Monthly Archives: March 2013

All I Ever Wanted

30 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by in Love, Parenting, Peace, The Husband

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God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches you by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly – not one. ~Rumi

Looking outside from my kitchen window, I’m overjoyed by the scene that unfolds before my eyes and I’m happily distracted by the chaos of kids all smiles from the mere fact that they can finally be outside–free to roam, to play, to move in good weather. My three  content and good kids are playing as well together as they do alone. This is a blessing.  The Girl is getting into every toy, ball, and game kept outside in the sturdy all-weather bin. The Boy is kicking the soccer ball around teaching them what he learned at practice today. Baby Girl is stealing her sister’s Barbie & Ken beach dolls and driving them askew in the turquoise and pink Barbie Jeep over the brick paver patio into the dirt and low brush that aligns the bricks. Soon that level of debris will be a flourishing landscape of high grasses, aromatic lavender plants, and other flowers and shrubs. Soon, we’ll be spending each and every day outdoors as the days grow warmer and the hours of sunlight increases. There was a time when all I could do was dream about and long for such a scene to be enjoying. Often times, I still can’t believe this wonderful life is mine.

Today has been one of those near perfect days when the party of five of us are happy upon waking and we have all been able to accomplish a little bit of something that each of us loves to do. Above us, the lemon yellow sun shone brightly and as The Boy remarked on the way to soccer practice, “No clouds are in the sky today! Are they hiding in space?” I’m no scientist so I couldn’t say, but we did talk about how cool it is to see the different types of clouds, but in contrast a cloudless sky is something like a gift. When we returned from soccer practice, the girls and The Husband were knee-deep in outside backyard fun. The Husband was finishing a stain on my Adirondack chairs, the girls were playing and squealing loudly as my girls do, and The Boy didn’t skip a beat as he headed around back to start digging in the sand. Baby Girl was in full delight as she skipped around the yard while simultaneously devouring a banana Popsicle. She came inside only to wipe the fruity goodness stuck on her face and melting down her hands into her coat. As I was washing the grime off my hands, she was begging to go back out there. The Girl informed me that she already had eaten her Popsicle and would like another, please. (Nice try!) However, because I wanted The Boy to have a healthy after-soccer snack and the girls already had their treats, I whipped up a vanilla and fruit milkshake for him and a strawberry green smoothie for me, and shared a little of each with the girls. Not a bad way to indulge in the afternoon! I do believe in the healing power of being outside as much as possible to cure a downtrodden mood and that a brisk walk can cure just about anything. A homemade treat never hurts, either.

~

The Husband and I were married ten years ago last December. Although we had known each other since I was in fifth grade, and he in seventh grade, it took us a long time to find each other again. When the stars finally aligned for us and God got us where we need to be, we were quick to fall in love. About a year later, we were engaged and after six more months, finally married. Children were always a shared dream; five the perfect number. We were relatively young when we made the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony—he, 28 and I, 27 years old. By the next year, I was pregnant with our first and we were tentatively excited as the pregnancy happened quicker than we had anticipated, but our hearts were full of love already for our first child. On Easter Sunday, we told our extended families as we gathered for the holiday and the equated joy was awesome to see in the faces and smiles of our family.  It was only two days later that I came to understand just how quickly joy can change into sorrow and that there is no guarantee in this life. At 11 weeks, I began to miscarry and to my dismay there was nothing I could do to keep our Agnes Elizabeth here with us as my body wasn’t equipped to get through the first trimester. This first loss was emotionally and physically painful, dramatic and oh so sudden. The reality is that I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from the shock and emptiness that came with losing her. Our path to parenthood was an uphill climb, often a battle. Our five-year infertility journey was wrought with pain all over the physical map including three more miscarriages, a ton of charting, tests, medicines and hormone treatments, shots, and a slew of other natural and medicinal chances. Toward the middle of it all, I started to lose hope. After the second miscarriage, I stopped feeling hopeful at a positive pregnancy tests and doubtful we’d ever be able to be the parents we so desperately wanted to be. What got me through was The Husband. He was my rock and my strength even when I could see that the effort to be parents was weighing him down, too. He used to tell me that no matter what, he and I were a family—just we alone— and that we’d always be together no matter what. He’ll never know how much that statement of faith and love kept me going through the toughest of times. Our marriage has been tested to the fullest in the first decade of our lives together, but we are stronger for having gone through all the agony and pain. Our togetherness has seen us through too much grief, but has endured to where we are today. I can honestly say that our blessings far outweigh all the trials and heartache we have ever had to encounter. The strength and resilience unique to us also enables us to conquer the day-to-day stresses of raising three children, including one with multiple special needs. There is no other man on this earth I’d rather be with; no greater friend is mine.

~

As the sun descends making way for a moonlit sky, I look outside and the sight before me tells a story of a day of hard playing including a bit of work, a messy and well-used back yard with a trail of play sand, a brick canvas of chalk art, and an assemblage of outdoor toys. All I ever wanted is what I finally have. The blessings are abundant and I am feeling quite overjoyed at the contentedness of my spirit.

The Writer’s Way

29 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by in Authors, Writing, Writing routine

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If I fall asleep with a pen in my hand, don’t remove it—I might be writing in my dreams. ~Terri Guillemets

 

On a crisp, invigorating after-dinner walk throughout my neighborhood, stretching across the main way and down the winding path carefully lined with trees and showcasing the nature sights and sounds of early spring, I thought a lot about routine and discipline. Around the house, I have my routine down. The kids and I have our daily expectations and good fun—we’re in the flow. My writing routine, however it starts the same, I’m lacking the discipline that finds me at my desk each and every day at the same time. I’m definitely getting better at it, but I know that I need to work diligently on putting forth more effort to reach my writing goals. A daily routine—one that is a set schedule would be ideal and comforting, to be honest. But the nature of writing when your main responsibility is to care for three young children won’t allow for such a luxury. So, without complaint and instead filled with eagerness to write more often, I’m learning to adjust expectations but without putting writing aside.

In thinking about how to better utilize my time and energy to write, I pondered the stories I’ve read before of famous writers and how they made the time to write and further thought that it would be beneficial to learn of the writing routines of not-so-famous writers, too—the discipline of today’s eager writers. The writers whose challenges are the same as mine. The writers struggling to make it as a writer. The writers who might turn out to be the authors our children will consider the great ones when they’ve reached adulthood. Do these everyday writers pour tea at home and reheat as needed as they wait for their laptop to warm up and beckon them to another blank screen? Do the mother-writers in our midst seek out a comfy coffee shop with an abundance of hot coffee to sip while their children are at school and it’s too quiet now to write at home? What of the background noise? I wonder if newbie writers listen to one soundtrack on shuffle and repeat as they type away. Or, perhaps they work better to a random Pandora station playing softly in the background, or maybe these writers type in silence except to the beat of the typical sounds of a home during the day? Who of you rise early in the morning to churn out a few pages before the first child awakes for breakfast? Perhaps, you prefer to write all through the night to the twinkling stars outside the windowpane free from all distractions or contact that might disrupt the free flow of words? Myself, I am constantly changing what I need in order to write. The space, time, and background are all dependent on the type of writing I’m working on and the mood and temperature of my busy home and family inside. My tea mug, however, is always the same.

These personal stories continue to amaze, interest, and intrigue me to no end. Why do they write? What surroundings are ideal to get their writing juices flowing? Are they quirky about their writing habits, intensely particular about their routine, even a little neurotic in their method?  In researching this very topic, I came across a blog from an author who turned his “Sunday afternoon idea” into a book about to be published on April 26, 2013. Mason Currey’s Daily Rituals, How Artists Work will celebrate the myriad of habits and routines of writers and other creative geniuses, presenting a unique window into their work spaces, and quite possibly, their inner-selves. You can read more about this highly anticipated book by visiting the author’s website at http://masoncurrey.com/daily-rituals. I, for one have just added Mr. Currey’s book to my must-read list at Goodreads and can’t wait for its debut.

I love a good writer’s story about personal diligence, duty, and discipline. And I want to read more of them! So, tell me. What’s the story behind your writing routine?

Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane/Don’t know when I’ll be back again

23 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by in Mothers & Daughters, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

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A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double. ~ Toni Morrison

Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee/Calls back the lovely April of her prime. ~ William Shakespeare

In September, my mother is treating my sisters and me to a girls’ getaway weekend. On Sunday, we are getting together to vote on the destination. Each of us presented two different options and then we dwindled the list down to the two places we are voting on. Our final decision rests between San Francisco, CA and Martha’s Vineyard, MA–both equally enticing destinations, if you ask me.

It’s been over a decade since I traveled to The Vineyard on a whim one early summer day. A few years post-college graduation, I lived near Boston, MA. My work took me up and down the New England coast and inland, still. I covered much ground in a short period of time. I’m forever grateful that I took the chance to start my career in such a historically-rich, interesting, and beautiful part of the country, one for which my heart was already fond of. Because I once lived a mere 26.2 miles from Boston as an elementary school aged child, I remained akin to the culture, language, and beauty of this part of our amazing country. Back when my family dwelled there, my parents were intent on showing us the cranberry bogs nestled in Southeastern, MA, the crimson and orange leaves in all their glory at parks along the way to Plimoth Plantation, the white city lights and quaint treasures nestled snugly inside unique shops in Faneuil Hall Marketplace, and the sheer exhilarating mounting of intense excitement that comes with being a spectator at the start of the Boston Marathon. I was blessed with parents who loved history as much as they did the great outdoors. Oh, how New England tugs at my heart, still! To me, there’s nothing like the sights, smells, and sounds of the landscape and life uniquely New England.

On an opposite coast, San Francisco lies not without sentiment, I must admit. A different sort of freedom and nostalgia tugs at my heart for its surrounding waters, balmy sea air and of course, the distinct coolness factor representative of this Californian dream town. I found myself right in the heart of this incredible city as I began a new job and life in Massachusetts. My new employer hired me just in time for their annual sales meeting that was being held in San Francisco and I couldn’t believe my luck! Not only was I moving back to Massachusetts which I had always dreamed of, I was now flying to a city I’d only read about but knew I would adore. As I flew to California for the very first time, I was immediately enamored by all the Bay Area had to offer. Thousands of miles away from my beloved Massachusetts, it didn’t take long before I fell in love with an entirely new city. This expounded love for a city I had no connection to felt so different, unreal, even. It didn’t feel anything like cheating, or disloyalty. Actually, I recall it felt exhilarating and freeing to have found another place in the world where I felt completely at home. On the red-eye return flight, I imagined that over the next few years, with the opportunities that awaited me just with this new job in an industry I knew I was meant for, I conjured up all sorts of positive thoughts about the incredible American cities and towns that awaited exploration and newfound love in their own right. It was a dream come true, really—being single, free to travel on a whim, working diligently at my job that took me to places near and far—seeing America with innocent eyes. In the time that followed, I felt that it was easy to fall in love with almost any city or town as long as I looked for the good around me. This love wasn’t trite or inexperienced, but born of interest and excitement. So, I let my heart lead me up and down, inside and out all of New England. My love for new towns accompanied me from coast to coast and to almost all of the 50 states in-between. What I’ve realized in the years that have past by is that I was given a gift most people only dream of as I was able to garner so much about this incredible country of ours just by the mere act of employment—and that’s a freedom I will cherish forever. During my pre-motherhood years, I returned to San Francisco a few times more, explored a little deeper and wondered how I might ever be able to dwell in a city with the most ideal climate I’ve ever known.  No doubt the allure of the Bay Area hasn’t changed since my first visit, and I believe that there’s always room to fall head over heels in love all over again with such an ideal place on the map.

To be honest, I will be truly happy to return to either one of these choice destinations. Sure, there are logistics to consider (length of travel, The Husband’s work schedule flexibility, and of course the length I can be away before my three kids reach total meltdown mode or I’m missing them more), but ultimately, I will be happy with either way the vote may sway. What may be more interesting, however, is how well my two sisters, mother, and I will travel together. And that, well that’s a story best saved for another time!

“Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane/Don’t know when I’ll be back again” (John Denver)

To Everything, There is a Season

13 Wednesday Mar 2013

Posted by in Change, Miscarriage, Seasons, Tough days

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No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn. ~Hal Borland

Freshly fallen, a white powdery snow blankets the outside world that I gaze upon through neglected windows covered in a cold winter’s film. This pure white snow is almost angelic in its appearance, a delicate blanket to the green life that teases our hopes and speaks to our senses with the beauty that is sure to come, almost speaking in whispers, “See? Winter isn’t always gray. Winter can be beautiful, too. Don’t rush these days. Enjoy the peacefulness that winter can bring. See the beauty in a precipitation of white. The flowers will come, but spend time now admiring the quiet stillness of winter. Soon you will have your spring.”

It has been a long, difficult winter for me as I battled with my heart feeling locked into the melancholy characteristic of Earth’s coldest season. So, I’ve been ready for spring almost as soon as the first snowfall. Presented for months with colorless days, cloudy skies and harsher temperatures, it feels as if I’ve been living one gray day after another, sloshing through the wet cold, desperate for the sun, grief compounded by feeling stuck—a prisoner to my own internal mourning and the despondent weather outside—feeling a pain deeper than the mounds of snow piled high against the house, my heart struggling to feel much joy.

The season didn’t begin with such intensely low emotions—quite the opposite, actually. Happiness and warmth filled our homes from Thanksgiving through the middle of December when Husband and I celebrated 10 years of married life. Remembering the beauty of the winter day on which we were wed, this year’s celebration was even greater as we learned another child would be joining our family. We spent a night away, relishing in our delight, enjoying truly compatible conversation and dreaming of the future ahead as we solidified the love we shared for each other. Christmas was magical and a new year was chimed in with elation, albeit we had an early night. We woke with so much to be thankful for and our hearts swelled with gladness. Although, before January closed in on us, our plans for a new child were compromised as my body told a different story.

Losing a child at any stage of life is a unique and searing kind of pain. Miscarriage and infant loss is a pain that is often misunderstood and ignored by our loved ones because it’s difficult to understand if you haven’t experienced this type of loss for yourself. My loss in January was my fifth miscarriage and it wasn’t any easier because I’ve suffered this type of loss before. Actually, it was worse—physically and emotionally. In a way, my grief was compounded. The loss of a child at any stage of that child’s life will be the greatest grief a parent will bear—whether you get to hold him in your arms before he departs to the Heavens, whether you raised your son or daughter and shared a lifetime of memories, and even if you only loved her in your womb and she dies before she ever is kissed—the grief over the death of a child can break your heart in half.

As the skies clear and the weather warms, for me, the promises of spring can’t come soon enough. Each day now brings the world closer to the hopefulness of new life. Our days will be painted with glory in tiny buds on trees, young green leaves sprouting from the branches, daffodils and tulips filling up flowerbeds, and birds chirping their songs of glee. Life is a miracle, a joy, and a gift. This, I haven’t forgotten, but spring will be a welcome reminder to my heart.

Words matter

11 Monday Mar 2013

Posted by in Writing

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The best time for planning a book is while you’re doing the dishes. ~Agatha Christie

If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad. ~ Lord Byron

Writing is constantly on my mind—the intricate ideas that come to me, incredibly sentimental stories that I never want to forget, and poignant moments that beg to be captured on page—these gems of writing inspiration that await their ink debut never truly release their grip on me until I find the time to sit down and write. Ironically, so many of my best writing ideas come at the most irritatingly inconvenient times (while showering or driving, grocery shopping, when rocking a child to sleep). Because I never can tell when inspiration might strike, I’ve become quite adept at making mental outlines to transfer onto page as soon as possible, also utilizing the Notes feature on my iTouch in a pinch, and I’m even going to admit to prematurely stopping a shower just to jot ideas down. Pens and paper are kept in every room of the house so that I never have to search too far for a writing utensil in case of these frequent writer’s mind emergencies. My experience is all too familiar with a spark of writing doused prematurely by seeking out a pen and paper in which to record incredible thoughts. Such a waste of creative juices–and I arm myself and my surroundings with preparation. Often, I must improvise to bring writing ideas in my head to real ideas on paper. Some of my best work was first begun on the back of old receipts, a stack of restaurant napkins can be some of the best uses for poetry, and one of my best class exercises was originally penned in the middle of my personal Moleskin journal while I sat in the waiting room during one of The Boy’s speech therapy sessions.

Challenges to my writing await me from dawn until dusk—every day obstacles to lofty writing goals stand in my way as  I can come up with a thousand excuses for not writing or by distracting myself with a to-do list miles long–anything to avoid this mad passion called writing. Typically, it is I whom sets the barricade to personal literary ambitions talking myself away from my desk any chance I can for a myriad of reasons and excuses. This week, for instance, I was inhibited because of feelings. I felt overwhelmed by deep and heavy emotions brought on by the anniversary of my father’s passing and some other personal struggles I’ve been slowly making my way through. As a result, the only type of writing that I accomplished was limited to short snippets in my electronic journal and a few free-writing exercises. On days when writing feels like just one more task to complete, I tend to keep my fingers engaged by setting a timer to free-write or just pound away on the keys filling up pages in my Word document journal, consoling myself with the fact that at least I wrote something.

What I’ve learned since I took a chance on myself this fall by investing in a life-changing online writing class is that I have to write when I can. More importantly, I am the only one whom can make writing a top priority–only I can carve out time for myself to write, but then I actually have to follow through. So, before sitting down to write on this beautiful early Spring-like Sunday eve, I looked ahead on my calendar to figure out when I might be able to devote some time to writing this week and realized that I have quite the busy week ahead filled with PSR class, school programs, soccer practices, and more. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by my schedule, thinking that I might not have any time at all to write,  I chose instead to see the promise in the week ahead and decided that I will just have to come prepared. Whether I’m in the car lane during school pick-up, on the soccer field watching the kids’ practices, or wrestling Baby Girl down for a nap, I will keep my ears and eyes sharp for the key moments happening around me and write on the go. I’ll use the iTouch notes app if necessary, and will pack my favorite pen and paper along with the snacks and water bottles and tuck an extra pair of writing tools beside the backpacks and soccer balls. If ever I’m going to excel at writing, if ever I’m going to post more than once a week on this blog, if ever I’m going to break the 100-page mark on the creative nonfiction book I’m writing, then I’m going to have to get creative about how, when, and where I can write. For too long I’ve separated my writing life from the life that I am living. For far too long, I’ve not been giving the time and attention that my true passion (writing) deserves. What I learned from my online writing instructor and that I now know and believe to be true is that I absolutely must write my words because they matter. My stories are significant, my unique voice needs to be heard, and writing is just as much a part of me as is being a Catholic, wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend. The courage I needed to write my truth has finally peaked, and as Sylvia Plath once wrote, “The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” Nevermore will I let crippling self-doubt, fear, or anxiety cloud or ruin my personal worth as a writer ever again.

 

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise.  The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.  ~Sylvia Plath