for my sister

Hey Chris,

I've been thinking a lot about how much you mean to me and our lives together.  I remember hot, humid summers playing out back, running and hiding in the woods (you hiding on me, you from me).  I remember picking sweet peas and green beans and bright, cherry tomatoes, stuffing ourselves full before dinner thinking that we were getting one up on Mom.  Now as a mother I laugh at the thought.  I remember how much the bees loved your colorful barrettes and how much you hated them and would run and scream with your arms flailing about in your attempt to elude the painful bee sting.

I remember endless days of bike-riding and kick-the-can with Cindy and Kim.  I remember playing hide-and-seek, the surprise of being found and the resulting fall that broke my arm.  I remember knocking icicles down from the roof when we were supposed to be bringing in wood.  Your toss accidentally nailed me in the forehead (at least I think it was an accident).  I remember Mom opening the door to find me screaming, covered in blood.  You were screaming too and it took her a few minutes to realize there was actually nothing wrong with you.

I remember climbing trees and driving the old pickup around the nursery.  One of us on the pedals and the other steering because we were too short to do both.  I remember raking leaves, a chore we made fun by piling them up under the old maple and then jumping into them from the branches above.  I remember the igloos built into the banks of snow.  I remember countless winters of shoveling the driveway, one particularly sad time when our dog died.  Mom, you and me all shoveling in the quiet of the dark snowy night, tears freezing our cheeks.  Nothing but the sound of scraping plastic on pavement and our muffled sobs.

I remember us helping Mom bake cookies, every year baking batch after batch for Christmas.  I remember family dinners and your hatred and disgust for beef tongue and mine to peas and spinach,  basically anything you liked.

I remember roller skating every Friday night.  Well, at first we were roller skating, then we were up to no good.  I remember Billy Squire and Whitesnake.   I remember a lot of partying and doing bad things.  Things teenagers have no business doing.  I remember your nickname of "Little" and mine of "Little Little" and so proud of it.  I remember Blue House and our fake IDs.   I remember how you took me to my first concert, Judas Priest and Dokken, having to convince Mom and Dad that it was okay.  I remember other concerts too like Van Halen and, of course, Bon Jovi all the way down in New Haven having to drive through a blizzard. 

I remember our fights too.  "She stepped on MY side of the room!"  "She looked in MY side of the mirror!"  "She wore My white alligator shirt and spilled mustard on it and now it's ruined!"  You always kicked the crap out of me.  Smaller but stronger.  I remember you knocking my tooth out, lost in the grass denying me a visit from the tooth fairy.  But I also remember you kicking the crap out of Cheryl when she came to school to beat me up.  When I called scared out of my mind, you drove all the way down from college just to protect me.  And protect me you did.  It was okay for you to beat me up but no one else was allowed.  I'll never forget that kick to her crotch that made her fly up a full six inches.  You were my hero that day.  

I remember the visits to the hospital to visit Mom.  A bond we shared.  A bond no one else could understand.  A bond forever sealed with her death.

I remember our weddings.  You stood up for me and I for you.  I remember my first boy's birth and you and Mom doing night duty.  I'd feed the baby and then you and Mom would take turns if he wouldn't settle back down.  I remember Sam's one and only Snoopy, given to him by you.  The Snoopy that he still sleeps with today and has every day since.

I remember vacations together, our families bonding.  Cousins playing with cousins.  I remember Christmases in Connecticut at Mom and Dad's and summer fun in California.  Wine trips to Napa, summer bashes at our house, skiing in Lake Tahoe and, of course, numerous trips to Disney World.

You know how hard these past few months have been.  Of course you know.  You've answered my calls.  You've given me your love, counsel and support.  You've been my rock.  You've been my lifeline.  The depth goes far beyond that which I could measure.  But I don't need to measure my love for you - it is infinite.  Thank you for being there, for being here for me, always.

Love, Cathy

random questions

At any given moment, I seem to be questioning so much.  Maybe if I can get some answers, it'll be easier for me to sleep. 

• How many months need to pass without a visit to the gym before I admit to myself that I'll never get there and all I'm doing is wasting my money?
• When was my last period?  Six weeks ago? Longer?  At what point do I call the doctor?
• Is my teenager having sex?  Smoking weed?
• Is my middle boy starting to go through puberty yet?
• Is my teenager ever going to get his grades good so he can get into a college?  If he does, how will I afford it?
• Should I try to find (yet another) new babysitter or just suck it up and deal with everything myself?
• Why don't more people comment on my blog?  Why do I care?  Why do I write?  Can you even call it "writing"?  
• Am I too depressing and negative?
• How many hoops do I have to go through to get my IRA rolled into my 401(k)?
• How can I get what I need while giving what my husband, children and job need?
• Do I like playing pool still?  Should I quit the more competitive team and join one just for fun?  Would I find that fun?
• When could I learn yoga?  When could I learn meditation?  Would it just cause me more stress to try and fit those in to my already too busy schedule?
• If I love golf so much, why don't I make more time for it?  Same question, only for pool?
• Am I ever going to learn to play that bass guitar I got for my birthday two years ago?
• Why am I so critical of myself, and of others?  Why do I have such high standards?
• Is it wrong to like TV?

So how about some answers?

sunday morning

It's 7:30 am on Sunday.  I have no reason to get up.  The boys don't need me like that anymore.  I want that feeling of sleeping in late, that feeling of being well rested, almost guilty with the pleasure.

The soft sounds of Thomas the Tank Engine drift from the living room.  The beep beep of his whistle, sounds I haven't heard in a long time.  Sounds bringing back memories of the toddler boy I once had, now such an independent little boy.

The sounds of the television are not the problem.  Neither are the pleasant memories.  The sunlight fills the room and I think darkness will help catch the elusive dreamland.  I grab the sleep mask sitting on my nightstand, waiting, ready to do it's job.  Still the drift into dreams evades.  Still. 

My shoulder is sore so I roll to the other side.  I'm a little warm and I kick the covers off my left leg, allowing my foot to feel the relief of the cooler air.  It doesn't work.  It doesn't matter.  There will be no more sleep today.

I've written about this before, my restlessness.    Sleep evades me because of all there is to do, at least all I think there is to do.  There are people encouraging me to relax, prosthelytizing that the world won't end if dinner isn't planned out every night of the week.  That no harm will come if the kids don't have stacks of clean clothes or, gasp, might have to wear the same shorts two days in a row.   That the family will be just fine if the kitchen counters don't get wiped down.  That we will survive if toys are not picked up and put back neat and tidy.  That it's not a big deal if we run out of milk and the kids have to eat dry cereal for breakfast.  That the house will still be cleaned enough if I don't clean for the cleaning people (okay, how crazy is that?!). 

And part of me wants to believe. 

I want to skip this worry, this worry about work that causes me to lose sleep.  But, part of me also believes that this is how a mother is judged.  Is it not?  And furthermore, anything I put off today will only have to be done tomorrow.  And tomorrow I have to work, so what's the point?

Are you a planner?  Can you handle the unplanned?  One day, long term?  Does sleep evade you?  Do you get that restless feeling?

hope this makes you smile

Hello everyone.  I know it's been awhile.  Sometimes life just gets a little busy.

I captured a little skier/rider creativity that made me smile and thought I'd share.  Hope it gives you a smile too.

perspective

We all need it.  It’s easy to get lost without it and I've had a big dose of it this past week.  I can’t think of anything to write – anything worthy that is given tragedies abroad.

Fear

Maybe I am struck with fear.  It started with waking to the light vibrations of my cell on the nightstand.  My sister calling at 5:30 am did not mean anything good.  And the fear in her voice calling to alert me to the tsunami warning, knowing we would be asleep and my family caught off-guard.  We were in no danger but my sister’s fear was real and it was contagious. And people here in California died because of what happened over there. People who didn't heed the warnings, didn't pay attention to the fear.

I live in earthquake country.  Fear of a big earthquake is very real.  Maybe that’s why I spent over $500 on groceries this weekend.  Suddenly jolted.  Jolted knowing this could happen to me, to us, to my family.  Here.  Anytime.  I need to be prepared.  This is something I can control in a world full of fears.

Fear of nuclear fallout heading my way.  Unfounded fear circulating, viral.  Fear of not knowing the true threat in the event of a full nuclear meltdown.

Ignorance

I am crushed by the ignorance.  The jokes.  It is not funny.  People lost their lives.  Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, babies.  Especially the little ones.  Real people.  People with families.  People who were loved and now gone.

And the references to Pearl Harbor.  And the comments on Facebook.  How can people be so heartless?  I think they have never known loss, deep, profound loss.  We need compassion not ignorance.

Sacrifice

How many sacrifices were made during the disaster?  How many are still being made?  The "Faceless 50" staying behind, frantically trying to keep things under control.  Knowing the risks and and accepting their fates.

All this while knowing the world is still turning.  It provides quite the perspective.

i'm a very good driver

As a mother I do a lot of driving.  Take a Tuesday for example.  I drive the oldest and drop him off at school in the morning and then make my way to the BART station.  If I’m lucky (and early enough) I’ll get a spot.  If not, then I have to drive back home and wait for the 10:00 am parking to open up and drive back down there.  Of course, after work, I drive home.   Tuesdays they boys have Boy Scouts so I drive one kid to the middle school, and then I drive back home.  A short time later I have to pick up the oldest from lacrosse practice at the high school, and then I drive back home.  Finally it’s time to pick up the kid from Boy Scouts, and then I drive back home.  You get the picture. 

Winter provides even more hours on the road with our weekend trips up to the mountains for skiing.  Three hours (if we’re lucky) each way.  Every weekend.  You see by all this driving how I must be a very good driver.  And I am (as I pat myself on the back).  It’s all the other folks out there that make me scratch my head and wonder if they got their license from a Cracker Jack box.   Where did some of these people learn to drive?!

I’ve categorized them.  Yes, I have.  I haven’t earned the nickname “Poster Child for Road Rage” for nothing.

First let me tell you about the Magician.  These are the people driving on the highway who put their blinkers on and immediately move into your lane.  They assume their magical prowess causes you to evaporate into a POOF of air simply because they put on their blinker.  You just don’t exist anymore.

Of course there’s the Tailgater.  You know the type, riding up your rear so close it reminds you of a dog sniffing another dog’s butt.  Only they’re not friendly and wagging their tails.  These people are just plain rude (and stupid because I like to break suddenly to teach them a lesson).  What really gets me irked is when someone tailgates me when I have a slowpoke in front of me.  Listen pal, I can’t move any faster than the person in front of me so back off buddy!

My least favorite is the Traffic Regulator.  Traffic regulators are also known as egotists.  These are the folks that, on a highway, will ride in the left lane even when not passing.  If, however, you decide that you’d like to go around them, they will speed up immediately to prevent that from happening.  You see, they are (of course) driving at the perfect speed and think that you should not drive any faster.  They must keep you in your place – behind them.  At all costs.  These same people you follow for extended periods of time on a long, winding mountain road wishing for a passing lane and when it at long last comes, he hits the gas pedal at break-neck speed eclipsing your ability to pass.

Okay, wait.  I remembered one more – definitely tied for least favorite – the Moving Roadblock.   This is a version of the Traffic Regulator only the motivation is different.  Where the Traffic Regulator is an egotist, the Moving Roadblock is suffering from obliviosity.  Typically no intentional malice, but still just as frustrating.  These are the folks that drive in the left lane and don’t pass either.  What makes it utterly frustrating is that they are side-by-side with the guy in the right lane effectively “blocking” your ability to get around.  

Do you know these people?  Where did they learn to drive?  Have any more to add to the list?  I'm sure someone's got a comment about cell phones and driving.  Or how about those people who drive up in the exit lane and suddenly cut in?

Pssst...check it out!

Today I'm Guest Gabbing over at The Mommy Mambo!  A regular in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, Jennifer and I are of the "three boys club".  Or make that four if you count the husbands!  See what she's all about.  I think you'll enjoy - I know I do.

So go - go now!  Leave me some cheer and pretend that I'm not failing at parenting. Or, as Jennifer says, Failing Fabulously.  Now that's some good alliteration!