Aunt Dolly

The Amadios to me have always been Aunt Dolly, Uncle Paul and my cousins, Sabina and Daniel (Sorry Dan, deep down you'll always be Daniel). We are not technically relatives, but I challenge any of you who tell me this is not my family. They have been a part of my life from day one and in my parents' lives before I was even a possibility.

A couple of years ago, I saw a quote - "Friends are the family you choose." And that could not be more true of our two families. Sometimes I believe that bond is even deeper because these are the people you work to keep in your lives. Example: How many of us have family members who show up at holidays simply because they have to and they feel obligated. With your chosen family, you're all there because you want to be. I'm insanely lucky the Amadios chose us and my parents chose them. They've stood beside us through so much. I can't imagine my life without them, I know I wouldn't be the same person I am right now.

Since I mentioned luck, I know that I am extremely lucky all four of them are as patient as they have been to put up with me for my first handful of years being an only child and truly acting like it(or maybe they just loved my mom and dad enough to look past it?). Little Johnene was not an easy kid to like. I've heard that I bit, hit, threw tantrums, threw shoes (on the Turnpike, I believe?) and most famously threw sawdust...

In Dan's eyes...

Still feel the need to apologize for that one...

Again, sorry Dan...

(But I also helped him expand his vocabulary! I instigated and was the aim of Dan's first swear word - for those who have heard the story, I am the 2-year-old "asshole" of legend - though I believe it was pronounced 'ath-ole' at the time.)

And yet, for all the terrible things I did to their own children, they loved me. And when they met my husband, they loved him and his family. And when we had our kids, they loved them, too. The love Dolly and Paul have given us is unmeasurable. I don't know how the world didn't stop rotating, for just a split second even, when Dolly left us last Thursday. Because in our world, we all felt the shift.

Thursday April 12th was a gorgeous morning here, sunny and bright blue skies. And all of the sudden the blackest cloud rolled over, so black I'd gone to the window to see what was happening. 30 seconds later, the phone rang with crushing news. The world didn't look the same as it did a minute ago. Aunt Dolly saying brace yourself. Things are changing.


I have a million memories of our times with Dolly, Paul and the kids. Where to start sharing is the real challenge. They will all make us laugh or cry, but each will cause a shake of the head because I still don't believe I am writing these in memoriam.

For the past 20 years, Dolly and Paul spent many Augusts here in Washington fishing and sightseeing with my family. The sights and stories that have accumulated over the years are extraordinary and could fill a book. But no one would appreciate them like the four of them (and their kids) have.

One particular trip ended up being a little longer and more eventful than anyone planned when Paul suffered a heart attack while on a fishing trip in the San Juan Islands. Just step back for a moment to imagine this scenario - 3,000 miles from home and disaster strikes. Dolly was strength personified. There have been several times I've thought of that and wondered how she did what she did with the poise and relative calm she did it with. Her world crashed and she was nowhere near her comfort zone. Unbelievable. But as the years pass and I get older with my own family, I know and appreciate it even more. Everything Aunt Dolly did was out of love. And when you love someone as deeply as those two love one another and their family, performing extreme feats of bravery and selflessness are second nature. It is something I aspire to - when the chips are down, I will be a rock like my Aunt Dolly.

Now, speaking of chips...

Aunt Dolly loved her some casinos, but I bet she rarely visited one without a little gift shopping, too. And that leads me to one of the things I loved the most about her.

Every once in a while, probably a couple of times a year, my parents would call to let us know there was a package at their house from Dolly and Paul. We'd show up and there would be a book, a piece of jewelry from Florida, a magnet from Maine, a t-shirt from the shore, a calendar, something. The best was for my daughter's 4th birthday when my mom showed up with a giant box from Aunt Dolly and Uncle Paul. When she opened it, it was a full-blown, tip-to-tail Cinderella dress. With all the fixins'. I have a picture of my little girl seeing that dress for the first time. Whenever I look at it, I know what pure joy looks like. It's a moment they weren't in the room for, but every time she pranced around the house in it, or tried sporting it with rubber boots to the grocery store, or danced circles in the living room with her dad, Dolly and Paul were here. The story was they'd found it while out shopping and there was no way it wasn't coming home with them for Maddie. And they were right, it was perfection.

It wasn't the grand gift, but the little things that let us know. It's that no matter how far apart we were, how long it had been in between visits, where we were in our lives, where Dolly and Paul were in theirs, wherever they went, they took us with them. I was with her in that gift shop when she bought that funny magnet. Maddie was with her when she bought the necklace in Florida. Parker was with her there, too when she found the 'Pirate's Life' shirt he didn't take off for 3 years, Eric was in that bookstore... I know for my parents, it was even more so. Everywhere Dolly went, she took that love with her and shared it with us.

Now Aunt Dolly, I will carry you and I will share my stories with Nina when she is older and I will see you in Sabina and Dan and I will remember the way Uncle Paul called you Migdalia when he'd tell stories about you. You and your lighthouses.

I never thought about what those would come to mean to me in your absence, I never thought of your absence ever. You and our memories of you shine in all of us and your love will be remembered. Not just in the big gestures, but in the little ones in that small moment when we let someone know - we are apart, but I love you and I carry you with me.

I love you, Aunt Dolly.

A Love Letter To Our Boy.

While I was pregnant I read your name in a book and before I saw your face, held your hands or heard your voice, I knew that was who you were. Never a doubt. You are a 'protector of the park' and the hearts of those you love, a fierce competitor and more fierce friend.

You wear your heart on your sleeve in good times and in bad. You love without abandon and it makes others want to love you more. I know that isn't always the "coolest" way to act at your age, but it doesn't bother you to hug us or say I love you. Dad and I are so grateful for you.

Yesterday, you gave us a gift that your Dad and I will forever be thankful for.

The first time you walked onto a tee ball field with a uniform on at 3 years old, we saw your path open up for you. From that day on, you worked hard to get to the next level, always pushing a little harder for that extra step. You made a big leap this year on your regular season team. As the only 9 year old pulled up to the older age bracket, you did well. We were so proud. You struggled on the personal side a little - there's a big difference between 9 and 12 and unfortunately, it showed on the field sometimes. But you fought through. Proud.

When you turned 9, one of the first things you said on your birthday was, "I'm finally eligible for All-Stars!" You got 3 games in your first run. You started with a loss, came back, pitched an AMAZING 2nd game. We have pictures of your team pig-piling on you after you closed out the first inning with a knuckle ball that had the batter so out front, he could have swung twice.

Then there was today. You had to play the other 9/10 team from NK. Brutal that you and your friends were put in the spot that you would have to put each other out. Your team was down for most of the game, but then we got to the 6th inning.

You were incredible.

I was shaking.

You made me so proud, I will never forget those moments.

Two down, down by 3, bases loaded - and you came up to bat. Parker, you smoked a 3-run double out to right center to tie the game. Then you managed to come around and steal home for the go-ahead run.

I've always tried to keep perspective, but I, and any of the parents around me, can tell you - my hands were shaking like a leaf. I wanted this so badly for you, because I know you've been waiting for this opportunity from the minute you picked up a baseball. You got to that moment - "2 down, bases loaded..." and you stepped up and made that magical thing happen. YOU did it.

Proud. More than you know.

Things went badly after that and your team did not end up with the win. Of course, you shed a tear. But you know what, so did your Dad. And that was okay. Because you gave your heart and you left EVERYTHING on the field. I hope there will not be a moment that you look back and do a 'what-if'. You will have plenty more opportunities. I know that you can and will make the most of it.

You commented to me later that you've never seen Dad cry before. He was sad for you. But he shed a tear because you gave so much heart and weren't able to make that win happen. You gave your Dad and me a gift that day. There are not many moments that we get to cry tears of joy and pride in our lives. That was one of them.

Daddy and I will carry that memory in our heart for a very long time. You showed us what you were made of at that moment. And it is something we are VERY proud of.

Advice From Cellblock 98370

Before they were born, I remember floating around in a pregnancy-induced bliss (must've been 2nd trimester), creatively imagining names for our impending children.

I wrote out the options in swirly script, I stenciled them on nursery walls, mocked up birth announcements - "Johnene and Eric can hardly contain the love they feel and must herald along with the angels the arrival of..."

Anyway... our beautiful girl was given the equally beautiful name Maddie Joy and was quickly followed by her adorable, but masculine brother, Parker John. Lovely names, the first literally the emotion we felt toward, well, both the children and the second, an adoring tribute to the many Johns (and Johnenes) on my side of the family tree. Well done us. Maybe.

In hindsight,

after a two weeks of summer vacation,

and two preteens,

I would take a different approach.

Allow me to explain.

Growing up, my brother *lovingly* coined the phrase "Prison Voice" to describe the change that occurred to our mother's voice when she was angry. (As in, "Watch out, Mom's using the Prison Voice. You may want to have dinner at a friend's house.") Not so much a tone, but a growl. As teens and young adults, we belittled it into ineffectiveness.

With 11.5 years of parenting and the aforementioned 2 weeks of summer vacation under my belt, I feel I may have undersold the Prison Voice. It may legitimately have a place in every mother's repertoire. I have used it this week and subsequently have realized it is very hard to growl the name Joy. Hmmm. Who'da thought?

But to all you parents-to-be, I would strongly suggest finding your own Prison Voice long before you stencil that name on the wall and give the moniker a test run in that way. Trust me, no matter what marshmallowy bliss cloud you are floating on right now, that is the way you will repeat that name the most.

One Night (and then more the next day...)

I had a one-night stand this week. And I liked it. A lot.

Maybe it was the warm summer night, the lights on the river, the lovely hotel with it's cucumber-infused cocktails, I can't really say, but I know I woke up the next morning wanting more. And I got it.

I was treated with long walks, art museums, friendly smiles, delicious food, crisp wine from local vintners, farmer's markets further set the scene - overflowing with delectable fruits, vegetables and flowers.

I left, reluctantly, with a big, ol' crush... On Portland.

Just one night was all I had, while Eric worked beginning early and through the next day.

The trip itself was entirely unplanned. I had even threatened to back out at the last minute because Eric was getting on my nerves and I didn't want to spend 3 hours in the car with him. But he called me Wingman (which always gets me) and turned on some really good music (can't resist). Plus, the kids were already with my parents... Okay. Fine. Let's go.

We got into the city late, enjoyed the aforementioned cucumber cocktails, I slept late, Googled some must-sees and headed out. About 2 hours into my Portland Art Museum-induced bliss, I realized what was happening to me was totally organic and probably unable to be duplicated. These hours spent carelessly wandering the city and it's art would never happen with the fam in tow. N.E.V.E.R! It would be tainted with sprinklings of "My feet hurt", "I'm hungry" and "How much loooongerrrrr?" But with E in an all-day meeting and the kids across the state line, I indulged in all those things that would make the rest of my family "soooo buh-huh-huh-ooored." (Bored - say it phonetically like an 11-year old girl, bounce on the balls of your feet, let your arms drape, head thrown back and eyes rolling. Get it now?)

And so it happened, just one night. But it was really the next day that consummated the love affair. Before it could happen again, I pointed the car north as my arugula wilted in the trunk. But I will be back. Oh yes. I will be back.

Tina Fey's Prayer for her Daughter from "Bossypants"

I love Tina Fey. Love her. And in the spirit of my last blog post, I am simply re-posting this bit of hilarious brilliance because again, it makes me laugh and it somehow fits. This spoken by the mother who was so mad at my 11-year-old yesterday that I thought it would beautifully make my point to give her the silent treatment for the day in front of her friend. By the way, neither noticed. They just thought I was being a bitch. Enjoy.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered,
May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half
And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes
And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.
Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,
For Childhood is short -- a Tiger Flower blooming
Magenta for one day --
And Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever,
That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers
And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,
For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,
That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck.
“My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget.

But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

"Against and Alongside"

A friend sent this along in an email today and it truly couldn't have been better timing - although, it's made me cry for the last 1/2 hour...

Today was the day Maddie got to tour the Middle School she will be attending next year. The impending 6th grade transition has hung over our horizon all year, often becoming the subject of so many of our conversations. She has talked about it for the last nine months with such excitement, I didn't expect this morning to go as it did.

As I went about making lunches, Maddie reminded me that she didn't need one today, as it was the day of the tour and she would like to buy lunch there to see the routine. But then she added, "You're coming, aren't you?"

Momentarily stunned by the invitation (I've moved from "Mama" to mostly "Moooooom!" nowadays), I said that if she wanted me, of course, I would be there! And she did, so I was.

Walking into the auditorium, I was again shocked to see her waving me over and asking to sit with her. I pushed in front of another group of kids so quickly, those brats didn't have a chance to take the seat she was saving for me.

I watched her try to balance her nerves and her cool as I did the same. Tried to blend, but also made sure the questions I knew she had were answered. The handful of kids she knows up there were extremely gracious and went out of their way to make her feel welcome. Something as a mom, I was beyond grateful for.

It was a good morning for us. She even kissed me goodbye!

But then I got home to this essay below. Thank you, Angela. I wish I knew who the author was! It captures so many things that are so timely in our home and in my mind recently. There is a balance we are all striving to achieve, there are days like today and there are days, well, like yesterday, but that's another story... Motherhood is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, and sometimes, it takes someone else to find the words you can't.
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"I began as the mother of babes.

And I mean that, for I was born then, too.
All of the me that had begun,
The wonderings and wanderings of my first three decades,
Melted away in the faces of those new babies
And I was born anew.

I spent the next decade tending.
And tending, I did well. It was my thing, apparently.

I grew into it, and I loved every minute.
Well,
You know that to be a gentle lie.
There were quite a few minutes of awful. Of anguish, even.
And so much comedy, uncertainty, dishevelment.
You know.

But now...
Some of my babes are almost grown.
Do not kid yourself about how quickly that happens.
Do not kid yourself and do not miss a second wishing those
Wonderfully intense, delicious early years away.

For it happens even as you are watching them.
They grow.

And as much as you need to lose yourself to care for those newborn babes, those littles-
When they have grown to your size almost-when their feet may be as big!-
It is then that you need to find yourself again.
You need to grow.

For then, as they come upon ten; at twelve maybe...fourteen certainly;
Then you must find yourself in order to know how to guide them. You must be the you
That you want to be,
So that the you they are growing up against and alongside, is the you that you want them to know.

For here's the thing:

In the end,
What you want for them most of all is to leave you.
To leave your house to become who they will be.
And when they are gone
Who do you want to be left with?

My wish is that my own answer
Is the me that was born out of mothering them.
And the man that's loved me all along the way."

Little Faces.

I was the very happy recipient of a new computer for Mother's Day this year. It's arrival has caused me to go through several of the files I've had locked away on a hard drive. Those that struck me the most were the pictures. Thousands of split second moments that we've captured over the years. Several forgotten, at the time not deemed album-worthy, but when I look at them now, I just want to stare at those faces that I've gotten so used to seeing, I don't always realize how quickly time has changed them.

When did the kids grow up? I swear it wasn't that long ago that there were two bodies wedged between us in the bed and the smell of baby lotion on everything I touched. When was the last time I watched Elmo? There was a time when I never traveled without something with his image on it. He was truly my best wingman for several years. Many things got done under his furry, red watch. The potty training, the first days of school, lost teeth. Now it's nail polish, boys, girls, school, sports...

Wow. That went by fast.

I loved those days (maybe not EVERY one, but in general...) but am also loving to see the kids get older. I appreciate their sense of humor. It's wonderful to have a full conversation with them. I love seeing the friends and relationships they've developed. I hope they will be lucky enough to maintain some of them as they get older. It's a gift to be able to sit down to coffee with a friend who's known you since you were 12, or even better, wake up next to one.

While I miss those little faces in the photos, I so love the ones that greet me after a day a school, or an evening on the ball field. Motherhood has been a speedy ride, but I am glad to be on it.

Lightbulb Moment

I haven't blogged in nearly a year. Wow. Now I'm getting on here to post a bit of a rant, although it really isn't all that hateful. It's a more wistful rant, if you will. And perhaps this morning my anger is a bit misplaced, but what is getting the brunt of it this morning is my lamp. More importantly, the bulb in it.

I know it is totally un-PC, but I can't stand the new light bulbs. Now, before you come at me with your polar bears and Priuses, let me explain.

I knocked over my bedside lamp the other day and broke the last remaining round light bulb we had. So I went up to Home Depot and perused the aisle filled with swirly ice cream cone bulbs and found - soft white, fluorescent, white, direct sunlight, indirect sunlight, moonglow... What? I don't know? To be clear, I've bought them for the rest of the house, but I haven't been directly effected like this. I didn't realize how particular I was about my reading lamp light, but all of the sudden I couldn't make a decision. I just want one that I can wake up and read with at night when I can't sleep. I searched for the label: "Doesn't-make-you-squint-to-read-for-the-first-five-minutes-or-burn-out-your-retnas-on-contact".

I chose indirect sunlight. I figured for my beside table, let's give a thirty-something sister a hand, indirect is better for all involved.

Anyway, I got home, screwed it in (it took only one of me in case you are looking for a joke) and BAM! My room was glowing like a warehouse floor. The worst possible light I've ever seen - sort of a sickly green and dim. Gross. After a few minutes, it brightened up to a more fluorescent glow, to the point that Eric walked in and said, "Oh my god. What happened?"

I ran out to the garage hoping to find an old lamp with one of the old bulbs still in it. But to no avail. I did switch it out with another, less offensive bulb in the house. It works, as long as you let it warm up for you.

But secretly (not anymore) still I wistfully remember the days of those old GE bulbs that gave you the light you signed up for when you flicked the switch.

I know, I know... My grandkids will be thanking me. But in the meantime, will they hold up a flashlight for their old Grandma while she reads those first couple of pages until her light bulb works itself up to full force?

Yo Momma's Day

The kids are apparently now rappers, so with dance moves inherited from their Dad, they presented me with this - a somewhat original song, inspired by some viral video. Thanks, you punks! I love you to the moon and back! It was a great day!

A Small Part

Last October, a friend called and said the high school was auditioning for parts in Annie. The girls were all to come prepared to sing the song 'Tomorrow'. For 3 weeks, Maddie practiced and practiced. She sang to anyone and everyone who would listen. She got pretty good, too.

Finally, the audition day came. We walked into an auditorium that was teeming with high schoolers. Loud and running around, comfortable with one another, clearly had done this before. The directors were also familiar with a lot of these kids, not afraid to tell them what they needed to do to improve their performances. Every time they yelled out to a kid, I saw Maddie shrink further into her chair and cut her eyes in my direction. I smiled and tried to look confident, but I looked at the number of kids and knew it was going to be a long shot.

By the time it was her turn, they'd cut the girls to just one verse. When her name was called, she walked up onstage and stood there waiting for piano accompaniment. At 10 years old, she looked so small and her voice, when she started to sing, was lost in the babble and curtains and cavernous auditorium. The courage alone it took to stand up there... My heart sank for her. But she came off stage, with a smile and a "We'll call you" and we went to get an ice cream.

A few days later the call came that she didn't get a part. I'll admit, I cried thinking about how to break the news to her and how it would break her heart. The kids don't hear the word no very often, and while I realized this was a chance to really teach a life lesson, this was a big NO to hear.

It was every bit as awful as I'd imagined it would be and I don't know if it was right or wrong to pose it as a lesson at that point, but I did. Simply because I didn't know what else to do. She grieved not getting a part. It was terrible to watch her work so hard and fail.

A couple of weeks passed and we got another call - they needed extras. Would Maddie be willing to do that? Uhhh... Yeah.

So it started. Practices every couple weeks at first, then a few before the Winter Break. Then ramping up into February. I'd never been involved in theater before, but I have to imagine this program would rate pretty high up there. The work and detail and intricacies put into each song, each scene, it was insanely impressive to my untrained eye. How it was going to all come together, I couldn't envision, but could see the potential.

The directors tweaked and tweaked right up to(and through)opening night. It was so nerve-wracking to see and wonder how it would all turn out. The costumes got their final touches, the vacuum was run through the seats, "Instead, sing 'Hooverville' like this", and people started to take their seats.

Now, I had a small part in this production. Our dog was playing Sandy, so I was waiting with him in the wings. I never got to see Maddie's first song from the seats once the show started (I watched the 2nd all 9 times). But I did get to watch from stage left, just beyond the curtain's black folds. When the curtain pulled back and the lights came on, her back was to me. Maddie and the ensemble worked their way around the stage, she turned and I got to see her face. Singing, under the lights, beautiful- even in her street kid costume, confident.

Another moment I wished I could lock away. Forever.

These incredible kids went on to perform 9 shows in the last week. By the end, there was a feeling of family among so many of the actors. They were kind and good to my girl, who was one of the 4 youngest in the cast. Getting to be backstage as much as I was, I got to feel a real affinity for so many of the cast members, I was able to share in their successes, it was a true gift.

Maddie would come off stage after each show, hang her costumes, dress in her comfy clothes with stage makeup and flush still brightening her eyes and cheeks. You could see the pride she felt, the love she had for what she was a part of, the exhaustion from long hours and the excitement for the next performance.

I, too, felt proud that she was a part of this. Proud, that even though she had a small part, it made her feel larger than life.

20.

On Monday, it will be 20 years since the day Eric first asked me to "go out" with him. I sit here today, listening to our kids alternately bickering and laughing over a video game and Eric working on the house. It is a normal Saturday around here. A normal Saturday in this life we have made together.

I can look around my living room and see pictures of us from those early years, our wedding day, places we have been, our children growing up in framed still-life. I am awed at the time that has passed and the fact that somehow, from age 14, we have managed to stick it out. How lucky are we?

Eric told me the other day that this anniversary doesn't really matter, it's the marriage that has been the good stuff and should be celebrated. But I disagree. I think those 7 years we had before we got married were filled with good stuff, too. They are what got us to where we are today. I'm proud of them, as well.

I've had more "I love you's" and incredible moments in my life than should be allowed. I've never had to wonder who I could turn to. I've never had to look further than Eric for endless support, guidance and unconditional love. Many times, I've reflected on the path of my life and the series of events that lead my family to Bainbridge Island and me to Eric. If this hadn't happened, or that hadn't been said... The hand of fate was most definitely on my side.

We haven't had all happiness. When life threw us curveballs, we juggled them, not always gracefully. We've stood side-by-side at cemetaries. We've looked over one another in hospital beds. We've fought over work schedules and money and family and diaper changing. I've called him every name in the book (usually during those midnight, sleepless, newborn months), but I can't say the same for him. Eric has been my even keel on this 20 year trip. I don't keep my cool the way he does. I envy that in him, it sucks to have an argument with someone who refuses to dip to your level.

Maybe that doesn't sound like a love letter, but it's the times that put you through the wringer and you still come out the other side together, holding hands that count. I'm proud of that, too.

For many years, I could say I didn't realize the time that was passing, that I still felt 18. I don't feel 18 anymore, I see the wrinkles forming on my forehead, the distinguished looking white hair on Eric's temples. I don't mind it anymore, these things mark the passing of time. It is time we have been lucky enough to spend together.

When you put on miles, you wear down the tread a bit, that's they way it goes. And there's no one I'd rather travel with.

Thanks for these 20 years, Eric. You've made, and continue to make, my dreams come true.

Thanksgiving Through My Girl's Eyes

I tend to overthink and stress myself out over Thanksgiving. We've never had a disaster, we've always had great food, incredible company, but I let myself get bogged down in details and almost always get to the day itself feeling exhausted. And you know what? No one in the course of any Thanksgiving Day has EVER run their fingers over the tops of my picture frames to check for the dust that isn't there... I get to thank Maddie this morning for bringing me back down to what Thanksgiving is, the time we spend with family and why it is a day we look forward to.
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Thanksgiving Wishes - by Maddie Loverich

Every Thanksgiving Day is a fun day in my house. First, we watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving morning. Next our church goes to Raab Park and plays football. It's always so much fun! But then we go home and the house starts getting filled with delightful smells. Those of turkey, stuffing and pie.

My family from my Mom's side usually comes over to eat. They are super funny! It think it runs in the blood.

But my Thanksgiving wish is a really good one. It would make it the best Thanksgiving ever.

My Uncle Tommy and Aunt Tuuli live in New Jersey. Uncle Tommy is super cool. He owns about 3 Harley Davidsons. He also has a hot rod.

But my wish for Thanksgiving is that they would come. That would make the ultimate Thanksgiving.
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To all our family and friends who we can't be with on Thanksgiving, you are here on our minds and in our hearts. I wish everyone a very special day. We are thankful for all of you!

A dozen.

I wanted to write a blog about our 12th anniversary coming up this Sunday. I wanted to write about how over the years, the way we love and the reasons for loving have changed in so many ways. But as I wrote out these intensely personal anecdotes, I realized, part of what makes (at least our) marriage work, is knowing when to speak up and when to shut up - and that is NOT my strong point, believe me, it's taken a lot of work.

Those memories for now, are just for us. Sunday I will celebrate a love that felt all-encompassing at each stage, but entirely different between then and now. I will thank him for not just being my husband, but my partner, my best friend, my anchor. For loving me even when I'm at my worst (I actually think he prefers me at my worst, the wallpaper on his cellphone is me giving him the finger and it makes him laugh every time he looks at it). Still, my favorite part of each day is folding into the crook of his arm at night and knowing he will hold me for the next 8 hours straight.

Happy 12th, Eric. Good stuff.

Protecting heads and hearts

Parker turned 8 yesterday. His big gift was a new football helmet - protection for his head. He was thrilled with it, but this September 25th was not going to be remembered simply because it was Parker's birthday, life had more planned for us.

Parks wanted to go out to breakfast, so we headed down before school. When we parked in a relatively empty lot, a woman ran up to our car and asked us to call 911. Her husband was in their car, having a heart attack.

While we both ran to him, we instructed the kids to stay in the car, not to open the doors at all. This man, whose name we didn't learn, was not in good shape, but was breathing. It seemed like the longest 5 minutes of my life until the ambulance arrived and we tried to keep him upright and his wife calm. I cannot imagine what was happening in their heads. We really were helpless, the best we could do was just stay there and keep an unconscious man breathing.

It was VERY hard. Seeing what we saw, hearing the words a wife says to a husband when they don't know if there is any time left. Today, Eric and I keep catching each other staring off in quiet moments, shaking our heads, doing the coulda, woulda, shouldas. If we knew his name, we could find out what happened, contacted family, whatever. I guess we did the best we could...

We're always looking for new ways to keep our kids safe, both physically and developmentally. When they are little, we pad all the corners, lock all the cabinets, tether the bookshelves, load them into carseats that Houdini couldn't escape (and probably wouldn't want to - some of those things are PLUSH!). They grow, we screen schools, teachers and friends. Luckily, our kids are still at an age where we can control where and with whom they spend their time. But yesterday, we learned that no matter how carefully you plan, you can't always protect your children from everything life will throw at us.

Fortunately, there was a car in between ours and theirs, so the children didn't see what was going on, but in their heads, the worst was happening. That head that we so carefully shopped for helmets and facemasks to protect, was filled with the most terrifying truth any of us have to face.

They were both sitting quietly crying when we got back in the car. We assured them that he was going to live, which we believe was true. But the horror was something no one ever would want to see on their children's faces.

Eric was remarkable. He distracted them and refocused their attention, even got them laughing with his goofiness as we got back to our house. It was all I could do, meanwhile, to make my hands stop shaking. Truly remarkable. It's the only word the keeps coming to me.

Parker and Maddie, I wish we could protect your heads and hearts from all of the hardships in this world. But I hope you take from this the strength and solidarity, the hugs and reassurance we will always have for you.

While I will keep buying the pads and helmets, I hope the love we try so hard to shroud you with will get you through everything else.

The Sacrifice That Wasn't

Months and months ago I logged on to Ticketmaster and shelled out a couple hundred dollars for something I thought was ridiculous, but in the effort to differentiate from my own mother, necessary.

The debit plastic was burning hot for Miley Cyrus tickets.

It was so far off in the future, I figured it was pointless to think too hard on it, besides, the tour itself didn't start until 2 nights before we attended. There would be no preparing, or reading other's blogs to prepare myself for the eardrum blistering amount of screaming I was sure to encounter. So it was just the Sunday before last that I glanced at the calendar and realized, "Crap. That's next week."

A small gaggle of girlfriends were also planning on attending with their daughters, so we made plans to travel down together, softening the blow with a rather large beer and dinner on the way. Since we'd all bought our tickets separately, (thanks to a 'paperless' process in which each person could only purchase 4, then only get email confirmation, then show up with nothing in hand but a long-ago purchase number and the credit card itself - truly could write an entry on this experience, so I will digress...) none of us were sitting together. Quite a bummer for both me and Maddie - I spent a lot of time sarcastically mimicking, didn't know the words but for a couple choruses and she knew I could never match her enthusiasm, who was she going to dance with and high-5? Certainly not her lame-ass Mom who kept referring to her as Hannah Montana, and didn't I know that she was performing as MILEY CYRUS? Evidently, they are no longer the same... Digress, again. So, it was just the two of us, in section 16-A.

So, as the days progressed, I took on the air of a true martyr. There was much sighing and implied selflessness as I made a point to loudly check the levels in my Advil bottles and tell everyone within earshot to remind me to put them in my purse for Wednesday night. I began referencing my trip to Preteen Hell as I wondered how I could possibly prepare my ears for the screeching onslaught from the crowd of tarted-up, pony-tailed and bedazzled elementary school kids whose screams would no doubt block out the whiny, countrified voice of Miley Hannah Ray Cyrus Montana that I just paid to hear - wait, was that a positive or a negative?

Then it was t-minus 24-hours and counting. Oh, was I pious! I was Jesus on the cross! The things I would do for my girl. I hope she appreciates this. The sacrifice! Hand to God, when I signed her out of school, I put 'Miley Cyrus' as the reason for her absence. "Are you serious?" The secretary asked and told me that this would stay in Maddie's record permanently, which I saw as a tremendous benefit - a reminder of what her Mother would do in her name! And in a few years, when there is no one (in her opinion) less cool than me, I can refer to state records to show that, yes, for one brief shining evening, I, Mom, did something cool.

You get the gist of how put-out I was by this whole deal, right?

Maddie made a sign, "Rock the Dome." (Puh-leese! I've seen Springsteen rock this dome... Ain't no way this 16-year-old pop tart was going to do anything close to rocking...) She put on an outfit that she saved her allowance to buy from the Miley Cyrus clothing line at Walmart. Maddie came out with sunglasses on her head, braids in her hair, a t-shirt with a heart and a drum set on it with matching leggings, under a denim skirt. Plaid, high top Converse finished off the look.

"Whaddaya think? Oh, wait!" And she returned with her sign, "Whaddaya think?"

What I thought was she looked adorable, excited and I couldn't wait to see her reaction when Miley walked out on stage. What I did, was roll my eyes and tell her to get in the car. I was put out, remember?

Now, during the day, I had taken the time to look up the reviews of Monday night's concert in Portland, again, the first of the tour. Expecting cute and bubble-gummy, instead I read that Hannah was growing up both artistically and physically. One reviewer wrote, "Miley's got boobs and she's anxious to show them." Great.

As we neared the Tacoma Dome, Maddie and the other girls' excitement was palpable. The smiles that broke out when we first saw the top of the dome from the road were probably worth $200 themselves. Then we got inside.

My kids, like many, many other American kids, have a sense of entitlement that has at times made me want to ship them to a 3rd world country for a month. I did not get one iota of this surrounding this concert, and haven't in the days since the concert, either. Walking into the stadium, Maddie was blissfully happy and grateful, to the point that her admiration of an empty stage made me tear up a little. That was when the hugs began. I got more hugs in that 3-hour stretch than I have in a year (and my kids are pretty affectionate).

The opening act was, well, it was a pile of crap. Turns out it was Miley's older brother's band who were all just fine skating by on nepotism and very little pride (or practice...). It was to say the least, a buzzkill, where even a 6-year-old would be justified listening to them and saying, "What the f?#@ is this?"

But then the concert started. This girl burst, literally, onto the stage from a block of "ice" amidst smoke, video screens, dancers, pyrotechnics and took over the auditorium. I admit to emitting a rather exuberant, "Woo!" But it'll never be proven as it was lost in the high-pitched cacophony that had exploded around me - notably from Maddie, screaming so loudly, I was a little afraid she was going to stroke out right there next to me.

The high-intensity show was so thoroughly entertaining, I found myself fake-singing along (you know, catch a few lines of a chorus, or anticipating the end of a line) with my daughter who danced and sang and danced and sang, and hugged. I suddenly felt like the loser, not for being at the concert, but for not knowing these songs everyone else was belting out at the top of their lungs. Dang, I want to know the words to Party In The USA, that looked like fun!

When the middle set slowed it down a bit with some more ballad-y songs, I found myself sitting watching this child, really, who is a money making machine. I wondered where she'll be in a few years when the Disney shine wears off. Will her positive message still be in the forefront of her music when Maddie is getting to that awkward age and could use the encouraging messages of strength from someone she idolizes? Where will this star end up? And my thoughts turned to Maddie...

I listened to Miley singing about love, finding a love, losing a love, learning who you are through the process, I got sad and excited at the same time thinking of my daughter only a handful of years away from that roller coaster. I remember how fun and utterly heartbreaking those teen years were - and I married my H.S. sweetheart, it could've been a lot worse! (I know, apparently, I get introspective when I'm at a mega-concert and don't know the music).

Anyway...

I sat there watching my daughter singing her little heart out, alternately dancing and hugging me when the mood hit, not really feeling that far away from the 16 year-old I had been, but at the same time looking forward to the young woman Maddie is quickly becoming.

I felt lucky to be there jumbled up in the spectacle of this powerhouse performer, glowsticks, clapping hands, Halloween wigs and sequins, my daughter uninhibited, looking at me with truly grateful eyes and telling me, "When I have a daughter, I'm going to take her to a Miley Cyrus concert!"

On the elliptical at the gym today, I switched my iPod on shuffle and my headphones belted out a Miley song - The Climb.

"I may not know it, but these are the moments I'm gonna remember most..." Sing it, sister.

Chapter May 2009 Part 2 - A follow-up in which Daddy redeems himself

It happened. It was was Eric's purple light and siren that began to sound over the din of the crowd at Viking Fest. He proceed to throw both fists up in the air and then point at me.

"Any one you want," the carnival gamer waved his arm at all the giant stuffed animals hanging overheard.

Eric scanned past the somewhat cute bears and dogs. Paused to consider the purple and green gecko, then he rounded the other side of the booth and spotted it, "There it is! I want my wife to carry THAT one!"

It was big and a hideous mottled yellow. It was a duck with a somewhat human body. The last of it's kind, the poor man had to pull out a stepping stool and a pinching tool to get it down from it's perch. But Eric won the big boy prize and there was nothing bigger or more neon to be had, this duck had found a home.

It could be worse... I guess I should just count my lucky stars that we didn't walk out of there with a mirrored picture of a bikinied woman posed on top of a red sports car, circa 1989... Those were at a different booth.

Chapter May 2009 - In Which Daddy Gets His Ego Bruised.

There was an entirely entertaining (for me and at Eric's expense) conversation over dinner. The family trash-talk had begun over carnival games at our town's big annual festival - Viking Fest. The kids are getting geared up for the carnie games and wondering which will be the lucky one for them this year. And on which ones Mom will win the big prizes. God love Eric, he just doesn't have the luck at those kind of things and somehow, (I attribute it to my Jersey Boardwalk summers) I do. As an example, the last trip back East, I had to pack an extra suitcase to get my Jenkinson's Boardwalk booty home for the kids. It's a tough subject around here, but tougher now that the kids realize Mommy wins them the big toys. I digress...

Anyway, tonight at dinner the kids started in about the games they wanted to play and win. When Eric offered to win certain prizes for them, and what he'd won them in the past, Maddie pointed out, "Uncle Tommy actually won me that." or "Wasn't that Mommy?" Sadly accurate, Eric took offense. The following conversation occurred:

Eric: "I've won BIG stuff before!"

Maddie: "I don't have anything big you've won for me, Dad."

Me(stoking the flames): "Me either, Dad. Not even when we were dating..."

Eric (flustered and scrambling for pride): "Well, one time in a fishing derby, I won a VCR."

Maddie: "How old were you?"

Eric: "I don't know...."

Parker (innocently puts down his milk and looks questioningly at his father and deals the killer stroke): "What's a VCR?"

One week and counting to Viking Fest. Let's all cross our fingers for Eric. His kids' respect hangs in the balance... And I vow not to pick up a single dart or water shooter!

My Girl

In the books, last night's game was a loss for our team. In my mind and heart, scores are not what I will take with me. When you coach a group of kids, you always wonder - did we do enough, did we do too much, are we doing it right? The answer is no. But somehow, those kids take all the heaps of information and their ambition and joy and form a team - even on that first game night, and that in the end is what they will take with them. I am so thankful to be a witness to that.

But I have to move from Coach to Mom to tell my story. Last night I saw my little girl, who will always be 3 years old somewhere in my head, stand on a pitcher's mound for the first time. She stood there and pitched 2 innings. They weren't spectacular, but it was her poise and control that actually moved me to tears (privately and briefly, to not embarrass myself or my kid). It was one of those moments when you step back and see your child grow up right in front of your eyes. I was awestruck by her strength and ability to block out the pressure, the noise, the last passed ball, the runners on the bases. She never fell apart. I watched her adjust when she got out of control, or something didn't work. And even though she walked more than she struck out, as her Mom, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed.

One day, before I know it, this miraculous little girl that gave us such a bad time coming into this world, is going to become a woman. She will step out and start to live a life of her own. And if she shows just the faintest shadow of the person she was last night, it's going to be a great one.

After the game, we had a board meeting. Tired, physically and emotionally, as the clock neared 10, Maddie came out of the back room where she'd been hanging out with other board kids and curled into my lap - just like a 3 year old. Still in her uniform, with eyeblack smeared across her cheeks, she laid her head on my shoulder. She smelled like leather and her forehead tasted salty under my kiss. I write that now in hopes of locking it away, I know those moments when all she wants is to be in Mom's arms are running out on me. I hope I never forget how beautiful she looked out there, smiling, proud and so full of confidence and how she still fit into my lap afterward.

My girl.

CPS Before Breakfast

We know Parker hates taking out the dogs. He started a diary 2 weeks ago that he told us was filled with "secrets" and we weren't to read it. But several times that first day, he toted this book out, lay it down in front of us and said, "Don't read this. It's all my secrets." Finally, after half a dozen times, I asked if maybe he wanted to show us what his secrets were. To which he enthusiastically opened the notebook.

It was filled with shocking secrets like -
"Sometimes I hurt my knee and don't tell."
"Sometimes I just throw my clean clothes on the closet floor and not where they go."
"I hate taking the dogs out."
And finally, "Sometimes I lie about taking the dogs out."

So, this morning, since Parker was the first one up and woke up the puppy, I sent him to let the dogs out. As a sort of punishment.

"But I'm in my underwear. Can I just put a blanket on and go out?"

"Sure, just go out the back." But after 5 minutes with no return of dogs or Parker, I went to see what was happening.

Harley was running around the yard with someone else's newspaper in her mouth and Parker and Kona were nowhere to be seen. Panicking and realizing what he went outside wearing, I called out and got no response. I became increasingly louder as I headed out of the driveway. Then I got a faraway response, "I'm here, Mom."

Frantically, I ran out of the driveway and caught sight of my son, on the next street over in his underwear, blanket and snowboots coming out from behind a neighbor's house. At that moment, I had the thought scream through my mind - what I have I done in my life to get here right now?

I responded in the most logical way I could think, "Wha-? Parker, get here now. RUN!" And my son came clomping toward me as I scanned the windows of the houses he was running past to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Kona ran away. I was chasing him. He went into the bushes behind the red house. I was going to get him when you made me come back."

I grabbed the keys, got in the car and scooped up my son so we could go search for the dog.

"Did you see him go behind the house there?"

"No, but all the neighbors I talked to said they saw him go there."

"How many neighbors did you talk to?"

"Oh, 4."

4? Oh boy. I don't think we'll be invited to any barbecues any time soon. As a matter of fact, I think it's most of a miracle that they didn't report us to the authorities.

Wonder (what I'm going to catch) Woman

I've never considered myself a germophobe, but I found myself really squirming today at the kids' school. I sat there during reading group and when I should have been listening to kids, I instead became super aware of the cold, flu and general germy sounds filling the classroom - my ears were tuned to every sniffle, cough and sneeze, the scritch, scritch, scritching of the child sitting next to me with her fingers in her hair. But lets focus on the sneeze -
I developed this Bionic Woman-type vision, where I swear, I could see it all in slow motion coming toward me, yet I didn't quite develop the Bionic Woman speed to avoid the spit that landed on my sleeve. It was all I could do to back out of the room with the neck of my shirt pulled over my mouth.

So, as the latex glove fits - germophobia it is.

I am going to take a shot of Airborne and a hot shower.