Far better than any mirror. If you want to see the Real You, have a kid.

Only your own kids will be the authentic reflections of yourself.  No amount of natural sunlight or magnified mirrors could equate to the accurate reflection of oneself that one’s own offspring offer up.

  

We all feel we’ve got a pretty good grasp on “Who we are”, probably.  For instance, if asked about my personal traits, I might describe myself as generous, humorous, and passionate.  (There are more adjectives I could throw out there, but we’ll keep it short and positive.)  I feel I’m a pretty good judge of who I am, and how others perceive me.  But, having kids has made me realize just how wrong I may have been all these years.  It’s been a real eye opener to see through my children just how I possibly look and sound to the outside world.

For starters, I must use my hands a whole LOT during verbal communication.  This is a typical behavior for someone of Italian decent, but it wasn’t so noticeable to me until I began to see just how much my son throws his skinny little arms up and tosses his hands about like he’s whippin’ around a pizza dough when speaking.  Because his gestures are so all over the place, I’ve become way more cognisant of my own nonverbal communications.  If he’s this extravagant with his gestures, and I can see he must have learned it from me, then certainly I can stand to dial it back a bit.  (“Work in progress”.  Add that to the list of ways I’d also describe me.)  And, so began my journey to knowing myself on a different level.  So began the beginning of my new “self-analysis”…..

Have you ever really paid attention to how many words you overuse?  People often have a go-to phrase or word that they use frequently, like “Wow”, or “Oh my god!”, or “that’s crazy”.  Well, apparently, I say “that’s annoying” A LOT.  I also seriously overuse the word “seriously”.  If I had a nickel for every time my kids say to one another “that’s annoying”, “you’re annoying me”, and “seriously!?!?”, I’d seriously have a shit load of nickels!  I used to think that I had a pretty extended vocabulary and have always made a conscious effort to grow my word bank on a regular basis.  So to find out that I am not as articulate as I’d once perceived myself to be was a bit disappointing.  Although it’s a tad hard to admit, it’s right in my face on a regular basis so there’s really no denying that they’ve learned this stuff from their mama.  And if I’m this tired of hearing them utter those words, well gosh- other people have got to be at least minimally bugged by my saying them so much.  And, just as any good sitcom would have it- right on cue, another reminder of an annoying and too-often-spoken saying of mine has just manifested, courtesy of my children.  

At this very moment, my convenient sons brought to mind yet another phrase I could use some serious scaling back on: While playing a Power Rangers game on their computer in the other room, I hear one say to the other “turn it up, all the way”.  The multi-tasking mom within me doesn’t skip a beat while typing away here on this trusty old laptop and “No way, José!” I yell to them.  No. Way. José.   Yeah, I really just said that.  Really now…  Who the hell came up with that one?  AND, when the hell did I become so corny!?  I’m ashamed that my cool factor has plummeted so far that this is a phrase I’ve now got to literally train myself to omit from my vocabulary.  You know when I first realized that I even say this phrase at all?  Last Spring, at my oldest boy’s “Mommy and Me Polite Party” for Pre-K.  As the teacher pleasantly read a story about party etiquette and politeness, she polled the children on the right and wrong ways for the story’s animal characters to behave.  My son yelled out “No way, José!” each time the other kids answered with a simple “no”.  I can recall thinking to myself, “Holy crap- why is he saying this?”  There was some light giggling at him; as in, “Awe how cute” from the other mothers.  But inside I was kind of mortified and asking myself, “How often do I say this to the kid?”  Later that evening, I caught myself uttering the same phrase.  How lame.  I mean, seriously, what a lame saying…. Who says that?  (smh)  Welp….  Me.  Obviously.  And apparently, A LOT.  (Note to self, find cooler expressions to utter than something involving some unknown Spanish dude’s name.) 

It’s not all bad, though.  I’m pleased to report that I’ve projected some pretty fine words and ways onto these offspring of mine.  I’ve come to realize that I’m quite the Polite Polly, through them.  Because of my overuse in “thank you’s”, “Pleases” and “Excuse me’s”, my little guys are pretty widely known as two respectful lil dudes.  I’ve learned about myself that I value respect a whole lot, and it’s a proud moment for the hubs and I when our children are complimented on their polite manners.  They’re also very considerate of others and generous with their help and with their toys.  Something I’m confident that I’d instilled in them through not just instruction, but with my own actions in helping friends and through volunteer work.

Yes.  No matter how honest your family or friends may be, no one can relay to you the ways you authentically present yourself to the world better than your kids.  By emulating the first teachers they have, their parents, you are privy to exact attitudes, mannerisms, and words that you’ve been unintentionally instilling into them, day after day.  Many individuals describe children as sponges.  Perhaps, to some extent, this is true.  For me, my sons are more like mirrors.  Soaking in the true essence of me, and reflecting it right back at me: Ugly, Lovely or indifferent.

These little “Reflections” don’t have a clue that they’re actually helping teach me about bettering myself, or that they help navigate the way I parent them as well.  Every time I hear them sigh loudly out of aggravation and frustration, I am made ever more aware of my own issues with impatience.  And I work a little harder to demonstrate to them, and me, that a little patience and understanding go a long way.  And whenever I see them helping a friend on the play ground, or assist one another in cleaning up their crayons, I’m reminded about how important it is to be cooperative and there for others.

These two boys are actually a pair of mirrors this sleep deprived and disheveled mom won’t be avoiding any time soon.  That’s for certain.

The Month of Self Improvement!

September is “Self Improvement Month”.  

I often think about new beginnings when the Fall comes back to town.  Not only is change in the air all around with children and adults alike heading back for a new school year with their fresh new wardrobes, books, and supplies.  But the world around us is all very visibly changing as well.  The air turns crisper, the leaves on trees begin to fall, and all of our wardrobes change to warmer options as we bring out the hoodies and  we pack away those flip flops for closed toe shoes.  We change our perfumes and colognes over for heavier notes, and switch out home accessories for warmer tones of brilliant Autumn shades.  Even our meals become "new", switching over burgers on the bar-b for crock pot roasts and chilis.  New sports begin.  (Helloooo, Eagles!  Pahleeze, bring a Super Bowl home for Mama this year!!)  After the lazy warm days of summer filled with sleeping in, family vacations of beachy afternoons, forgotten diets and slim to zero schedules is gone until next year, comes the “back to business” attitudes that accompany this new season and new adventures it brings with it.  So, it’s no wonder this month of September has been dubbed “Self Improvement Month”.  Why not make You new, as well?

Lots of people like to think of ways they’ll focus on goals and improving themselves come resolution time in January, at the start of a new year.  But the feelings of newness are just so not there for me on New Years Eve.  Let’s face it- All of the major holidays are over and done with at this point and everyone is coming down from the highs of these special events and all of the planning that went into it.  And after the partying of New Years Eve, what’s left rather than to reflect over the past year and how it didn’t measure up to your expectations from LAST New Years.  Well, that, and the rest of the long ass winter that remains and those added pounds from holiday cookies. Bleh.  Definitely, really, totally not feeling invigorated to begin work on myself, when I can barely get my behind out of bed on those dark and frigid, seemingly never-ending winter mornings.....

No, September and the changing over from Summer to Autumn seems much more fitting for such a time to focus on improving oneself.  New schedules, new outfits, new hair do’s, new activities…  New you!

Seems sensible to me.

For me and my family, lots more “new” has taken place in the Autumn months.  My new marriage with John began in September, six years ago, kicking of our "new" lives together.  Our new marital union isn’t all.  Our first niece was born in the fall, as was our second son.  Two new, fabulous lives born into our brood.  And more “new beginnings” are coming about this year for John, the boys and me.  This Autumn brings about the biggest change for my family since the birth of our second son.  My eldest boy will be entering “real school”.  The big Grade K!  

I know for certain he’s nervous about this new big school, doing actual lessons, being away from home for so long each day, having homework, and being faced with meeting new peers and trying to formulate friendships with these new classmates.  I, too, am nervous as his mom.  This is something that never occurred to me as a kid, but parents are embarking on this journey right alongside their children- fears, anxieties and all.  His father and I, too, know no one at this school.  Will we jive with his teacher’s style, get along with the parents of his new buds, be able to keep up with the new schedule and demands we as his folks are required to?  We don’t know how this whole “school thing” works exactly.  It’s a new beginning for us, as well, to be the parents of a school aged child.  We have signed him up, filled out our PTA forms, marked important dates in our planners, and have met with school officials to gather as much information as we can about our little buddy’s new home away from home.  We want nothing more than for him to grow and change- to improve and excel.  We don’t want to mess up, and make that any more difficult than his "improving" needs to be. We want to be informed, and prepared, and help him be the best he can be academically and socially and every other way in between. We, too, are embarking on a new journey on this new chapter of parenthood.  It’s certainly time for a "new us" this September.  It's time for us to improve as parents right along with him as he improves as a student, and a well rounded growing human being.

If there is any improvement I wish to make now, it’s to be more proficient.  To be more organized, more pulled together… mentally and physically.  I want to be that ideal perception of the “soccer mom” who has a warm breakfast before sending the kiddos off to school, is there to pick them up with a smile, has dinner cooking while helping with homework, the food on the table, and cleaned up by bath and book reading time and enough moments left over at the end of the day to be able to collect my scattered about sanity in order to be just as prepared and ready for the next day.  I'd like to be less emotional in matters of my children, and learn how to work in the "tough love" that I know will really pay off in terms of teaching them life skills and responsibility.  Tall order.  I know.  Then again, as kids, weren’t we all taught to set the bar high?  …Reach for the stars?  Have high hopes?  Yeah.  You see where I’m going with this.

But that’s what self improvement is all about. First, knowing what you want.  Second, setting the bar high on that goal.  And lastly, jumping in with both feet…. Trying your hardest to make your desires a reality.  Gather information, study those whom you admire, ask questions, (and for help when needed), and go for it!  It’s never too late to improve oneself.  And September seems like a perfect time to assess what aspects of life you wish to improve upon.

I’m sure there’ll be stumbling along the way for my family this September and moving forward.  I’m in no way expecting my organized wishes to grow wings and soar on month one of the boy’s new school career.  But, as a family, we’ll be improving one day at a time….  Together.  Wish us luck!  (We’re gonna’ need it!)  And, best of luck to you on your quest for self improvement this month, whatever your goals may be!!  

Happy September, "Self Improvement Month"! ;-)

healthyisthenewskinny.com

Condo Livin' is for the Birds

....Or so I thought.

So, we short sold that house and moved on out.  We made it to Pike Creek; a city long lusted after by my hubster and me.  Ever since we signed our oldest lil dude up for The Little Gym out this way years ago, we mutually decided that this area is nice during our drives to his weekly classes.  The condensed version of how we really ended up here is we a) were underwater big time in our mortgage on the small ranch in Newark we owned and wanted OUT b) have a kid beginning Kindergarten this Fall and desperately wanted him out of our old crappy school district and into one of our state’s top ranking elementary schools and c) the area’s got a good rep.

After narrowing down the long and arduous process of figuring out where the heck we were going to move our lil family to, we opted for condo renting.  We’d tossed around the idea of renting a house, but I’m just not keen on the idea of maintaining someone else’s home for them.  The thought of paying for all utilities, garbage removal, heating, cooling lawn maintenance and everything in between on a home we wouldn’t own didn’t seem such a great idea to me.  It meant to me that we’d still have all of the bills and stresses we’d already had, only on another owner’s house.  It also meant less money allocated to paying down our non secure debts and paying into our savings.  Not too appealing….

John and I agreed to give this new city and new school a go, and “slum it” for a little bit.  (My husband’s term, although I’d hardly say we’re doing that and am well aware that there’s plenty of folks out there living in “slummy” conditions, so I’m not trying to offend anyone here…)  Simply put, we’re forgoing all of the bills a single family house brings with it, keeping our paid off vehicles, and scaling back on our spending.  We’re in a lovely condo- about the size of our previous home.  It actually feels more spacious to me given the high vaulted ceilings and the layout. With a cheap monthly rent and tons of inclusive utilities and ammenities.  And, I’m surprised to find that I’m really, really liking it here!  John… eh.  Not as much.  And oddly enough, for all of the reasons that I DO like it. 

I am NOT a yard person.  Sure I like being outdoors.  I love bike riding, pools, running around with the kids and our pooch.  All that stuff is fun.  But I hardly ever did those things in my own yard.  I was always packing them up into the truck and heading for play dates and parks and indoor game places.  Furthermore, the time and energy John spent on that damn lawn could have been better spent with me and our kids. 

We see him little enough with the work hours he’s gone for.  It used to bug the bejesus out of me when he’d be gone all day at the office, only to come home and tell me he’d eat the dinner I’d made for him later because he’s “got to get out there and start on the grass before it gets too late”.  “WTH, doode?  Like, I haven’t had adult conversation or interaction all day long.  Been waitin’ on your behind to get home for hours, chit-chat with me, help me with these crazy little people, and I even cooked you this dead animal dish *(Reminder, Vegetarian here!), and off you go to spend our precious time together working on the yaaard?....”  Nope.  I was not shaping out to be the happy camper I thought I’d be when I first laid eye on that spacious, green back yard.   And. It.  Took.  Hours.  Sometimes, even long after I’d bathed the boys and had them in bed, good ole Lawn Boy would enter the house hot, sweaty and stinky from the dark outside……… only to tell me he’d have to FINISH UP TOMORROW!  “Uhh, ‘scuse me?!”  ….. Pfft.  Moral of story: Lawns are overrated!  Lest I mention the ants, the bees, the toys that the kids left out all over the lawn I’d have to continuously walk around to pick up, the dog poo NOT picked up, the huge scary trees that swayed so much in the storms we’d be frightened of them crashing down on the roof and which left gigantic branches all over the yard to be gathered and piled in the corner for burning.  I’d been over this lawn care business for a long time. 

Not to mention the nosey neighbors, and the crazy ones who’d always ask to borrow things.  The trash men leaving our garbage can in the middle of the damn driveway causing me to cruise across the lawn sometimes to get into the drive.  The flower beds that never took off, and the vegetable gardens that rodents and bugs got to.  Pulling weeds and spraying killer on the side walk in front of the house, and shoveling the snow from our driveway and sidewalk as well as our elderly neighbors.  None of that was too enjoyable for me; have to admit.

Forward to not having to deal with any of that.  Can you envision my smiling face?  Ahh.  Maintenance guys take care of it all- and our surrounding shrubbery here is far more pleasing to the eye than anything we’d ever mustered up.  When something’s broke- they fix it.  “They” meaning the people we hire, like the plumber who came out this morning to replace a cracked pipe in the hall bathroom sink, and our landlord foots the bill.  Did I mention our landlord is completely awesome?  Yep, she is.  A single lady who purchased this place about four years ago, got transferred by her employer half way across the country, and is renting just because she doesn’t want to take the financial loss with selling in this market.  To be more clear: A landlord who is NOT AROUND.  Who is busy with her own life, happening miles away from us.  And who enjoys communicating minimally, preferably via email, and who allows us to take care of whatever we need to and send the bill her way.  I’m hesitant to even put this out there into the Universe, less I jinx it, but I do believe we’ve hit the jackpot here!  She even asked US to choose the paint colors for EACH room before moving in, and hired painters to make it happen for us.  I sure as heck can’t complain……….. And it sure as heck doesn’t feel like “slumming it”.

So, the problem?  None here.  Other than maybe I fear I’m enjoying this too much.  I know that John wants to have a home and a yard and projects to work on together.  He envisions purchasing a home in the near future, and gutting it.  He wants trampolines, and pools, and grass.  I thought I’d wanted that too.  I even thought just before moving here that maybe, just maybe I’d made a grave mistake.  That we may be miserable here, and that this lifestyle change would be a rough adjustment.  How crazy was it for me to realize that I like smaller spaces.  Less cleaning, less clutter, less responsibility.  The “American Dream” was drilled into our heads since birth- home ownership and all that comes with it: bar-b-q’s, big family dinners, swing sets.  Only I had the humongous kitchen, and huge hard, and the monthly mortgage to prove home ownership and didn’t really enjoy any of it.  It’s just not who I am, who we are.  We’re less “sit around the grill and fire pit” kind of folks, and more “sit inside the air conditioned living room playing games with your alcoholic beverage” kind of peeps.  Or better, “Always on the go” folks.  I’d rather spend my afternoon running around town than knee deep in dirt working on a flower bed.  I’d rather have one small hall to cross come laundry time, than lugging baskets across an entire house or up and down stairs.  I’d prefer to swiffer for five minutes, versus the half hour plus it used to take me.  I’m beginning to think that the dream of a big beautiful home to own is…..  for the birds!

The kids are happy.  The dog’s adjusted.  (And, by the way, totally loves the hell out of the awesome new dog park right down the road!)  And things are good right now.  (There was a crazy downstairs neighbor issue for the first month and a half, but even that worked out.  The nutty biatch up and moved away!)

So, for now…  My mentality is, if it ain’t broke- don’t fix it.  I’m content to sit tight right where I’m at and focus on the many other issues of vast importance that fill my plate these days. (Like both boys beginning school next week, for instance.)

Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.  Who knew this would be an ongoing learning opportunity?  So many lessons, really.  All of the time I spent worrying about our impending move here- a waste.  Sure makes this mantra prove pretty darn true, huh? 

And some times, what you think you want isn’t what you really want.  Sometimes it’s good to let go of old ideas, ones that maybe weren’t even your own to begin with, and open up your mind to something different and new.  I’ve learned that what I saw on Oprah one day when she visited Denmark and reported that the people there are overall generally happier and more content than their global counterparts, because they follow this motto “Less space, less things, more living” is actually true.  (Well, that and the Danes in general take life slower, have more assistance from their government, and focus more on the family and environment- leaving work earlier than we do to be together, and biking everywhere for instance.)  For me, I can see clearly now that the “American mentalities” that had been fed to me from every angle don’t even truly jive with what makes me happy.  Not at this moment in time, anyway.  No new car payment, high mortgage bill, or fancy anything has ever brought me the peace of mind I’ve found here in this lil condo with my dwindling debt and extra family time.

For the birds^ 

So, for now at least, Condo livin’ is gooood.  And it’s so surprising to me, still, that I would even say that.  What a pleasant surprise!  A welcome lesson in life this time that didn’t include some kind of painful endurance, struggle, or fight to figure out.  A lesson this lil condo tucked away in the hills and trees of Northern Delaware has taught me.  We never do know what unexpected pleasantries and lessons life has to offer us.  

And!  Not all lessons have to be hard learned- and that’s another lesson unto itself right there!

Images found @:

myfreewallpapers.net

http://www.searchquotes.com/viewimage/The_Reason_People_Find_It_Hard_To_Be_Happy/91/

martindaveyillustration.co.uk  

Once Upon a Treetop Time

Once upon a treetop time

Sitting in a world that was all mine

I flew through the clouds on fine feathered wings

As my ears were lavished by the songs an angel sings

In a place full of wonder and missing all doubt

Melodic calm and certainties carried throughout

Over hills of rolling vibrancy, splendid green and fine

Wild thoughts and vivid laughter, every bit of it all mine

In a world of my own making

In a time that’s all my own

Feeling untethered as a soaring bird

I relish in the alone

Where judgment cannot find me

Expectations and deadlines derail

This is the place my heart drifts off to

A world where fantasy and whimsy prevail.

Things I Miss......

Things I miss.....

Time.  (Time to ponder, time to read, to paint my nails, blow dry my hair, clean, shop, plan…)

Writing.  Writing clears my mind, calms my soul, and rejuvenates my spirit.  (Getting thoughts onto paper, or computer, happens so much less now.)

Creating.  (Interior design, scrapbooking, poetry, experimenting with styling.)

My pre-kids body (Looking at old pictures my mother’s been uploading to her facebook account can be frustrating.  But not even so much because I’m pining away for that old physique.  It’s really because I realize now that during the times some of the best pictures were taken of me,  I was the most judgmental and critical of my outward appearance.  So sad how this is just another way that youth is wasted on the young.  I really should have appreciated what I had, and been comfortable in my skin.)

My pre-kids mind (well, parts of it, crazy enough it’s actually gotten better in a myriad of ways.)

Free time (Different from just "time" in general.  Free time, empty minutes with which I haven't a clue what to do with, nor do I care how I fill it because "there's more where that came from!".  What in the world DID I do before kids?? No, seriously?)

The ability to purchase just about anything without thinking twice.  (I can recall days of marathon mall shopping, breezing through stores while tossing item upon item onto my arm without so much as glancing at the price tags … or even having to try the garmets on.  Or checking my watch to make sure I wasn’t there for too long.)

The carefree nature that comes with having no one who depends on you, but you.

Having virtually no one else to consider but my own selfish needs and desires.

The ability to pick up and go on a whim with little to no preparation or planning.

First’s butterflies.  And experiencing different kinds of passion, intellect, and men whenever I so desired.  (Not that I ‘got around’ too much.  I’m just saying…  The option was there.)

Girl time.  The gab fests, the chick flicks, the shopping sprees, the beach weekends, and “make overs”.  All without being interrupted a thousand times over by the demanding offspring of mine or my gal pals' and without having to plan this ladies only fest far in advance.

Rest.  Sleeping in.  Noontime naps.  Dozing off during reruns of Will and Grace sporadically.  All gone now.

But what I’ve gained is hands down incomparable. 

Love for life.  (I could stop right here.)

The monumental task of instilling values, compassion, and a love of life into two flawless new human beings.  (Because, while brain wracking at times, it’s an appreciated responsibility and the hugest privilege to have.)

The daily opportunity of learning some of life’s greatest lessons….  From children.  And when least expected.  

Unconditional love.  Truly.  Love- with NO conditions.  (Isn’t that what everyone’s looking for in life?)

Finding out that the heart could have feelings so vulnerable, so full of adoration, and drenched with a love so deep it feels as if it could burst wide open.  Daily.  (I mean, who knew the heart was capable of experiencing these emotions before kids enter the picture?  It is AMAZING!)

A new sense of “drive” in myself- because nothing I do is for myself any longer.  Nothing.  (They inspire me, they encourage me, they light a fire in me when before only a mere tiny flame existed that slightly flickered and for mostly the wrong reasons, ie competitiveness and self absorption.)

I could absolutely add more.  But I’ve covered enough right here….

I wrote this list because it’s so easy for me to fall into Debbie Downer mode sometimes or even have moments of nostalgia of days gone by.  I am faced with tremendous responsibility for these lives I created, and to be honest that can be overwhelming and stressful to where migraines and stomach ulcers occur.  Sometimes it’s as if I’ve got sunglasses super glued to my face, making it impossible to find the bright side.  Worry is the name of the game most days.  (“Will my child be accepted into this great school we applied to?”…  “When will our home finally sell?”).  Much different than the old pre-kids me who pondered life’s great queries such as, “Which movie should I check out this weekend?”    And, “Which shade of OPI do I pick at the nail salon this time, Your Villa or Mine Coral or I’m Really Not a Waitress Red”?)

 If single and childless me fails, it’s an entirely different beast than if married, mother me fails.  Now, when I fail- I’m failing them.  The choices I make weigh much more heavily on my mind.  The beautiful, smart, energetic, wonder-filled, blissfully happy, loving and adoring sons of mine are subject to deal with the consequences of my choices as well as me.  If I fuck up, they have to deal with the consequences either directly or indirectly (my bad mood.)  If I do something that puts them in distress, in a situation that is not conducive to their best interests, or sets them back from being in a place that fosters their unique qualities and opportunities- it’s devastating to me.  (Yes, I can be dramatic.)  The mental pressure translates to physical ailments at times.  And it's ever so unpleasant.

I knew that everything would change when I peed on that stick the afternoon of April 27^th 2006.   But no matter how many books I read, or how many TLC “A Baby Story” shows I watched- nothing came close to preparing me for the realities of being a mother.  The world is vast in information about birthing a baby, but what happens forevermore afterwards is all on you to figure out.  And what I've come to know is nothing I'd ever contemplated during those nine months of pregnancy.  

I’ve changed in countless ways.  What I once saw as strength, conviction or gumption before, I now understand to be immaturity, stubbornness, and foolish pride that I had.  I probably would have walked away from my relationship with their father a hundred times over the way I walked away from every man before him, if not for him being Their Father.  I’d most likely still be a member of our old church and religion, because I was too lazy to force myself to look at it without my blinders on, and instead stubbornly defended it to anyone who questioned it because I was immature and lacked a real reason to go on a quest for truth.  I volunteer now, because I’m compelled to be a good example for the kids, above other reasons I have.  I’ve omitted people from my life who are not in line with my values, and I’m much more cautious as to whom I allow in my life- because they’re also in my children’s lives.  I’m a self proclaimed “cat person”, yet now have the most lovable and cute dog that I can’t get enough of, and who can’t get enough of me.  All because the boys wanted a pet pup and I’d do just about anything to see them smile.  I’ve had much practice in honing the art of holding my tongue, and in knowing when to stand up for my convictions and demand respect now that I’m a mother.  The changes keep happening as I evolve as a woman with children and a spouse.  The experiences, all brought on by the birth of my sons and my marriage with their father, have shaped me into a much more authentic and careful person.  And even more exciting, is that as they continue to grow- I grow right along with them.

 

In the end, it helps to tick off the impossibly fortunate aspects of your life.  Corny as it may seem, I feel better already.  I’ve got a lot to stress about, sure.  But I’ve got more to celebrate.  The “bright side” is lookin’ pretty darn bright.  Maybe today I'll put on those figurative sunglasses for another reason- our future together is so bright is blinding! Thanks, Julian and Lucas.  You fellows keep me on my toes, make life worth living, and brighten up even the darkest nights. And thanks to my sweet hubby.  You do a pretty good job with those things, yourself. ;-)

“I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring.” ~Liz Armbruster

I thought about you today, again.  I was discussing the delivery of an item to Mom and Dad’s house this morning that could potentially arrive while no one is home.  “I can’t even have Poppop keep an eye out for it”, I’d thought.  Just one of the many things you did for me and our family- keep an eye out for our packages and bring them inside for us.  …Just another daily reminder of the void that your leaving has left behind. 

And last night I fell asleep thinking of you, as I often do, having to silently wipe away tears from my eyes until gratefully, sleep finds me.  And you appeared in my dreams, as you’ve appeared several times since you left.  I’m grateful for these dreams.  Although, I awaken more saddened by them most times, and later become angry at myself for forgetting the details.

I do recall, however, one specific detail about my dream of you a few nights ago.  As I’d often done when you were here in the past, I’d held your hand in this dream.  Only this time was different.  I’d held onto it so tightly, with such bittersweet urgency and angst in my heart, wishing all the while to feel our fingers interlaced this way forever.  I’d squeezed your hand, and stared down at it.  Your long fingertips reaching the middle of the top of my hand.   Studying your large strong hands that had done such miraculous things throughout your lifetime, I can recall with crystal clarity the feeling of never wanting to let go.  Those hands saved people from burning buildings…  They held your infant children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren tightly.  Yours are hands that held onto steering wheels for hours on countless drives to the beach for years and years to vacation with your most prized possession- your family.  They are hands that held wiffle bats and pitched baseballs, and created, built, tinkered and worked, that softly patted the tops of my children’s heads when we’d visit your sick bedside; hands I held onto until you took your dying breath.  Holding your hand is something I miss so terribly.  But, certainly, it isn’t the only thing I miss.  My dreams of you are bittersweet. But I never want you to stop appearing in my dreams, so that I may again look into your crystal blue eyes, and hear your distinctive voice and boisterous laughter dance through the air like music in my ears. 

I miss everything about you, Poppop.  I guess that will never stop.  Even though I’ve become used to your absence from my life- now nearing two full months since you passed on.  The normalcy is settling in, unwelcome as that notion is.  I’ve accepted the sorrow that creeps into bed with me each night as the house is silent and dark, and my thoughts drift to memories of you.    I expect the empty feeling left over after my dreams spent with you have ended.  And, I’m a pro at shaking off that morning sadness as I hop out of bed to prepare the kids’ breakfast and move forward with my day. But it’s the unsuspecting socks to the gut which I’m not so good at.  The ones that take place in the middle of a Verizon store on a weekday morning, reminding me of the fact that I don’t have you in my life anymore for even the smallest of things that somehow hurt the most.  That I haven’t yet gotten “used to”.  That I maybe never will.  That, actually, I may never want to….

Even now, there’s no mail carrier to bring you this letter I’ve written, as they have in the past.  So, I’ll be sure to try my very best to remember to tell you in my dreams, Poppop.  To let you know over and over how much you still mean to me, and how much you’ll always be missed and thought of.  And until then, rest easy… I’ll see you in my dreams.

What is this thing called love....

~~

What is this thing called love. . .

His voice wraps you in velvet sheets.

Two lovers meet at dusk in the Sicilian streets.

The newness and excitement of the old familiarity-

Like blossoms budding on an ever alive spring tree.

Settles in, romantic and comfortable, with unabridged ease-

Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me…

Sway softly in your mate’s arms and sip that sweet red wine-

While the pot of sauce boils over with scents of garlic and thyme.

As many that came before you have, let his music lead the way to romance-

No matter what you’re doing, his serenade commands a dance.

Surroundings seem all the more vibrant, with each fine croon and trumpet note-

Rock hearts soften gladly, flat feet begin to float.

Smile though your heart is aching, smile even though it’s breaking…

Each phrase conveys a message, each our own for the taking.

Wisdom in his words, soul in his heart, and a smile in his “old blue eyes”-

Each time the record plays, seems he’s got a new surprise.

Endearing laughter mixed into timeless melodies, again-

He’s a master of the lyrics… an idol of musical men.

Come fly with me, around the town-

Whether in boots ‘n jeans or in satin gown

Red brick walls in cigar smoke-filled rooms

The cello strings and trombone booms

As music filled with his magic, turn lovers into brides and grooms.



Uncertainty, Short Sales, and Stress... Oh My!

The only thing certain is uncertainty.  And uncertainty sucks.

The unknown blows.  And it’s especially unnerving when so much is on the line.  Such is the life of a home seller of a short sale in this market.  It’s crappy enough trying to sell a home right now.  With the plethora of choices out there, and less buyers than ever before since everyone and their mom is unemployed, selling in this market now is frustrating as hell. Trying to sell when you weren’t intending to sell, with a quick approaching deadline of foreclosure hanging over your head, and knowing you won’t see a dime from it, but will instead take a pretty hefty blow on your credit report:  Way suckier. 

Such is OUR life right now. . . .

Even though I started out on a really sour note, to your surprise perhaps, I’m not even that bitter about it.  Coming to terms with moving on from the house in this way has settled in and I’m at peace with our circumstances.  I’m confident that we made the best choice for us right now.  I’m sure that helps with the ‘at peace’ part.  We are grossly underwater in our mortgage and paying a far higher price for this house than anyone ever should have.  Short selling is the best course of action for us.  Cutting your losses in a situation where you purchased at the height of the market, and your property is appraised at a whopping $94,000 less just five and a half years later:  staying would be beyond idiotic.

Thus, here we are, short selling this thing.  We can walk away from here without being penalized or taxed and that bank can have borrowers in the property paying fair market price for it.  (Just in case you weren’t sure of what a short sale actually meant.)  I just wish the goddamn thing would sell!  I’d gladly pack up all of our crap, and move on.  It’s the stagnant feeling of imprisonment and uncertainty that drives me bonkers.  The when, when, when, and even if it will sell before foreclosure happens... but most over-the-top, bonkers-driving, annoying of all, is showing your home over and over and over again.  It’s as if the home already isn’t “yours” any longer, in a way.   The inconvenience, lack of privacy, inability to truly plan anything, unforeseen costs, and impairment of truly living in your home, is enough to make you just want to hand the mortgage company over the deed and dip.



So, here’s the lowdown on our personal experience of short selling our home so far…..



We’ve switched realtors.  Added advertisements.  Reduced the price, twice five times.  Dug a hole, and placed a small plastic statue of St Joseph upside down in our front yard, near the ‘for sale’ sign, and facing the street just as all of the realty web sites told us to do.  Yet, house showing upon house showing, and three five open houses later- still nothing. We’ve had two promises of offers, yet for separate reasons no offers could be made.  Another lady said the place needed to house both of her tables: dining room and kitchen.  But, alas, there is no formal dining room in our quaint rancher.  So off she went.   

Another couple said the back screen door, that our wonderful yet overly hyper adopted pup destroyed, must be replaced before they’d make an offer.  I can’t see someone being serious about purchasing a home yet walking away over a fifty dollar storm door?  But, we told our realtor we’d replace it if they like.  I’m not holding my breath that anyone nitpicking over something so insignificant and un costly is authentically serious about purchasing this house in the first place, though, obviously.  (Our hunch was correct, as it turns out, since we never did hear back from them even though we agreed to meet their demands.)

We have a doctor interested in purchasing our home, who said we needed to wait for something negative to fall off from his credit report and then we’d see his offer at the end of January.  He was so in love with the house that he returned several times, actually.  Well, nearing the half way point of February, I’m beginning to think that ship has sailed.  Disappointing, it is.  Time and again, getting your hopes up, as one must know, is not so much fun.  :-/

Then, finally, there was the Halleluiah moment that took place in a Wawa, of all places, after my normal Monday morning workout at the gym.  As I was awaiting the creation of my specially ordered Vegetarian breakfast sandwich, (which, by the way:  Seriously, Wawa?  I cannot possibly be the Only Vegetarian around here that frequents your stores and would like a darn breakfast sandwich in the morning with my cup of joe.  Would it kill ya to put out a few of those bagel sandwiches sans the sausage patties or the bacon?   Really!??? Urr. But, I digress.  As you probably realize by now I’ve got a bad habit of doing.)  So, here I am in the Wawa and my cell phone alerts me that I’ve received an email from my realtor.  The agent’s message says we have an offer on the house, exclamation point.  “Yes”, escapes my mouth, while I think my mom is still next to me. (She’s got a terrible tendency of wandering off like a young child when out at stores together.)  I soon come to realize everyone around me just assumes I’m talking to myself, probably.  Not that I cared.  I’m too ecstatic to care at this point.  (The nightmare of showing our house is O V E R. Over!  Is that the angels I hear singing, or just Michael Buble’s crooning over the radio system? It’s all over, over, over, over!!! Ahhh!)  I’m over too- I’m over the moon, that is.  I feel an almost physical relief in my shoulders and neck, as though a literal weight’s been lifted from my body.  Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t spill my hazelnut coffee as I skipped through the parking lot back to my truck. 

Two days later, my phone alerts me again of an email from my realtor.  The woman pulled her offer.  Back to square one.  I can’t say that I was crushed.  I knew full well not to count those chicks before they hatched.  But damn.  She’d offered full asking price.  Filled out all the paperwork, submitted it to us, and we filled it out and sent it back.  Things were looking pretty good….  Her agents, in short, explained to my agent that the lady second guessed herself, had doubts, and changed her mind.  And that’s the way that cookie crumbled. 

More hassle of people trampling through our home, finding places to take the boys, wasting gas and money on eating out, not cooking meals at home because we’re trying to avoid the mess of pots and pans that need to be hastily cleaned up at the drop of a hat if that telephone should ring and another agent wants to come show the property within ten minutes or within the hour.  I’ve become so obsessed over keeping the house sparkling, that I fear I’ve morphed into a “Mommy Dearest” with the kids.  I don’t even want them to take out their finger paints, play dough, puzzles or board games.  All because of the mess I’ll have to hurry and clean up in between showings.  In and out we go… Back inside, we look at the clock:  two hours until the next showing.  What should we do?  Hmm, sit down and watch tv and do NOTHING.  Touch NOTHING.  That’s what we’ll do.  We don’t want to clean up behind those messy boys any more.  I don’t want to wipe one more counter, vacuum one more carpet, or remake one more bed.  We’re lounging on the sofa, and people show up a half hour early, so we rush back out.  The next morning the telephone rings at 8:30, it’s the appointment scheduling center asking if so-and-so agent can come with his client in an hour to see the place.  We clean the house, the boys, dress them, dress ourselves, leash the dog up out back with his bowls, leave no surface un-wiped, (yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda), get into the Jeep, take off for an hour, find breakfast to feed those hungry kids of ours, and return home in about an hour only to find out that the appointment was (yet again) another no-show.  (That one really gets our goat.  And it happens A Lot.) 

Two weeks ago we had a man and his realtor show up unexpectedly claiming they honestly did have an appointment.  My dear, and way more patient and understanding than me, husband allows them to come on in.  The man loves the home so much, that he schedules a time the following weekend to bring his girlfriend back to get her input on it.  Their realtor emails us after that visit to say they both like the house, only one wants it while the other wants another home they viewed.  Soooo, they decide to keep looking.  (Another one down.) 

Presently, we’ve got a lady interested in purchasing our home after walking through it last weekend. She wants another appointment now, to bring her son with her whom she’s purchasing with.  Waiting to hear how that one turns out, yet it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hang on to the very little optimism we’ve got left. 

There’s also (sigh) another open house scheduled for this coming Sunday, and we’ve just today dropped our home price by a whopping thirty seven thousand dollars since it first went on the market.  The last price reduction merited a ton of new showing appointments.  Our phone’s been ringing off the hook, and we’ve been ingesting more fast food, and hitting the local libraries more often, and dropping in on family to “visit” more times than I can even count any longer.  I acknowledge this is all good, and I’m happy there’s interest in the house.  It’s great, yet extremely tiring.



The cake topper of frustrations occurred tonight, though, when my realtor popped up out of the clear blue and frantically told me I must clean my disaster of a house for a woman who will be here in ten minutes to look at my home. In fact, the house has never been a “disaster” since we put the sucker on the market.  But today I had a very good excuse for it being so disastrous.  While I won’t get into too much detail, the gist is that my bitchy monthly visitor is here for a truly horrific visit, which is the reason for doing Z E R O cleaning for the past forty eight hours except for some laundry).  So in a whirlwind, I’m informed that a woman saw the house today from her car and needs to see it tonight.  My agent lady is like the Tasmanian Devil, whizzing from room to room, breathlessly straightening up the items that lay strewn about my tables, sofas and floors as I stand there in pain and serious confusion. Tonight, as in “right now”, my agent informs me as she hastily runs around the place putting toys away in the play room and asking me where the sheets are to the boys’ beds that I’d just washed and dried.  I didn’t quite understand why it was this woman was exempt from scheduling an appointment like every other person.  Or why it was that she couldn’t make it here during the four hours of open house taking place this coming Sunday.  I asked questions, like, “Does she live out of state and is only here today?  Why in the world must she come now!?”  But, no, that didn’t appear to be the case.  It appears all my agent knew was that another agent she knows well and trusts a whole bunch had told her that this buyer of hers simply HAD to view the property tonight.  She tells me impulse buyers are great, and this potential buyer was one.  The boys and I had just been ordering dinner online when my realtor manifested, as the killer cramps and debilitating lower back pain was too much for me to even imagine standing long enough to heat up frozen fish sticks and french fries in the oven for them to eat.  Yet here I was washing dishes, making my bed, hiding the dirty laundry, and emptying bathroom waste baskets.  We were in our pajamas still from the morning, and I’d been counting down the minutes until I could put them to bed and hit the sack myself when all of this just happened.  In short, I was completely caught off guard by what seemed like a really unorthodox way of doing business when selling a house. 

I get the sense of urgency in wanting to get this place sold.  Boy, do I ever!  But this fiasco actually dizzied me, and left me bewildered.  Who does this?!!??!!??  And to be honest- it quite irritated me.  It’s enough that I feel my home isn’t my own already, with all of the running off so that strangers can go through my personal belongings and underwear drawer any ole time they desire.  (We’ve noticed things like rummaging around in our CLOSED UP television armoire in the living room, and our bed comforter being messed up as though people actually got on top of our bed!)  If that’s not bad enough, I can’t even get a heads up now?  I mean, it’s not a vacant property….  A family friggin’ lives here!  Our family!  I can’t wallow in the misery of my menstrual cycle, laid up on the couch while wearing no bra and put off dishes for the night in my own home without folks barging in on me?  Seriously now, am I overreacting?  Because in hindsight, I almost can’t even believe what just happened here. 

So I schlepped my hurtin’ behind around the house cleaning, with the help of my realtor and the boys.  Rushing, and sweating, and cursing this wretched period of mine every step of the way.  Then off my agent runs to a Girl Scout obligation for her sweet little daughter, and the boys and I open our door a good ten minutes later for a young Spanish couple.  They arrived alone, with no agent.  They spoke very low, and in all Spanish from what I did catch, and the male looked so disinterested that he appeared to be text messaging on his cellular device the whole time.  In two minutes flat, they said a bland, “thanks”, and off they went.  Sure glad I didn’t shuffle mine and the boys’ butts into the Jeep, and around the corner in the dark cold for that one! 

………………………….  ???  Are any of you thinking what I’m thinkin’?  What the hell was all that!!??  And if I’m wrong, somebody for friggs sakes please enlighten me. 

 

In closing:  I’m not a bitter, “Boo Hoo, I feel so sorry for me.  Life is abysmal.  The government sucks, my life sucks.  Kill me now.”, type of person.  I hate to complain right now, too.  I truly do.  Being an optimistic Positive Polly sure makes getting through sucky stuff like this a whole lot easier.  In fact, I’d be willing to bet that not many other people short selling their home have put the effort, time and money into trying to get it sold that my hubs and I have.  (Just to name a few things: we patched, sanded and painted a ceiling, painted doors and woodwork, purchased items to “stage” then actually spent a good chunk of time putting all of those items up, de-cluttered, rearranged rooms several times over, hung curtains, added a light fixture, landscaped some of the back yard, packed up a good amount of boxes, borrowed trucks and time from our family and friends to move things around, omitted several pieces of furniture that we’d prior used on a daily basis, cleaned out the garage, made about a dozen trips to Good Will donating items and we leave on our electric base board heating in the den much of the time for the potential buyers- which it just so turns out has quite dramatically increased our electric bill… And all for the sake of making the home appear cleaner and more spacious and more appealing in general.)  We’ve gone balls to the wall.  As have the realtors working for us.  And we honestly appreciate their efforts very, very much.  But I can’t help but wonder where does one selling their home draw the line?



With the huge sense of urgency in getting this house tidied up, and shown to that couple this evening, it’s quite strange that I haven’t heard a word back from anyone.  I contacted my realtor twice, but she never responded.  The people who came to look at the house didn’t strike me as serious buyers, or even as being all that into my house at all.  But, hey, what do I know?  Maybe the inconsiderate people who demand to see your home at the drop of a hat could be “the ones”, and make it all worth it in the end. 

But I can’t help but wonder, is this normal protocol when selling a home?

All I know is this home selling hasn’t just inconvenienced me and my family, it’s flipped our world pretty much upside down.  Even the boys have been acting out in a very noticeable and negative way and none of us have been ourselves since this process began.  I think it’s high time to set some very necessary boundaries in order to reestablish even the smallest bit of structure for these children and our family unit. 

The uncertainty of whether the home will sell or not will still be there, but not the uncertainty of whether or not I’m going to be dropped in on while bra-less, cramping, and about to eat dinner with my kids.  If somebody’s serious enough about wanting to see your home, and possibly making an offer on it:  they’ll make the appointment to see it or they'll get their behinds to one of the frequent weekend open houses. 

And that’s my take on it…

.



2012

Two Thousand and Twelve, what have you got in store?

Will you bring riches to my door?

Can I expect happiness, fortune and health?

For my friends, my family, and myself?

Or will you welcome death into my life-

Take away loved ones, and leave me in strife?

Will you inspire me to hit the gym more and bring sexy back?

I wouldn’t mind losing a few dress sizes; slimming down my tummy, bum and rack!

How many inches tall, will my little men this year gain?

Can you provide them with more happiness, and very little pain?

I wonder if Julian will be accepted into our school of choice…

Because if he did, we would truly rejoice!

I also sure hope you bring about a buyer for this home-

So that for seven long years we don’t have to roam.

Will the challenges facing us, break us or make us stronger?

Can you tell me if we'll be living in limbo for much longer?

Sooner would be better than later, for sure-

We’re ready to move on, and be out the door!

Will our family stay on good terms, as times changes and it grows?

And will you introduce us to new friends, keeping away foes?

May I have more time to enjoy your seasons in all of their wonder-

Instead of rushing about, missing the sunrises and thunder?

Will your flowers be brighter, your ocean waves more majestic and strong?

Should I expect the birds in 2012 to sing a more lovely song?

Whatever you shall bring about, this winter, spring, summer and fall…

As long as I’ve got my family to love- I’ll more than have it all!