Happy Halloween!

  18 years of Trick or Treating have taught me...never take anything for granted.  Like, it's not a given all your children will be healthy enough to go...and may even throw-up in the truck on the way to frivolous fun.  That year was a bummer as it was the first child's first Halloween.

  I've learned it's possible to push past personal trauma and illness to ensure your kiddos can participate in the festivities.  Hey, being released from the hospital with just enough time to spare AND still having a bit of meds circulating in the system mean "YES we can!," as long as hubby is there to lend an arm and hold the flashlight as we weave down the street.

  It is SO MUCH FUN to take the kids to the neighborhoods with doors you once knocked on.  Granted, it's probably more fun in your own mind since you're re-living the good ol' days.  Perhaps the children can't feel the joy of walking a "country mile" with stretches of fields between houses.  Now it's all about filling the bag...ok, it was then too.  We just didn't know there was an alternative.
My husband and I took one year each out of the near two decades to walk these old paths.  The smiles on the faces in my husband's old stomping grounds as they greeted one of the Yurkewicz boys and his offspring--PRICELESS!

  I've learned to influence costumes while there is still time!  Yes, in the ideal years my children went dressed as an angel or Saint.  Now there are "tasteful" vampires and Elsa.  While dressing my second youngest child in his Army-man costume for a party last night it came time to add a tough-guy tattoo.  I hesitated over his bicep for a second before suggesting, "How bout a heart with Mom?"  He replied, "How bout a drop of blood."  To which I responded, "How bout MOM in a heart?"  "Ummm, how bout a flame?" he hopefully asked.  I was not giving up knowing my third-grader wouldn't be offering me his little flexed muscles much longer...next year he'd be grabbing the paints himself...and in years to come perhaps darkening the door of a real ink shop.  "How bout Mom." I stated.  "Ok, how bout Mom, he agreed with a smile."  Whew!  You can bet I called attention to that tattoo at the party- Look how my son loves me!

  There was the year we finally accepted the offer to trick-or-treat in my oldest sister's neighborhood.  My sister Mary had been diagnosed with stage 4 colo-rectal cancer and I just wanted to be near her.  A couple things learned that night a) Never try and out-do my sister...there would be no winning.  I felt so festive in my orange and black until I was greeted at the door by a beautiful, glamorous witch complete with striped stockings, a feathery, pointed hat, full make-up, and wig. b) It can be more fun staying behind to man the "giving" station.  Mary and I giggled over home-made yarn braids, scary masks, and neighbors who had come and see her in all her finery.  We also sat in quiet as certain moments called for.  I had the opportunity to ooh-and ahh over every decorative spider web, lit up jack-o-lantern, and fiery cauldron she had found the energy to set out--of course she gloried in the compliments.  c) I should have come to my sister's years ago when her health was well.  Mary's been gone for almost two years now and the tears run down my cheeks as I remember that evening and am grateful that we drove across town-even past the country roads we grew up on to spend that fun evening together.  I'm grateful for her example and hold her spirit of joy deep in my heart as we head out this year. 

    I acknowledge the largest lesson of this season: time moves swiftly.  Therefore I commit to seizing the moment while holding kids and family close.  I am insisting we head to the other side of town as a family- though some teenagers would rather hang with friends.  Regardless of the chill in the air, I will rejoice with each thud of candy in their hard plastic pumpkin.  Not for material gain...but because we walk together as a family- through the darkness of the night and find reasons to laugh and support one another.  It is what you make it.  Perhaps I'll throw on a bit of "ink" tonight.  I'll be the arm with seven little hearts holding onto my husband as we weave through the streets.  He's relented this year...back to my old town.  But not the same old country streets.  The cousins we'll trick or treat with have learned there are streets that exist with houses that are separated by mere driveways.  Even I can appreciate change.

 

My Life is Perfect...on Facebook

I love Facebook...yet it is a book of faces and what those faces are doing.  Admittedly, I get sucked in and during my weaker moments, it's for hours at a time. 

  Why?  I suppose the reason varies.  It's good to see what others are up to.  It's a curious itch that seeks to be scratched.  Scrolling uses mindless muscles that aren't linked to any type of time-awareness faculties.  Sometimes I just want a good laugh for the day.  Occasionally I want to mindlessly escape the realities of life that of course would never show up on my timeline. 

  I've witnessed beautiful displays of tantalizingly arranged dinners...would you want to see my overflowing sink of crusty dishes?  Now that's just silly, and gross.  Why would I, wife and mother of seven, have cups and plates jam-packed in a 13"x10" space, competing for room with a chili encrusted, two gallon soup pot to see which can jettison more tap water onto the kitchen floor?  Puhleez!  I can't run fast enough to wash dishes since my little angels race to do this task and fight for the privilege.  Yes, MY children should be role models for the U.N. in the  manner they get along so amiably.  If you saw my FB you'd see them gathered round the table for a wholesome game of Bingo.  On a more raucous evening it might be Monopoly.  You'd detect no sibling rivalry like the children "I heard about" who tore each other's homework to shreds in a fit of revenge--how beastly.  If I could master technology I'd probably post videos of my children volunteering at our Church's fundraising Oktoberfest.  There'd be no hint of neighbors closing windows against offensive bickering...nor air conditioners being turned on to further diffuse our...I mean, some families...clamor.   If you were to look through the history of my photos you'd notice that it took me a bit of time to get the gist of what is meant by "camera friendly."  Of course now, my hair-do is ALWAYS on point (see how trendy my language is ;) ) and professionally enhanced.  Isn't everyone's?  Why wouldn't it be?  We have hordes of money.  Simply boatloads, tons, kajillions of dollars!  Why would I sneak away to Sally's Beauty Supply, under cover of darkness, with my 14 year-old daughter and grill the once upon a time beautician now turned clerk about coloring?  Don't be ridiculous!  Why would I accept her offer to write instructions on scrap paper about how to put hair into sections and have my daughter google the steps to balance out dark roots?  Honey, Please!  Remember..."On Point"- that's me!  If I ever sobbed into my bathroom mirror at 1 A.M. after my daughter begged-off and went to bed because it was the first day of school and I was left to rinse my orange tinged hair on my own and attempt a few snips to get rid of frizz...you would NEVER know about it!  Of course...never happened.  There are no pictures.  You can't prove a thing. 

For whatever reason I sign on to Facebook, I typically read through the top of my News Feed to see what's what.  I keep going to see what's been missed- til I realize the current time and grasp that what's been missed is a chunk of my day! 

  This isn't a rant about social media...for heaven's sake I'm typing on a blog in real time here.  It's just a notion that perhaps it's a good thing to set boundaries for how much of my own life I'm willing to spend on the pictures and captions of family, old classmates, mentors, strangers, and friends of friends.  The currency used is seconds, minutes, hours.  The hitch is there is no refund.  You can't get time back...ever.

 Besides,  what your currency is spent on perhaps is an illusion.  Except on MY timeline- where all is authentic as it's intended to seem ;) 



 

DUCK! and cover...

 

 It's a good thing I knew today opened Waterfowl Season in the Lake Erie Zone... 

  Walking glorious paths of breath-taking, fall beauty while losing myself in interior dialogue is a common occurrence these days.  "I don't know if there's a name for the color of those leaves.  It's a sort of bright orange tinged with yellow and red."  Sniiiiif...yes, inhale deeply to further ingest nature's best.  "Ahh, it's so amazingly beautiful out here.  The sky is so clear and the water is so calm.  I can't get over how peacefxx..." BAM! BAM! BAM!

 "Good one!," I think as I lower my right knee, unclasp my heart, slowly unscrunch my eyes, and relax my lips to cover bared teeth.  I don't think I would fool any human or duck into believing I meant to strike that pose.  Might as well continue walking and remind myself to just look straight ahead as cheeks flame and heart tries to find it's way back to a normal rhythm.

  My husband and sons are hunters.  I knew it was bound to happen.  But that staccato of reports sounding off to my right caught me off guard and scared me as readily as a good glaucoma test.    Sounds weird I know, but to endure the optical exam's blast of forced air, though some call it a tiny puff,  prompts self imposed strong arm tactics.  I have to force my forehead against the headrest while every inch of my face is crumpled and eyes are narrowed to the tiniest of slits.  The expectation of what's coming is clearly worse than the actual outcome.  I know this is a personal quirk that delights some family members and irritates others to no end.  C'mon, doesn't everyone get freaked out by the suspense that builds while waiting on the *pop* caused by placing a spoon to the crease of a can of crescent rolls?  I've finally given up on bullying myself to do it with arms outstretched, hands wrapped in oven mitts, and face turned away as far as possible.  Now, I just pretend I need help with dinner and call my kids in to do the task.  I'm astounded at their bravery!

 For future walks, I suppose I should practice not flinching.  I'll be sharing the Peninsula with 73 lucky duck hunters who won first chance to stake their blinds for the next couple months.  I concede I could eliminate post traumatic stress by January if I chose to walk in a less unnerving location...but I'd just as soon face a plethora of eye-puffs before I'd give up Presque Isle in all it's seasonal glory! 

Rinng Riiiing Riiiiing....Pillsbury called...they suggested I try Wintergreen Gorge.

 

Bonk On The Head

"Mrs. Yurkewicz?" 
"Yes..."
"This is the school nurse...ummm...I'm calling to tell you of a minor incident involving your daughter..."
Silence... thoughts whirring...what did she do now.

The school nurse rushed on to reassure me that my kindergartner had taken a purposeful, solid, two-fisted bonk on the head during their scheduled Learning Lab with a pretty good nature.  I was told she did not have a headache and had rested with an ice-bag on her head before being evaluated once again and sent back to class.

Truthfully, other than asking if the nurse was sure my youngest child didn't have a headache since she had been complaining of one last night and this morning I was a bit at a loss for words.  I did manage to ask about the "bonk-er" but the nurse didn't have that information, she was there to tell me my daughter was physically fine.  Even now I am still processing this conversation and wondering what type of reaction I'll receive once my daughter is home.

This is the fine line we walk as parents- when to get involved and make a big deal of something and when to  walk the sidelines, smiling and waving our support while letting them know we are near if they need us to step in.  These moments, though perhaps soon forgotten in the minds of our children tempt me to want to place a bubble around those I cherish and ensure their safety in the face of whatever comes.  I can't do that...I know because I've tried.  This little one is number seven and there is no way to intercept the boo-boos, tears, hurt-feelings, and ouchies that come.  Yes, these are the character builders.  They are building character in me simultaneously.  The hurt is a different kind- the pain of letting go.  The comfort comes in realizing that there is One who loves my children more than I and He has their back.

Perhaps it's time to be grateful for the incessant bickering that has taken place here at the homestead for...well, forever.  We've made it a rule that the Instigator must say, "I'm sorry" and the Injured Party say, "I forgive you." Yes, I agree with the children who at times have reared back with, "I'm just saying it cuz you're forcing me."  Doesn't matter, do it anyway.  It's the right thing to do. It's now become a habit within our family.  One they can not get around.  Time stops for them until these words are spoken.

Time for my youngest to take these words into her life where I am not in control.  Took me awhile to realize control was an illusion anyway.  I must practice them when the bonk-er is held accountable...after all my baby was hurt...on purpose.  Yet, a few lines keep coming to mind from the movie Finding Nemo and I'm reminded all these little calls from the nurse and bandaged knee caps from life are all part of their journey and are orchestrated to work for their own good.

Marlin: There, there, there. It's okay, Daddy's here, Daddy's got you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you... Nemo.

Dory: That's a funny thing to promise. Well, you can't never let anything happen to him, then nothing would ever happen to him.


 

I Can See Clearly Now...

  I recently took my 11 year-old and 8 year-old sons to the Optometrist.  Unbeknownst to me this type of doctor appointment should have been routine since they were six months old.  I was to be enlightened on this topic during this visit.  After the pre-screening we were ushered to the exam room where it was pretty clear my boys were closing out a busy day for this particular office.  The doctor was shifting lenses while asking the standard "Which is clearer, one...or two...two...or one?"  for the umpteenth time that day.  Appearing rather unenthused, she was able to look away while screwing in long distance vision cards to the machine- a sign she could do this in her sleep.  I actually began to feel bad as I observed her standing and shifting during the exam, concluding she was trying to inject some motion into what had obviously become a monotonous routine. 

  My older son asked the doctor what she could see as she shined the light in his younger brother's eye.  "Oh, all kinds of things- veins, capillaries, and even the brain stem that will show up as white."  I was surprised and uttered, "you're kidding me?"  "Oh yes" the kind doctor responded...and then elaborated by telling me she can detect all kinds of significant health problems by dilating the eyes.  "I can see hardening of the arteries, high blood pressure, multiple sclerosis, and cancer among other things.  I get so frustrated because a baby can't even leave the hospital after birth until they've had their hearing checked because it could affect their development."  Then she asked with more than a hint of exasperation, "Don't you think their development would be affected if they can't see?"  Clearly we had hit a hot-button for this woman and her passion for eye health rose to the occasion.  Her whole demeanor shifted to a warmer, more engaged gear and she began to ask my boys what they like to do.  We laughed over the similarities with her son's interest in football and use of imagination.  "That's great," she smiled at my sons enthusiasm for playing outdoors and having neighborhood throw-together games then added, "Kids don't typically like to do that these days."  We were now on common ground.  The excitement level rose in the room as she announced there was no-one scheduled after us and invited the boys to look into each others eyes.  My younger son held the flashlight and steadied himself, as instructed, by placing his arm on his brother's shoulder.  He then lowered the flashlight, gave his brother a grimace and said with a head shake, "You're not going to make it..."  A huge guffaw burst from us all in unison.  We kept the humor going while being simultaneously amazed at what you really can see in a dilated eye.  I even got a chance to look and saw the illuminated brain stem- which prompted the doctor to point out, "Hey, you really do have a brain in there!"  It was an unexpected delight, this appointment that morphed into a classroom as we broke through the sterile purpose of intent and actually interacted therefore bringing out the best in each other.

  We left feeling uplifted and educated, even in the department that my younger son had a surprising sense of humor.  What a great encounter.  I thought of the doctor and how she seemed refreshed as she became intent on digging through under-counter boxes to offer the boys prizes of flashlights and delight them with their black, plastic sunglasses to shield their sensitive, dilated eyes.  Their imaginative play took them from roles of playing the blind brothers to good cop/bad cop as we headed to the car.  Sometimes it just takes someone showing a bit of interest to lift the dusty, mundane lid off a passion and give greater purpose to what others offer day in and day out, letting them know they are making a difference.  Ironically, while filling out papers in the waiting room before being called back, I had asked my older son if he ever thought about what he might want to do when he grew up.  Who knows?  Perhaps this fun experience broadened my son's range of vision, offering a new perception and greater insight into the field of Optometry.  (SEE what I did there?)  ;)

I LOVE this Town!

  I LOVE my town, Erie, PA!  I can't help it-- the thought bursts through me every single time I walk the Peninsula.  I started my strolls there back in August and the beauty is mesmerizing no matter the day's weather or season.

   This summer, my daughters and I were captivated by the varying reactions from fellow walkers, runners and bike-riders.  We revisit these responses regularly...mostly while convulsed in giggles. 

   If you've walked Presque Isle on any sunny day during the warm months you'd already realize that the Karl Boyes multipurpose trail is exactly that, multi-purpose.  This is a shared path, with equal privilege given to all.  There is a courtesy reminder painted on the walk every so often asking all to KEEP RIGHT.  For those who travel...well, faster than I (ie, bike riders, roller bladers, skate boarders, and anyone jogging even at a snails pace,) the word seems to have secretly spread that you are to say, "ON YOUR LEFT," to let me know you are approaching behind me.  There's an element of excitement that is inherent in the fact that I will be run over if I don't move.  I truly appreciate the relish with which some announce this phrase, a sort of giddy power that I have no problem respecting.  This "On your left" is not posted anywhere to my knowledge-  therefore, a huge Congratulations to the verbal trendsetter who made it wildly popular!

 I've also noticed a genuine joy emanating from those bike riders who like to use their bell to alert us that we are about to be speed bumps if we choose to not share the path.  My teen-aged daughter and I delighted in the bikers who were prepped and ready to ring the bell with the lever in position, fingers quivering with anticipation to let it RIIIING...when we hear them coming and move over before their arrival.  The let-down of the moment is announced in the deflated "ting" as they depress the lever and utter a sad and unnecessary, "on your left" as if we'd just stolen their glorious, metallic punch-line.  

  Then there are the wonderfully gleeful "Good morning!,"  "Beautiful day today," and "Hello"'s  that highlight what a pleasant microcosm of our town's friendliest folks I am sharing the walk with.  Of course these greetings have offered their share of mirth based on the level of exertion said greeter is in whilst exercising.  A+ for effort to the perspiring runner who tried extending a "Good morning" which morphed into a breathy, croaked out "Meeahh" with a two fingers raised in a tired salutation.  I could only giggle because my level of breathing was barely challenged at my slowpoke pace. 

   There is a sense of comradery, civility, and kindness that seems to be inspired by the beautiful environment.  And it's no wonder, the panoramic view of Erie's skyline is stretched along views of an ever changing Bay.  At times I'm energized by the stark white clouds that invade the bluest of skies over top choppy waters that reach up to tempt birds that dare fly so low.  In contrast there have been moments that seem to have read my mood and offer serenity in the mist that hovers over tranquil waters which lap the low stones in a soothing effort to offer compassion.  With all this beauty in one tiny corner of this place I call home- I recognize how blessed I am to have been raised here and returned years later to raise a family.  I LOVE my town <3