36x365x71

You have the pitiful potential to become an utter jock jerk. Displaying your strength and your abilities at the painful peril of your opponent. I hope you won't be the one shoving freshman in the lockers.

*******************************************************

So, how are you? What's new in your world? What did you have for dinner tonight (last night)?

36x365x70

Everybody's friend, everybody's (drinking) buddy. Late to bed and early to rise- you worked hard and lifted your full glass often.

You were not partner material and left broken spirits and deflated confidence in your wake.

36x365x69

You kick my ass at the gym.

Aidan said: Mom, next time I want you to snuggle with me after you've been to the gym remind me to smell my dirty socks.

Other workouts seem silly.

***************************

Tonight I didn't want to go to the gym. I was in a beaten tired wasted stupid mood. I sweat a lot of it out and only a shadow remains. Only a shadow.

Tomorrow will be purposeful.

36x365x68

We're joined by marriage not blood, we choose friendship. Sharing, helping, leaning, asking, offering. understanding, doing- for each other.

I'm protective and sometimes pushy because I hate that you hurt.

Because I hate that you hurt.

36x365x67

We lived together at the start of 2 years. Friends.

You married to live on an army base.

Later you divorced.

You remarried and I met him.

Later still you divorced again.

You're working on 3.

36x365x66

You pulled strengths from an insecure freshman, said things to ignite the flame. I was suddenly a writer and smartly insightful.

I wasn't uniquely talented, but one of many.

You were a great coach.

Thank you.

36x365x65

Though you were a good friend, you wouldn't come to our wedding without a date.

When I announced the birth of my first boy in an email, you replied to all referencing the size of Rob's-

36x365x64

Though he's the "life of the party" I look for you now and am never disappointed by the softer humor. You're kind, controlled and careful in your manner and I'm so glad to be your neighbor.

**************************************************

Do you ever wish you could sit with the girl you were before you were a woman? Or even now, to sit across the table and listen to the answers and watch the language and provide comfort? To offer guidance and answers and an occasional smack in the head?

Did you think that this is where you'd be and this is how you'd feel about it?

I didn't.

36x365x63

I had a one of a kind haircut in high school and you asked who had done it. You walked out with the same style and I was crushed. Still the best cut I've ever had.

************************

I just looked at the 10 day forecast and all but 1 day calls for rain. Rain is to August what snow was to February. Blech. I am bummed. This will call for some serious creativity to enjoy such a dreary almost end of vacation.

Pshhhht.

36x365x62

One warm hug stands out. And the way you sat in English, long lanky limbs folded tight. I was looking for sadness anger and angst; you often were sad. 14 years gone? I always Google you.

36x365x61

I swam. You dove. We wrote notes to each other during classes. I stopped swimming. You seemed only to dive. The closeness sank. Neither now are who we were but we've taught our kids to swim.

***************************************************

Today, I took the kids to Sebago Lake State Park. We've enjoyed the park for the past few years and we've been a few times this summer. Today was great. We went after lunch and stayed until dinner. We were in the water almost the entire time.

My kids are more than comfortable in the water. They are deeply in love with it in all swimable forms. I get that. I love that. I really love that.

We all swam together and the kids each had mini lessons with me individually. Aidan is learning breaststroke, Clay's working on freestyle breathing, and Lucy is figuring out what to do when she's in over her head. I saw things clicking today. They practiced and were feeling good about what they learned. Lucy went too deep 50 times, took a big breath and swam under water until she was able to stand up.

I think the kids learn more in 10 minutes in the water one on one than they do in a series of formal lessons. My kids take lessons, and I hope they'll continue to take lessons until they start swimming on a team. I want them to learn proper techniques and I want them to swim on a team for at least one season.

Rob's grandmother used to say: you can want in one hand and sh*t in the other and see which gets filled first.

36x365x60

Your daughter tricked you, pretending the working Christmas lights were broken so you patiently puttered with each bulb.

We worked together transcribing your patient notes from braille. I learned about broken children. And about sustainable strength.

******************************************************************************

Joop. I am on day 73 and post 60. Oops. Life.

Summer speeds up each year. When I was eleven the days and weeks were longer.

My favorite summer days are long ones on the beach. In the water and on the shore. Playing and watching. I'm craving more of these days.

What are you going to do before September speeds in?

36x365x59

When you were a boy I babysat for you, and you wrapped your small frame tight around me in unfamiliar situations. Now you have a boy, but it's not as you planned. I am still here.

36x365x58

I held fast to your waist when I was 15 on your forbidden motorbike. Funny and flirty and confident you weren't quite arrogant and you weren't quite a jock and we weren't quite connected. Simple fun.

********************************************************************************

Facebook bring people back into focus when your mind blurs them. I still don't know how I feel about re-connecting with these folks who (in some cases) were initially unconnectable.

Jury's out.

So, what's you favorite dessert of all time?

36x365x57

I supervised your barely contained hostility, and your severe sense of slight. Your longtime boss (and my new one) was deeply afraid of confrontation. We worked unhappily on a carnival ride of dishonesty and undefined expectation.

36x365x56

You sent a sweet sympathy card when my dad died, although we hadn't spoken in years. I still hold your kindness close and try to remember the living when death comes.

You've found me on Facebook!

36x365x55

Your skin was dark your sister's milk light, joined in adoption. Your parents divorced and you moved away. When I visited we'd sneak peeks at your mom's "special" book, full of pencil sketches we couldn't understand.

36x365x54

The weight feels heavy and it's not my child. I imagine your thoughts and prayers as you lie in bed each night and I am scared and sad and lonely for you. I am right here.

***************************************************************************

Today was stranger than strange. For months I have been occupied by a sad scary personal situation many of the people I love have been working through. I think about them often and worry for them and while I do not know how to help, I try.

Today, I learned of a sad and scary and secretive personal situation that's different and yet peripherally related to the first. I'll try to help ease the burden, if I can.

On a not scary or sad but maybe a little bit bizarre note, there's Rob's long overseas conversation with the ex. (Speaking of which, it's 11:25 pm, in case you were wondering. And, btw, it's relieving to know I was right, because seriously, it's a little freaky to think about who else would be Googling my name? Nice to end the mystery and Nice to know I'm not alone in the curiosity that brings me to the Google page from time to time.)

Any misconceptions of "normal" have been laid to rest today.

R.I.P.

Next up: a few photos from the amusement park, in part to explain my absence, in part to lighten my mood:

36x365x53

You are simply stunning, even more than when you first walked in. You have changed the working title of your book several times in these 15 years. I've read the reviews, your story is complexly compelling.

36x365x52

When my father died you called though we'd never spoken on the phone. The bond was formed and I understood it completely. I'd joined the club that you'd been part of for years. Thanks for calling.

36x365x51

Seventeen years ago I cut your hair with scissors from your desk drawer. No 2 strands were equal. You're a mom across the sea and I haven't seen you in years. Now we exchange Christmas cards.

36x365x50

We used to "talk" often and share and bounce ideas off each other many times a day. Now we don't but I can't understand or explain why. If I hurt or offended you I am sorry.

36x365x49

Once I knew you well, but was embarrassed at the reunion when you said hi and I stared at you- blank. You became a teacher and lived with our former teacher. What did that teach you?

36x365x48

Loud and screechy, snuggly and smooth, full of vim. A vital surprise, you made us whole.

Just yesterday I brought you home from the hospital, and painted your mouth purple.

Suddenly, you are 4.

*****************************************************

Happy, happy, happy day after your birthday, Punk. I love you dearly.

36x365x47

We partnered at a weird wedding and bonded by being dates of the guests. We laughed and watched and walked together observing them. I didn't see the brokenness that lie beneath, but you chose to die.

36x365x46

You're softly sweetly squeaky and have found a friend in my babe and she clearly thinks you are the bee's knees. You run to each other and away from the waves dancing jubilantly. Covered in sand.

36x365x45

When your kids were young you left (and compromised) too often.

I watch you with my kids with your grown kids with all of the kids with joy. Pure interest, energy, effort and care.

**********************************************

Vacation officially started today and we spent a long day on the beach. I played with the new camera and got a very different view of my family and their interactions- through a snappy telephoto lens that brings those far away images, glances and sun smacked faces front and center.

A lot of the kids really like each other.
A lot of the medium kids are flexing their muscles with their younger cousins.
A lot of the bigger kids are making time and space for the small ones.
The 2 smallest ones are thoroughly joyful.
A lot of the kids are awkward in their skin.
A lot of the adults don't know how to talk to the not-quite-adult-kids.
A lot of the kids have stories that they want to tell.

These opportunities are meaningful.
They mean different things to me than to my 74 year old mom or to my children. But These Days on the beach or at a back yard BBQ are infused with connections and desires to connect.

It's exhausting and we pay the piper when we tuck our kids in 3 hours passed their bedtimes and we tell each other it's an investment.

I'm deep in processing.

36x365x44

We don't have much to talk about, but I want to know you again. Ill sit with you tomorrow, on the beach, with our family all around us bocceing and body surfing and screeching about crabs.

36x365x43

See what happens? You all ignore my plea for a tiny little ity bity comment and I miss a day. By mistake! I still don't believe I didn't post yesterday. I guess it might be because I went to sleep before my kids, but really? I blame YOU for not leaving me a comment. *sigh*

*x43*

We dated briefly, our lockers side by side. You seemed quietly straight. I was so sick and you brought Pooh videos we sat while my mother futzed in the kitchen.

Once we danced. It was nice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nikki- yes, I was talking about you, email Rob...

36x365x42

I guess it was disloyal when I showed him my support. He opened and reached and engaged before and after you awaited the engagement.

I don't know the answer. But I hope you find it soon.

36x365x41

You are warmly witty. Friends follow for a taste of your exuberant energy and sometimes a succulent sun dried tomato spread. You draw out bent-over-pee-my-pants laughter. When you move I'll miss you.

**

I almost took today off, but look: I didn't. You know what that means? It means you have to leave a comment. Uh-huh. Does to. Mooooom...

36x365x40

Haiku for you:

We met at eighteen
freshman initiation
before school started.

We lived together
and walked through the Boston streets
meeting the people

We sat and we wrote
rambling lines of poetry
colorful and new.

36x365x39

I think you are crazy, not in the "haha how silly" way, but in the "hold my children close so you won't make them eat Chef Boyardee" way. Though smiling, you never ever meet my eye.

36x365x38

We met during your last Boston visit. Almost 2 decades later I imagine you across the ocean "precariously perched" on curiosity. It took time, but we popped the bubble of perceived perfection. You should call him.


***
Really, you should.

36x365x37

I think you skip school and smoke more than cigarettes. I think you're alone often and fall squarely into the "at risk" box. I think you'll get into life changing trouble. I pray that you won't.

36x365x36

By day you taught 5 year olds in my daughter's school. One night your husband discovered you in the darkness kissing a man and a woman. I hope your own daughter has strong sober role models.

36x365x35

I sit outside stealing your wireless because ours is down. But I'll tell you when I see you and you'll laugh. You lend your things and offer help with practiced ease. A good and generous neighbor.

36x365x34

We sang the Violent Femmes so loudly- and The Police. Odd pairing. We didn't fit in our skins so we were mean. Not usually to each other. We were close but now are not. It's okay.

36x365x33

Is it wrong to question your motives? You stand by cleaning up her messes and reformulating who you are. You've made your share of mess, both full of fault, it's hard to imagine happily ever after.

36x365x32

Friend I've yet to touch, I drink your words.

You mourn your dead dad with painful eloquence and expose your vulnerability with grace.

We'll meet on the Cape and our kids will play at the beach.

36x365x31

Dear friend, years pass between hugs and weeks morph to months without any contact. But my core knows that I can call you to give and get support. It's not enough. Separated, we can't really know.

Tangent: Consciousness

I feel like this place is for 365's now, but that leaves a space where I should be writing more that I'm just not. So, here it will be. Hodge-podge is fitting, no?

Remember the miracle of turning the water into wine? When Jesus told the servants to "fill the jars with water" the servants (without question) filled the jars to the brim.

And a friend has me thinking about what that means, what it can mean, to fill a jar to the brim. Because the jar isn't always a jar. Sometimes it's helping your sister or tucking in your son. Sometimes it's listening to a budding reader make sense of the letters. Or listening to the far off lyrics of your daughter's made up song of the day. Sometimes it's cooking dinner and calling your mom and making time to talk to the guy you married. Sometimes its completing a proposal or planning a trip. Sometimes it's a swim or a water balloon war. Sometimes its connecting with old friends and reaching out to new ones. And yes, sometimes I guess it must be laundry and bills and sweeping and folding and the monotonous tasks that make life smoother when it needs to be.

And what would change if I were doing those things that I do "to the brim?"

Am I the only one who needs constant reminders to live consciously and celebrate what I have?

Just thinking.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

36x365x30

No one deserves the pain you face. It started so long ago, not fitting right, not trying, not knowing how to try. I am so scared for you and for your family. I'm sorry. So sorry.

36x365x29

The boys in child care asked about your mustache and smiling you said someday they'd grow one, too. I wanted you to wax, so they would stop asking. You worked too long and saved too few.

36x365x28

Dead dads are not much fun. Less today.

He was life and strength and devotion, so full of shit and laughter. He raised me to know what lies in the center.

Faith and Family, ever together.

36x365x27: Saturday's on Sunday

My husband tells me stories of respect and of passion. Of commitment and of the extreme sport of dedication. You write your 365 of goodness and positive influences. And sir, you have made him a collector.

36x365x26

Your generosity of time, energy, affection and gifts gave focus to a hollow time. You brought a ham dinner (with wine) for 20 to the ICU the night before dad died. After, you faded into black.

36x365x25

A life juxtaposed by the mother you deeply want to be, and the reality of your troubled life. You need to hold your children far too close. I think you are paralyzed by fear of loneliness.

36x365x24

At 14, I smoked and wore a pin that read "Make Love, not Smoke," not knowing what "make" meant. I pointed to it when you told me not to smoke. Silent dear friend of my dad.


(who lives in North Reading?)

36x365x23

You shared your family's recipe for rice and beans and your baby was sweet and happy. Her father hit you and you got pregnant again, but you didn't have that baby. I cried when you graduated.

36x365x22

You found your father dead in the car when you were 6. My mother said I was drawn to troubled kids. I was and you were. We talked for hours in the dark of the stairwell.

36x365x21

I couldn't figure out how to let you go, so I held fast for far too long. Now, I Google you and seek some silly sign of who you became. I'd like to meet your wife.

36x365x20

We leaned against the yellow walls in AP English. And you, with your wide comb over and subtle smarm sat among us. Teaching. I can't believe she fell for you, lived with you or loved you.

36x365x19

I knew when I spoke to him over the bonfire in October that he was he and that you were you. Better together. I wept at your wedding. Watching him watching you. The past only ashes.

36x365x18

Smoking day care lady, playing favorites with the children. Criticism lies always in wait on your lips.

And yet you are kind and dependable with your neighbors: offering to care to tend to help.

An oxymoron.

This Seems Perfectly Reasonable to Me.

36x365x17

I judge you: selfish, shallow, disloyal, dishonest, and mean. You took the love of my people and you shit on it. You are broken but I am sad and angry. I cannot forgive you yet. Prick.

36x365x16

Tired teacher taught for too many years. You seemed twice your age. Then I saw you with your grandchild at a concert and you were full of vim. I wonder when you started longing for retirement.

36x365x15

It was absolutely no surprise when you passed out during a party in 1993. As promised your friends shaved your head. 10ish years later you walked out of the closet and ran back to the army.

36x365x14

You really did walk into the party like you were walking onto a yacht. Rock star in your mind, you played the harmonica and played the girls. Handsome and talented. Fun to watch but decidedly insincere.

Subscription Options

I hope I didn't just blow up my blog. I noticed that my daily visitors are hopping up a little bit and so I added a "subscribe by email" thingy on the side bar. And don't worry about the spam thing, it's all automated.

So, now you can use an RSS reader or get posts via email. Because really, who would want to miss this magic?


Ok, and also: who keeps finding their way here by Googling my name? Because you should really say hi. Especially if I haven't seen you in awhile.

36x365x13

I cried at a dance when you played the theme to Say Anything, avoided your eyes during Is she really going out with him? You played and wrote and made music and I loved you first.

A related to but not x365 post

I am getting a lot from this writing project. It provides an opportunity to reflect and remember and connect. It's short and usually very quick. The challenge is in writing about certain people. In some cases too much to contemplate. Sometimes a great temptation to say more. Knowing just what to pick out from either years of stuff or a brief foggy moment. So it's not always simple, but I think it's good for me.

My list can use some editing and I've been doing that a little. I was admittedly scraping the bottom of the barrel (not with Ron) but with the waitress at a restaurant I go to with the girls.

I love reading what others are making or made of their projects. The original x365 is Dan's and he paints a pretty picture. You should read his words.

And here's what else I am thinking about: Judgment: a seemingly constant struggle. Kindness: too often a struggle. So there is that.

36x365x12

Your married boyfriend hit you often and hard. You lived with me with black and blue pride and a bleeding sense of self. I called an abuse hotline. You came home with flowers. I was 20.

36x365x11

You married your husband in your apartment wearing your pajamas. I don't know why. Your father wore a suit. We talked about the children you might have and the word divorce was always prefaced with if.

36x365x10

I walked in to see you, your thinness heavy on the bed. Closed down for days you opened and spoke and held my second son in the cradle of your limbs. A day later you died.

Sometimes there is so much more I want to say about a person.

36x365x9

She made you pee on your young son's leg because it's said to take the pain of the jellyfish sting away. And on our wedding day you drove alone and arrived late but not too late.

36x365x8

I missed yesterday, but technically I didn't because I thought about this in the ER:

I was embarrassed with and for you and the young religious educator when you asked what it meant that Mary was a virgin. I knew just enough not to ask. But now I await the question.

36x365x7

You walked in to the party like you were walking onto a ya-

kidding.

You wore black and white garb in a black and white kitchen and I stood behind you in the buffet line. You fit in, but when I pointed it out they gasped. Because nuns shouldn't laugh.

36x365x6

A severed life of troubled sadness. Marked by ink and drink and cigarettes. Less than handsome, more than light. Feigning danger. Your aunt found me in Boston on a warm spring day because you were dead.

36x365x5

We met in 9th grade, my first high-school crush. We flirted boldly in civics class, even after the teacher separated us. At our last reunion you were neither handsome nor tall and you bored me.

36x365x4

Gray haired volunteer of kindness, leaning in welcome, meeting his eye with warmth. In a voice thick with years of tar and maybe gravel you said, "You must be Clam." But my son's name is Clay.

36x365x3

You found your voice in Pennsylvania, overcame the common grunt to speak with clarity, confidence and humor. Now you're unpacking a suitcase of hangovers from 4 years in college and looking for a place to fit.

36x365x2

The bad ass who came to the beach at night with Marlboro Lights and a sweetness undisguised. I was drawn to you. Then, when I was gone you lost a brother. I never found you again.

Focus: x365

A comment link at GNMParents led me to a new blog, Carolynbahm.com. Carolyn is doing a project whereby for a full year she writes a short vignette about a person each day. Her project led me to x 365 and I began my list.

So, here begins my own 36 x 365 whereby I will attempt to write 36 words about 365 people over the course of the year. I am doing this because reflecting is good. Because focus is good. Because daily writing is good.

36x365x1

Before you died your breath was heavy. In a half embrace, I needed you to feel me. My mother held your other half, and guided my good-bye. Her mother, her daughter, herself. Her last great loss.

Webby Fiction

There's a girl who lives up the block. She wears a lot of purple. Purple socks or a dress or a t-shirt or a ribbon in her hair. She passes by our house on her way to the bus stop. She's in second grade. When she climbs on the school bus she sits in her assigned seat and stares out the window singing purple rain.

I made that part up. She's far to young to know Prince, or even the "artist formerly known as." But she stares out the window and her lips move in song.

When she gets to school she walks in a line and writes on the lines and colors inside of the lines because she knows how to follow those rules. She is quiet and neat and never silly. Her teachers pass by, smiling in her direction. Because she does what she's told.

She's a good girl. And a good girl she'll stay. She won't drive without her license or smoke behind the backstop. She won't date a troubled boy or ever cut a class. She'll be polite to all her family and never say a swear. She'll apply to community college and excel in all her classes. She'll add up all those numbers and remember all the dates. She'll hand her papers in on time and a typo won't be found.

She'll do what she does because that is who she is.

Clutter

I haven't been writing enough. Hell, if I am honest I have not been doing enough of anything: writing, sleeping, thinking, pausing.

I won't pretend that it's because I am always running around tending to others.

It's a lot because my mind gets so cluttered that it's hard to pick out what needs picking. Like the meat tucked into the belly of the lobster. When you can extrapolate it the reward is sweet and tender. But sometimes it's too entwined with the cartilage and you end up chewing the plasticy parts. Completely unfulfilling.

I am very cluttered right now.

Unable to pick out any of the good stuff.

Politics and Kids and a Great Giveaway!

In case you missed it, GNMParents is hosting a book giveaway for my friend Sue's new book See How They Run.


Great book, great timing. Leave a comment at GNMParents today (please and thank you!)!

And, if you have a school aged kid please ask them to complete her quick KIDS SPEAK OUT survey.

The Library

I don't know that many people who blog. Well, I know a lot of people who blog but I haven't met them face to face. And the few people I have met in real life who blog, began blogging after I knew them, or I met them in real life before I knew them through their blog.

Still, there are people that I've come to know, people I'd love to sit with and drink wine with and bake cookies with and walk with and most enjoyably talk with. Because this blogging thing presents us with a library. A place to browse and open to random pages, reading thoughts and stories and life philosophies. We crack the binding looking for words to pull us in and help us to learn and connect and grow. We look for words that allow us to spend time with others who inspire and entertain and comfort us.

But blogging offers us something library books don't. We have the opportunity to turn from page to page and not only read the author's words, but we're also allowed- no- invited to reflect and share and add our own words to theirs. Yet, I haven't spoken to most of these people. We haven't sat together or just been together.

But that's about to change. In two weeks the Honorable Reverend Swanson is bringing his bride for a visit. And so I will put a voice and a bunch of expressions to the words and photos I've been reading. And with a little duct tape to keep the kids in line we might even be able to have a "real" conversation. And I am looking forward to that. Although that implies our online communications are less than real, but that is not the truth.

We'll be reconnecting with the beautiful Brogan bunch as well, who we always enjoy seeing. We'll talk and eat and watch and listen and walk and who knows what else?

Or that's the plan.

I wonder if it will be at all awkward when Jon learns that not only does Rob not exist, but that I also made up all 3 punks and I am actually a 78 year old man living in Duluth. We shall see.

In other news, I took this photo of a big fat bee on one of my bleeding hearts today and the imaginary kids and I really liked it:

Almost

Yesterday I was killing time waiting for a prescription to be filled for Lucy's ear infection. I decided as a treat I'd zip through the Dreaded Donut line for some tea for me and sugar for the Punks. Typically, it was a very crowded poorly planned parking lot. And, tossing the donuts back to the kids, I had to stick the snout of my car out around a van that was parked on the street right next to the parking lot exit.

But the exit was a little hill and so I went out a little farther than I should have. And when I did, I stared into the grill of an enormous Mack truck, and a quick glance in my mirror showed with another car on my bumper, I had no room to back up. And the truck, close and fast, was set to hit my door. And then I would die.

And while they took me to the morgue, or the hospital or wherever they would take me, I was overwhelmed with fear for my kids. Because if I was dead and Rob was away would my kids sit, scared and on an adrenaline and sugar high in the back of a patrol car for hours until they found someone to come? And could 8 comfort 6 and 3? Would they huddle together or sit in silent terror?

But by the grace of God the driver was aware and reacted and stopped just in time. The truck jerking still. And by just in time I mean that if I rolled down my window I would be able to touch the truck's grill. With ease.

And I sat with my hands tight on the wheel and my eyes stuck on the truck. With the clouds reflecting on windshield I could not see the driver's face. And we sat until I pulled out of his way, and so I could park on a side street, repeating a prayer, shaking, reassuring, and crying with fear and relief and whole hearted gratitude.

And I shook for hours.

And at night, when I tried to sleep I couldn't breathe and I dreamed I got run over by a little white car.

Tightening

I am looking at efficiencies still. Yesterday I reduced my blogroll from 100 to 62. My goal is to have it below 50 by day's end. It's not easy and it doesn't really make me feel good. Except that it does a little. Because regularly I have 683 gazillion unread posts glaring at me. And so while I enjoy stopping in from time to time to see what's new, I can not maintain connections with so many people.

So, last night I read a lot. I caught up and I made choices about who was adding what to my online time. It was a good process and I remembered why I blog-rolled a lot of people to begin with. And I remembered why I started this blog and how uplifting and inspiring the running and tri connections that I made were. And then I was overcome with a sense of failure because I stopped. And they didn't. And when I "knew" them they were learning to run 5ks, like me, but now they are running half marathons, marathons, and Olympic distance triathlons. And they ROCK. And I can say I knew them when. But my goals have changed and while I am again working on becoming fit, I do not feel compelled to compete or write about it.

While I kept some of those feeds, I got rid of some, too. And that feels right.

And speaking of write. I know some talented folks who offer inspiration and example and I want to know them better.

While there are many, I'll offer just one example: Kate knocked me over with her love letter to her niece. And I completely relate to her less than appropriate sense of humor. I love the way she recounts conversations and I appreciate her writing skills and style. A lot. And so she stays and I look forward to spending time with her. Because if I reduce and tighten my blog-roll I can actually participate in the community.

Theoretically.

Reflections

I am inefficient. I spend too much time turning from task to task to task and at the end of the day I've done nothing extremely well. Every day. Online and off. Work and recreation.

The less structured summer is coming and when I woke up this morning I was listening to my son sing along to Crocodile Rock on his new iPod Shuffle that he bought with his own money after depositing an equal amount of money into his savings account and the problem with that is that he shouldn't be old enough to do it.

But he is.

And so I am looking at my scheduling and my growing time markers that live with me and I am afraid. So, I am focusing my energies on simplification. Reduce. Reduce my beloved blogroll. Reduce objects. Reduce wasted time and energy. Reduce incessant email surveillance. Reduce piles and stored objects.

And instead of focusing on expanding, I need to focus on tightening. Tightening my community circles. Tightening my obligations. Tightening my faith. Tightening my abdominal muscles. Tightening my time.

It's spring. Time to wake up.

Vacation

We're in a house that's not ours to clean.
The 3 are asleep.
The wine is fine.
The view of the ocean is clear.
No one is sick.
The tvs are off, and now so is this machine.
Enjoy.

Waah...

I am trying to get my groove on- or back- or whatever.


I, like the 3 small ones in my house, am sick again. It's viral pharyngitis. A sore throat. Which describes perfectly the fire that has been burning in my throat for the past 5 days. Who names these things? If it were me this would be double diagnosis of viral throatonfiritis with a little can'tstayawakus. The kids are just wrapping up some spring colds, and they each have a lingering cough. No Big.

On another medical front I have been preoccupied by the idea of living without a uvula. A possible treatment for sleep apnea involves a uvulopalatopharyngoplasty. Now this sounds like a great way to spend a day, no?

The real question is, can I lead a long and fulfilling life without my uvula?

Disclosure

My father died 10 years, 11 months and 17 days ago. I remember it and sometimes feel it as though it were a month or 2 or 3 ago.

In the past few months I have been thinking about writing in a different way. And in the past few weeks I have been thinking more about writing my stories. My mother wrote her autobiography for a college course when I was 13 and she was 50. I just finished re-typing it and having it bound and copied in her honor for her and my siblings.

So, here where I used to talk about my fitness efforts (which I still think about), I am now recalling stories from the distant and recent past. Maybe it's a step towards an autobiography of sorts. Maybe its a series of writing exercises.

Thanks for your thoughts and condolences on what I wrote yesterday. They soothe in the same way they might if this was a more recent loss. Fact is, my father's death is neither recent nor distant. It's constant and permanent. So, thank you.

Just After

I called my sister in the middle of the night, on a wire stretching from one coast to the other. I stood in the dim hospital hallway leaning against the ICU nurses station, not looking back into the room I'd just left.

I told her that he died. I don't recall telling her that when we got the phone call at home we crammed in a car, flying over bumps and though lights, never seeing another vehicle. I don't recall telling her that we pulled up to the emergency room entrance, abandoned the car, doors ajar, and chased each other at full speed up two or maybe three flights of stairs.

I did tell her that he was still alive when we got there. I did tell her that we stood, touching a part of him- foot, shoulder, arm, hand, head. And that we prayed the Our Father for our father until he was done breathing.

I don't know what she asked, but I offered her what I thought I'd need if she were there and I was not.

Walking

When I was very small I walked with my mother. This was before every family required 2 cars. We walked to the JCC, where my Catholic mother taught Jewish customs in my nursery school. Most days after school I took swimming lessons and played in the water while my mother swam a mile. It took her a really long time and so I became quite a good swimmer. Our skin was wrinkled when we toweled off. And the soap could not remove the lingering smell of chlorine.

Then we walked the mile and a half home. We used to pass an ugly little ranch style home, and I remember telling my mom that it was my favorite house in all the world. It was the brightest red paint that I had ever seen.

I am so anxious to move my body. The days are longer and the snow is melting and I want to walk again.

Skipping Hippos Giveaway!

I'm sorry, I just can't resist. Mom Views is having a poncho giveaway. The ponchos at Skipping Hippos are painfully sweet. Check it out:



I don't spend $46 on myself let alone my 3 year old... but heck these are unique and handmade and just freaking adorable- and you might not be as tight fisted as I... but if you are, it's a giveaway! So, spread the word, enter the contest, and support a mom.

Good Luck!!

Signs of Spring

I've been sick. So sick. But today offered signs of healing and of spring:


I'll be back soon. I have naps to take before I sleep...

Depot Pond

There is a small pond in a small town near a windmill on Cape Cod that defines vacation. Back when sand dunes were steep we drove from Eastham to Welfleet and hiked down to the ocean with all of the accoutrements necessary for a family of 9 and a few friends. We used that beach for hours. Walking, building, digging, swimming, riding, running, rolling, surfing, throwing, chasing, eating, searching, soaking, sleeping, reading, burning until dinnertime approached. Panting and sweating we dragged what we brought back up the mountain to the car, while our t-shirts scraped the sea salt into our sunburned shoulders.

We jostled down the long unpaved driveway to the pond, bursting from the car before it stopped and racing, racing to the water. Reaching the shore at full speed, diving without slowing into the cool pond, gliding until our bodies rose to the surface. A fresh water cleanse.

A sensation that is deeply a part of me.

As a girl I lit fire to my room because I had to read.

Now, instead of sneak reading with a towel draped over the lamp, I sit in the glow of the computer screen, writing.

In the first hours of the day I wonder that I am too late, it is too much, I have too little.

For tonight, I am too tired.

He ain't dead yet...

Yesterday I wrote today's post for GNMParents. It was fun to put into words what I've been feeling for the past few weeks. Energized. Thankful. Creative. Example: for months I have been thinking of buying wall stickery things that said "Scatter Kindness." Instead, I made something. And it feels good.

Yesterday was a landmark for my husband. He is now 1 day older than any Hatch male in at least 2 generations. His heart is healthy and his biggest risk factor is his history. Did I mention that he's 37 years 4 months and 11 days old?

This part is disgusting. It's hard to confess. I've known about his dad and grandfather forever, and so I regularly entertain thoughts of becoming a widow. I have for years. Where would we live? What completely inappropriate thing would I say? Who would drive his car? How many fewer load of laundry would I have to do every week? Would I still eat dinner sitting with my kids at the table? Would I have to shop for black things? Who would I call? What would I say? How would I be?

Would I ever bury the darkness?

Blech.

It's not so much entertaining as contemplating. I love him. Enough that I can never actually answer any of those questions. They just float around. Like specks of dust.

I'll tell you one thing I would do: I'd use the insurance money to hire someone to clean my house. (That was a joke). I am happy that he made it to today. (That was an understatement).

Seriously, I got pretty sappy about him here. And then more recently I was bragging all about us here. I already said that I love him. I guess there's only one thing left to say:

Hey Rob, I'm glad you aren't dead. Mwah.

Vacation's Over (thank God)

Last week was February vacation. It was everything I dreamed it would be. And by dream, I mean the kind that wakes you mid scream. Dramatic? Yes. Kid #1 came down with a fever on Monday which progressed into a croupy cough with fever spikes reaching 104. Three days later Kid #2 joined in the fun, and then 1 day later Kid #3 got gooey.

Our days consisted of sleeping, bubble bathing, snuggling, and consuming copious amounts of media. Our nights consisted of sleeping on the couch with a fevered body cradled on my lap, holding a kid almost upright to reduce coughing. This was almost as good as the original plan for vacation, which involved some sledding, a fishing derby, some other local adventures, and an ultra rare visit from my brother's family. Yes, this was almost that good.

Mid-week I took Kid #1 to the doctor to rule out bronchitis. The good news was that his lungs were clear. The better news was that the ultra high fever should last another 2 days. The best news was that the cough would linger for another 2 weeks. By Friday the fever broke. By Monday the barking cough had mellowed a little. His energy and appetite were back and he no longer looked like he was asleep on his feet.

According to school rules a child has to be fever free for at least 24 hours before returning to school. And he has to feel well enough to be there. So when the bus pulled up this morning he climbed aboard and waved as he pulled away.

I stood holding a crying snot nosed #3 and the hand of the feverish coughing #2. I felt a sweet warm wave of utter relief wash over me. I rode that wave. I sent the most well one away. And then, predictably, the wave dragged me over the rocky coast of guilt.

Should I have kept him home longer? Even though he was fever free for more than 2 days. Even though his cough had mellowed. Did I rush him out because it's easier to care for 2 sickies than 3? Would he have benefited from an extra day? Should I have kept him home for 2 weeks? Until his cough was gone?

Regardless of school rules, had I done right by my boy? I have no freaking idea. But when he got home he was none the worse for wear and was celebrating some of his successes from the day. So, I am reflecting on that and, in the spirit of yesterday's post, I'm letting those questions go. I took good care of him. That's what I did.

Being better every day

It's easy to fall short of the person you're trying to be. Or it's impossible to become the person you're trying to be. Or wanting to be someone that you aren't yet is the impetus to get up and out. Without wanting to do better we are asleep. Aren't we? Reaching for Holden's brass ring is what we're here for. Be a better mother. Wife. Believer. Daughter. Sister. Friend.

Our goals shift so often that we forget the one we didn't quite finish before we've added 17 new ones. Play more. Clean more. Write more. Watch more. See more. Volunteer more. Wash more. Exercise more. Call more. Make more. Comment more. Compliment more. Buy more. Travel more. Cook more. Read more. Be more.

The perpetual efforts to be and do more and better mean that we can never succeed. We can never be the person we strive to be. There is always another thing. We can only ever fail. Is this why everyone is taking pills to relax and be happy?

We need quiet. We need to stop listing what we don't do, and start looking at what we do. What we are.

Great. I needed another goal.

**Updated**
Please go read Jon's Should post. It's really very connected to this and re-frames it beautifully.

Friendship

I have written a lot of words about the importance of friendship. About moms needing moms and women needing women. I've also expended a lot of calories cultivating friendships. They are important. I would be less than me without them.

Having ended my 36th year I wonder if it is a universal truth that there is a segment of a woman's psyche that simply never graduates from grade school. A particle of insecurity and self-consciousness that becomes trapped inside every interaction. I know it's possible, but is it common for women to maintain bonds that aren't cluttered with doubts?

Lack of Communication is a surly beast. It slithers into relationships and entangles itself withing the limbs of security and honesty. It compromises the stability of the bonds that are growing. It makes it difficult to develop in good health. It makes it difficult to want to. The strongest of us can not always quiet the beast. We require rest.

Friendship takes energy. On the planet of Parenthood and Marriage, energy is not found in abundance. It is expected that within a relationship that energy will ebb and flow from one partner to another. It is true and right. And the bond of friendship necessitates honesty and clarity. That is true and right. And we are hiding in the girls bathroom avoiding the cafeteria because we are unsure and lonely. And that is true and wrong.

It's true that moms need moms and women need women. And Oscar Wilde said, "The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

Sicknesses

Sickness is here for a visit. My boy burns. His body shakes as his teeth grind and the heat releases from his hands. 101,101,101, 104, 101, 99, 103. The cough starts, barking until it hurts in his everywhere. So tired of the cough, he shrinks it to a whisper, but still it overpowers and barks, in defense or on attack.

And I watch. And I question. And I hold. And I stroke. And I rub. And I serve. And I call. And I cradle his too long limbs on my lap through the too long night. My arm deeply sleeping as it holds him upright.

I look and I try to see the fever burning the sickness, boiling the invading germs, doing its job.

And I am overwhelmed by this visitor, who overstays its welcome. My eyes run and my mind invents reasons to feel sad and angry and so very hurt. Reasons outside this home. And with the palm of my hand monitoring the heat, I am less lonely.

Scatter Kindness

We lost power last night in the great ice storm of 2008. We struggled without television, computer, light or heat from 10 pm until 2 in the morning. We survived with nary a scratch.

I have complained about winter this week as though the complaints will melt the snow. Clearly they won't. By means of description rather than complaint I will tell you that when I walked to the middle of the yard today to rescue my stuck daughter, I sunk to mid thigh. And I think I was standing on about a foot of hard packed icy snow. The snow banks are so high on my street that you can not see the houses from the road. From the house you can not see a car traveling on the road. At every intersection you must slowly inch out to the middle of the road to determine if you are about to be pummeled by a Ford F-150.

Today was lovely. Sunny and a balmy 35 degrees. The icicles melted. We spent several hours outdoors today. The Punks stripped snow from the swing-set and mounted mountains of previously plowed snow. I thought I'd conquer the driveway, needing to glimpse the black of the pavement to secure my sanity. After 2 hours I had managed to clear 3 squares of snow and ice approximately 3 feet in diameter. My back was seizing and my wrists aching. I had stripped down to a thin fleece and tossed my hat to the side. I was sweating and breathing harder than I had any right to breath. Cue loader. Big Yellow Machine grinding it's plow over the hard packed ice in effort to expedite some melting and in the process rebuild the barrier between my driveway and the road. It was tall. It was wet. It was heavy. I was defeated.

And pissed. I cursed and cursed and cursed with every scoop. Each one was too heavy to remove. Back. Wrists. Pain. When the steam cleared the loader was on it's way back and I paused. I flashed to the start of this season. This season of first snowfalls when neighbors laughed and talked in the street as they cleared every speck of snow and ice from every conceivable surface. You know, 83 inches of snow ago. It took a lot of effort, but finally I conceded that this man in this machine might not have been put on this street to intentionally break my back. He did a job. An imaginably lonely job. A necessary job that kept my family safe when we turned out of the driveway. And so I straightened when the machine came. I offered a slight wave and slighter smile.

He slowed and tipped his hat (no, really). The horn beeped and suddenly the machine changed direction and the man changed the direction of his plow and he piled all of the snow from the foot of my driveway on top of the mountain. Not one sweep. Not 2 sweeps. Lots of sweeps and I felt the saddest euphoria.

I forgot that people are kind.

Today

So today I wrote a post for GNMP for tomorrow. That totally counts for this daily writing thing.. It's a series of Haikus. About how the snow is freezing my normally chipper attitude. So, today's post tomorrow and tomorrow's post tomorrow. And yesterdays post yesterday.

Late Nights

The thing about this daily writing, is that sometimes it's 9:15 pm and I am tired and full of crank, so writing is uh, crappy.

My boys wrestle. In a wrestling club. They started last summer and really seemed to enjoy it. As a sport. Not as late night entertainment or a way to dominate their brother. They wrestle on the mat, with a coach and very small wrestling shoes.

All summer they wrestled twice a week. Then school started and we laid off it because the timing wasn't great and they were adjusting to being a kindergartener and a second grader. We started up again the 1st of the year.

I just got back from my 1st ever practice. It's been Rob's job. Tonight I went. It wasn't the best experience. There were a lot of new kids there, and at 6 and 8 my boys are two of the younger wrestlers. Rob is usually out on the mat with the kids helping them to stay focused and implement the moves. Not I. Oh no, not I.

Participating in this sport is a lifestyle change for us. It's from 7-8.30 at night twice a week. My kids are always in bed and usually snoring by 8:30. I worry for their teachers tomorrow. I wonder if this is the best thing for them. I wonder if the benefits of learning and participating in this sport will outweigh the sacrifices.

It's not just wrestling. Kids activities consume more family time than ever before. Hours on the weekend, multiple nights a week. Birthday parties. We're steadfast in allowing only 1 activity per season, and we madly hope that the boys will always choose the same activity. And Lucy when she's older. (Yes, wrestling is co-ed, although there aren't any girls currently participating).

There are things that are non-negotiable in our schedule. Family time. Sunday school. Holidays spent with extended family. Eating together nearly every night.

I worry for the challenges that face us to maintain the commitment we've made to each other.

Blech.

Shut Up and Listen

I am never quiet. I awaken in the morning with exactly the amount of time needed to usher the kids to school. My computer is switched on before breakfast and off again at the very end of the day. During the day I play and read and cook and occasionally clean. I break frequently to check mail, read a blog, write a post. Never quietly. When It is time to settle down in the evening I watch tv and read until my lids are heavy.

It is one week into the Lenten season and I have been seeking silence. Stillness. It's about my faith and it's about all of my relationships. It's about embracing the quiet. It's about listening to what people are and are not saying. It's about giving people the silence to speak. It's about hearing.

Another of my Lenten pursuits is writing. Daily. Consciously. Carefully. I've abandoned Maine-ly Megin, focusing online calories on building up the parenting community at GNMParents. But now, I'll post here and see where it takes me.