Oh Dear Dad Can You See Me Now

I was 16 years old, full of hormones and just met a boy.  He was tall, cute and most importantly went to the same all boys school all my brothers attended.  We met over a youth group weekend and at some point he casually mentioned that we should meet up at the next school hockey game.  I know this seems like no big deal to you, but for a kid born and raised on the Miracle on Ice insanity this couldn't get any better!!  He liked hockey, was really cute and most importantly my brothers wouldn't completely hate him since he attends their Alma mater. 

When the night of the game came I had my plans all set.  My friend had a license and more importantly a car that would drive me to the rink for my rendezvous.  I'd have my girls for support and most importantly get to see him again!!

The hair was done, the outfit meticulously picked out and I waited to see headlights...but none came.  I called my friends to see where they were.  My heart shattered when they said they weren't taking me to the game.  I hung up the phone and cried the tears only a teenage girl can muster.  I just knew my life was over.  I wouldn't make the game, the boy would think I was uninterested and I would be doomed to spend my life alone as an old maid. 

I had to do something.  Surely someone could save the day.  Immediately I called someone I knew I could count on...someone who never let me down.  I called my Dad.  He had taken my mom out for a date.  After over 20 years of solid parenting they had started a recent habit of going out on Saturday nights for a date. 

I knew the restaurant where they were and my fingers couldn't dial fast enough.  When my father answered the phone the gush of tears let loose.  I sobbed to him how my friends let me down and how I needed a ride.  Without thinking of how selfish I was acting I asked my Dad to come home, get me and bring me to the rink.  A mear 7 miles home, 9 miles to the rink and a quick 5 miles back to the restaurant.  Yup...not the proudest moment of my life as I look back but surely you can understand how rational it was for a 16 year old girl...  No?  Well ok I now think I was nuts too!  But my point is my Dad didn't.  (And if he did he never said a word.)  He graciously left my mom in the company of friends and did what he promised he would do when I was born.  He did what he had to do so I would be happy.  He gave up an evening of relaxation with the love of his life for his little girl. 

This selfless act often makes me think.  I think about the kind of man my father is.  He's the kind of parent I want to be.  He never missed anything in my or my brothers' lives no matter how small or insignificant.  He attended the recitals, the games we played and the ones I rode the bench.  He coached our sports teams an learned new sports that we wanted to play so he could help or at least be knowledgeable.  He stayed up late working on proposals that probably should have been finished at the office, but he left early to support his kids at the game.  He videoed every St. Joe's hockey game from a perch high above the ice.  He never missed a chance to tell us how much he loved us.  His penmanship was awful so he would type us letters.  His message of love for us was so important to him that he took the time to make sure we could read them.  I always knew there was nothing he wouldn't see me through - he would never turn his back on me ever. 

These days I see a lot things in my life that give me a reason to stop and say thank you God.  Thank you for giving me the kind of parents who love me without condition.  Thank you for support they offer me each and every day.  Thank you for giving them the wisdom to know how to be great parents.  Thank you especially for a father who is able to show emotion and feeling.  For making him a man that is not embarrassed by telling and showing us how he feels.  It's rare these days, but I know how truly blessed I am to have this role model in my life. 

Pearl Jam's song Release pretty much sums up my dad and I think of him every time I hear it:

Oh dear Dad

Can you see me now

I am myself

Like you somehow

I guess I can always strive for that.  I try so hard to be there for my kids.  To make sure they know how loved they are and that there is nothing they can do to make me stop loving them.  As a parent I can only be so lucky to be like you dad....like you somehow.

The "V" Word

“Oh, he’s a volunteer…oh.  I’ve heard this sentiment more times than I care to think about when I refer to my husband as a fireman.  I’ve encountered this snub on many occasions.  Many times by people who have no clue what being a volunteer means. 

It means rushing out the door as I put family dinner on the table because a call comes in.  It means getting out of a warm bed in the middle of the night because of alarm activation.  It means missing a birthday party or a family occasion because someone got into a car accident.  It means ascending a ladder to vent a roof when flames are shooting out of windows.  It means putting his life on the line to save and protect his community without the luxury of a union behind him.  He doesn’t get to work 20 years and then live the rest of his life with a nice pension.

I take nothing away from paid fireman.  They have very difficult jobs and I’m sure they should be paid more.  But, a fire doesn’t know if the person who came to extinguish it is being paid or not.  It doesn’t discriminate when it comes to taking lives or leaving scares.  It doesn’t care if the family being left behind will be taken care of by the union or left without a husband and father.  It destroys without regard to a uniform.

Volunteer is not a dirty word to me.

For more than 20 years my husband has volunteered his time and talent to our community.  I admire him everyday for his selfless decision.  To him it's not about wearing a radio and turning on a blue light.  His demeanor is meek and his badge says volunteer, but his heart says professional.

A lot of Hot Air

I didn't realize when I gave birth 3 years ago that it would be encumbered upon me and my husband to teach our children every little thing about life.  Sure, I knew we would have to teach basic skills like talking, reading, potty training and so on.  Only recently did I realize how far we would have to take our jobs.

Last month, my girls were quietly playing on the living room floor.  All was going well and the three of us were enjoying our evening when suddenly Rhu passed gas.  I realized I had to start teaching her social manners so I nonchalantly asked her to say Excuse Me.  She looked at me with a puzzled expression as if to say, "Huh?"  So I proceed to try to explain what just happened.  In my best adult voice trying hard not laugh I told her how when someone passes gas they need to say excuse me.  I stressed that it was no big deal and foolishly expected her to understand.  When my explanation failed to clear everything up, plan B suddenly dawned on me.  I had a little gas of my own to pass, so I took one for the team.  In front of my puzzled kids, I broke wind and quickly explained how that was passing gas.  Then, as I'm sure all baby experts would do, I quickly followed up with an Excuse me to reinforce the lesson.  Thankfully we made it the rest of the night without anymore gas talk.

It wasn't until 3 days later I would realize the can of worms I had opened.  I had to take the girls to church on a weekday to fulfill our religious obligations.  My mother accompanied me and the four of us chose seats in a pew toward the back of the church.  We no sooner got settled in and mass began.  The girls were quiet and respectful.  Rhu stood in front of me and while RaRa cuddled into her grandma.  Just as the organ music died down, I had to pass gas.  Being pregnant this is not uncommon.  So, I did the deed thinking the music would muffle my shame.  Unfortunately, my timing was a bit off and Rhu was the perfect height to hear my one woman symphony.  Without missing a beat, she turned around, pointed at me and announced, "That's pass gas!"  The expression on her face was priceless.  She looked as if she finally grasped the concept of calculus.  I almost died and of course church was completely silent now.  There was no where to go and I erupted in shameful laughter.  I've never been so embarrassed and so proud in my whole life!  My almost three year old got a concept I quickly taught her just days earlier, but on the other hand, now all of church knew my shame!

To add to my embarrassment, Rhu then proceeded to wrinkle up her nose while sniffing around.  She then pronounced, "That smells."  The look of disgust on her face put me right over the edge.  I couldn't stop laughing and tried my hardest to compose myself to no avail.  Without missing a beat, RaRa asked, "What's that noise?"  My afternoon was complete and as soon as church was over, I called my husband to share how biologically advanced our kids were.

Now, every time Rhu passes gas, she announces it like a badge of honor.  If she only knew...

Real Diva's Deliver

I'm tired....  Not just the usual tired that comes along with have two toddlers under the age of three and another baby on the way not to mention working full time and being a wife.  The kind of tired I'm talking about is the tired that comes along when your brain can no longer process the information it is receiving.  I just read an article that revealed some details behind the birth of Jay-Z and Beyonce's baby. 

It seems these first time parents felt the need to rent out an entire floor of the Lenox Hill hospital in NYC where the baby was born for privacy and security.  Really...the entire floor??  I know this kid is being born to legends, but come on!!  Surprisingly, that is not what I find most disappointing.  It's the fact that Beyonce had a scheduled c-section.  Now, I will be the first to admit, I never made it to one pre-natal visit and maybe Mrs. Jay-Z had a medical problem that forced a c-section...I will never know.  But, what I do know is just like celebs before her, it takes the very natural act of giving birth and makes it about convenience.  I have had enough.  That's right I have had enough.  I know plenty of woman who have had them and in a few cases the surgical procedure was necessary to protect the health and well being of both mother and child.  But, in far too many cases the convenience factor played far too big a role.

I am dumbfounded to understand how a human can be so obtuse to think they should pick the day their child should be born.  Mother Nature has been handling this task for thousands of years with medical meddling and scheduled c-sections.  Babies know far better than would be parents and doctors when it is time to be born.  It is so arrogant of our culture to think we know better just so we can have a baby at a time that is convenient for all participants.  Hay doc...the golf course will still be there tomorrow.  Not to mention the fact that if you wanted a scheduled work life as a doctor...maybe you should have become an ENT.

It also irritates me to hear c-section mothers complain about how hard it was...  I know having your belly sliced open and your guts lay on your chest is difficult, but come talk to me about hours of uncomfortable and excruciating labor.  Feeling all your muscles stretch and contract and your birth canal grow a full 10 cm bit by bit as your baby bears down on some of the most sensitive parts of the human body.  Talk to me about your casual check in to the hospital during "normal" hours and I will tell you about having to drive to the hospital while having painful contractions, worrying about your water breaking in the car, feeling every slight bump in the road, and waiting in the reception area of the emergency room while someone from maternity (which is located on the complete opposite end of the hospital) moseys down with a wheel chair to bring you to the labor and delivery ward.  I will tell you about trying to maintain composure while writhing in pain on the uncomfortable reception chairs as people look at you oddly. 

I could go on, but you get my point.  To me, a real diva is someone who can put her needs aside and bring her baby into this world on the babies terms.  Without the intervention of some doctor who is too impatient to wait for the baby to be ready.  Woman of America want to profess their strength-that they are liberated and can be as tough as men.  I say prove it.  Take the hard way out and embrace your true womanhood.

Honk Honk

Each day before lunch I like to take my daughters out for a walk.  It's nothing extraordinary - just a 30 minute stroll around our neighborhood so they can get some energy out before they take a nap.  I always feel like they will sleep better or more importantly sleep at all if they get the fresh air.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to call it not extraordinary...I've had some great times with them and their Granny-Nanny a.k.a. my mom.  I've taken great pictures of them walking hand in hand, we've picked pine cones, and I get to see them enjoy the great outdoors.  But perhaps the greatest lesson I've taught them thus far is...no not look both ways before crossing...it's how to get a truck to honk!

My kids enjoy walking along the busy road at the end of our block.  They get genuinely excited when big trucks pass and shout, "Mommy Mommy Truck!" as if I didn't see it much less hear it rumble along.  But it's sweet.  Rhu gets a real kick out trucks honking and tries to wave to each one.  So, being the responsible parent I am, I thought it was high time I taught her the valuable lesson of the international gesture to get trucks to honk.  I explained that if she wanted a truck to blow its horn, then she should raise her little arm up and down in a yanking motion.  Trucks would see it and the cool ones will honk.  When I showed her the effectiveness of this she was dazzled.  Each time a truck came our way, her little paw went up and down with such enthusiasm I couldn't help but giggle.  The laughs that came out of her mouth should be bottled like a French perfume.

I take it back, this time with them is extraordinary and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  And maybe my girls will look back someday and remember their mom taught them something useful...or at least fun.

Sh#t my kids say...

Wait, is that appropriate?  I ask my kids that all the time when they are doing something they are not supposed to do.  Oh well, it's my blog and it's been a while since I have posted anything.  I took the summer off somewhat intentionally since I never made myself sit down and write. But also somewhat unintentionally...seems like every night I set aside to write, something would come up.  But now the summer is over and it's time to get back into my routine again.  To all those who wondered where Smunch Mommy went...I'M BACK!!

As a mother, I am well aware everyone thinks their kids are the cutest, smartest, wittiest...it comes with the territory of parenthood.  I am no exception.  My daughters are 2 1/2 and 1 1/2 and say the darnedest things.  I always think I should stop and write what they say in a journal, but I live in the real world and don't have the ability to drop life and journal every 5 seconds.  (I guess all the mothering, wifery, housework, work work and family get in the way!) 

This summer Rhu, the 2 1/2 year old brought me to tears I was laughing so hard at the funny things she said.  One bright summer morning our overly excitable dog accompanied me as I went into the nursery to get the girls up and dressed.  The girls were awake and playing in their respective beds as our big black dog, Madison happily barked her way into their room.  Her barking is nothing new, but I guess Rhu wasn't a morning person that morning.  In the most serious voice she could muster with the look of an old crotchety lady, she promptly covered her ears and yelled, "MADISON...inside voice!"  It was like she should have been wearing a housecoat and curlers she sounded like such an annoyed old fart!  I never heard such a thing and I think I burst out laughing before Rhu could remove her hands from her ears.  Even Madison was stunned.  She had never requested babies in this house, much less ones that would yell at her! 

RaRa is 1 1/2 and just as spunky as her older sister.  She speaks very well in full simple sentences, but it's her one or two word quick quips that kill.  We've always given the girls high-fives when they do a good job.  They get a kick out of it and we enjoy their giggles.  Last week, RaRa was playing nicely when out of the blue her tiny little hand went up in the air and she proclaimed, "HIGH-FIVE!"  She was serious as a heart attack and looking for someone to validate her good will.  Previous to this, I could never image a 17 month old acting like a 25 year old male playing pick-up flag football...guess I was wrong!

Our oldest is particularly picky when it comes to food.  We've tried everything.  Different foods, sauces, even a diet of carbs with a little cream cheese thrown in for good measure.  I think it's God's way of punishing me for being such a picky eater.  Still I try giving her new foods and hope she eats them.  Last week I made spagetti with meatballs.  I didn't hold out much hope for her eating them, but I tried nonetheless.  To my amazement she took a bite.  With a look of shock on her face she announced, "This is good."  She then took another bite and said, "Daddy this is gooood!"  It was like I had been feeding her gruel all this time and I suddenly switched to decent food!

Perhaps the cutest words uttered from Rhu came just last week.  We went to the store to do some shopping.  My husband and I agreed she didn't have to go in the cart and would be allowed to walk as we decided on birthday gifts.  After looking at several options, we found ourselves wondering aimlessly down aisles.  Rhu took it upon herself to pick up several objects and study them carefully.  Promptly she enthusiastically proclaimed, "OH WOW!!" at each object like a Floridian who has never seen snow.  Her genuine excitement at each little package of pencils and computer knick-knacks that had been relegated to the end of the aisles was amazing.  It was like she was digging for oil and came across a gusher that would have made the Clampets jealous.  I guess you had to be there...

Maybe that journal idea isn't so bad...as the girls grow it becomes harder and harder to remember all the funny stories.  I guess I understand better now why my mom doesn't recall my sleeping patterns as a child or how I became the family baker.  Maybe mothering destroys your memory.  Wait, what was I saying?

Junk in My Trunk

I have too much junk in my trunk...and I'm not talking the good kind J Lo gets paid the big bucks for!!  I'm talking actual junk; knick-knacks; brickabrack; chatchkis - CRAP!!  Over the years I have managed to accumulate enough stuff to pack a small house to the gills.  I'm not ready for hoarders or anything, but I am ready to clean out.  A couple of months ago I decided to have a yard sale.  I got some family together who also has too much stuff and we picked a date. 

At first I was going great guns to get rid of anything that wasn't nailed down.  I had boxes in the attic, basement and anywhere my kids couldn't get into them to destroy all my hard work.  I tossed old treasures, new junky toys and things that were simply collecting dust.  If I wasn't sure, in the box it went.  I was doing well.  I went through my storage totes of holiday decorations and tossed Easter baskets, cheap Christmas decorations and old Valentine's decorations I bought in college.  The project was going well.

Preparation for the big sale was long and tedious.  We even managed to get out new coffee table set in time to sell the old one.  I sorted through all my old treasures the night before and was sure I was prepared.  I knew the early birds would probably be there at 8 am - a whole hour before the sale was set to start.  But I would be ready.  I planned to be outside setting up before 6am - plenty of time to be ready for the vultures...or so I thought!!!

Why don't I ever learn?  Every time I think I'm fully prepared, that's when all hell breaks loose. 

The day started promptly at 5:15.  I woke groggy, but ready.  By 6:45 I hefted all the heavy boxes out on my front lawn.  The poor dewy grass had no idea what it was in for.  I managed to only break one glass candle stick...not bad for a klutz!  Things were going well enough I figured a donut break was well earned.  The morning was early and surely no one would be so brazen to show up before 8am...wrong again.  I barely returned to my front yard makeshift store before the vultures arrived.  7:45...a full hour and fifteen minutes before the advertised start of the sale my first obnoxious customer arrived.  I was stilled furiously hanging clothes on the line my husband installed for me when a middle aged blond woman pulled up. 

Thinking nothing of the fact she was too early she walked right up to inspect my wares.  After a quick look she promptly informed my husband that his choice to quickly remove a low hanging branch was poorly timed...who asked her anyway??  She then took herself across the street where she informed my mother in law that her prices were too high.  Turns out she was looking for things to buy and resell at her yard sale.  She complained that she wouldn't be able to turn a profit herself.  Oh, I'm sorry!!  What were we thinking???

The day continued in pretty much the same tone.  I was offered $1 for a party dress.  Are you kidding me??  I modestly priced a brand new pair of Osh Kosh toddler overalls at $3.  The MSRP on the tag still attached was $28.  I was offered $1...are you kidding me??  When I stuck to my $3 guns the woman looked at me like I asked for a kidney.  Another man offered me $3 for an MP3 player that I priced at $5.  When I went down to $4 it was too high...because that extra dollar would break him!!  Full suits priced at $8 were apparently too rich for my customers' blood.  I never even got anyone to look at a 2 cup coffee maker.  That just made a guest appearance from the basement for fun!  A woman offered 25 cents for a brand new Coach wallet.  That could have been the all time low.  After 6 hours of nickel and diming I had enough.  It was like people expected me to pay them to take my stuff.  Maybe my neighbors had the right idea...they were looking to get rid of furniture, so they marked it free and sat down to read a book.  In the end, all their stuff moved while I was tasked with bringing most of my junk back in the house. 

In the end, all my hard work resulted in just enough money to buy dinner...after the exhausting day I was in no shape to cook and clean!!  Now I have just enough time to get more junk together before we do it again in the fall.  I told you I never learn!