Tag Archives: Zee Momma

Click your heels together three times

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The Z-Man and I went on an adventure to New Jersey together this past weekend — just the two of us. (Daddy needed a Sanity Break, plus he got lots done around the house!)

I needed Jersey. Every now and then, usually between two and three months from my last visit, I just crave the sights I grew up around, the people who made me who I am today. I yearn for the bridges and road signs and twisted tree branches and sounds that bring me back to 10 and 16 years old. I need Chicky Kisses and Papa Bear Hugs. And I hope Zack grows up wanting and loving those things, too.

Considering the fact that on Friday I was taking photos of flowers and red leaves at my parents’ house and on Sunday we were trudging around in snow from an unexpected storm that left them without power for several days and left Zack and I to have a slumber party with Aunt Alice Saturday night, everything went great!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had the most fun just watching everybody gobble up Zack and his happy personality. Many of those we saw this weekend haven’t seen Big Man in three months and he has changed SO much. He was part of a Pumpkin Party with delicious food; he received Chochie’s infamous kisses and pulled on Pop-Pop’s nose. There were cousins and aunts and grandparents and even extended family. There were hugs and truck noises and laughs and picture-taking. And a really cute video of him eating turkey pieces floating around Facebook.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My aunt has been through an unimaginable year yet her love for Zack was so huge, so obvious. I just kept whispering to Zack, “You are loved so much, you are loved so much.”

I love seeing my aunt as a “Chochie”, my dad as a grandfather, my niece as a proud big cousin. I loved seeing my grandmother on her hands and knees offering Zack pumpkins from her Halloween lights and little cousin Ryan singing Bob the Builder to an amazed Z-Man, taking in his every move.

It was such a beautiful adventure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are so loved, you are so loved, you are so loved.

When your future walks by

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I have two modes: strong and weak. There is no in between and both are contrived entirely out of my own beliefs in how I should act or think or how I’m expected to handle a situation that comes my way. So when I let down my guard or show my emotions, I am weak, plain and simple, in my mind. I know that’s not the case and I know it’s only human to not be 100 percent strong 100 percent of the time. But pre-Mommy Mode and post-Mommy Mode is like night and day.

So the other day at work I quite literally saw my future walk on by, right in front of my unsuspecting self. I was standing outside the resort when for some reason, I felt inclined to turn around in the other direction. At that exact moment, I saw 10 seconds of a mother’s day-to-day life. The mother of a son with Down Syndrome. Her son was tall, thin, smiling a large smile, but clearly impacted greatly in several ways by Down Syndrome. He was hesitant about the stairs in front of him, confused about where he was heading and staring excitedly and innocently at the world around him, noticing the flowers in neat rows, the cars being parked nearby, the people standing on the porch. And his mother, graying hair, tall herself, reeked of patience and a heart that is still not whole. She guided him, one hand on his arm, talking to him even though he was much more focused on the task at hand. She looked at him, seeing 20-plus years of moments like this and 20 or so more to come, the two of them never to be equals, she always being his leader.

My throat hurt, my eyes filled with tears.

And as quickly as I started feeling bad for myself, I felt horribly unfair to Zack.

We don’t know what Zack’s life or abilities will be like in 20 years or 20 months. We don’t know what we’ll be like as parents at that time or what other obstacles we may have between now and then.

In the next month, we face two consultations with doctors. The first one, on Tuesday, is a yearly exam with Zack’s pediatric cardiologist. At birth, Z-Man had two holes in his heart that were (hopefully) going to close by his first birthday. At his last pediatrician appointment, though, the doctor thought he heard a murmur. Children with Down Syndrome are often impacted by serious heart defects.

Then in mid-October, we go to Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh for a consultation with the pediatric urologist. Zack will likely be facing a surgery in the next year — killing two birds with one stone as we try to help his non-descended testicles (keeping them up can increase his risk of sterility and testicular cancer) and a hernia near his belly button.

I’m a nervous wreck.

When Zack was five days old, we left the hospital for the first time, heavy with a new diagnosis and exhausted from an extremely long hospital stay and traveled to the cardiologist’s office, where our nine-pound baby was attached to wires and coated with ultrasound goo as a strange new doctor with a heavy accent looked around his tiny heart. I cried so hard trying to breastfeed him in a private room afterwards, wiping the blue goo all over the doctor’s chair that it was the biggest failure of a feeding we had. I thought I had actually been feeling my heart break in two and I knew that this would be no ordinary parenthood.

I knew that life would never be the same.

But it’s still shocking when it stares you in the face. When a lanky boy with a beautiful smile has no idea how much his mother loves him, how much she would do for him. How much she has sacrificed, studied, learned, prayed.

Zack is getting a one-year evaluation from Early Intervention and we have already been warned by our therapists that we may not like the results and that we, a collection of his caregivers, may have failed him, becoming too comfortable with how we were doing things to encourage more and more independence, strength… success.

So, we endure crying while we force him to feed himself puffs and melts and pieces of cereal, we urge him to hold his sippy cup despite the fight he gives us and we fight right back, pulling him up to stand and letting him roam and crawl and explore. Because I’ll be damned if I ever let myself fail him. If I’ll ever let anyone fail him, give up on him or stop him from having every.single.opportunity humanly possible. I will never look back in regret; I will never wonder if we all did enough for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I will fight.

Because he’s a fighter.

Because he made me a mother, he made me a better person.

And when I forget that, I have an amazing support system. E-mails and texts that tell me they “get it,” upbeat quotes that always come at just the right time, compassionate words from c0-workers. And friends like Owen’s Mommy who spent the better part of an awesome playdate listening to me sharing my worries and babbling about exercises and yadda yadda, this and that… all the while, she’s instictively helping Zack to stand, rolling a ball back and forth to him and making him grab things on his own, all the while making me feel like the luckiest friend in the world.

 

 

 

 

I love how Zack and Owen have this amazing bond together. How they sometimes babble in their secret language to each other, sharing toys now, touching arms and pants and feet with smiles. I hope they are always friends and I’m grateful at the comfort knowing Owen will have such a wonderful Mommy who will teach him in just the right way all about his BFF.

 

 

 

It’s funny how life works out, what happens when you’re not looking or thinking or planning. It’s funny how even at the worst of times, there is still that deep-down feeling that you still have it pretty good and things will all work out just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a decade

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I still can’t look at the New York City skyline the same way. After all those years of weekend trips to visit family just a few minutes away and counting the landmarks — the curvy-top bridge, the exit sign, the Statue of Liberty, the twin towers — it will never be the same.

I was starting my senior year of high school in Northern New Jersey — just a quick hop on a train away from Manhattan. I was in Math class. I hated Math class. Hushed whispers between teachers, something is up. And then being sequestered in the brick building, with little to no information. Rumors started about the in-town business park — the International Trade Zone — mixing with bits of the truth, finally revealed in a schoolwide announcement and  a day of disbelief and fright. I saw teachers leave their cup of steaming coffee on the desk as they went to frantically find the fate of their husbands and sons. I saw a classmate just about collapse in worry about a parent who worked in one of the towers. Friends in nearby towns wrote AIM messages about being able to see the smoke from their bedroom windows. Within a week, large flags — most of which are still there — were draped from bridges over the nearby interstate that leads to NYC.

And by twists of fate, I wound up living one county away from the final resting place of Flight 93 — something that had almost been overlooked by me just years before. I covered two somber ceremonies at that site, meeting with the families and friends of the 40 heroes on that plane 10 years ago. And it’s back in my face again this year, an entire career change and the memories of Flight 93 and 9/11 are literally knocking at my door, with our hotel only 30 minutes away from the new memorial in Somerset County.

I don’t know how to forget the twists of metal, formerly a series of familiar buildings, jutting out of the empty space of a skyline. I don’t know how to rid myself of the knot in my throat whenever I see the collapse of the towers, the crater in a field in Pennsylvania, the hole in the Pentagon. I don’t know how to forget my elementary school aide, sweet Ms. Marcin with her German accent, her picture and name scattered along with her memory across a field near my home.

I don’t know how I’ll ever explain this to Zack; how he’ll possibly ever know the magnitude of that day.

I’ve graduated high school, changed colleges, graduated college, worked in two careers, moved to Pennsylvania, got married, had a baby and learned more than I ever wanted to know about Down Syndrome. And yet, this time of the year, I always feel like my entire life has stood still and I’m still 17, watching my world collapse, watching familiar skylines change overnight.

Like I’m still holding my breath.

Never forget, always remember.

Life goes on, it just has to. But that doesn’t mean we forget and it certainly doesn’t mean it’s easy.

It just means we’re human and we’re living in a world that’s crazy and confusing and sometimes doesn’t make sense. But that’s OK. It makes us who we are. As a girl, as a New Jersey resident, as an American.

Always remember.

Love notes and state lines

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Friday Night was Date Night — our first one in four months, actually. Worse yet, it was our second one since The Dude was born. I take full responsibility for that.

I still get nervous and excited for our dates, which I think is a good thing, considering Scott and I have been together for almost five years now.

 

 

 

I couldn’t help but notice the love in our house — visible in obvious and non-obvious ways… the love notes I keep, little chores done, Mommy Time given and many more actions from my best friend.

 

 

 

 

I spend days thinking about everything from how lovely the glass of wine with dinner will taste to whether I should go for the new pink shoes or the white Audrey Hepburn-esque ballet flats (I went Audrey).

 

I painted my toenails and spent more than five minutes on my hair, all with the help of some very helpful assistants, including Senor Cutey Pants with his big blue-eyed “Momma-you-look-great” gaze.

 

(Or was it “Enough, already!”???)

 

 

 

Weeks to prepare and I still had to run back inside for things twice because I forgot my cell phone and camera.

 

But away we went, earlier than expected because it was a short day of work for Scott and a day off for me, waving a quiet goodbye to the still-napping Z-Man and thanking Scott’s mom 10 times on our way out the door for watching the little guy.

 

 

 

 

Our original plan was to go to a highly-recommended Italian restaurant about 30 minutes away in Cumberland, Md. One of the great things about where we live is that in two hours or less we can pretty much make it close to the Ohio border and into Maryland, West Virginia and Virginia. In four hours we can hit my home area of the Garden State as well as New York state. I think there’s something so freeing about crossing a state line to go to dinner or along your Sunday drive. Anyway.

We passed our Welcome to Maryland sign and were just a mile or so away from the Cumberland exit we normally take when Scott said he had an idea. This sort of statement usually makes me chuckle, because at this point in our relationship, it’s meant everything from a last-minute weekend getaway to a home improvement project to a new videogame. Safer and less expensive than a new guest room, Scott suggested that we keep heading south for a bit into Morgantown, WVa., the home of Scott’s favorite college team, WVU. Within 30 seconds, I could tell that Scott had this in his mind for at least the duration of our trip so far and so I left the decision up to him, smiling as the wind from the window whipped my hair, waiting to see if the blinker would turn on or if we would continue.

And continue we did.

 

 

I think if Scott could live anywhere else, it might be West Virginia. I’ve exhausted all of the cousins-sisters-wives jokes on him already, and he’s still a major supporter of the state and possibly works for their tourism bureau on nights he says he’s out bowling. I think it’s simply the lush, dense forests and the similarities between the area he grew up in, minus some farms and homes and adding some larger rivers and winding ridges. And pick-ups. Adding a lot of pick-up trucks.

 

 

Not long after our spontaneous turn-off southward, it became quiet — the good quiet. We were playing the Alphabet Game (no, seriously, we are fiercely competitive with this and play every time we drive further than to the grocery store!) when suddenly I realized Scott was not just simply sucking at the game, he was just not playing anymore. He was taking in the scenery, holding tightly to myhand near the center of our two seats and smiling to himself. It was perfect. And so I gave him the peaceful time — and the loss.

 

 

We pulled into Morgantown, and well, no offense to its citizens, but it didn’t really do it for me. It needs a lot of love, and even Scott agreed that it wasn’t all that he remembered it being from trips there for baseball camp in high school. I think it was something about rose-colored glasses and the beloved football and basketball teams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We still had a delicious dinner at a very cute Italian restaurant, filled with the only bit of serious talk we needed to get out of the way, before taking a little walk along the Monongahela River.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then we decided to head up to Cumberland, a familiar and beloved spot on the way home. We took in the historic downtown area, walking the cobblestone streets and tapping intertwined hands to the beat of two different bands playing live in different corners of the canal area. We sat on a bench enjoying some ice cream, people-watched and walked along some nearby railroad tracks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A perfect summertime evening.

I am so loved, I love so much.

 

 

 

As nice as it was to have some “just us” time, seeing our smiling little guy the next day was just as wonderful. Duders, your Momma and Daddy are refreshed and in love, and everybody wins in that equation.

You are so loved, my two guys, so loved.

Love, love, love.

Success, Mom Style

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How do you measure success?

As a working woman, as a manager, it’s about time management; organization and multi-tasking; respect. It’s about balancing the importance of small triumphs and big rookie mistakes. It’s about leaving work in the parking lot as I drive away — to return just a few hours later sometimes.

As for the rest of my life, success is all at once harder and easier to measure.

It’s mostly about making the most out of every moment — standing by the screen door to feel the mist of a springtime thunderstorm breezing by our world and equally admiring the birds building a nest in our wisteria bush on a sunny afternoon. It’s about being present, and about being thankful.

Success is making it through my first year as a mom (almost!) relatively healed and a better person. It’s about being an advocate for moms like me, sons like Zack and diseases and diagnoses like Down Syndrome — without being overbearing, annoying or obsessed.

Success is waking up to a world where new friendships are born out of memories and different walks of life… paths that lead to playdates and teary-eyed stories and everything in between. The understanding of complex feelings on complicated days without saying a single word about it all.

Success is a day like today.

A day where understanding the significance of my son sitting up on his own is not lost on me but not the only thing that moves me, either. It’s a day where I can let him fall 10 times, one of those likely resulting in a good cry from the impact of the toy behind his head. I bite my lip, hold back my hand from caressing the sore spot and watch as the tears quickly dry up and life is good again.

Yes, life is good again. One point for Mommy.

A day like today brings me a boy whose mid-morning cat nap can only be found on Mommy’s chest today. And I won’t argue with that at all.

Success is catching up with my dad, my stepmother, my Godmother and a best friend, and reaching out to the voicemails of a handful more.

I am successful today because I hugged my husband a little more, told him “I love you” a few more times and meant it with all of my heart. Where the seriousness and beauty of the journey we’ve shared makes us stronger, not weaker. And a day where “forever” sounds like a piece of cake. We’ve made it to what has got to be Hell — and back — and then a few more times — and days like this, he holds me close, tells me he’s “having a moment” and just can’t let me go.

Yes, I must be doing something right.

Success is laughing with my nearly 10-month-old son over nothing at all; neither one of us is able to stop.

Success is feeling his heavy weight on my hip as I hold him in front of his crib, the curtains drawn, pajamas on, milk in belly. I tell myself it’s OK that it’s still so hard to let go. And that it’s even better that I’m able to do just that.

I didn’t finish the laundry I started.

I only read one magazine, not the other 10 in my must-read-soon pile. (Hey guess what — Osama’s been killed!)

I am only now sitting down to write a blog I’ve been thinking about for hours; the latest in a handful that need written and shared.

I didn’t buy any more work clothes. I definitely didn’t make it to the grocery store.

But I laughed, I smiled, I rested, I thought, I prayed, I hoped, I drank some wine, I laughed some more. I loved a lot. I was loved.

I lived a good day today.

And I think that makes me successful.

Mom Stuff, 2011 Edition

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Dear Mommy,

It is that day of the year. The day daughters and sons and husbands and loved ones celebrate the mothers in their lives. Each year, it is a painful reminder — more painful than your Leap Year birthday or the anniversary of your passing (coming up in just a couple of weeks) — a painful reminder that you are not here.

May 26 causes me to relive the day that made me an adult much too early; that shaped my every move and trait and flaw. Mother’s Day causes me to focus so specifically on all of the things you are missing, have missed and will miss. And this year, my first as a mother myself, that loss is magnified.

Your grandson is in his bassinet, lifting his head up with strength I feared he would never have. He flips over, grabs his feet, giggles and looks up at me — the first of many “Mom, did you see?!” moments I love. Did those moments with you fill your heart up with happiness and hope? Did you hold your breath when I fell or did you come running with a hug? I need to know, because some days, there is such intense pressure to not mess up any of these Mommy Moments.

“Mommy…” I call out in weakness. “Mommy, what should I do?” The day of Zachary’s diagnosis, I cried myself to sleep chanting “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…” For you or for me?

Just as I briefly thought Down Syndrome would cause me to curl up and die, as if I let my son down, my family down, I once thought that there was a point in which the hurt of missing you would quietly fade into the back of my memories, collecting dust and fingerprints like a favorite photo. I was wrong on both ends.

I am stronger than ever, and so is the pain of life without you.

There are days that Down Syndrome could easily consume me, but I remind myself that I’ve been through much worse, much harder things than this. In fact, it was the first thing my dad told me when I told him of Zachary’s diagnosis — how strong I was and how I had survived worse tragedies before. He was talking about you, and your death 17 years ago.

I think I’m a good mother. I hope I am, at least. There are some days I’m pretty darned proud of myself and of how good it feels to hold my son so close and make him a better person, too.

But I’ve had to figure it out all on my own. I had no mother in my life to talk to me about how a baby would change my life; how pregnancy would feel; tell me stories about when she was pregnant with me. When Scott’s family came into the hospital room nine months ago, I daydreamed about the smile on your face and where you would be sitting and just how much I felt your absence. There are days still that I pick up the phone, wanting to call you and vent about my bad day or seek advice. And I realize I don’t have your phone number.

I get bitter sometimes and I do a lot of wondering why. Just like I hope and hope that my friends realize how special their “healthy” and “normal” babies are and how much they take for granted, I wonder if those I love who aren’t members of the Motherless Daughters Club can imagine a Mother’s Day without a mother. Or any day for that matter.

Let’s be honest, Mommy, you weren’t perfect. Not as a mother and not as a person. But I don’t know many people who are at either. I certainly am not. I certainly have my demons, too. But on this Mother’s Day, you are loved, appreciated, thought of and most sorely missed. By a couple of us this year. Because at least once every day, I take a moment to mention you, in a story or through a photo, to your grandson. And he always smiles.

 The chance that she never had is now the gift that is mine. And out here on this road I’m making up for lost time. Yeah, I am my mother’s child and tonight in this car, I got her words in my suitcase, her dreams in my heart.

For the first time in my life, this Mother’s Day is all my own.

But I might just share it with a little blond-haired boy with a drooly grin and big blue eyes. You see, I thought I was a good writer. I’m becoming confident in my new position and career, too. But there is absolutely no job that I feel like I was made for quite like my roles as Scott’s wife and Zack’s momma. It is in those moments with my two guys that I feel whole, complete, at peace and so unimaginably happy.

I was born to be a mother.

*** It was after I wrote this that I received my Mother’s Day gift(s) from Scott. The man is a sweetheart and a thinker and knows how to drive a point home. I received four charms from Brighton (my favoritest ever) — all birthstones — one heart-shaped one for Zack and then one each for the three “mothers” in my life — my Mom, my stepmother and Scott’s Mom. Pile of happy tears.

Mother’s Day, it seems, isn’t just about being a Mom; it’s about the Moms in your life. It’s about the mother figures, too, and there’s a lot of you out there. And I think it should be about the New Mom Friends who have helped me navigate this boat in rough seas and to all the friends and loved ones who aren’t Mommies, can’t be Mommies, are trying to be Mommies and will someday soon be Mommies. You’re all in my heart today.

Everybody poops and there was some sunshine

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This post is actually about five posts in one. Bits and pieces of thoughts from this day and that day and retracing notes on scratch paper from work and home.

there’s a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark

Truth be told, I was going to write in honor of World Down Syndrome Awareness Day a couple of weeks ago. About how one diagnosis has changed my family’s world. About the darkness Scott and I found ourselves in one afternoon in the hospital nearly eight months ago.

Then, funny story.

I was planning the post in my mind when Zachary’s diaper exploded right after a meal when I was home alone with him. The shock of such a poopy sight all over his highchair made for one of those deer-in-headlight moments on my face, I’m sure. Within moments of sharing the yucky story on facebook (with none of the photos I took, be still, although this one is from the immediate and clean aftermath…), I had several of my Mommy friends sharing stories of poopy highchair experiences of their own, and the ones in the carseat and the crib.

You see, my baby poops just like any other baby. Even with the Big Bad Down Syndrome label.

throw your soul through every open door (Whoa) count your blessings to find what you look for (Whoa-uh) turn my sorrow into treasured gold


You see, he has messy diapers like any other (nearly) eight-month-old. He eats the same baby food. He rubs his eyes like most babies do when he’s sleepy. Just like other kids, he smiles a lot. And he cries his fair share through cranky moments, too.

And as his parents, we’ve shared a lot of experiences that other parents have, DS label and all. We fought our way, numbly and in a daze, through sleep deprivation. We learned the hard way not to leave a baby boy’s penis exposed without covering. I have playdates with friends and their babies and it’s not awkward or uncomfortable or even sad anymore. We scoop up each other’s babies, and I can’t speak for them, but I feel the same glorious love and motherly awesomeness when I see and hold their babies as I do with my own.

We probably think a lot more than other parents because of DS. We think about exercises and goals and physical therapy. Those are things most of our friends don’t consider.

I know I regret. Regret wasting my time making plans I had no business planning. And dreaming daydreams of things that aren’t that important.

And we worry. We worry about missing goals and lazy days of exercise. We sometimes, when our guard is down, worry about the future. That big, unpredictable scary series of tomorrows. Tomorrows of shorter life spans and unknown skills and achievements and delays. Tomorrows of teasing and confusion and the need to spend an entire lifetime “proving everybody wrong.” How sweet it would have been to have felt no need, no pressure… no DS.

But really, the majority of our lives are not spent thinking about our lives with Down Syndrome, but rather thinking of a life that has beautiful blue eyes, blonde wispy locks of hair and reaching, grabbing, exploring fingertips. A life that has taught us to live.

A co-worker used the “r” word in front of me last week. And it was the first time since Zack was born and I started following the Spread the Word to End the Word campaign that I haven’t felt the need to throw a fit and stand on my soapbox with a megahorn.

We have hibernated our long, cruel winter.

I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her

And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass

And Spring is arriving, in teasing, agonizing glimpses here and there, but it is arriving nonetheless. Better late than never.

Between the budding flowers and green fields along my walks with Z-Man and the new job and everything that it brings with it, I am truly opening my eyes to everything around me.

The love given so beautifully and easily to me from my two guys. One who has given me the ultimate battle of my life so far and the greatest pride, welling up in a happy lump in my throat when I think of his purity, innocence, gorgeous giggles. Another who has fought the good fight with me every step of the way and who is the only person capable of making me feel so good at all of my jobs — mother, wife, manager, daughter, friend, woman, soul.
It almost feels like Scott and I are in our early days of dating again. We nuzzle together and send texts and leave little love notes. It’s pretty romantically gross, really.
There is more laughter in our house lately, and more love.
Love is a shelter in a raging storm
Love is peace in the middle of a war
And if we try to leave, may God send angels to guard the door
No, love is not a fight but it’s something worth fighting for

I can smell candles burning and the steaming cup of coffee in my hands.
I hear the background hum of a favorite ballad and a high-pitched squeal of delight.
I feel the warmth of muscular arms holding me tight, the warm breath from a good-morning kiss.
But what I see. Oh, such beautiful things.
Few things will ever compare to that big goofy, gumless grin that greets me after a long work day. Zack’s face just seems to explode with delight every single day. The 30 or so minutes that follow, although at his most tired time of the day, are so beautiful. My hair twisting in his fingers, his blue eyes searching my own.
So forgive my infrequent posts. I can’t offer you a glimpse into our lives every day any more, but I hope never to stop this blog.
I just need more time to see things in a quiet place far removed from everyone and everything. I need time to watch the cardinal that was dancing on my front porch this morning while I danced with my son to a bad 90′s song.
I need more time to laugh with my son and hug my husband so very tightly. Then, I can come here and share it all — the good, the bad and the ugly.
For now, I am so very happy.
And I think my two guys are pretty content as well.
Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here

Letting Go

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I still have a couple of hundred business cards with my name and title on them that will never be handed out.

And I will never again be able to work in my pajamas. Man, that sucks.

There are stories I was looking forward to writing; events I was excited to cover.And there are so many contacts and sources who have become acquaintances, friends and people I really admired and respected. (There were also those that made me laugh, shake my head or scream in disgust in the privacy of my car or home).

The business cards will be thrown out (unless anyone has any grand crafts ideas using the buggers). The stories may or may not be written, someone else’s byline at the top of the article one day. The events will go on without me (Flight 93/9/11 10-year-anniversary; a three-year murder case that could see the death penalty in a trial this summer…). Some of the people may stay in my life — maybe I’ll bump into them in a downtown coffee shop; maybe they’ll even visit my new place of employment.

This feeling of absolute anxiety is normal for leaving behind something you love in order to find yourself — and your family — in a better place, literally and figuratively.

I had to start a list of things I will NOT miss about this job. And it’s a long list. With each added item, I feel a little more comfortable with my decision.

The scanner squelching away at 3 a.m. Leaving my dinner cold on the table as I dash off to an evening house fire. The mess of notebooks, papers, pens and cameras that winds its way from my office upstairs all the way down the stairway to the dining room and living room below. The court cases filled with unbearably descriptive images painted of child abuse, neglect, kidnapping, death. Going eight hours without eating because I’m trapped on a mountain-top five-vehicle car crash scene, wading through spilled ice cream from a truck and learning about two men that died there that morning. Sitting in a courthouse for hours for a hearing that gets continued. Being told that there is a special place in Hell for reporters and lawyers. (OK, that one I sort of enjoyed) Eight-hour days that turn into 10 or 12-hour days — in a job where overtime hasn’t existed for more than a year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I will  leave this job with my pride, integrity and maturity in tact. But there are many more things on my list.

 

So that list is long.

Then why is there this lump in my throat?

The scanner, camera and office key card are being turned in this weekend. And that door is literally going to swing shut forever.

I can’t imagine what tomorrow — my last day — will be like. For that matter, I can’t even imagine my new life, new job. I’m so excited though. I think I’ll be looking forward to this new chapter once I can officially close the door on this one.

I’m ready. Ready to give it a whirl. Put on my best business suit and my count-on-me smile and do what I need to do to be a great employee who is respected, trusted and appreciated. Then I’m more than ready to look my husband and son in their beautiful eyes and know that I can finally give them 100 percent of my time and attention. And love. That I’m really there, in the moment. That I hear their breathing, see their smiles, smell baby lotion and a hard days’ work worth of sweat. That I can love them completely because I love my life completely.

I need to listen to Zack’s first words instead of the police scanner.

I need to say “I love you” more often to Scott instead of “I’m almost done with this story” or “I have to go to a meeting tonight.”

I need to spend my downtime taking more photographs and learning every button and option on my amazing camera. So that I can capture more of the beauty around me that I might have been missing.

I need to read those books my “twin” is sending me in our first installation of our mailbox book club instead of writing an e-mail to my editor on a Sunday night or Saturday morning when I’m off of work.

I need to live.

 

I’m breaking through, breaking free. Minute by minute, I can slowly feel all of this pressure coming off of my shoulders. I can feel a sense of relief. I can feel life.

 

 

 

 

I’m ready.

 

Rollercoasters, ramblings and rainbows

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Sometimes, if I can’t share everything, I don’t want to share anything at all.

Hence the gap in posts — public ones at least — this last week or so.

You see, as much as I would have loved 50 or more people taking a poll on What-Should-Wendy-Do-With-Her-Life, I had to do this one on my own.

I’m leaving my job. And taking another one.

It was an absolutely easy decision in the end. Stress, frustration(s), pretty much being on-call 24 hours a day and no possibility for money or advancements as well as a lot of recent events made this decision so much easier than I ever thought it would be. I refuse to go into details about any work — my old job or my new job — in a public forum, so there’s not much more to say. My career as a journalist was a fantastic one that taught me a lot about the person I am and the world in which I live. But it just wasn’t the fairy-tale job I thought it was after my first journalism class my sophomore year of high school. I am disillusioned.

My new job should be really exciting. The only thing that would be better might possibly be being a stay-at-home mom, but even that might get a little old after a while. I’ll be spending more time away from home in a totally different field, but I have fallen in love with the team atmosphere at this place, the surroundings, the quick commute and well, yes, the (huge!) increase in pay and significant loss of stress. Not to mention that while there will be many hard days in this new position, I get to leave it at work and make home just home. I really expect that my family will benefit from this change as well in the long run.

I’m so excited.

But it’s hard to move past something you love, which is why I had to do this in my head and in quiet moments away from the computer and even away from my friends and family.

I’m confident I’ve made the right decision.

(Plus, no more laptops, notebooks, scanners, cameras and business cards floating around the dining room!)

It will be hard — really hard — to leave The Duders for a 10-hour block of window at a time, but I am so content knowing that the time I do get with him and Scott will be a stress-free, happy, cheerful, ready-to-play, ready-to-love Me. Not that witch that’s been hangin’ around lately. Oy, she’s annoying.

We’ve also been really busy this past week or so.

After Nicole’s fantastic visit, I had a Mommy-Baby Playdate with Hailey and her Mommy, Owen and his Mommy and even a new friend!

Then, Cousin Dan and his amazing girlfriend Dorothy did a quick visit and went skiing with Scott. I just loved seeing the two of them in their special moments, their special world that is just so beautiful to watch.

A visit from Zack’s Great Aunt Janet and Great Uncle Leon completed our recent doorbell ringings. I love having so many of Scott’s family around us.

And I would be remiss to not mention another special date — what would have been my Mom’s birthday. She was a Leap Year baby, so somewhere between Feb. 28 and March 1 this year I felt a profound loss and a deep love all at once. My one friend Krystal and I have bonded over our membership in the Motherless Daughters Club lately, a club whose membership is especially painful once you’re a mother yourself. It’s nice to know that someone really understands.

I celebrated my mother and her life the way I always do each year — in the kitchen. This time, it was cupcakes in our favorite colors — yellow and purple. Good therapy and yummy, too!

(As I type this, ‘The Rose’ is playing on my cheesy Sunday afternoon choice of music — Sirius Love. Makes me think of Mommy every time.)

And now, I’m enjoying the last few hours of a busy weekend.

My hunky hubby has a fire going in the fireplace, the baby is quieting down and snuggles are in my future!

It’s going to be an emotional week, I’m sure — my last five days as a reporter. But I also know that all of that messy garbage weighing down my shoulders will likely be gone with the closing of some files, the flipping of a cover on a notebook, the quiet leaving of some items on my desk in the office.

Memories to be added to yet another chapter in this beautiful life so far.

Hello, 27

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It was a great birthday.

(Even though that groundhog is a filthy liar and 10 inches of snow dumped on us!)

 

There were the usual moments of beauty that I’m blessed with every day — the sleeping sounds of my son, resting on my shoulder, a favorite song playing on iTunes, a deep conversation with someone I love.

A nighttime fire. A game or two.

Laughter, beautiful laughter.

Cuddles and snuggles and kisses.

 

 

And then there were added bonuses.

 

 

Having my own Birthday Buddy to share our day.

 

 

 

 

A bit of glamour in our lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flowers for both of us from my mother-in-law, thoughtful as she always is.

 

 

 

It wasn’t that far removed from a typical Tuesday, but I allowed myself to be pampered and to feel special. And I made sure to not make any big plans for myself in the next year. Because there’s that old saying about life making plans for you. And that’s definitely something I’ve learned in this past year.

 

So, I promise to enjoy my life, every mundane Monday (which are infrequent) or worrisome Wednesday (which it’s not) and make the most out of it all. I promise to love all these great things I get to hold on to, get to wrap myself around every day, not just on “special” days.

 

 

Thank you to everyone who sent a card (many people!), wrote a message or sent a text (which I probably didn’t receive yet!), sent presents (love ‘em, thank you!) or called with love.

 

 

 

It was a great day.