The Sandwich Generation

  I've heard we are called the "Sandwich Generation."  Yes, those of us who have the honor, privilege, and hefty work load of caring for parents and children at the same time.

  It is an interesting place in life to exist.  The demands are tough yet the rewards are fulfilling.  To be able to care for your children and to care for those who cared for you while you were a child... it probably is poetic justice.  After all, you are being taught what sacrifices your parents made for you, in real time, as you make
those sacrifices for your own youngsters.

  My husband and I have discussed this very concept in our 5 minute meetings that are placed sporadically through the afternoon and evening.  We exchange thoughts on this topic in passing between running our kids to practice or heading to his parents house or the hospital to ensure they are fed and cared for.  We tend to pick up the conversation as we regroup during dinner prep or most likely dishes clean-up for our own children.  If I'm honest, lately it's been after the kids are tucked in bed that we have an opportunity to catch up on each other's day.  I pray, for his parents sake, that the in-depth care they currently require is temporary and once his mother has healed from her emergency surgery she will be able to do much more for herself.  She has always been so independent- she's like a different woman without her Polish, feistiness in full force.

  I don't know if it's the tone in the house that caused my youngest daughter, who is 6 years-old to look me in the eyes and tell me when she's grown up she will take care of Mommy and Daddy.  I don't quite know how I feel about that.  I suppose my response is a murky mixture of gratitude for a love so great, swirled with resistance to hinder her freedom, along with a hint of dreaded foreboding that we might actually need our children's care one day.

  Yes, the Sandwich Generation has a lot on their plate alongside a healthy dose of much to ponder about the past, present, and future.

Update

One funny side effect of going to school while my children do is the shared experience itself.  I no longer casually say, "I know you don't want to roll out of bed, get your rear in gear anyway!"  I now grumble along side them while we elbow each other in our fight for bathroom mirror prep time.  We're all in this together.

  Funny how diving into a shared experience can give a more insight into moments I used to pass judgment on.  Of course it makes sense- I'm living through similar experiences they face day in and day out.  I no longer chide about the dragging feet and forlorn faces on Monday mornings- I sympathize.  Yet, I am not as understanding about bad grades as I once was- I've been reminded of the need for hard work and I want to help my kids create great habits involving preparation and accomplishment.  If I can do it- they certainly can too.  My mantra of, "Turn OFF that stinkin' TV!," is heard more regularly now that I know what they are putting off in stall tactics.

  Over time, I will be curious to see what their memories of the time "Mom went back to school" bring about.  And there are days that I wonder if I will remember much of what currently feels like a foggy blur as I try to fit it all in and get it done.  My husband's parents have had recent serious health issues.  This has been effective in reminding me to: breathe, slow down, and remember what's important.  In the midst of the schedules, homework, and chaos I'm forced to face my own limitations and concede that when giving it your all- let my best be good enough.  If I am to succeed at this thing called school- then I must remember that the best education is within the school of LIFE.  At this stage in my life, the process of receiving a formal education must somehow blend with my, my husbands, and my children's lives- and not take center stage.  It is very sweet to witness how they do champion my efforts and pull together to allow me time to work.  It makes our play time that much more cherished.

So far, so good...albeit hectic and without much down time.  I know this too shall pass and soon it will be time to graduate- for my children and for me.  I've never been one to wish time or seasons of life away or to cling to certain ages.  I've sincerely tried to embrace each moment as it's lived, knowing it will only come my way once.  I think this is true for this unique time in my (though it's actually "our," since lives are entwined) life as well.

  Even with the end of the term nearing and finals breathing down my neck, I was blessed this afternoon to be able to visit my mother-in-law in the hospital, visit my oldest at his work, take a quick snuggly nap with my youngest, attend a son's lacrosse game, take two other sons shopping, treat one daughter to a big bag of m&m's for cleaning the house, and look through my jewelry with my oldest daughter for her formal dance tomorrow night.  I did get to give my husband a hug and kiss on the sideline at the game and I look forward to catching up on his day when he comes home from caring for his father.

  Life continues on while increasing in speed.  I find it a comfort to see my University's motto etched into the face of many a cornerstone around campus, reminding me: Carpe Diem!

Easter People

  Did you know there are 40 days in Lent but 50 days of Easter?  Alleluia- the time for somber reflection and sacrifice gives way to the JOY of the Resurrection!  During the Easter Vigil our Pastor, Fr. Larry Richards, reminded us of the importance of being a Resurrection people.  Though we will go through trials and sacrifice- that's not where our minds are to rest.  We are loved- that's what Easter is all about.

  On Good Friday, I was struggling with my son having a scheduled game, when I wanted him at the service with me.  I'm well aware there will be thoughts on both sides of this struggle.  I'll just say that a quick comment, "let go of the guilt!," from a supportive friend, was a balm that primed my heart for the message delivered during the Easter Vigil, "Live like you are loved!"  We were even encouraged to keep a log for 50 days revealing how we are loved: (i.e. Day 1: Today God showed His love for me by....)


  It's true that it's easy to have a self focus.  Easier yet, to let that focus fall on all we are doing wrong.  What if...it's not about us?  A novel idea, I know.  What a freeing, beautiful thought- that we are loved simply for being us...not for what we do.  Time to rest in the glory of His Love for us- and to turn to those around us and shower that love on them...just because they exist.
  
But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8) NAB

Pass it on <3

Quotes That Inspire

Both of these quotes are from a favorite of mine: Henry David Thoreau. 

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” ~HDT

 

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”  ~HDT

  Both sentiments resonate with me.  I feel it is important to bear the first in mind while pursuing the second.

 

  May you, dear reader, always find inspiration in quotes that resonate within you and propel you in the direction of YOUR dreams!

 If you'd like, please feel free to share a favorite quote of yours in the comment section below or at Harborlily Creative on Facebook - Thank you!

 

Run vs. Running

  Run vs. running...this is the dilemma of many parents.

  But Susan, you may be thinking, how many types of running are there?  Oh ho...now that is a question from a novice to life with children.


Of course I would like to RUN (though truth be told I'm more like a snail even when I speed walk) and yet I find myself RUNNING my busy tribe of teens (4 in the house now), and younger children to lacrosse practice- 4 of these players in the house now as well, friends houses, the Mall, and wherever else as the need arises.  This in addition to mobilizing our large crew en masse to and from Mass, family get togethers, school concerts, etc.  Truth is, we use two different vehicles to mobilize us when we all need to go somewhere together.  Steve, my husband, drives an F-150 truck that seats 6 and I currently drive a Ford 500 that fits 5.  Together we can even fit a few friends, which is often the case.

  It seems the last couple weeks have been full of commuting since Steve's parents fell ill and needed hospital care (prayers appreciated) and my Mom had her second knee replacement which created the opposite effect and immobilized her for several weeks.  Other excitement took us to the hospital for the birth of a new nephew: "Welcome Maverick!" and of course there's the day to day driving to and from school.

I've noticed a road weary expression on my husband's face as he removes his jacket after a long day at work followed by "running" the kids to practice and meeting the needs of his parents.  He never says it but I see something ever so slight cross his face when a call is received from his parents, Bushia and Dzia Dzia, which means Grandma and Grandpa in Polish.  These calls often require him to don his jacket and grab his keys- I think that "something" is a remembrance of all the running they did back in the day.  He and his three brothers all played baseball, sometimes on different fields, while their Dad coached.

  I hope my children pick up on that subtle acceptance from their father.  If my life is an indicator of how fast time moves, then the days of running will soon be upon them.  As a matter of fact, right now as I write this, Steve is currently wearing his chauffeur's cap as he drives our 16 year-old to his driver's exam.  God bless my husband- he even took a half days' work to be able to do this running...and when that's done we have to head to Buffalo for a lacrosse game.


Whew! Which do you find more exhausting...Run or Running?

Unfettered Spring

This morning I felt the rain come drizzling down while simultaneously, a robin chirped for my attention. 

 I carried an umbrella but did not put it up due to the spontaneous whisps of warm air that lifted my misty hair. 

It was as if the weather were competing for my attention.

Spring seems to be an unfettered array of sights, scents, sounds, and temperatures that have lay in wait so long through the winter they can not help their jealous cry for attention.

Lessons Learned from Live Tweeting

  Last night I chose to undertake a school assignment I'd been putting off due to feeling intimidated: Live Tweeting.  Others may call this Live Blogging.  Either way- it was an interesting night- on many levels.  I could have chosen an on-campus event but decided to accompany my husband, a Code Enforcement Officer for the City of Erie, to a Neighborhood Revitalization meeting.

  This project opened my eyes up to:

 a) How difficult Live Tweeting can be- my Professor has likened it to "Drinking from a fire hose."  Live Tweeting is using the social media platform Twitter, which allows posts of 140 characters or less, to share an event in real time.   At times the information is coming fast and furious- and we get docked for misspelled words...but even worse is misinformation!  I appreciate his concern for good, accurate news.

b) The topic of the evening- Saving a section of our town that has fallen into blight.  This area of Buffalo Road is one I've traveled for most of my life.  I went to grade school a few miles up the road, not too far from the distressed neighborhood.  I often drive through it to visit my family and  

friends who live further east in Harborcreek.  Over the years it's disrepair has become increasingly evident.  It was a bit surreal to not just drive by, but rather pull into the community center and spend time with those who live and work in this area.  We are all part of the Erie Community- even though it can feel like we live in different worlds.

c) The discussion of getting neighbors involved and creating a communal vision.  The concerns and fears discussed in the room were valid- no one wants bullets entering their home and yet, the hope that was stirred in the room by a concerned group gathered to do more than just complain was inspirational.                

d) The sincere compassion of the hosts/presenters committed to helping this neighborhood come together to affect change was positively moving.  The meeting was far from boring because of the dynamic presentation of issues and clear guidance on taking the baby steps needed before running with the project could ensue.

e) The interaction of my husband, Steve, with these citizens, who rely on his hard work to help clean up their neighborhood, was eye-opening.  I witnessed the frustration he experiences in trying to help improve this neighborhood's quality of life face off with limitations that impede that goal.  The inability to locate abandoned property owners, absentee landlords, and untended vacant lots were just a few of the hot topics.  Steve's grace under pressure of heated questioning had me feeling so proud of his commitment, knowledge, and authentic desire to make a difference  That willingness to work WITH the community won their respect.  The bridge to team-work was strengthened when he offered his direct line in response to the question who they could send their complaints to.

f) Finally, the sobering realization that when the meeting was done and my computer tucked away it was time to say goodnight to the teens and elderly that were sweeping the community center and putting chairs away.  I was heading home where my children safely waited for me.  These meeting participants were heading to their homes that still held levels of uncertain danger.  My evening was about "covering an event" theirs was about changing their environment.  Change takes time...and involved people.  It is not an overnight process.

This morning I woke with the meeting heavy on my heart.  I pondered this list until I just had to write it out...for you.  Perhaps together we can spread the word and lend a hand to help a community- wherever you live.  Because I guarantee that even if you live in a beautiful, safe, clean, and caring environment- not too far from you are people- yes, human beings, your neighbors who live a different reality.  If the situation were reversed what would you hope they would do?

I'm going to share my assignment here if  you'd like to learn about the meeting or even see the end result of using Twitter (a social media platform that allows you to post using 140 or less characters) than sharing to Storify (a platform that can create a story out of a series of your sequential "Tweets."

Live Tweeting Assignment

 

Weathering The Weather

  Snow is back.  No big surprise here- at least it shouldn't be.  However, with 70 degree balmy air last week, this week's dip below freezing would be able to catch any Erie non-native off guard.  Having lived here a majority of my 45 years I've come to expect the unexpected in local weather trends.  In the Spring, it's a given that all bets are off.  Yes, trees will be budding and flowers do brave the unknown to push up through the frosty thawed earth to see what's going on.  Even they know better than to be shocked at the arctic welcome their trembling new greenery receives. 

  I believe our weather here in Erie, PA has shaped our community into a people that are able to weather the storms of life as well as the changing skies and air currents.  We tend to be a hearty group that faces what life has to offer and continues to push up through the hardened soil of tough times in the hope that springs eternal or the eternal hope of Spring.  If you've lived here your whole life or even made it through the fluctuating cycle of one season in our beloved town- you would understand why so many choose to stay.  It is not for this time of year- though our winters are particularly breathtaking in their stark, ice-covered wonderland appeal.  However, it is precisely this blast of daunting ice that sifts the weak from our lake's shores.  For those who batten down the hatches and keep their focus fixed on what is to come- the allure lies just under the frost in the beauty that waits to unfurl it's grandeur.  Yes, for these robust souls who've loyally bundled up and tethered themselves to our blustery hitching post- the reward lies in the unparalleled beauty of spring, summer, and fall in our fair northeastern town. 

  A word of encouragement to all you strong of heart and frosty of fingertip- Hold tight (in warm mittens) against these raging bitter gusts that tug at your resolve to endure.  Know in the depths of your heart that the finest greenery has been reserved for you.  The fragrant soil awaits the proper beckon of perfect timing when, called forth, it's scent shall fill your senses with gladness and reward your steadfast determination.  Our waters that appear frozen with ill intent shall thaw and come lapping at our shores with repentant calm to bring you solace and sounds of peace.  There will be the victory dance of sun risen colors that light the rooftop of every Erie citizen that has weathered this winter with courageous willpower.  Yes, dear community that I have come to bond with in the sopping entryways of shopping centers, ice-rink worthy parking lots, and warm mecca of movie theaters visited to break the monotony of cabin fevered chaos,  I salute you with a steam-breathed  "Almost there!," uttered through frozen lips and squinted, watery eyes.  I wish you warmth in the final affront of winter as we all set our face toward those days that make these wintry skirmishes worthwhile.

Giving Up for Lent

 Lent began last Wednesday.  My Spring Break began this past Monday (though technically it began after my very last class on Friday). 

  I watched as many students in class raised their hand in response to the teacher asking how many are going somewhere warm for break.  I admit- though I quickly pondered the thought of sunny beaches, I really wasn't all that jealous.  I relish the thought of making progress on a few house projects.

 One of my Lenten callings during spring break was to get to daily Mass during the week.  The challenge being that my two youngest weren't feeling that same calling and Mass began before they catch the bus.  In order for me to be able attend they'd have to go with me.

  For the record, I am not one who's above bribing and this presented the perfect opportunity to try out the term "positive reinforcement" that has been a hot topic in my Psych 101 course.  Also for the record- donuts work like a charm.

  On the drive to our first morning Mass of the week, my young daughter and son were very receptive to talking about the whole concept of Lenten sacrifice.  We discussed how getting up a little earlier to be on time for Mass was a great thing to offer up.  It was at this point in the conversation as they were tossing ideas of offering up treats and privileges that my daughter said, "Well, I've already given up talking back to you, Mom."  To which I responded to my feisty first grader, "That's a very good thing for you to give up, Evie."  She was not done with the discussion until she blurted out, "I'm giving up being perfect!," in the most sincere tone.  I couldn't help but let out a laugh and tell her that is actually a very good idea.

  Evie made it through half the Mass before the wiggles began to get the best of her.  Barely able to contain herself she asked in a not-so-subtle hoarse whisper, "Is it time to go yet,?"  "No," I quietly returned with an added, "Shhhh," to keep her tone down because we were sitting directly behind three elderly, female, church-going regulars.  "But we're going to be late for school!" she whined.  I vehemently shook my head back and forth and pantomimed my finger to my lips hoping to silence her.  This did not get the desired effect as she insisted, "Time to go!"  I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Hey, you gave this up for lent," to remind her of her intent to not talk back to me.  She was quick to reply in her not even close to quiet whisper, "No I didn't- I gave up being perfect."  I didn't count but I'm fairly certain all three sets of shoulders and sets of coiffed hair in front of us trembled slightly in an effort to either keep from sighing or hold in their laughter.  I chose to believe the latter.

  Over this past week I've also come to believe my daughter's proclamation to forgo perfection as sage advice to me.  For sure, this past week's Masses have been a real call for me to let go of any notion of being perfect and just hang on to the fact that we made it to church at all...let alone mostly on time after helping the older four with earlier school schedules catch their bus on time.  The three elderly ladies who were privy to this "whispered" conversation...normally would have been cause for perspiration to bead on my scrunched brow out of a need to keep my children behaved.  This week I let go of exceedingly high expectations and worry of others judgment and was grateful that we had this opportunity to be...simply that...just be in the presence of a God who understands because He made us and even said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." (Mathew 19:14). 

  I didn't get many house projects done this week- but that's ok, perfection is overrated anyway.  What a great Spring Break reminder. 


 

Gone Fishing

  The dawning of a new age.  The passing of a torch.  These are two of the phrases that describe what I witnessed this morning although I wouldn't say it was a sudden, quick toss of the torch. More like a slow, at times tedious, passing that took years and years to prepare when suddenly you look and the torch is already moving away into the distance and you just don't remember handing it off.

  In this case- the one who poured blood, sweat, and tears wasn't even there to see the fruit of his labor head off in the early morning light.  Instead, I was there to witness the miraculous coming of age that arrived when I dropped my son off at his very first fishing tournament in the cold, early morning hours at Presque Isle.  I was

trying to give my husband, Steve, a few extra minutes to sleep in before rousing the troops for Sunday Mass.  He was the one who had taken trucks, then mini-van's full of children to the many creeks, ponds, lakes, and streams over the years.  His patient fingers had fixed hundreds of worms onto hooks and cast countless lines over calm waters through various seasons of our life.  Yet, here I was, bleary eyed and tousle haired throwing my coat over my jammies to comply with the "Hurry Mom, we're running out of time!," excited plea of my 16 year-old son, Stevie.

  Stevie was born to do this.  He's a natural.  I kid you not, more than one of his science teachers have told us they turned class time over to him to allow him to share his knowledge of habitats or feeding patterns, etc.  He doesn't need a lot of people around him, just nature and the freedom to fish and hunt.  In this case, it was a pan fishing tournament and the only path to his freedom was a car ride from Mom or Dad.  This particular competition was a partner event.  My husband is on the mend from a nasty virus and couldn't go nor could the few buddies Stevie had called.  If there's one thing that's certain about my son, it's his determination.  I've heard his friends call his passion for fishing "dedication" which I found a very nice term for what I consider obsession.  Either way, I was happy to support his love for this fresh-water sport even if I wasn't feeling elated to be up at what felt like the crack of dawn.

  We drove in silence watching our breath puff out like vapor in the 32 degree weather.  I glanced over at his single layer of sweatpants and wondered for the hundredth time if Stevie was capable of feeling cold or if he truly possessed a superhuman quality of being able to withstand extreme weather.  When we reached the marina parking lot I swiftly veered to the right, surprised by the large group of guys lined up to sign in.  I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't this.  I glanced sideways to gage my son's reaction and wasn't rewarded with much other than a tightening of the jaw.  He hopped out of the truck and ran around back to get his gear while I hastily pulled my unbrushed mane into a sloppy pony tail.  As he headed toward the line I rolled my window down and this is when my true reward came...the bit back smile and the flash of adrenaline in his eyes as he leaned his camo-capped head toward me- allowing me to kiss his cheek.  My boy has had the same signature smile- a shy grin he tries to bite back to hide his excitement for as long as I can remember.  I quickly said good luck and watched my son hurry to the line, buckets, poles, and bait in hand- determined to enter his first fishing tournament out of what I'm sure will be many.  And just like that, it happened.  He became his own man, without worry that he didn't have a partner.  He wasn't

concerned with the cold, stares from strangers, intimidating sign up lines- nope, he hopped out of our truck and hurried on his way- knowing he was doing what he was born to do.

  Later that morning, worn out from rising early and the rush of getting the family ready for Mass and teaching religious education to an energetic group of fourth graders, I allowed myself the luxury of an afternoon nap.  The phone rang and I heard my husband answer.  It was Stevie.  This time I was gifted the few extra minutes of sleep while my husband headed down to the Peninsula to gather our son.  He was back within half an hour.  I groggily asked how Stevie did and he simply said, "I'll let him tell you."  I didn't have to wait long after closing my eyes again.  I felt my son poking my shoulder and looked up into his smiling eyes.
 
  Though he didn't win first place team event, he did bring home the prize for the largest fish.

  I've already been told the next tournament is a mere two weeks away.  I think it's safe to say Stevie is hooked! 

Tooth From Down Under

  In my family, trips to the dentist typically happen in groups of two kids.  I generally sign them both in and spend the appointment hour running the hall between two rooms.  I pen my initials next to "No Change" and settle one child in the electric exam chair so the dental hygienist can start the cleaning.  Then I find the other child and together, we giggle at the same cardboard tooth poster that's hung on the wall for the last decade until their assigned hygienist needs my initials etc. 

  The last visit went just like this until the tech said, "we have a problem."  I actually nodded my head and laughed thinking she was pulling my leg.  I've never heard those words spoken of my 12 year-old son, Sam.  Fortunately for him, he'd inherited very strong, straight teeth.  But, it was her latex-gloved finger pointing to the panoramic x-ray that brought levity to the situation.  Quickly, she explained that Sam's lower left canine tooth had tilted completely on it's side til it was horizontal and then migrated all the way under his lower front teeth, until it was preventing the right canine tooth from coming up. 

  I was stunned.  We had been waiting for the right canine gap to fill in ever since he'd lost his baby

tooth years ago.  It wasn't long before the Dentist came in the room and exclaimed, "Wow!  That's one for the books!  His tooth has gone on a walk-about!".  I still giggle thinking of that line- good one Doc!

  Well that tooth and my son continued their walk-about from the dentist to the orthodontist and up the road to the oral surgeon.  This was to be a pretty involved procedure that would require the removal be done in a surgery center with anesthesia.  The danger was in the proximity to facial nerves.  There was risk of permanent numbness, tingling, and paralysis.  Yet to leave it in posed a threat as well.  We were told because of the tooth's position laying sideways under the other teeth, that if Sam were to take an elbow to the chin while playing a sport, his jaw could break.  We needed that tooth to be outta there. 

  What started as a trip to the dentist for a cleaning turned into a surgical procedure that ended up successful and safe.   Our son did great, anesthesia and all.  He definitely was loopy--our personal favorite moment was when he was just waking up post surgery.  Clearly out of it, he asked if it was over and we answered yes, stroked his hair, and told him he was fine.  Then, in a completely unexpected turn of emotion he whispered, "I'm gonna miss that tooth," and promptly burst into tears.  I laughed then cried right along my son.  At least he had a chemical reason to be emotional.  I had no excuse except I love my son and when he hurts, I hurt. 

  All's well that ends well.  Sam gained a fuzzy, stuffed ducky he named "Quackers," and all the ice cream, Popsicles, pudding, jello, and soft drinks he could ingest.  His smile was huge as we checked our sweet bounty out at the grocery store...but his poor swollen chin was so sore he could not enjoy the treats we rarely buy.  He's much better these days and we regularly check the right canine "gap" to ensure that poor tooth has indeed been set free.  If not, it's back to the orthodontist to help it along on it's very own walk-about.

Life Long Learning

  The school bell doth toll...this time for ME!  Yep, 45 years old and I'm a backpack toting, Psych 101 studying, note taking, BONAFIDE student.

    Admittedly, this is not the first time I have answered the call of the "bell."  My first college experience was while I was in the Navy, stationed in Spain.  I added English and Ethics courses to my regular duties as a "Squid" overseas.  Not a bad way to break the scholastic ice.  The next time I headed back to school was sheerly for knowledge itself.  I was on a spiritual quest and wanted to know WHY I believed WHAT I believed.  So, off to the Franciscan University of Steubenville I went, with a course load of theology, sociology, and even an acting class (SO much fun!).  I then took time off to apply some of this knowledge in a practical way.
 
   A few years passed before I heard the Diiing...Dooong...ringing a beckon to further knowledge.  I answered with, "Yes please, I'll have a course of Public Speaking with a side order of Principles of Management."  By this time I had a little one to chase around so this was a whole new ball game figuring out how to manage time.  I decided the timing wasn't right to go for my undergrad degree.  However, that was not to be my last attempt. I eventually tried going back when I was the mother of four children.  That trial period lasted one semester of four classes.  Clarity struck when one of my children was standing a mere foot away repeating, "Mommy, Mommy, Mama, Mom..." in an effort to gain my attention. I was bleary-

eyed from staying up til 3:30 A.M., hunched over my keyboard searching for the perfect ending to a history essay assignment when a flashback struck like a lightning bolt. The flashback was a vision of what kind of Mommy I had always thought I'd be and it was in stark contrast with my then current abilities as wife and mother of four kiddos aged six and under, attempting a full time course load.  Aaand...I was expecting again.  That semester was a defining moment, teaching me to "let it go."

  Here I am, 13 years later, not regretting a single moment my choice allowed me.  In fact I'm grateful I had the opportunity to be present to my family, give myself fully to my loves, and live life in the moment.  Though I am far from not being needed as "Mom" (may that never be the case!), the pealing bell summons again.  This time, it's a family affair.

My 6 year old finds neurons interesting...sort of

  My youngest of seven is in first grade and she fakes interest while I describe how the synaptic vessels deliver neurotransmitters.  My seventh grader is willing to discuss the topic of "fake news" with me since we are both currently covering this matter in our respective classrooms, and my tenth grader has volunteered to tutor me in Algebra if need be.  Trust me...if I have to take any math class, the need will definitely BE.


 My husband takes my breath away with his support.  He works hard to help me carve out the necessary time for homework yet balances me with an invite to tuck the younger kids in and say their prayers.  My teens still burst in or quietly wander through the office door and flop in my easy chair to ask questions, share their highs and lows of the day, or willingly be subjected to the latest chapter on Human Behavior.  I never took down the chin-up bar from when my eldest occupied this room so I have a pretty constant call to watch daring feats of strength while I'm memorizing definitions.

60s means heat wave in Erie

  I've learned the way for me to achieve balance is to include my family in my studies and insert my studies where my family is.  This weekend the beautiful weather whispered, well, more like shouted
our names with temperatures in the 60s.  We couldn't let that call go unanswered, so off to the park we went.  I read from the text book while my youngest played on the jungle gym and her older brothers shot hoops.  When she tired of climbing, she asked for a push on the swing.  I readily complied then jumped on the open swing next to her and pumped my legs til my feet touched the sky. We giggled like crazy as butterflies filled our bellies.

  Maybe I needed to be taught more from the school called LIFE before the "school bell" called me back.  I find myself relating what I learn in the classroom to moments I've lived through and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have a deep well of experience to draw from.  Feels like the timing's right.  We shall see.  Diiiing...Doooong.



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!



 

 

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.

Pushing Through

 

  Overcoming obstacles is largely a mindset.

  The other night brought howling winds.  I hadn't gotten my walk in that day and I was determined to keep the schedule I had going.  Add to that, the text from my accountability partner telling me to get out in that stinkin weather.  She had run seven miles facing 50 mph winds.  How could I not walk my two measly miles?

  Dusk was due pretty soon after the motivating text came in so I needed to move it.  I sought the child most susceptible to pitying their mother walking alone in inclement weather.  Thank you dear sixth grade son:)  By the time we got to the Peninsula the winds were whipping the waves into a choppy soup threatening to splash if we got too near.  It was necessary to divert my son's growing apprehension in facing the creaking, thrashing limbs of trees lining the path. I tried to talk him into looking horizontally instead of vertically at the overhanging frenzied branches.

 Not even half way to our turn around mark, my son was reaching high-anxiety levels, complete with screaming over the wind, pleading, glistening eyes squeezed in fright, and hands locked over his ears.  "C'mon, we're almost there!," came my return plea.  "I want to go home!  Don't you hear how dangerous this is?," he shouted right before a branch landed behind us with a loud CRACK!  For the first time since I began walking this summer I began to add interval sprints.  "Hey", I panted during the recovery phase, "courage doesn't mean you're not afraid.  It means you feel the fear but do it anyway."  I don't know what reserve of strength kept my son moving forward in the darkening night as the wind screamed, branches yelled menacing threats, and dried leaves accompanied the desolation with their scratchy skittering for cover across the paved paths.  Our backdrop of the rolling water leapt into 3-D focus with intermittent sprays adding to the surreal evening that seemed to intensify in danger the further we went.  We continued on at a quickened pace while I yelled to myself as much as to my frightened boy, "Don't miss the beauty!"  Though justified in our wary state, it would have been a shame to miss the crescent moon taking center stage in the stormy sky.

  We did it!  We made it to the half way mark...now to get back.

  We were face to face with an onslaught of the wind's full force pushing back against our efforts.  My son's arms were aching from his effort to hold them against his ears the entire way.  He resisted my earmuffs and gave me a scathing look at the offer of my fluorescent pink scarf.  My legs were feeling the burn from unfamiliar exertion.  Our clothes billowed out as we held onto one another during the frequent burst of upscaled gales.  Anxious to be out of harms way, my son said, "C'mon Mom, let's run through this next part!"  I knew he wanted to quickly get through the tunnel of trees lining both sides of the next hundred yards.  We had already been stepping over downed limbs.  I felt the leaden weight in my legs and knew I had reached exhaustion..."I can't.  I just don't think I can do it."  Clearly, I had made an error of judgement in pressing on- but we had no choice but to get ourselves back to the car.  We had three quarter mile to trod and we would have to fight for every step.

  That was the moment I realized how brazenly I had encouraged my son about courage as I kept on in the face of his keen terror.  He had kept going...I figured he'd be proud of himself for overcoming his fear.  I hadn't  the extreme mental mountains he was climbing to get over that hurdle.  I truly believed we'd be fine- I had walked this trail in a downpour before though my son had not.  My son is a lean and lanky, natural runner...though I am not.  I looked at the path ahead and made the decision to push my legs and lungs hard!  If I could ask my son to keep going, in what appeared to be a death-defying situation from his perspective, then I better darn well give his request the same respect and push through my perspective which insisted I simply could not.

  I gained insight as we rounded the bend to the safe comfort of our car.  It's easy to ask others to keep going in the face of their struggle when we know the outcome.  It's easier yet if they are our children and we have authority that can demand it.  It would be very good for our appreciation of what we are asking of them if we but walk, or run, in their shoes every now and then.

Linked In...Somehow

  With Thanksgiving a couple days away most people's thoughts drift to family, feasting, giving thanks, pumpkin pies and the like.  There is, however, a group that IS looking forward to all the aforementioned delights of the season...and yet, their focus has already shifted past the actual holiday.  Their heartbeat has already begun to quicken at the thought of the following Monday.  There's a subtle buzz of excited energy that seems to surround the die hards in this group, almost as if they're hearing a call in the close distance but must bide their time until they may answer.

  You very well could be related to this group.  Doesn't matter if you are a daughter, son, spouse, parent, cousin, grandchild or friend to one in this group.  If camouflage, antler rattling, binoculars, walkie-talkies, deer urine, or no-scent laundry soap have entered your home or conversations...you most likely are linked to this breed known as HUNTERS.  Perhaps YOU are the link in your family?

  I have vague memories of my Dad taking my brothers out in the vineyards and woods around this time of year for small game.  Those instances were so rare that I remember a feeling of surprise they knew how to hunt or that my father even owned a gun.  And yet, it wasn't until a few years ago, when I was given a DVD of my Dad's childhood that I learned of his passion for hunting with his family.  His joy was apparent in the black and white footage that captured several excursions with my uncles and people I don't know gathering before, during, and after triumphant hunts.  I grew up in a family of twelve children.  My Mom was in need of as much support and assistance as she could muster.  I've since come to understand that hunting from dusk to dawn was the first of many sacrifices my Dad would make over the years. 

Ironically,  I married a man who, I thought, was hardcore into nature.  Sure, he talked a great deal about animals and loved to take me for walks at his buddy's camp to "show me the beauty of the trails."  I simply had no comprehension of scouting.  I suppose I could have been a little more tuned in to the fact he had owned his own archery shop.  And while he seemed to have a real penchant for brown, green, and olive clothing it was the unusual liking for fluorescent orange which perhaps should have raised some serious questions in me.  There were the couple times I was caught off guard as he startled the heck out of me during one of our nature walks with a spot on crow call.  I remember giving him an awkward compliment on nailing the likeness as I let the question of what type of person learns the calls of the wild fly right out of my mind.   If my Sweetheart told me he was a HUNTER while we were dating it must have gone right over my head and out of my radar with regards to how it could possibly affect my life.  While dating, I realized this sincere, kind-eyed cutie was a man of few words.  Hindsight being 20/20, I NOW see how I greatly underestimated his phrase, "I like to hunt." My experience with hunters were the infrequent, random times my Dad and brothers went out with a gun to see what they could see.


  My accumulated information over the years now reflects my maturing knowledge on the topic.  Whereas, I was used to fall for the line, "Honey, we have to go most nights this week.  The season ends Saturday!"  I now know there is almost always something in season.  The main changes are merely the target and tools used to hit the target.  The urgency I once naively catered to has grown into a respectful, "Hey, babe do you mind if we go out tonight?  The ducks are flying."  The subtle change showing in the question mark. 

I have come to truly appreciate the meat in the freezer with seven of our own children.  I love that my husband has passed on this incredible survival skill to those of ours who want to learn.  Yes, there are a couple daughters in line to take the hunters safety class as well.  The balance of heavy work-load is shifting in these later years.  The babies in bibs I tended to during the hunts are growing into camouflage bibs, worn to scout and call in the deer they only heard about in their youth.

  I've noticed a trend that most hunters skipped a generation.  My husband learned from his grandfather since his mother was determined to never marry a hunter.  She had grown up in a house where hunting schedules inflicted a strain on her parents.  Hunting can be an undeniable passion.  Some might call it an addiction for those who answer the call.  I kind of got swept in before I knew what was happening.  My sacrifices of being the "hunting widow" throughout different seasons have mellowed into a joyful expectation of spending time with those who stay back.  That's been the tricky part.  One of my younger sons recently confessed the reason he stopped hunting with Dad was that I always took the other kids to the movies, out to eat, shopping, and visiting with cousins while they were gone.... 

 So, yeah,  I'm not gonna lie...I learned to be a woman of few words as I would tell my husband, "No, Hon, I don't mind if you take the older ones to go hunting for a long weekend."  Hey, they learn to call, scout, and track.  We learn to "adapt." ;)