soon" kind of rain. I looked out at one point, and my dear husband was LAUGHING. Laughing. I opened the door quickly--yikes, I'm getting wet!--and yelled, "What are you laughing at?!" He turned with the most beautiful grin and shrugged: "What are you gonna do?" I was so touched by his attitude. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would have been snapping tent poles, throwing, kicking, cursing, and wadding the whole thing up in a giant mess. But there was R. Laughing. And ever so carefully taking everything apart, folding it up, and loading everything as if it was the most beautiful day ever. And he's right--What are you gonna do? Not like we could control the weather. I'm so grateful for him. The day could have been so much different had he let it ruin his mood.

7. On the drive home, we were all kind of in a funk about having to pack up. Sassy was crying because she had wanted to make campfire donuts, so then I bribed her with Sonic French toast sticks before I remembered that we had two kayaks strapped to the top of the truck and fitting under the roof at Sonic probably wouldn't happen. Cue more tears. . . Then we came up on a wreck that looked pretty bad. And suddenly our "bad day" wasn't anything close to a bad day. We were all together and we were safe, just a little soggy and tired.

8. Home sweet home only lasted about an hour. Right after we fixed our "camp" breakfast in the kitchen, but BEFORE we had showers, the power went out. I wish I was kidding. Luckily it came back on about thirty minutes later. And I'd had some coffee so it was a little easier to take. :)

9. I'm pretty sure I jinxed us with the rain because I started packing really early in the week and I'm almost positive that we didn't forget anything this time. Next time we plan a trip, I'll be sure to procrastinate and forget something like I usually do.

10. We still got together with the friends that we had planned to camp with--after all, we already had dinner and dessert planned! It was great to catch up, even if we weren't gathered around a campfire. We may TRY to go again this fall--summer seems too far away!--but it might stay too cool. And I'm sure it will rain.

Hole In One

I love that my girls have each other. There's nothing like a sibling. Although there were definitely some rough moments getting along when we were younger, (hairbrush throwing, brother kicking the bottom panel out of my bedroom door, that same door being thrown open hard enough to leave a doorknob-sized hole in my wall. . . ) I'm so grateful for my siblings. Now that we're all adults, we have such great relationships. We don't get to see each other very often and we probably don't talk as often as we should, but when we get together, we truly enjoy each other. Of course, it might be because we live hours apart. . . We probably prove the adage: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. ha!

The older the girls get, the more I love seeing them interact. They carry on entire conversations in the backseat that I'm not even part of (and I'm sure as teenagers, there will be MANY more of these.) They build Lego houses, forts, and zoos. They draw, paint, and cut (thankfully just paper--no one is missing any hair. Yet.)

Of course, it's not perfect harmony 24/7. Sassy likes to play in her room--alone. With the door shut and a broken-hearted little sister on the other side. Stinkus likes to color, tear, knock down, erase, paint, eat, etc anything that's special to Big Sis. She's also been known to scratch, pinch, bite and hair-pull when she's all fired up. Sassy is sometimes not as gracious to share but thinks all of Stinkus's toys are fair game. Somedays there are total meltdowns because the other sister got the pink plate at dinner or I was supposed to get the other one out of the bath first. It's enough to make ME want to put a hole through a wall.

The other night, I was getting dinner going and I noticed it was REALLY quiet. Which is usually a bad sign. It means that Sassy is playing in her room and Stinkus is doing something that she shouldn't be. I was pleasantly surprised to find that not only were they playing together, they were working on building a miniature golf course in the front room.

I love that they were looking at normal, everyday toys and determining how they could be used.

I love how creative they are--and that they don't rely on TV or us to entertain them (I see a lot of kids at school who expect this every day.)

I love that Sassy was showing Stinkus how to hit the ball.

I love that when it was Stinkus's turn she would say, "Ok, focus, focus. . . " And then still not hit it the right way.

I love that they were playing together and that no one was throwing a hairbrush.

Afternoons aren't always like this, but these sweet moments remind me that we've given the girls the best gift ever for the future: each other.

Growing Up

Before I had kids, I knew it all. In all of my worldly experiences of observing other moms, I knew exactly what I would do (differently AND better of course) when it was my turn. Wow, is motherhood a crash course in humility. I've discovered that it's not nearly as easy as it looks and too often, there is no "right" way. And I soon learned the #1 rule: Don't ever judge another mother. Today, though, I have to say I'm breaking the rule.

I've just about had it with some parents on Facebook mourning the fact that their children are going to college. I've read that they're sick to their stomachs, the "sad" day they've dreaded is finally here, they can't bear to lose their babies. I don't get it. To be fair, I can't possibly relate to what they're going through. My kids are three and six and it's a "long" twelve years before we take Sassy to school (somehow we're a third of the way there. . . ) But on the flip side, I've never been one to mourn my girls growing up. When I was 14, I lost a brother at the age of 9 months (yes, my parents have done the unthinkable twice.) For the first year of Sassy's life, I was a nervous wreck. I can remember reaching her first birthday which isn't a guarantee at all, but it felt like I could breathe. Like she was "ok." We made it. A few years ago, I had to watch my brother and his wife bury their daughter at almost a month old. I get SO angry at people who mourn their children growing up when I know my family would give anything to see M and N do just that. Don't we want our kids to go to school, start driving, go to prom, leave for college? I don't understand why parents get so sad to see their kids become the people we want them to be.

My good friend K recently sent me this book because she said it made her think of me. I was SO touched. I LOVE it. The author talks about all of the things she would do if she could keep her child little, but then realizes all of the wonderful things she would miss if they didn't grow up. The last page says it all: "If I could keep you little, I'd keep you close to me. But then I'd miss you growing into who you're meant to be!"

I'm sure it is hard to face the next chapter of life when you've spent the last eighteen years together. And in twelve years I may be eating these words as I have a breakdown on the ride home (please let me wait until the ride home. . .) But I hope and pray that I maintain the same attitude I've had so far.

Last weekend, R and I had the honor of being my new niece's godparents. It was such a beautiful ceremony. The priest reminded us that with baptism, our children aren't ours--but God's. He then asked how many of us celebrate our baptismal dates. Crickets chirping. . . I had never thought about the significance of my baptismal date. He pointed out that it's more important than our day of birth because it's our day of RE-birth. I love the idea of celebrating this day--as E's godmother, I want to do something for her every year on August 18. It's the perfect day to acknowledge her without taking away from something her parents might want to do for her birthday or Christmas. Monsignor also chuckled when the holy water was poured over E's head and she let out a piercing cry--he shared that his grandmother used to say that was the devil coming out. And I kid you not, my lovely husband leaned over and whispered, "Did Stinkus cry?" HA! I love that guy.

It was such a beautiful day to remember that these little miracles are God's--we're just here to raise them, guide them, and show them His way. And when they turn eighteen, to let them GO. And rejoice that He gave us eighteen years with them. I hope that in twelve years, I'm posting on Facebook that it's time to celebrate. Time to celebrate my beautiful daughter leaving home to pursue her dreams and future. Time to celebrate that again while it's no guarantee, she made it. And time to celebrate that in just three more years, the house will be ours. ALL ours. :)

Our Summer-y Summary: Part 2

The last week of July we met up with Ryan's best friend from high school and his family who were nearby on vacation (love living near a trip destination!)  We had dinner and watched the light/fountain show and then let the kids go swimming at their condo.  It was great to see them.  Since meeting R, I have several special memories of B and H.  I remember holding their firstborn in 2000 and B was giving R a hard time about when he was going to bite the bullet.  Little did we know he was planning to propose the very next month!  :)  H was also one of the "lucky" ladies at our wedding who got smacked on the backside by my brother.  "Mrs. S, you are one hottie-patottie!"  HA! I can still hear him say that.  It was nice to catch up--I'm just sad that it doesn't happen more often.

That next weekend we headed to our home state for a family reunion.  My grandmother was one of eight and every two years, we join my mom's aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' kids for a weekend.  It's fun to see everyone but it's strange how much the family has changed.  The only ones left from my grandma's generation are her brother and sister, who are 94 and 96 (Grandma was in her 90s when she passed away--hope I get those genes!) And there are so many little ones!  One day, my siblings and I decided to take our families to the local water park.  It was a killer deal.  Our family of four got in for $18.  Total.  The girls had a blast and I'm sure there were some park goers who will never be the same after seeing some of us adults conquer the water slides.  I really didn't wear a thong although it may have appeared that way after going down. . .   ha!

We also had a joint birthday party since five of the seven grandkids have summer birthdays. It was a fun weekend. The reunion has become so much more to me since becoming a parent. I can remember having SUCH a hard time when I was younger trying to figure out who everyone was. It was hard to keep Mom's cousins straight and remember which cousins were from which aunt and uncle. Now it's tough for MY kids to wrap their heads around who MY cousins, aunts and uncles are. It's made it even more important to remember my grandma's generation when I realize that in a few more, it's MINE that may be forgotten.

The next weekend, we met up with another of R's high school friends and his family for a little vacation.  R has known A since they were born and it's been great to keep in touch with their brood.  Four kiddos 6 and under!  We met up in the city where R and I lived when we were first married, which felt a little weird. We're now tourists though!  :)  We stayed at a hotel with a mini-water park inside (one more water slide that altered the look of my suit. . . and NOT for the better!) and then took the kids to a major league baseball game and a new aquarium in town.  Sassy was totally into all the little "challenge questions" in the aquarium.  Reading has opened a whole new world to her!  It was fun to see the Ws--and our kids hit it off which is always fun to see.  Again, I wish we could see them more often!            

The girls also squeezed in about a week with each set of grandparents and they had a blast. We're blessed to have these four special people in our lives! I'm so grateful for the memories they're making together.

Needless to say, we had a busy summer. I was almost ready for school to start because it seemed like we needed a vacation from our vacation! Although now that I'm getting up every morning at 5:30, supervising homework, and trying to find time at night for everything that I used to spend all day doing, I'm missing my lounge chair at the lake. Lucky for me, another summer will be here before I know it!

We're OK

In 2008, my family lost my brother.  He was 28.  I know that it sounds cliche, but his death has left a huge void in our family.  I remember getting together for holidays after his death and scanning the room to do a mental head count:  1, 2, 3, 4, etc.  I was always shocked when everyone was there. Except for Matt.  It felt like half of us were missing.  It was just too quiet, too calm.

I know that we all take things for granted.  There's a reason for the saying: "Hindsight's 20/20."  We see things clearer as time goes by, and it's only in retrospect that we realize what we once had.  One of my biggest regrets in life is not being the sister I should have been to Matt.  I was the proverbial oldest sister.  The "mother hen" constantly nagging him to be appropriate and then being absolutely mortified when inevitably, he wasn't.  I wish I could go back and enjoy the moments he gave us.  Like high school graduation.  It wasn't enough for Matt to cross the stage and receive his diploma.  He had to pick the principal up (Matt was a BIG guy) and bounce him in a huge bear hug.  He celebrated my wedding by making the rounds at my reception and slapping all my friends on the rear.  For our other brother's college graduation, he sported the tiniest pair of Daisy Dukes EVER (Did I mention he was a big guy?) and a cowboy hat made out of Coor Light boxes.  He was truly the life of the party. 

In 2009, thirty years after Matt was born, my family gained Stinkus.  I've often said that it's like having a little piece of Matt here.  She's impulsive, funny, ornery, and uninhibited.  She loves to be the class clown, the center of attention, the life of the party.  Matt's favorite joke when he was little:  "What time is it when an elephant sits on a fence?"  I can't even tell you how many times I heard that joke.  Stinkus likes to tell one about a mailman hitting a cat.  Ask her.  She'll tell you.  :)  She's assumed her role as the one who makes us laugh and if anyone is upset, she sticks her little fingers in the corners of her mouth and sticks out her tongue to make her "silly face."  She doesn't understand if it doesn't work--"But I make you happy!"  I hate that she's already holding herself responsible for our happiness but I have to say that 99% of the time, she's successful.  :) 

This summer we've noticed a few new "Stinkus-isms."  One:  "I not gonna care."  Usually accompanied by a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Stinkus, your shoes are on the wrong feet."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care."
"Stinkus, you have ketchup all over your face."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care."
"Stinkus, look up.  You still have shampoo in your hair."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care." 

You get the picture.  I'm both infuriated at her easy-come-easy-go attitude and jealous that I can't be more like her.  And once again, I see a little bit of my brother who was taken way too soon.

This past weekend, we traveled to a family reunion where tensions can sometimes run high and tempers can flare.  We were late.  In my mind I wanted to be at our day's destination hours before.  So I'm rushing around, growling and irritated, headed out the door with Stinkus on my hip.  And I hear her other recent Stinkus-ism: "It gonna be o-tay, Mom."  And I literally stopped in my tracks.  She's been saying this for a while now.  And there's nothing funnier than hearing a three year old remind me in the car:  "Take a deep bweff, Mom.  Just take a deep bweff.  It gonna be ooooo-tay."  But this particular day. . . maybe because I was with family, maybe because I again noticed the void in our bunch. . . . At that moment, I realized it was something Matt said all the time:  "It'll be O.K."  My dad even wanted it on his tombstone-- almost as if Matt is reassuring us from heaven.  I immediately teared up and marveled at how much this little person is like him.  I know that she'll never replace Matt--there's only one person who can pull off the Daisy Duke look--but it sure is nice having a little bit of his spirit here.  Maybe God is giving me another chance to cherish all those things that I used to chastise.  Maybe He realized that I needed someone in my life to tell me to take deep bweffs.  Maybe He's showing me that it's no big deal if you sport a little ketchup and extra shampoo.  It'll be O.K.