Date Night!

 

  "Hey, guess what?," my six year-old daughter hollered, "My Mom and Dad are going on a DATE!!" 

The eyebrows of the visiting neighborhood girls shot up as they responded, "Wow, that's great!," before turning to me with twinkling eyes.  "Yeah," I responded with a lackluster grin.  My husband had just asked me to join him for wings at the corner pub and I was tired but determined to see this through as I had turned down his last three "30 cent wing night" invites.  When I whispered "Daddy and I are going on a date," to my youngest it was more with the incentive of hurrying her through her nighttime routine of jammies, teeth brushing, prayers, and story time.  She took my announcement as the epitome of every princess and prince story time and...well...ran with it- straight to my closet to pick out the fanciest of fancies for me to wear on our "date."

Fancy!

  I kid you not, my pipsqueak, little blondie was starry eyed as she dove into the array of coat hangers and literally held up sequins and ruffles.  I countered with comfy hopefuls of denim capris and t-shirts.  She developed a system of giving me thumbs half-way up or even thumbs down.  At one point her thumbs down was so vehement that I asked if I should donate the colorful tank I halfheartedly held up.  She responded, "nah, you don't have to get rid of it...I might grow used to it...one day."  Aaand, into the donate bag it went.



  Disappointed but willing to accept my desire for comfort over pizazz, she ultimately gave a half-hearted, midway thumb-up and shook her head sadly as she agreed to my extremely bland "date" attire.  Eager to move on, she exclaimed, "Ok Mom, time for make-up!"  With lightning speed she located and pulled out that one tube of bright RED lipstick that must have pulled at my sentimental heart-strings enough to hide it out of sight instead of discarding it during the removal of all 17 pieces of Wal-mart's holiday deluxe make-up gift set.  By this point, even knowing I'd severely decimated every romantic notion once whispered into "happily ever after" stories, I could only stare blankly at that tiny hand waving her red, waxy magic toward my lips.

  "Ummmm...how bout we try something that matches a bit more?," I weakly offered.  She could deal with options, "Sure Mom, show me what you got!"  "Wellll...," I tried to buy time as I rummaged around and came up with two safe choices.  I bravely held out #550 SAND in one hand and with a flourish attempted to impress her with No-name option 2 which could have been named SAND with a mere hint of glimmer.  Her obvious lack of enthusiasm was immediately on display as she lowered her eyelids halfway to convey her boredom and asked, "So...they're the same?"


BOOOORING!

  This night was destined to be a teacher from the get-go...I can barely admit that I had attempted to reward my sixteen year-old son's hard work at the house by inviting him to come with us.  To say my husband lacked enthusiasm with eyelids half lowered would be a gross understatement.  He was looking forward to "date-night" as well.  Turns out all this effort was to open my tired eyes to see how deep I had dug into the trenches of Mommy-hood.  In the end, well- actually before we began, we were asked to leave the wing establishment because of our son's age.  We had no idea they had recently changed their rules to prevent anyone under 21 to be seated after 9 p.m- even at the outside patio that had drawn us on previous summer nights.

    Ironically, my six-year old daughter was my "wing-man" that night...having my back and giving me a lot to think about in terms of dating my husband. 

  All's well that ends well.  On my next invite to date-night you can bet I found a happy medium somewhere between sequins and denim...and even broke out the curling iron and brighter pallets that left SAND in the dust.  My husband and I eventually enjoyed a night out, held hands, giggled at brave karaoke participants, and reveled in that sweet feeling of 17 years and going strong.  Casual or frilly, I'm looking forward to dating my hubby for years to come!

 

Happy Birthday Brings Changes

Dearest Family and Friends,

  For those of you who may be unaware--Seven years ago today our family's lives were forever changed with the birth of our seventh child, John Michael. 

  Well, let me back up- our lives were first changed in the discovery that we were expecting another baby- there is ALWAYS that mystifying blend of excitement mixed with the reality of accepting a whole new person into the family.  However, it was in the discovery of John Michael's genetic condition, Trisomy 18, our paradigm shift of parenting soared, plummeted, and eventually found peace throughout the pregnancy, birth, tentative two days of life, and ultimately death of our beloved son and brother.

  I had started this blog, Harborlily Creative, five years ago in hopes of establishing an outlet of creativity along with a desire to inspire others to use their creative talents.  It became my place to throw thoughts, humorous findings, parenting tips, and the beauty of discovered truths.  I cast my lot into the vast world wide web to see what would be sifted and what just might stick throughout time.  Interestingly, those things I was certain would remain have drifted off and I find the common theme that has remained to be a giant mirror held up to my life..in all it's imperfections, beautiful laughter, silly phrases, and real life moments.  I'm totally cool with that.  Perhaps I'm becoming more comfortable in my own skin after all these years of thinking, "In order for it to be right it had to look a certain way, behave a certain way, sound a certain way, etc."   My life does not resemble what I had envisioned at the start of marriage and motherhood.  In many ways I still struggle with trying to meld my reality with my image of what was "supposed to be."  However, it is the Peace I find in letting go and embracing the joy right in front of me that allows me to accept my life for what it is- my vocation.

   Once upon a time I wrote a book: TRIUMPH about living through John Michael's pregnancy and facing the unknowns after being given an "adverse prenatal diagnosis."  For some reason I thought it wise to keep my social media sites separate.  I had a personal FB page in addition to the Harborlily Creative page- which was renamed to match the book, Triumph, and the new Harborlily Creative page to keep a candle lit for the original hope of encouraging others in their lives and creativity.  I have a website devoted to sharing the book as well:  http://www.triumph-story.com

  Recently during a conversation in which I was discussing my general confusion about what gets posted where, a wise, young woman asked me, "Susan, why do you feel the need to keep all these bits of your life separate?"  To which I responded that, at the time of separation I had thought the average person might find the death of our son depressing and it might be a better idea to have a different place to host those conversations about pregnancy and loss.  Again, this gentle soul carefully offered her opinion that having John Michael was and is a part of my journey.  Our experience with our son helped shape my perspectives for the better in many areas of life, love, and even in discovering God's will and purpose.

  Perhaps it's time to stop separating all these areas that I thought needed boundaries and merge my efforts while embracing the whole of who I am and what I have to offer.

  Just when I thought I was getting comfortable in my own skin I'm shown it's time for growth.  Once again, I'm totally cool with that.  I've heard it said the only constant in life is change...so here we go.  From here on I will be posting under the Harborlily Creative Facebook page and other social media sites listed as Harborlily Creative.  I would GREATLY APPRECIATE your support in liking and following these pages!  More exciting things to come as I explore and develop the ideas that have been percolating for a while now- so please do stay connected!


  In the meantime won't you please join us in celebrating John Michael's birthday by sharing your prayer intentions with him?  He was baptized before his death so we know he carries your intentions to the very throne of God.  This mother's heart is sure of his love for you and his desire to help you find Peace. 

  Happy Birthday Son!



 

 

ROOTED in Surprise

  My five year-old daughter and I were snuggled in for my "favorite time of the day."  This "favorite time" is notoriously known amongst my children as "Nap Time."

  Looking for insight and inspiration from the mind of one so young and unsullied as my little, sparkly blue-eyed cherub I asked her, "So, what's it like to be Evangeline Rose Yurkewicz?"  To which she responded without missing a beat...

  "Well, I've always wanted to be a horseradish."

  And there you have it folks...outta the mouths of babes.  Well, kiddo, I gotta admit...I did not see that one coming.

In Her Mind's Eye...

  In her mind's eye I was a bunny rabbit.  Not just any bunny rabbit, but the most beautiful of bunnies with a healthy pink glow in the cheeks, a soft pink nose, teeth that are perfect...even if they are pink and droop from my bottom lip, and of course satiny pink ears that might as well stem from my eyebrows.  Yes, I was a delightful creation that had sprung from the depths of her boredom. 



see my pink teeth?

  In MY minds eye...well, let's just say I was a sucker...thoroughly enraptured with my five year-old daughter's commitment to seeing this project of face-painting through.  Though I had been swindled into role reversal in a proposal offered to end her despair of "nothing to do" on the fourth day off of school, I delighted in every dip of the paint brush she held in her tiny yet capable hand while I sat in my "make-up" chair and let her work her magic.

  Actually, at this stage in my life letting someone dab one of my softest paint brushes over my face felt so good that I didn't mind the offer to paint butterflies and a duck (morphed into a t-rex) upon my hands as well.  Sure darlin', set your inner artist free.  Mama is your canvas and I am captivated with your confidence as your paint droplets of "oops" become a new creation.  No fuss no muss...complete lack of worry nor need for perfection.  I want to be her when I grow up.

Taaa-daaa!  Big reveal in the mirror brings my widened eyes to new levels of "appreciation,"  while my husband, sons, and of course the neighbor boy are treated to the unveiling of Mommy Rabbit.  "Oh Mommy, you're BEAUTIFUL," Daddy graciously doles out compliments while readying his camera.  I thank my tiny artist and give knowing smiles to my sons looks of astonishment mixed with dollops of hilarity and head to the shower.

  Only, there's no time for shower before a knock on the door announces my Mom's arrival from across town.  "Just in time for tea with the bunny,"  could be my only welcome in such a situation.

  A good hour and a half into our lively conversation my husband takes pity, or so I thought, until he announces, "I just can't take you seriously like this," and heads to the store.

 I marvel at his goodness as he unloads the largest jar of Noxzema and a tidy packet of make-up removal wipes.  Surely this will remove the dyed remnants that mere face wash and water couldn't erase. 

just...won't...come...off!

  Well, six scrubbings and the removal of approximately five layers of sloughed skin returned my comfort level with leaving the house.  My little artist had to get to dance class and I was her ride.  Off we go with her singing and my scarf worn high while my hat is pulled low.  Yet there is still a smile glistening in these eyes.  This is the stuff life is made of and, "Remember when?," stories are born.

Airbrushed vs. Toothbrushed

Brushing my hair and applying makeup were once thought to be practical steps to beautification before heading out of the house. 

  Not so much...anymore.

  Ever since the time, in the not-so-distant past, when not once...but TWICE...found that by leaning over the bathroom sink to apply a bit of color to my pasty white skin I was actually completing the task of becoming minty fresh as well.  That would be quite the multi-tasking feat IF it were happening in the dental region.  However, since it was happening midriff section...I was less than pleased. 

  Yes, I had managed to get a good-sized glob of toothpaste across the undershelf of my belly zone.  What the heck, I'm 44, mother to seven children,  compiler of countless hours of exercise with a side of clean eating.  I have absolutely no reason to put on airs and deny the "baby pooch."  God as my witness, I've tried to humble it's appearance.  It can't be that bad, because no facial, close-up mirrored reflection reveals it.  No, apparently it can't be seen until all make-up is applied, hair is curled, and I'm ready to walk out the door.  Only when time is running short and a step back is taken to reveal the finished product will it most likely reveal itself.  Of course, the fact that it is outlined in a thick, sticky, white, peppermint-scented tracing of my sink ledge might draw attention to it. 

  I quickly decided it best not to highlight the area by allowing my children's dental routine left-over's to remain on my purple bloused midsection.  I grabbed the nearest towel slung into the tub and quickly doused and rubbed before glancing in the mirror only to notice I still had mascara to apply.

 No big deal, no harm done I thought, UNTIL I leaned back from the mirror and observed, YET ANOTHER slab of breath freshening intrusion across my towel-blotted belly.  You have got to be kidding me!  I checked the time, which was already pressuring me, and lunged for the sopping towel once again to rid myself of all offensive white paste.  It worked!  However, left in it's place was the darkened shapes of not one...but TWO dark silhouettes coming together to form a genuine likeness to the finger lakes region.  I probably could have explained one sodden patch...but this new addition called for drastic measures. 

  I ran for my hair dryer, searching high and low, until locating it in the most obvious of hiding places- right next to my wood-burning fire place.  Memories of my 15 year-old trouble-shooting, ingenious son attempting to achieve a hotter and higher flame during the previous night's cold-snap enlightened me as to the why of it's location.  No time to reminisce and ponder on his brilliance...nope...only time to recognize the familiar ashy scent that had flooded the house the night before causing windows to be opened a crack.  If I weren't scrambling for time I might have appreciated the scientific teachable moment which revealed air circulating into a suction driven motor will carry other particles along with it depositing a certain scent as air is dispersed...right into the fibers of my swampy, purple blouse in five seconds flat.

 I give up.  Why try and hide the fact that my life is not picture perfect, nor am I.  Perhaps this is a good thing...if you don't require fragrance free and have an appreciation for the finer perfumes not found in the most exclusive boutiques.  It seems I have created a most enchanting, totally original, unique aroma boasting an outdoorsy bouquet of mint, laced with hints of soap and undercurrents of filtered woodsmoke.  Ooh la la.

Dinner Party

 

  Question for you:  Do you find anything unusual about a frozen, lifeless waterfowl being shown around the table during a dinner party? 

  Clarification:  It WAS formally dressed for the occasion in a swanky, white, plastic garbage bag with just it's head exposed...well mostly, there was that beautiful colored wing feather that deserved to see light.

  I ask because I was a participant at said dinner party.  Ok, fine- I hosted said dinner party and was participating in the oohing and aahing while my hunter son walked seat to seat, proudly displaying this chilled, beautiful bird.  Forks paused midair while guests viewed tinted hues of greens and blues.

  It wasn't until my eyes met my mother's, amused and twinkling under raised eyebrows, that it occurred to me... perhaps this is not the norm around dinner tables across our great country.

 My desensitization began thirteen years ago while checking the pockets of my young son's jeans before loading the washer.  I was horrified and completely disgusted upon withdrawing a tangle of shriveled, dry worms.  You can thank me for sparing you the blog I envisioned about two years ago titled, "Fish guts on my front door."  And I won't bore you with details of the frog leg I stepped over while trying to break into my own back door to retrieve the keys locked inside. 

  I will tease you with tantalizing hints of future posts detailing how glorious it will be to have yet another set of antlers that are currently being... readied...for display from the newest hunter to hit the trails.  But you probably know ALL about that...because doesn't EVERYONE have a deer head buried in their yard with just the antlers sticking out...covered in tinfoil...letting nature do the dirty work?