Shades of Pink

You've had to be living under a rock if you haven't noticed
that (the new mini iPad is coming) and October is
Breast Cancer Awareness Month. 

 

My husband and I caught this site over the weekend in my hometown and it inspired me to write a little about Breast Cancer today.

I've been lazy.

It got colder and a little rainy after the Akron Marathon, and my knee is still a little achy... which was a fantastic excuse to cut back on running. So naturally, I've been eating lots of Insomnia Cookies in the middle of the day. And it's budget-training-end-of-year time (I left 25 other 'times of year' out to save space) at work so I've been drinking more coffee and getting headaches and back-aches from not getting up to walk around enough. I will not give up the heels, sorry.

The work-home-wife-mom-thing is exhausting. It just is. I'm not exercising as much and eating pure crap (Motts gummies are really good, ok?) so of course, I have less energy. I am irritable when the chocolate milk spills and when the dog wants to go out for the 5th time in two hours. Do you see where this is going? Exactly. Nowhere. So while wallowing in my own self-pity about being a lazy-junk food-eating, grouch... I went to my source of zen: my blog list, to see what else might be happening in the world that could be a bit more interesting than me. It turns out there is a lot.

As you know, I follow AndersonFamilyZoo on my blog list - a fellow mama blogger who is battling breast cancer. She has opened my eyes wide to this disease, the horror of the news, the trials and tribulations of treatment, the tragic, raw emotion of living with Cancer and still trying to be a good wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend... I read her posts several times a week and wonder, what can I do? And how does she do it? How does she find the energy and gumption and bravery to keep writing - well, I get it. It's therapeutic for me, too.

On top of this, our good friend Jaime Lenhart featured a young family on her photo blog, This Is Life, with a new baby girl who's mama underwent a mastectomy while pregnant and just started chemo after the birth of her daughter. What amazing memories they've captured in these photos, and you look at the love radiating from her face and her husband's smile and their daughter's beautiful expressions and the emotion of it all just reaches out and shakes you through the computer screen (as my pal B in Columbus would say).

I would say that 2012 has been a banner year for promotion of Breast Cancer awareness and infiltration of pink in sports, fashion, media... I've seen and heard more about Breast Cancer awareness than ever before, which is so amazing. "Pink" is front and center this year in the NFL. What a great move to get the message out there.  Nothing better than seeing big dudes crashing into each other with pink socks and gloves on. Why they didn't incorporate pink tutus is beyond me. Now that would have been MUST. SEE. T.V.

All of this pinkness got into my system and since I've been strapped to my chair-computer screen-keyboard (compound word because it feels like I am one with the chair-computer screen-keyboard these days... Dell should just sell corporate units with an espresso machine built right in... yes, it's like that lately). But I digress. I've been zoning out lately, that was a moment. I think that once you or someone in your family has experienced any kind of Cancer, you feel this kindred connection to others who also endure, suffer and are impacted by the disease. Any Cancer that you, a family member or friend has endured is the worst kind. We're all in this together.

I thought I'd take a break to write about Breast Cancer and what pinky things we can learn, do and make others aware.

Here are some facts, thanks to Susan G. Komen for the Cure. In 2012, it is estimated that among U.S. women there will be [35]:

• 226,870 new cases of invasive breast cancer (includes new cases of primary breast cancer among survivors, but not recurrence of original breast cancer among survivors).
• 63,300 new cases of in situ breast cancer (includes ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS) and lobular carcinoma in situ (LCIS), of those, about 85 percent will be DCIS). DCIS is a non-invasive breast cancer and LCIS is a condition that increases the risk of invasive breast cancer. Learn more about DCIS and LCIS.
• 39,510 breast cancer deaths. ]
• Don't forget, men can be diagnosed with Breast Cancer as well.

And there are many variables, including age, ethnicity, family history as well as a myriad of other health factors to consider. What we do know is that there is much more research to be done to help find a cure for this disease and its many forms.

Before the end of the month, I wanted to share some local things that you and your family can do - little things that won't break the bank, to help this battle that affects at least 2-4 people you know. Seriously. It's very sobering to think about just how many family, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, you know who are dealing with this devious disease. Let's get out there, buy pink, walk, talk, run, and of course, ladies - doing the monthly check. It's a necessary evil - but get to it.

Here are some fun and fashionable things to check-out... cool products to get your message of support across and some in which proceeds go to breast cancer research: (I've ordered them my what I think is the chicest or most fun and unique.).

1.  Rockin' BC Awareness Tee-Shirts from Cafe Press.
2.  Aveda, Bobbi Brown and Scunnci all have pink products to benefit Breast Cancer Research this month. Search any of these products on-line, or check our Marie Claire, which featured some of the cutest in their October issue and at Marieclaire.com/
3. Local retailers and organizations with official Pink products, including the University Hospitals gift shop.
4.  Cream cheese with that? Cleveland and Pittsburgh Panera's have been battling it out all month with their Pink Ribbon Bagels. Go grab one before they're long gone.

Breast Cancer is not just an October thing or a spring-thing when the 3 day walks pop up, but an all-the-time, all year-long thing and an every day thing for many women (and men). I admit I don't think about it a lot and we all should. For you and the ones you love and even for the ones you connect with through the computer screen.

Pink it up!

Monkee Love & Mama Warriors

I was feeling a little, oh, whoa is me today. You know, tired, stressed, worried about meeting deadlines, did Noah remember to return his library books and his mouthguard for football practice.

The plan was to work through lunch because I am up to my eyeballs this week and I decided grumpily that I would take a quick break to read up on my fav bloggers. I didn't have the energy to write anything significant or remotely interesting on my own today.

So, I share with you, tears still drying - recent posts from three amazing mom writers and warriors on my blog roll.

Go ahead. Read and try not to be moved today. I still need to compose myself before I open this door.


http://andersonfamilyzoo.wordpress.com/

http://jendawnscowgirlup.blogspot.com/

http://momastery.com/blog/


Kind of puts things in perspective for a grouchy working mom who didn't get her Starbucks today.

I'm doing just swell and that grimace has turned into a healed, humbled smile.

Anatomy of a Sick Day (with a 2 year-old)





Photo courtesy of National Geographic

The 5:00 a.m. wake up call was not my alarm blaring, but a 2 year-old siren through the fog... mommy, CROUP, the siren barked. Ugh. He didn't speak this to me at that point in the morning, but the seal-like sound coming from his little voice was enough to confirm.

Sick days are ridden with guilt from missing work, a little annoyance for giving up another PTO day that could have been used during the holidays and all of that work you're getting behind on at the office.

As I set my 'out-of-office' assistant for email... I gulped and wondered how wild the day would be. The drop off of the older child with sick child in tow is always an interesting dilemma. Take sick child into school while dropping off older child and risk getting others sick... um, no choice, really. It was only 2 minutes and we did not touch or breath on anyone, truly!

We made a pit stop at the pediatrician to get all fixed up and my sweet little monkey fell asleep in the car. He took a decent nap and I did things like, open up my iPad to check and REPLY to work email, without crying in the background clouding my judgement and causing me to overlook auto-text... resulting in a very inappropriate email to a superior... Nope. None of that thankfully.

I made an actual pot of my fav flavored Decaf and drank it, while it was hot. I did some laundry. I put away some dishes. I responded accurately to some more work emails. This wasn't so bad.

So that crappy croupy, start to our sinus-infection day was not going to a be a nightmare after all, but would be conquered by lots of love and affection and a little blue blankie. Row was cuddly and despite his running 'lil button nose, he was in a decent mood. I think he hugged and told me he loved me 10 times that day. My sick-day stigma was melting. I admit it, I had my guard up, ready for throw-up and snot and tantrums for no good reason other than he doesn't feel well. I was in my 'ready-to-fend-off-grouchy-stance'... and deflect and re-route and all of those home-with-sick-toddler methods. But I didn't need them. I always wonder when the sickie isn't so bad (no fever, fairly decent mood) to send them to daycare. But I am always so very glad that I keep them home. That day with extra-special attention from mommy is what speeds up that healing process, don't ya think? That and Toy Story, 12 or so times.

What I got to ENJOY, was lots of just be-ing time, Rowan and me. I got to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Did you know that Martian Mickey talks with auto-tune? Hollywood, hmph. He's green, BTW.

I got to share grapes out of a Lightning McQueen bowl. I got to play Sponge Bob Connect 4.

And, I learned that my child is sort of a pro at Play dough. Not impressed? OK. Well. It never occurred to me to drag the Play dough out of the playroom in the basement. It was on the high shelf.

Noah grew out of it about three years ago. When Rowan asked me to play Play dough, I though - huh? We've never done that before. So I took a mommy-pass and sort of ignored the question. When he asked for the third time, I reluctantly said, okay and we went to grab it from the basement, pushing down all of my obsessive tendencies and picturing neon pink and green putty smashed into my light tan carpet... I know, I know. Relax a little, right? The kid wasn't feeling well... I get it.

And, laugh if you will, but while shaping old, practically disintegrated Play dough, I had a mommy-epiphany, that I was seeing my little baby (2 year-old toddler) doing something well, something that I didn't know he could do. Yes, it's just Play dough. (He's also a pro on the iPad, BTW). BUT, I had this pride swell up inside of me and got all teary-eyed. I thought - what a schmuck for taking this day for granted. Your baby boy likes Play dough and asked you to play with him. And you did and you had fun watching him. And he was over the moon that you sat in the little blue chair at the kid craft table for a half and hour rolling colored dough and sticking funny faces on them while periodically stopping to wipe his nose. It was a moment. As lackluster as it may seem, it touched me. Watching his little fingers make shapes and use the tools. It was really cool.

Jason burst my bubble by telling me that they probably have been playing with it in pre-school for months, you know, once they could almost guarantee that everyone in the class had grown out of the urge to eat it. Thanks, thanks a lot. I was thinking we had a Michael Angelo on our hands. But still. Row made some ultra special Play dough shapes on our special sickie day. Really. Good. Times.

I am still envious of moms who get to be with their kids for more hours of the day than I do on a more regular basis... and know that their 2 year-old is a pro at Play dough. And yet, how in the Sam
hell do you do it? Every day, all day? The hours simply evaporate. How does that happen? The day just literally happens TO you and then it's time to make dinner and then you're giving baths and starting showers after sports practice or playing outside, and what a minute? Didn't I stay home today? Exhausting...!

All in all, thank you Rowan, and all your sniffles, for giving mommy a lovely day to open her eyes and enjoy what she complains about missing while she's at work... more time with you.

Signs

We're back in session, but the road to the first day of the 2012 school year hasn't been easy, if not downright difficult. Not like Prince Harry's-privates-on-the-Internet-stressful, but kinda hard.

The nervousness stemmed from a few places.

What 2nd grade teacher would Noah get this year? Would he or she be... kind and patient AND still be excited about her job... AND understand/have experience with ADHD? Would Noah learn and grow this year under her guidance? Would the school system cooperate and get the darned IEP in place so he could have the help he needs to excel? Our boy is a smart little dude and over the last year and a half, he hasn't felt like it, and that is so very sad. Mama bear's agenda this year is to change that, soon!

After Noah's 12-week session at Brain Balance, we took a little break, and picked up with once-a-week tutoring sessions with a retired teacher from his school system. She had substituted for his class a few times in 1st grade. Not knowing what to expect, and having lackluster experience the past two years, I wasn't anticipating much, to be perfectly honest. Can I just say that Miss V. is absolutely wonderful? Lord, I wish she was still teaching. Her rapport with Noah is fantastic. She gets him to open up, relax, try new things and, it just really blew me away. Miss V. is the one who asked which teacher Noah would have and when we weren't sure she suggested a new teacher coming from another elementary school in the city. By some divine intervention we were able to make that request and were granted our wish: Noah has Mrs. Amazing for 2nd grade.

We met Mrs. Amazing on a steaming hot Thursday evening open house. Never mind that her second-floor classroom has no air, that she had probably already been there for 4 hours setting up in that heat, spoken to almost all 24 of her students and their guardians and there at 5:40 p.m., she was bright and cheery and just plain rolling with it, as I tried to fill her in on Noah's situation, chase a 2 year-old around the classroom, and look like I was a mom who had it all together. My thoughts going in were this: Please please, like your job. Please, please still like children. Please, please have a good attitude and please, PLEASE don't treat me like I am an idiot. Oh, does Mrs. Amazing fit the bill. Yes, she already knew about Noah and what tips did we have? Yes, they filled her in on the testing and she'd be sending in the evaluation soon. Of course, she would happily try everything I suggested and, by the way, there were some other great ideas she would try. And, there were other children in her class with IEP's and she was ready to roll with whatever she needed to do. Can you say that again, please? Um, THANK YOU! Thank You. Thank you. thank YOU. THANK you.

I think a hole opened up in the ceiling of the classroom, to the roof of the elementary school building. Then a fuzzy, washed beam of light shone down over her head, a halo appeared and I saw my dad's smiling face - giving me the thumb's up! He-he. At least that's how I felt and it was a magical moment.

So. Freaking. Cool. I can't describe the feeling when you've been advocating for your child and keep stubbing your toe and tripping over roadblocks and then some amazing person comes along and says, 'Hey, it's going to be fine, here, let me help you.' It feels good by the way.

I think, I know that Noah is going to have a good year. I can just feel it. Mrs. Amazingly-Wonderful and her Wise Owl theme, her welcoming ways, her open-house party gifts for the students, and the way she was not bothered by Rowan drawing all over her instructions on the SmartBoard... (the kid is obsessed with technology... what can I say?) was my tangible sign that things are going to be good this year. Noah is going to feel like he belongs in the classroom, with his classmates, learning new things and enjoying it along the way. Yeah!!! I'm just little bit excited.

The next bit that had been gnawing at me was the fact that our school system cut busing to and from all daycare centers, as well as nixing many local bus stops. Daycare had kindly offered to walk their before and after kids to and from a bus-stop a few blocks down the road and were denied; that bus-stop was cut as well. A whole community of moms and dads and guardians and grandparents took a collective sigh and said, 'really?' Like our lives as working caregivers to our children is not hard/wild/crazy/exhausting enough?

Because of the busing cut-back, the lovely, lovely, wonderful daycare where Row goes every day, where Noah got on and off the bus for the past two years, had to close their before/after program for school-agers, making a painful dent in the revenue for the church. Sad and inconvenient as hell for parents. (I just realized that I used church and h-e- double hockey sticks in the same paragraph - sorry about that.) Now I am doing morning drop-offs at two different locations, in opposite directions. Go, Mommy, go!

Luckily for us, after about a 4-week freak-out period, the school told us that the YMCA would be coming into the elementary schools and doing a before and after program. Deep breath, OK, there was somewhere for my still-little-but-practically-a-big-kid 2nd grader to hang in familiar surroundings until class started and until I picked him up after work.

Um, I have to admit, though, that I was a little nervous. I pictured a big, stinky, noisy gym with dozens of kids of all ages running around and little supervision, and the ability to easily slip into shenanigans and sex talk and DS players with Internet access... need I say more?

But, as they say in daycare, 'you get what you get and you dont' have a fit.' So, Monday was the day.  Noah is officially a second-grader. He was handsome-as-heck in his summer cruise wear slash early school year garb: white polo with surf graphic images and checked shorts. He even let me (barely) do his hair. This means I was permitted to wet it and put a tiny amount of gel, comb to the side and spray it with a tad bit of spray and not an ounce more of prepping. Back away mom, back away.

Our morning cruised along (not at break-neck speed as usual), everyone was up, fed, dressed, teeth gleaming and out the door by 7:15. I'll have you know that this is a world-record! We had a few tiny hiccups, 1.) Waking Noah up so exhausted that he asked me at one point 'just not to talk to him anymore,' and 2.) Rowan figuring out that Noah wasn't staying with him at daycare, followed by the slow motion wave and pouty lip at goodbye. A lil sad, but schwew, not so bad.

This was shaping up to be a Starbuck's morning - (def.): A morning in which Jennifer has ample time to swing by a Starbuck's driv-thru on the way to work and still arrive on time. 

We arrived at Noah's school and there were few cars, but the front door welcoming us, and we got a glimpse of the cooks getting a little air from the side door while they busily made breakfast. I saw Noah's shoulders relax, these two things must have been comforting reminders. You know, who doesn't get that nostalgic feeling with the smell of tater-tot casserole in the morning? Right? No? Just kidding. I believe that is on the menu, though. We pack. OK, moving on! Northeast Ohio Initiative for Healthier School Lunches 2014, right?

Just as we were walking up the sidewalk, a mini-van mom pulled up to drop off her daughter. Noah and I looked at each other, obviously thinking the same thing, 'ok, this is legit.' As we approached the door, Tommy, the nice dad of two who took our tuition payment over the weekend, peeked his head out... Noah recognized him and waved. "Hi guys, we're right in here," Tommy said, and as we got closer to the chatter of elementary students, I saw the sign that made me think that this was all going to be OK. A simple sign with four block-style capital letters, YMCA, colored in crayon. "Hi, Noah! Come on in!" said one of the Y aides, greeting us with a genuine smile. (Mom: impressed; Noah: comfortable). 10 points for the YMCA.

We walked in and backpacks were stacked neatly in the corner, there were about a dozen well-behaved kids coloring pictures. Paige, the youngest of the YMCA aides on duty that morning, was right in there making her own project and enjoying it. OK, good stuff. When someone asked to verify Noah's name and sign him in, a little tan Blondie with pig-tails turned and said with a heck of a lot of sugar in her voice, 'Nooooaaaaah' and smiled. I looked down and him and smiled and he looked like a deer in headlights. (Giggles). When I bent down to hug and kiss him good-bye and give him good-day wishes, I asked if he knew anyone, he silently shook his head. When I said, 'what about the girl', he cracked a little smile. That was a sign that he was going to be just fine. Everything was going to be just fine.

Now, the part about him wanting a Facebook page 'so he can meet hot girls...' damned Justin Beiber.

Happy Birthday Dad

Today my dad would have celebrated his 56th birthday casually, he and my mom probably laughing with close friends, over a great meal and a good glass of wine.

We would have toasted him with a family barbecue, him swimming with our boys and eating a cake that my sister or I made... and presents picked out by his grandsons.

Yesterday, the family gathered for a good Italian meal, reminisced about what my dad would have ordered and enjoyed one another's company at my parents house over birthday cake and ice cream. It was the double-chocolate cake from the local bakery that dad adored.

We used Sharpies to inscribe thoughtful, touching, funny and loving messages to my dad on balloons and let them off simultaneously while singing happy birthday. There were some tears, some laughter, some reflection, but most importantly there was a family connection made there yesterday. One where we vowed to see each other more than just on the major holidays, not only in honor of my dad but out of respect and love for each other's company and shared memories of good times celebrated together over the years... and because life is too short not to make the effort.

Happy Birthday, Dad. Today you would have shrugged off the ticking of the clock as you grew one year older and shared some infinite wisdom about age...

What I want to tell you today is that although the last 9 months have been incredibly difficult for all of us, we've been trying to live life like you did... and that means out loud. Smelling the roses and picking ourselves up by our boot straps. Through the eyes of our children. Unconditionally living and loving.

That's what today means to me. Trying to overcome the sadness of losing you, and embracing your style of experiencing life... wholeheartedly. Thanks Dad for giving me the strength to see that's what you would want me to do.

Rowan sang 'Happy Birt-day to Papa' in the bathtub on Saturday and Noah says something amazingly mature and insightful about you almost daily. You would be so proud of them, dad.

I know you are up there watching us clumsily trying to be parents and siblings and friends and daughters and sons and we thank you for being the Northern Star we can look to when we're lost.

Your buddy,

Jen

Clean Spot on My Floor

When was the last time you were down on your knees underneath your kitchen or dining room table? I mean, really crouched down there to explore up close, the alternate universe that exists where only your broom, mop or Swiffer dares to go? I was surprised, a little embarrassed and disappointed in myself, but guess what, I had a panic attack don't really care.

Let me just tell you that I thought my home was fairly clean. People say that when they visit. I believed them. I worked pretty hard to keep it that way with three boys (two little, one big) and a dog in the house. Until I was forced (on a weeknight - gasp) to get down and clean up what could have been three full cups of Spanish rice from the dining room floor on Tuesday. Sophie, our Weimaranner, is loosing her edge. Normally she would have had that spot licked clean and shining in 1 minute flat, but she's getting older and slower and hard of hearing... so I think maybe she just didn't hear the spill and following comments and grunts from me after the incident.

'Oooopsie, sowwy mommy... I missed it' is what Rowan said. This was just not one spoonful but at least 10 and I think he managed to maneuver three kernels of rice into his mouth per bite. He insists on using a big-boy spoon himself, which is great - we have an extremely independent-minded toddler on our hands, but with rice, it's a little dicey for a self-diagnosed, slightly obsessive mom to watch this taking place. My usual m.o. was like the big spill or each medium-sized spill was happening in slow motion and my eyes and anxiety grew from tiny to mid-size to grandiose.

So, instead of my typical crazy-mommy over-the-top AH! and dramatic holding of breath reaction... "oh, no, Rowan, oh buddy. OK..." ending in a defeated sigh, I smirked and shrugged my shoulders at my hubbie. He raised a suspicious eyebrow at me... because he knew inside I must be twitching. It would get cleaned up after dinner, I decided. I think my husband is starting to like this new found 'whatever attitude' about overzealous (insane) housekeeping... in that I no longer feel that I need to keep the house museum-clean and organized. Yes, I used to act like a curator of our crap. And our place is no MoMa, see my point? A little nuts, I am.

So the rice. There was as much on Rowan's lap, cuffs of his shorts, booster chair and dining room chair as there was on the floor... you could have scooped it up and put it in a cute little Chinese take-out box.  How does one pick up cooked Spanish rice from a wood floor? Had I asked the 7 year-old he probably would have offered a quippy, 'chopsticks, mom?' It clings to your broom, a Swiffer just pushes it around in nice little clumps and it would clog the vacuum (yes, I pondered that and was too spent to go get the Shop vac from the basement)... Sophie wasn't lapping it up quick enough for my liking. I am reasonably fit, but getting into a crouching tiger position to clean anything is ridiculous. Things were cracking and creaking... a sad, sad scene. I'd seriously rather be doing Bikram Yoga. This is when the reality of the lack of effort I have been putting into cleaning under this table. Oh. My. Smashed Pea! Oh. My. Splashed Chocolate Milk on Chair Legs!

I was so very distracted by the spec-tacular village of Whoville residing under my table... that cleaning up the rice took longer than anticipated. Then I saw it, a particularly unfamiliar site. There was a big clean spot on my floor. Crud! Now I have to clean the entire thing, hands and knees, probably with the good wood floor Orange Glo cleaner and a special rag or something. I'm getting lazy in my old age. This would have been an exhilarating Saturday morning a few years ago. I used to clean to release stress. I am a sick, sick woman, I know.

But you'd be proud by the way I've transitioned from a clean freak to lackadaisical mom and wife by measuring the level of crunchiness building on my kitchen floor. Nowadays, I just kick the cereal pieces, random Goldfish or animal cracker to the dog and make Noah pick up those little tabs off of squishy yogurts packets and paper corners from granola bar sleeves. Why can't 7 year-old boys and 37 year-old men throw those portions of the packaging away? Do they really not see that it is still there on the counter or notice it has fallen on the floor? You're not marathon runners, able to simply drink from your Dixie cup, crush it and throw it down! How do you know we'll come by later and automatically pick it up and throw it away? Male readers, you know I still love ya. Dudes, can you please explain this phenomenon to me?

So once I determine whether I can live with the unidentified spec of 'something' for two more days based on it's consistency, stickiness or grossness rating... I spot sweep/Swiffer the rest. Sorry. Heavy cleaning only happens on the weekends. And lately, the heavy cleaning has really been cutting into my early morning peaceful jogs before anyone gets up. Clean floors and empty sink or 45 minutes to myself through a sleeping neighborhood? The Asics and ear buds having been wining out more and more often.

This is ludicrous behavior for me. Unheard of. People will think I have gone certifiably bananas. It's pretty bad, however, when the 2 year-old tells me that after washing his little hands that he also needs to wash his 'peets' (feet) because they are 'duhrr-rteee'... and I inspect them only to find that they're padded with crumbs from the kitchen floor. Yep. That's right. #1. He's a little obsessive like me, poor child, and #2. My floor has perpetual crumbs. Can't keep up. Not gonna stress no more!

If you think this lack of consideration for my families' bare feet is outrageous, check out My Dirty Kitchen Floor: Pages of a Dubiously Pissed Off Housewife. WARNING: sweet, innocent and impressionable followers: author "Donna Freakin' Reed" is a cross between Roseanne Bar and Chelsea Lately, so faint of heart - click with caution! But she is pretty darned hysterical.

It's getting easier to count to ten when the house is obliterated merely 20 minutes after a three-hour cleaning session. I don't stress about Ro dumping three baskets of folded clothes all over the living room floor. The fam is not quite used to this yet, but I've had more time to play trucks and ride bikes and get hit with basketballs and Nerf bullets. And that is what is most important, dirty floors and all.

Always Father's Day to Me

I didn't plan ahead, carve out time or rush to post something on Father's Day. Which is unlike me.

We had just returned home from vacation late Saturday evening and I was toast. There were 27 pieces of luggage, sand toys and beach towels strewn around the living room and I felt like I had been hit by a Mac truck. Not from the exhaustion of traveling and the pending doom of laundry and unpacking, but from was my lack-luster attempt at ignoring the fact that Sunday was Father's Day. It finally hit me on Saturday at about 4 p.m. on Rt. 77 in West Virginia. I was admiring the countryside, the mountains and I was overwhelmed by the absence of my dad. The thought that I would not be able to tell him in person about our vacation, what we did, what we saw, what we ate and how the kids reacted to everything (he liked to know every detail)... that was exciting for him to hear what fun his kids had.

I knew that June 17th was coming. I'd been dreading it since November. True, it's just a Hallmark-invented holiday. However, real meaning has been attached to that day. Everyone wants to show pops a lotta love on his big day. Lowe's and Home Depot were practically out of gift cards. The tool section at Ace dwindled. Every restaurant in the metropolitan area of every state was jam-packed with wives and kids and siblings treating dear old dad to a big breakfast that morning. The discount store card departments had one or two b-list greetings left. I didn't enjoy a lunch hour picking out cards this year. I decided that Father's Day wasn't happening.  

Then it was Sunday afternoon and it dawned on me that I am married and my boys have a dad and he needs to be celebrated. He's such a great guy, husband, father and was a great friend and son-in-law to my father.

Better late than never, the boys presented daddy with a home-made card and a drill that he had wanted. 

It took all I had to walk into that store with toddler in tow and not completely lose it in while walking past the riding mowers and the gas grills. All things that remind me of my dad. Forever a lover of the outdoors - he will always be synonymous with clear sunny days, the smell of barbecue wafting through the neighborhood, teaching our oldest to jump off the diving board, setting up a camp site in my parents back yard for N and cooking s'mores.

For me, dad lives on in my childhood memories in fantastic vacations we took and the activities he and my mom planned for us - Disney, Toronto, Cape Cod, Cancun... to camping in PA with horse-back riding and navigating two canoes full of us without a clue (grandma was in canoe number 1).

More recent memories of pool parties and holiday dinners and Father's Days where we cooked for him (such an unusual occurrence) because his chef hat needed a little rest. Although he would never admit that. Cooking was such a passion for my dad.

I had to dig deep to allow myself to remember these things when all I wanted to do was to forget the sad feelings creeping up around me when I heard all the "Don't Forget Dad this Weekend" sale commercials on the radio. Now that I'm tuned in, Dad, you'll forever be my hero. Thank you for leaving a legacy of such wonderful memories.