The Sweetest Form of Sympathy

As a science teacher, I explain to my students that there are biogeochemical cycles constantly in motion. Human life is not spared from this fact. My daughter, Emma, has always expressed a distinct understanding of this topic - possibly from sitting and playing on my office floor while I give class lectures. It is through her understanding that I found beautiful comfort recently. But, it wasn't her scientific side that came through for me - rather, her more compassionate faith in all things good and abstract.

I come from a large Irish Catholic family. My mom is one of six and we try to get together with my grandfather, aunts, uncles and the greater extension of cousins during the holidays. In recent years, we have been seen as pink mob traversing the streets of Baltimore during the first weekend of May. The month that Jack was born (six years ago) one of my uncles was diagnosed with ALS - he was essentially given a death sentence. Four years ago, my family banded together to raise funds and awareness in the effort to support The Robert Packard Center for ALS Research at Johns Hopkins. I have had my kids and husband participate in Fiesta 5K walk/fun run each year. So, while Emma does not know what ALS is exactly, she has known that our walk was centered around my uncle. On March 15th I had to do what all parents dread/fear/don't want to do, I told my children that my Uncle Gary had died. There is no way to prepare a person to say the words, or how to say them. Straight up, it sucks!

Emma looked at me, tears in her baby blue eyes and told me not to be sad. 'Mom, I saw him go to Heaven today. You don't have to worry about him anymore.' I was completely baffled. It was I who should have been consoling the kids, not the reverse! 'Emma, I only just told you - how could you... you were at school!?'

'We were outside for a fire drill this afternoon, the sky was all cloudy except for one opening that had sun rays pouring out of it. I knew that someone was going to Heaven, if he died during my fire drill, it must have been Uncle Gary.' She was so matter-of-fact. 


A small bit of background - each summer my parents moved us to the mountains in northeast Vermont. In the afternoon, the skies there are filled with amazing clouds. And, typically, at sunset the rays are dispersed all over. It is absolutely beautiful. Every so often there would be just one opening and my Mom and I would say that someone must be going to Heaven. I have relayed this to Emma, however, never realized how much she clung to the idea. Sure enough, her school had an afternoon fire drill and she immediately drew recognition to her observation.

Now, I usually have dry humor laced through my posts - this one is a bit more out of the ordinary. But, to attempt to keep the theme running... As a candidate for Catholic Mother of the Year I have Emma in CCD, or religious education class. I failed to register her on time last year, so she is being home-schooled. Let me just tell you, oi ve! She has a set number of prayers that she must be able to recite at the end of the year to show that I have been a great role model. Each night at dinner I have her pick a prayer and (make her) practice so that she can show me she knows more than one, and to hopefully drill these prayers into the heads of her brothers. Some nights there are special 'holy wars' over this ritual. I often feel like saying 'Just pick a prayer, ANY prayer!'. The night my uncle died I was setting the table for dinner and the kids - sensing my sadness - plopped into their seats without the usual touching and quibbling. Before I could even begin to request that someone say the blessing Emma began. She had chosen The Guardian Angel prayer.

'Angel of God, My Guardian Dear, to whom God's love commits me here,

ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.'

Emma is nine. While she watches her brothers do wild and wacky things that drive me to the brink, she keeps me anchored and makes me feel as though I have been doing something right! 

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For more information... http://www.alscenter.org/ 

Or, to join the O'Connor family (Team Low and Slow) and all families that have been scarred by ALS... http://support.alscenter.org/site/TR/Runs/2012Fiesta?team_id=3790&pg=team&fr_id=1100

Vaccination Wordplay

I don't care where people stand when it comes to vaccinations. Every parent has their reasons for medical choices when it comes to their child's health. Twice now I have seen flu vaccination billboards on route 95 in Baltimore. Some research and know exactly what vaccines should be administered when. Others just do what the doctor says. Me, well... this year I made my decision for the flu shot based on two billboards. Look out to all my imaginary Mother of the Year competitors!

Billboard sighting #1...

Your kids can't go to school if they have the flu. 

Get Vaccinated.

Now, I know that this billboard was trying to make sure that if I want my kids to get an education they need to be healthy. However, I totally read this billboard as saying my kids would have to stay at home with me if they got sick. We can't have that! All maternal instinct went into gear - must make appointment for flu shots. Must have house to myself during the day all winter long.

It is painless too... the flu shot really isn't a shot anymore, just a mist up the nose. So, the kids don't fight it as much. Some people are really good and get theirs in October at the start of flu season - we aren't that good. Usually, the doctor reminds me that we haven't gotten the shot at another office visit for some other communicable disease the kids picked up (at school).

Now onto the more exciting billboard information. Billboard sighting #2...

You can't go to work if you have the flu. 

Get Vaccinated.

I read this as a statement to overworked people. If you need a day off, and won't take it, get the flu... you have to stay home! Working from home makes this a bitter catch 22 for me but, I told my husband he should not get the flu shot. Hmmm ... you are thinking about how my irrational logic works, aren't you?!

Stranger Danger!

My son Jack often humors us with his facial expressions. Typically, he can get me smiling in a matter of seconds when he is explaining something from his day or trying to get out of trouble. But, his darling expressions garner a great deal of frustration when I am viewing them through the window of a locked door.

The necessary background information...

At his 12 month check-up the pediatrician told me Jack was delayed and she was concerned that he may not learn to walk or talk... wait, wait - this is too far back as far as blogger background information is concerned.

Fast forward...

When he was 3, I learned that Jack was tall enough to reach, and use, the dead bolt on our front door. As I am in close running for a highly coveted Mother of the Year award I must admit to the judging committee that I take the dog outside without bundling up my kids and bringing them along. Bailey and I are only outside the house by a matter of yards so she can 'go potty'. Henry is angelically napping in his crib and Jack is happy with trains. Here I am bringing Bailey back to the house (of course I scooped and had her leashed - I was, after all, out front).  I approach the front door and can see Jack through the window, just standing there looking at me.

{side note: my dog doesn't take forever to do her business}

I almost broke my nose when I face-planted on the door as my body thought it was entering the house and my brain simultaneously realized that the door was locked. Oh, dear... (internet censorship code 'dear' is probably not the word I used!).

Here is the conversation that followed. (with the boy who was declared delayed with no chance of standing on his own two legs or talking with his pie hole)

Me: <knock, knock: I was gently tapping on the door> Jack-Jack! Unlock the door for Mommy. Bailey and I are getting cold and want to come inside.
Jack: I can't. <pursed lips, I am pretty sure he rolled his eyes in a 'Duh' expression>
Me: Sure you can, just use the same knob you just used to lock the door.
Jack: I am not allowed to! <hands on hips, with a combination look of toddler exasperation and sass>
Me: What!?! <I am now irrationally envisioning a person in my house telling my son not to open the door. I also am containing my inner monologue and string of special vocabulary.>
Jack: My mom told me not to EVER open the door for strangers! <hands still on hips, he had leaned forward and pressed his face to the crack in the door to bellow this at me.>
Me: Son of a motherless BLEEP (internet censorship)... Jack open the door! I AM YOUR MOTHER!
Jack: You told me to never open the door. That is your job... rebrember?
Me: Jack, that is when I am inside with you. I open the door when I am inside. Please, unlock the door!

At this moment, a fire truck siren can be heard in the distance. Jack's face lights up! 

Jack: Mom, do you hear that?! I am going to go and see it out the back window!! Bye Mom!
Me: John Patrick, come back and unlock the door!!! <I am now banging on the door, and by all appearances from the street, trying to break and enter my own home.>

For those concerned... no worries. The neighbors are wonderful and we all have each others house keys. I just had to rank which one would laugh at me the least before picking a door to knock on and request my own key.

So fast forward to last evening.

Again, as an amazing candidate for Milky Way Galaxy Mother of the Year I displayed a quality level of laziness by not bundling the kids to head outside. I had let Bailey out the back door - off leash. (there is an unspoken rule on our street about dog walking etiquette in the front of the house compared to in the back alley) It appeared Bailey was leaving a dramatic gift on the path, so I decided to get the scooper and clean up after her.

1: The number of seconds needed for a 5 year old to lock the door. 

I actually heard the click before my foot left the back step. Ugh! I thought to myself - clean up the pile then deal with the boy(S). Bailey and I approached the house to Jack and Henry looking out the back window - laughing. Evil, sinister laughter. The kind they learned from their father when he
intentionally startles me and finds my reaction deliriously humorous.

To my delight, my daughter Emma was at the ready and had the good sense to unlock the door before the vein in my neck burst due to my elevating anger and blood pressure! Don't be fooled - I heard her chuckling as she walked away. Thankfully, I did not have to relive my lockout from two years ago. :)

Henry: The Spice of my Life

'Oh Henry!'

I can be heard saying this over and over throughout the day. Depending on the mood of the moment the tone and meter of such a simple statement is constantly changing. Henry is my third child. You have to keep your eye on the third one, at all times! But, let me backup and give you some supporting details.

Last night, as a candidate for eternal mother of the year, I was at the room parent meeting for my other children. (Did I mention I am room mom for both of my school-aged kids? That will have to be a post for another day.) Childcare was provided, so Henry came along to the meeting. As I collected him up, my friend noticed that he looked a bit ashen. I wondered if he would vomit on the way home - the other kids have dubbed our car 'the vomit comet' because of Henry. We were lucky! Phew, he looked really pale, but he was fine. I got him upstairs and laid him on his bed. He looked at me all sad and pathetic, opened his mouth and threw up all over me, and a little bit on his pillow. I whisked him up, faced him away from me and started to run for the bathroom, all the while resisting the urge to reciprocate. We were able to leave an orange track mark on the hallway wall, baseboard and carpet (such teamwork) before getting a small amount in the toilet. I know, I know... TMI. This stuff is not for the weak of stomach.

I cleaned up myself, his bed, and stripped him down. Got him into a clean, towel covered bed and watched him fall asleep. Started what would be round one of the laundry and made dinner for the other two - Jack, my 5 year old and middle child was good enough to inform me that there was something gross on the hall floor. Thank you, Jack!

I work from home and Henry goes to a sitter where someone else chases him, feeds him, occupies him, and loves on him. Remember, I am neck and neck for a major award that doesn't exist, I need to keep up appearances. I kept him home today, so as not to expose the other kids to whatever was forcefully ejected onto me last night. Did I mention I don't feel so good today? Anyway, Henry is feeling great today. Just before lunch he came into my office and we had the following conversation. Oh, by the way, Henry is 2.

Henry: Mommy, all wet, water, water.
Me: Oh Henry! What have you been doing?
Henry: Faucet.
Me: What?! Oh my goodness! What is all over your legs and arms and tummy? Why do you smell like chili powder? (My husband responded to this part of the story with: 'you should never have to ask your child why he smells like chili powder'.)
Henry: all wet, water, water, faucet!
Me: bleep - internet censorship. (Just kidding, I am sure I mumbled something fun, but wasn't feeling good enough to really express it.) Ugh, c'mon Henry let's get you in the tub.

I washed him up. The water turned red from the spices on him. We headed to the kitchen and oh my good Lord in Heaven!

Oh Henry! Do you know how much spices cost?!? Seriously, one jar of cloves is expensive. Let alone an entire shelf of spices. And, really - peanut oil, as well!

Okay, so to be fair I do bake and cook quite a bit - so, I am flattered that Henry would want to make me something when I am feeling ill. <Insert small chuckle and weak smile.> And, I am the one who did not put the soup pot away last night. It was just sitting there, waiting for a 2 year old to fill it with spices. AND, as a candidate for eternal mother of the year and model of maternal excellence, I was working and caring for Henry at the same time... something I obviously do so very well.

To save some energy and not cry over spilled milk (thank goodness he didn't add that to this mess) let's look at the positives.

1. Henry can open screw-top lids. How dexterous for a 2 year old!
2. This mess is easily tidied up via the vacuum. How lucky for tired me!
3. That cabinet needed to be purged anyway. Okay! I am reaching on this one :)

Ah well, off to the put the pampered chef down for his nap.