GLAMOUR-ish...

  I've learned a thing or two about style and chic "expression of self" with clothing.  Pretty much that thing or two I've learned boils down to one fact: that style and chic-ness have no place in my current lifestyle.  Now wait, all of you jumping to the conclusion that I'm a fan of the "letting myself go" ensemble---this simply is not so.  I have merely learned that as a mother of seven it is, ummmmm...impractical shall we say, to shop with a mother of one child who is over the age of seven and listen to her advice on what is "cute and sassy."

  One example of my sister's (did I just nark on her?...oh YES I DID!) fashionista advice is when she held up a royal purple (jewel tones were ALL the rage of the season) tank top with GLAMOUR emblazoned across the chest in rhinestones.  "Oh Sus," she gushed, "this is soooo cute!  You could totally dress this up or wear it casual.  You have to get this!"  I could see the red-carpet version of me sashaying up to all of my Cosmopolitan friends (other Mom's with humongous vans and enormous grocery lists) in this sparkly top.  Yes!  This jewel of a shirt was created for me...I must own this glamorous tank!  And so I did.  Yes sir, I whipped out my credit card and purchased my very own slice of Vogue!  I am woman...hear me roar...or at least watch me glitter!

  One month and a few errant attempts at dressing up my high-fashion tank later, I was sitting on our back deck while wearing my precious purchase in the high noon sun.  I was sweltering in the summer heat while watching my kids ride bikes, run their Popsicle sugar-high off , and have no-nap melt-downs (Warning: this type of melt-down is enough to make a grown man cry...ask my husband .)  I could feel the perspiration beading on my nose while my bangs had slowly become plastered to my forehead.  I was irritable, tired from chasing children and putting out argumentative fires.  I hung my head to shield my face from the cruel solar-rays unhindered by my shadeless yard.  It must have been the 100 watt glare of reflected sunshine off my classy rhinestones that drew my attention to the irony of my un-ironed shirt...GLAMOUR.  My shoulders slumped and then slowly began to shake from my laughter as I thought, "Oh yeah baby- I'm livin' the high life!  Especially with that particular smattering of baby food on my midsection:
 I  WAS:  G L A M O U R O U S!!!"

  I went in and changed my shirt and thought "That does it!  It is time to trust myself.  I will no longer listen to the voice that tells me a Hawaiian print tankini is a good fit for my annual Cook Forest tube down the river!"  I probably should have had the foresight to guess that I would be catapulted from my tube by a rapid which would have the tankini (which should have been a TANK-MUMU!) top exposing my  midsection, which is never pretty when bordered by Hawaii's tropical flowers in bright reds with puce colored leaves...I know...I should have known.  No, I will not bow to the pressure that black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and chains across the top are not only fashionable to wear at the mall, but will also be a good staple for "nights out."  I truly felt my toes were being stabbed by staples during one date night...which tragically ended up with hubby and I strolling the local aisles at Wegman's grocery market...eventually with me in my bare feet.  And who wants to wear heels while pushing a double stroller and wearing a baby in a sling? Not me...not anymore.

  Sorry, sis, I can no longer deny my favorite athletic shoe aisle.  I won't cower in shame when you leap out from behind the track-suit rack and shout, "A-ha!"  I WILL own my non-Cosmo, must-be-comfy, stretchy due to the slightest bit of spandex, cotton fabric with a powerful sigh of relief!  And maybe...just maybe...I will slip that Glamour tank on under my sweatshirt just to remember what was...and giggle at the contrast to what has become of my life-STYLE ;)
 

Peace In the Chaos (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :) Baby is napping.  3 yr. old home from first day of preschool and watching Leap Frog.  It is quiet.  Wow!  I have not experienced this sensation at 1:40 pm in 3 months!  I must admit that I like it!  Don’t get me wrong:  I love my kids, and they each make me smile in different ways (and they each can make me crazy in different ways, too), but the chaos gets to me after a while.  Friends in and out the door, constant questions being asked or injuries being tended to.  Dirty clothes lying  on top of food wrappers, empty plates and cups (and some not so empty). Football games in the front yard and swim parties in the back.  Waldameer, the Zoo, the beach, family vacations, sleepovers and camp outs.  Extended family reunions and tennis lessons. Vacation Bible Schools, cookouts, Camp Notre Dame.  Soccer games (lots of them) , trips to the park and trips to Nana’s or Papa’s in Cleveland.  Ok, just writing all of that makes me feel a little better about the level of exhaustion my husband and I are both experiencing going into the school year.  Time to take a deep breath.  And so I find myself saying….”what next?”  I almost feel guilty that I don’t have a big agenda today.  My house is a big, post-summer disaster.  My laundry piles are the biggest they have ever been.  My grocery list is getting longer.  And I am sitting in my house writing my blog and enjoying the peace.  My big plan for today is washing my boys’ muddy football uniforms and making cookies for a nice after school treat in honor of their first day.  I guess I will make some dinner, too.  While I can feel guilty about not getting more done today, I know that it is good for me to slow down once in a while. 

My husband and I just had a lengthy conversation last night about what we can do to achieve more peace in our daily lives.  We have had many of these discussions over the past 14 years and don’t often see much change, but darn it, we will keep trying.  One concrete initiative we are making is to designate Wednesday evenings as our personal days.  We are going to take turns having time for whatever we want.  On my weeks, I can go grocery shopping, have coffee with friends, or go on a walk.  It is my choice, and I will not feel guilty about leaving.  Likewise, Jim will have the alternating weeks to do what he wants, guilt-free.  We are both craving quiet and peace… things that are not running rampant in the Gallagher household.  Having 7 kids, we need to accept the fact that quiet and peace are not going to be common at this stage in our life, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to give each other little snippets of this now and then.  I need to get back into my early morning routine of waking before the kids and taking some quiet time with God and my cup of coffee.  Those quiet moments before the kids arise are so important to my sanity for the day. 

Both of these efforts in finding peace are helpful, but I realize that what I also need to be better at is finding peace “in the chaos,” to quote a good friend of mine with 6 kids herself.  So often, I think I need to make changes or find time for myself … “and then I will be more peaceful.”  Yeah, that’s good and nice if I can get out twice a month, but wouldn’t it be even better if I could figure out how to bring peace right into the here and now?  Not just at 6 am or every other Wednesday?  My spiritual director has reminded that to have internal peace inside does not mean that everything is peaceful around me.  Taking deep breaths, muttering Hail Mary’s at a moment I might explode, turning on the music (see last week’s blog), taking the kids for a walk, tickling the ivories just for fun (that’s playing piano for those of you not in tune with musical jargon;), attending daily Mass,.  Peace is something we certainly all desire … in our hearts, in our families, in our world.  The more I can achieve internal peace, the better I will handle the turmoil around me.  Wouldn’t it be great if I could actually bring peace to those around me instead of contributing to the commotion with my high-spirited yelling and intense reactions.?  If I truly want our family to have a more peaceful home, I need to work on myself first… and hope that will have a ripple effect.  Yes, another character flaw to work on.  In the meantime, I think I will enjoy my final moments of external peace before the bus empties and my rambunctious students pour through the door with their overflowing folders, big appetites, busy agendas and eager expectations.  I will have that cup of coffee and pray that Hail Mary…. and be ready to be the most peaceful Mom on the bus route.  Here’s to a great… and peaceful… school year!

Blessed Relief

The humidity was oppressive.  My clothing felt heavy and damp with perspiration.  Every inch of my hair was pulled back with elastic and bobby pin but even those attempts to stop the beads of sweat covering my forehead were weak at best.  My sole companion of the blistering weekend was a spry Sister of Mercy in her seventies.  She wore a veil, blouse, and skirt without the hint of a grimace as she led me in conversation and meditations to ponder during our times apart.  One highlight of our time together keeps returning to my mind: we were walking through one of the rooms in the Mercy mother house when an unexpected breeze came through the open screened doors.  "Oh Blessed relief!" was Sister's simple comment.  This phrase accompanied my gasp of delight and pretty much summed up the short-lived removal of our moisture-laden circumstance.  I don't even think Sister was aware she uttered the words...maybe she was.

  That day was a few weeks ago and that very moment comes to my mind now as I struggle with an inability to fall back asleep...yes, note the time of 5:15...awake since 3:20 a.m.  I first tossed and turned trying to return to that unencumbered state of sleep.  Then I simply lay and stared at the shadows made by the ceiling fan on the ceiling.  "What are these?" I asked of the slow rambling incoherent rivers coursing through my mind.  "These are your thoughts," I answered "let me introduce you to them."  It was then I was reminded of the "Blessed relief" moment.  There I lay in complete silence able to hear and explore thoughts as they burst then faded and dimmed into my consciousness- "Oh blessed relief!"  This was a stark contrast from a snapshot minute in our home earlier this evening: my 11-year-old daughter changing her two-year-old sister's diaper asking "did you lick your hand, why did you lick your hand?"  while our 10-year-old daughter tapped danced on a sheet of bubble wrap to the music of our five-year-old and eight-year-old sons disagreement on whose lacrosse stick was stronger, my husband was vocally searching for his new reading glasses that he had JUST bought and lay down RIGHT THERE!, while our 12-year old son continued to adjust to his new medication and moaned and whimpered for the "sicky bucket" (poor kid...I hate nausea too.) 

  As I pondered this contrast between the lively exchanges and the current state of our homes stillness, a breeze rustled through the window eye-level to the head of my bed.  I merely had to roll over and look out the window to witness the tranquility of the trickling waterfall-pond my husband created to be heard where I lay.  There was a gentleness to the soft brass wind chimes that occasionally rang while the breeze lifted the monstrous leaves of the sunflower plants which had surprised us with their stalky height where they sprouted up around of our water feature...good pond water I guess.  I figure you'll think I'm making up the fact that the solar flowers placed amidst the beach wood and river rocks were still doing their own lighted glow-dim-fade dance...but I'm not.  I couldn't stand the beauty of the moment without being able to share it---so I slipped from my bed to write and share it with you.  And now after type-type-typing, "yaaaaawn," I am tired again and ready to fall back asleep---"Oh Blessed relief!"

The Power of Music (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :)

“Dearly Beloved, We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.  Electric word, life.  It means forever, and that’s a mighty long time.”  So began the words of my brother’s homily at the wedding of our other brother.  Only the Prince fans in the congregation knew what the heck was happening.  The others just thought that Fr. Rich had completely lost it, especially when he loudly proclaimed, “and if de elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy – punch a higher floor.” Rich was making a connection between the marriage ceremony and my brother Jim’s fondness for Prince during his high school years.  It was a fun connection and certainly grabbed all of our attention.  Music has a way of doing that.  It stirs emotions, sparks memories, forms bonds, communicates ideas.   I have always been affected by music.  From my earliest days as a piano student to my junior high years in youth theater and my young adult attempts at leading music at Mass with my husband.  My tastes have spanned from Broadway Hits to Bobby Darrin, Loverboy to Billy Joel, Andrea Bocelli to Jason Mraz, and Newsboys to Toby Mac.  I have cried with my high school classmates at Prom while singing “The Greatest Love of All,” laughed to my husband and his good friend’s rendition of “If I Had a Million Dollars,” jumped and jammed to “Shine” with my fellow Net teammates (my ND friends could tell you about some other tunes by Modern English or the B52s that sure made me dance).  Just writing this brings a smile to my face. 

Why the sudden interest in music? The other day I was having one of my pity parties at the washing machine – feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, unheard, out of control.  I was carrying my iPhone with me after my workout and decided to continue to let the music play while I went on with my daily routine.  There I was, pouring my detergent, and “Pie Jesu”(pronounced “pee ay yay zoo”) by Sarah Brightman began to play.  This song gives me the chills from head to toe.  We’ve been going through some challenging transitions lately that have resulted in some bottled up emotions.  The haunting melody and powerful message of that song spoke to my soul and the cork came off.  I cried my eyes out – and it felt so good.  Therapeutic, really.  I continued to listen to my mix of secular and Christian hits and found myself smiling, tapping my feet…and in one of the best moods I had experienced in quite some time.  It dawned on me that I needed to make the effort to bring music into my life on a more regular basis.  Heck, it sure helped the bitter Captain Von Trapp in the Sound of Music (not so much, The Phantom “of the Opera”).  God has given us so many different ways of expressing ourselves and finding beauty.  St. Augustine says that “singing is praying twice.”  Powerful stuff.  I often don’t take the time to turn on the iPod or CD player and let the music work its magic.  It can do wonders for my grumpy soul.  It lifts me up, helps me commune with God, motivates me in my workouts and facilitates memorable family moments dancing in our kitchen, gathering around the bonfire, or lulling our babies to sleep.  I feel like God gave me a gentle reminder the other day of the ways He can comfort me and connect with me through music.  I am so grateful for that gift.  So don’t be surprised if you see me cruising the neighborhood in our 12 passenger van with the windows wide open and some heavy bass or opera pouring out.  It just means I probably heard one too many “Moooooooom”s that day or my toddler got silly putty on my new capris.  Sometimes I just need to turn up the volume and “go crazy!” (Though Prince would not be the artist of choice I would be listening to these days. :)

I'm Meeeelltiiing!

Yep...the very observant words of the Wicked Witch on The Wizard of Oz signaled her collapse under the powers of H2O.  I'm more than a little curious why my five year old son couldn't be that concise during his most recent "melt-down" at Waldameer (local amusement park) today.  "I'm hot," followed by thrashing and pulling on the stroller which caused me to feel a few beads of sweat of my own were his words of choice during one stressful wait for a ride.  Then there was the "I waaant to plaaaay the dart game," which would have been my cue to signal the flying monkeys to carry him off as he kicked at my leg and tugged at my shirt.  But, truly I was so busy avoiding any possible eye contact with the overcrowded population circling the Steel Dragon I probably would have mixed up my primate language and ended up with King Kong...and I was way to cranky to be hoisted up the Empire State building anyway...

  Today was our parish picnic at the park and though I should have found comfort in the throngs of people being "cut of the same cloth" I found the thought of being "in the spotlight" to be a little overwhelming as my son challenged my every directive.  So, I guess this is me taking to the "electronic pen" to explain my son---and myself.  We have recently received the second diagnosis of Autism disorder within the ranks of our seven children.  There may be more coming.  We've been hot on the trail of what has been causing so much discord within our home.  Let me be clear that both of our children who hold this diagnosis are VERY high functioning so that to the unaware eye they would appear as a bratty, mean spirited child.  The reality I'm discovering is that autistic children often do not have the tools to communicate what is bothering them so they react in unexpected ways to get the message across they are not happy, comfortable, feeling secure, etc.  Though I'm ecstatic that my kids appear "normal" there is little about them to signal the WHY behind the tantrums, panic, screams, or fits of rage.  Shoot, I gave birth to and lived with my boys for years without understanding this, being completely baffled by their responses- so I get it.  I am just a little at a loss on how I should behave when I'm feeling a bit judged or my children are misunderstood.  I refuse to label them---though a huge white sign on the back just might have people nodding their heads and saying "Ahaa- that explains it."  There is still much I need to learn to survive these years while my family and I educate ourselves... but in the meantime- please- if you see a parent interacting with/or ignoring a full-blown melt-down think twice before dousing with water (unless ruby slippers are involved) but perhaps do offer that nod of "I understand."  You just might be the sanity that brings Peace and saves the day...feel free to carry red cape with you!

Terrible Twos (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :) My freshly-turned 3-year-old is going through a delayed version of the terrible twos.  It’s possible that these frequent meltdowns can be partially attributed to the fact that we took her pacifier away at the beginning of the summer so she no longer has her instant calming aid to take the edge off.  Or it might just be her feisty personality which isn’t so very different from her Mommy’s and Daddy’s.  Whatever the case, it is exhausting me!  She gets upset about everything:  if her shorts are crooked or I select the wrong show on Netflix or I put the wrong floaty on her at the pool and so on and so on.  One never knows what will tip her over the edge.  As I slumped on the couch during her most recent tirade, I was struck by the fact that God must get so tired of MY constant tantrums. I get so easily annoyed, angry, frustrated or stressed out.  I was watching the movie Crash for the second time (thought-provoking movie…well done) and found myself relating to Sandra Bullock’s character when she was admitting to her friend that she is always angry at someone or something. 

My husband laughs at me when I get angry because I mutter under my breath as I am chucking laundry into the washing machine or slamming silverware into the dishwasher.  Just like my 3-year- old, one never knows what will set me off:  ungrateful kids, a messy room, a classmate who makes fun of my child, a coach who doesn’t tap into my child’s potential, a family member with different standards of disciplining, a neighbor who wants us to  move our basketball hoop, a teacher who gives too much homework, a priest who does not make me feel welcome, a TV station that shows inappropriate ads, a government that prohibits religious freedom, a husband who doesn’t unroll his shirt sleeves when he throws them in the hamper.  Oh, there are so very many things that have the potential to irritate me.  So I slosh my dishes and slam my washer and whine to no one in particular.  In fact, I try not to complain to others.  I know better than to spread the negative poison so I convince myself that my irritations are justified, and I am only verbalizing them to my husband or a friend/family member here and there.  No big deal.  Ohhhhh, but it is.  I am allowing these negative thoughts to take root. 

I remember hearing an analogy once about impure thoughts: they are like birds and we should just let them fly over our heads.  It’s only if we allow the bird to build a nest in our hair that the thoughts become a problem.  The same can be said for negativity.  When I get angry or annoyed and allow myself to stay that way, feeling quite justified, it’s like I am putting up a sign on my forehead that says “hey, bird, build your nest here!”  I need to start heeding the advice I so freely give my 3-year-old (and 9 yr. old and 12 yr. old):  “If you can’t say something nice, (or positive or edifying) don’t say anything at all.”  That’s one of my Dad’s gems.  Next time I have a tantrum, I should put myself in timeout.  No, that sounds too relaxing.  Maybe I should just lose a privilege.  Or keep it really basic and simply say a prayer…right then and there…for the irritating person or frustrating situation.  Give it to God and then move on.  Let the bird fly right over my head.  I would feel much lighter without all this negativity weighing me down…. And I would certainly smell better too.

From The Desire of Being Loved (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday :)
Pride.  One of the Seven Deadly Sins.  Often the root of many other sins.  Also, one of the easiest temptations to succumb to.  I have always been a prideful person, I am embarrassed to admit.  Internally, that is.  My parents did an excellent job teaching us to not be outwardly prideful. “Don’t flaunt your grades.” “Don’t toot your own horn. If someone else does the tooting, be humble and gracious in your response.”  But I confess that while I am quick to admit my weaknesses and failure, I do find pleasure in the things I do well.  In the past, I would have prided myself in achieving good grades, having a lot of friends, or winning student government elections.  Now I tend to take pride in my commitment to mothering (notice I didn’t say ‘being a good mother’) or in the positive traits my children may exhibit.  Even writing this blog can become a prideful temptation.  Of course, in God’s great wisdom, parenting is also the source of greatest humility for me, as I tend to take it personally whenever one of my children behaves in a less than noble manner in a public setting (see previous blog re: kids climbing on the roof).  The bickering, meanness, disobedience or whininess can all be sources of frustration for my husband and I who are working so hard to raise them in a Godly manner.  Letting go and allowing them to experience growing pains, make poor choices and learn from their mistakes is a real challenge for this prideful mother. 

I also struggle with my pride when I am not given credit for something good I may have done, or on the flip side, am possibly thought ill of for something I did not do.  I worry far too much about what other people think.  One silly but real example occurred after my two littlest ones spent some time away at my in-laws.  They were so unselfish and compassionate to give this gift of babysitting, and at one point were excitedly sharing how they had taught my 1 yr. old to go backwards down the stairs.  This was a skill I had been working on with Elly in the weeks prior to the journey to Nana’s.  Instead of swallowing my pride and allowing my in-laws a tiny bit of pleasure in their accomplishment, I had to blurt out that I had already been teaching her to do this.  I was completely annoyed with myself as the words were spitting forth from my mouth.  Pride, pride, pride.  Small incidents but great opportunities for humility … or pride … to surface depending on how we handle it.  Of course, the ultimate irony is being victorious in a moment and not allowing pride to rear its ugly head, only to find myself feeling prideful that I was so humble!

The point is that I desire to be a humble person, doing what I am called to do without need for affirmation and acknowledgement.  Part of being truly humble also means recognizing my gifts and talents and thanking God for them.  My spiritual director recently gave me a prayer that I have not uttered for a long time titled “Litany of Humility.”  It includes such lines as “From the desire of being praised, deliver me Jesus…. That in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease.”  Difficult words to say let alone to really mean.  All I can do is try.  So I will embrace the moments when my boys are openly calling each other names and fighting in the front yard as a result of heated neighborhood football game or when my family doesn't notice my efforts to clean their rooms or unpack their suitcases.  God knows the good and the bad and loves me even when others may not.  That is ultimately all that matters.

Eucharist (by Diane Gallagher)

(Guest blogger Wednesday:) We just returned from a wonderful family vacation with my parents, most of my siblings, and their families in the breathtaking Smokey Mountains.  What a week – lots of giggles tubing down the river, lots of exercise hiking in the mountains and biking through the coves, lots of sights to behold from waterfalls to bears.  There was zip-lining and white water rafting, go carting and dance parties (an impromptu music fest in the basement of our 35 person house). So much fun was had, but if I was going to be perfectly honest, one of the activities that I enjoyed / appreciated / looked forward to the most each day was daily Mass on the deck overlooking the mountains celebrated by my brother, Fr. Rich Toohey. I think one of the reasons this was such a treasured gift for me is because I don’t get to daily Mass at home these days.  This used to be part of my regular routine when I was single and even in the early days of my marriage.  It became a bigger challenge when I first had babies, but I would still get there a couple times a week.  Now I am lucky if I attend the Friday school liturgies in addition to Sunday Mass.  My attempts to get there were causing stress and tension so I realized a couple years ago that it may not be the season for this.  But I miss it.  There is something about the simplicity of daily Mass that I love…the smaller crowds, the quiet.  Most importantly, I miss receiving the daily Eucharist that nourishes my weary soul. 

I turn to so many other things to refresh me or keep me centered including good, old fashioned prayer,  exercise, fellowship, coffee, “the Voice,”J , but I don’t prioritize the Eucharist on a more frequent basis any more because it has become too hard.  Whatever happened to the ole “no pain, no gain” mentality?  It applies for my physical AND spiritual well being.  Our Tennessee vacation reminded me of this truth.  Receiving the Eucharist is absolutely the closest I can be to Jesus.  The more I receive Him, the more I can become like Him – and heaven knows (and my family knows) I need this transformation. 

I remember a friend of mine sharing that he had been in a state of depression.  He was a tough guy who did not seem prone to tears, but he admitted that he would be sitting on his bed staring at the wall and sobbing.  He didn't know why.  I can’t remember how long he suffered in this way or how he came to the next step… I just remember what he finally did that helped him crawl out of this hole.  He began to attend daily Mass.  Now I am not suggesting that Mass is a good luck charm that will outwardly solve all of our problems.  I do realize, however, that only the Lord who created me can truly give my heart what it needs for true peace and joy.  St. Augustine asserted that “my heart is restless until it rests in God.”  Sure, a glass of wine can be a nice balm at the end of a stressful day and a challenging workout on the elliptical can relieve my physical stress but nothing will bring me the long lasting peace and strength that Jesus gives me in the Eucharist.  I NEED to make this a priority in my life again.  Hopefully, by making this public, I will feel more accountable and actually make this a reality.  Being a huge fan of the Olympics, I enjoyed watching an interview with Michael Phelps yesterday after he broke the record for the number of Olympic medals received.  The newsman was focusing on the fact that Phelps did not train as hard these past 4 years and was consequently not receiving all gold medals as he had done in the past.  This struck me as I reflected on the Eucharist in preparing this blog.  I say that I want to be a good and holy wife and mother…but I don’t want to put the effort into the things that will allow me to do this.   I am grateful my brother gave me the gift of the daily Eucharist last week, and I hope that I can have the dedication to my vocation as those Olympic athletes have to theirs…..and do whatever I need to do, primarily to receive the Eucharist as often as possible, so that I can be the wife and mother God has created me to be.  No pain, no gain.

Into the wee hours of the night...

  Crickets chirping, fireflies floating, full moons hanging low over silhouetted trees, bonfires, campfires, marshmallows on fire- (yup...like mine black), these are just some of the treasures of a summer night.

  This summer has seen my eldest son teaching himself to play the guitar (acoustic- but just bought an electric...with an amp).  I have no complaints there- actually it's AWESOME to have music permeating the house, porch, and even the side yard on occasion.  And what's really a bonus is that he's very good;)  And I don't think that's just the "Mama Love" talkin'.

  Yesterday, my son revealed the result of a bunch of wadded up paper balls littering his bedroom floor- his first COMPOSITION (that was actually written out and planned.)  I loved it!!  I had seen his sample titles and knew he was going for a "Summer" kind of feel...so I, being the good mother and lover of words, immediately began to string a few lines together.  I was halfway through my second rendition, trying to demonstrate how cool it was to sing about our recent vacation to Cook Forest, when he said, "Mom, don't waste your breath.  I'm not trying to be mean but have you noticed most of your songs are for old people.  They kinda sound like John Denver."  Well, he couldn't have paid me a better compliment.  "John Denver is a total inspiration to me!" I responded, thrilled he had picked up a similar vibe between Mr. D and me.  "Yeah, Mom- uh, I know- that's what I mean."

  Whatever... He thinks I write like John Denver!! 

  Ok, I am well aware the general population won't admit their absolute respect and admiration for Mr. Denver's lyrical genius- I can handle that.  I don't mind being brave in my proclamation that J.D. (God rest His soul) was AWESOME, uplifting, and created a peaceful haven that allowed the beauty of nature to inspire listeners.  And THAT my friends is the essence of simplicity: to experience beauty then write about it.  Let the music flow to give background to what inspired the words.  Or write words to express the beauty that flows out through the lilting chords- it's all good!

  Back to my opening paragraph about the crickets etc... the simple joys and sounds of summer have been a balm for my soul during my hiatus from this blog.  Sure there's the distinct chaotic "music" that echos from our windows letting the neighbors know summer is here--that music being the bellows resembling a tuba, followed by loud clashes that could nearly sound like cymbals...yes, my children are not in school.  Yet, all symphonies need their orchestra Maestro.  And that being me- I've decided to treat that position with prestige.  Time to plan trips to the local nature center, bike rides through the park, lounging at the pool, and watermelon feasts to treat the sweet tooth.  I've been reconnecting with what my family needs- FUN!  And even as I'm writing into the wee hours of the night here...with the hum of the dishwasher vying for a seat in the cricket symphony I'm reflecting on this recent evening of "Game Night".  Tonight we had Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Siblings gathered round our large, oval, oak table playing the new game, PIT,  discovered during our week in Cook Forest.  If you are fond of games I recommend you go online and order this now- seriously- it's addictive- BUT I wasn't singing about it in my son's song...even I have boundaries. 

So, let me know:
                      1. If you are a John Denver fan (openly or secretive)
                      2.  Have you ever played Pit--do you LOVE it?