Kris Upon A Star

What I Know For Sure

2012-01-11T19:28:00.000-06:00

In my house if you want dessert, you eat your dinner. I know, blah, blah, rewarding with food, blah, blah. Olivia's and Grace's dinner consisted of one little taco with steak and vegetables and about 2 bites of re-fried beans. Gracie powered through because she wanted dessert. Olivia cried. Actually, she's still crying right this moment just two rooms away. It's been 40 minutes, she will keep crying well into bedtime. Olivia is very determined.

End result, Gracie got to eat a dessert and Olivia didn't. What did Gracie pick for her dessert? Well, first let me tell you what would have happened if the situation was reversed. Olivia would have wanted a big fat bowl of pink ice cream in a pink bowl that she would decorate with a little pink paper umbrella and eat with a pink spoon. Would this be because Olivia LOVES pink? No, Olivia doesn't really like pink. Olivia loves yellow. It would be because Gracie loves pink and Olivia wouldn't want to miss out on sticking it to her sister. That's how she rolls.

Here is what Gracie had for dessert; two pieces of celery with peanut butter and a scant sprinkling of tiny white and chocolate chips.

Here's what I know for sure; Olivia hates celery and peanut butter. Gracie knows it too. Gracie is a really nice sister.

2011 Part Two: Things That Lifted Me Out of Darkness (Even If Only Momentarily)

2012-01-02T16:05:00.002-06:00

This was supposed to publish on New Year's Day and I got distracted. If I have left anyone out, know that I am so thankful for so many things in my life and you are no doubt one of them.

The 40 years of love I received from my mom (even the cases where it felt more like emotional water boarding). Disclaimer: I wrote this before stupid Kathy Griffin said it live from Times Square on NYE

My brother, Erin, without whose existence I would literally fall into pieces. He is the only other person who wholly knows what it is to live in Cheli’s world and what it will be like to live without her. I am grateful to have a partner in this, even if our experiences there were different (like sometimes first class and coach different)

My best friend, Shawna, who keeps me from driving off of bridges and for being my essential person, always. Also for thinking “if I’ve got 3 days left, he’s got a day and a half” is as funny as I thought it was

My children for teaching me that it is totally possible to love someone so much you’d happily jump in front of a train for them while in the very next moment you can actually visualize the handle bar mustache that would appear on your face as you were tying them to a train track of your own accord because they make you so crazy

The Fair Weather Friend signs I designed and had made for my ambulance

Fair Weather Friend customers

Tina's Closet in Lisle who helps to hold up my giant boobs; no small feat

Thia, Jesica, Pam, Amber and Kim who ran the kitchen at my mom’s memorial. Thia and Jesica for helping me hold it together and for doing anything I asked and didn’t (including writing a giant check to the caterer when I forgot)

To one of the above women for entrusting me with a precious secret

The Batavia Plain Dirt Gardeners for keeping me busy and for the small group of women who mother me when I need it

John Janunas for being the object of the only Dad crush I’ve ever had and

Sally Janunas for kissing my husband firmly and frequently and for the love she has bestowed upon me and my kids (well…and my husband, obviously)

Melissa Hyams for just being herself and being my friend and for her surprising love of small children

Aunt Mare for being Aunt Mare

Dr. Tim McGee for keeping our heads above water and our hopes afloat

Every ICU nurse at CDH but most especially Rhonda, Robin and the little one who’s name began with an E

My Aunt Donna for being here

Cathi who has been my good friend through the hardest 5 years of my life

Tricia for being my new friend who feels like an old friend

Maria and Minmae and Jon (who seems really crabby but is sad that we’re moving) and Maria for knowing how I feel and constantly having the ingredients I’m out of

Every single person who has ever commented on and/or followed my blog; most especially those in South Africa and South Dakota. I am lucky to have a group of friends I’ve never even met and excited to be conversation fodder at book clubs!

Aidan Erin James Harper and specifically his razor sharp sense of humor

Grace Lillian Kaminski and specifically her steadfastness

Olivia Rose Kaminski and specifically the joy that spills out of her daily

Dan for being always willing to try harder; you are very determined

My amazing mother in law; Patti Kaminski who has been there for me through everything

Leah and Jenny for stopping and being present and for being not only cousins, but two of the best friends I have

Pete for being a pain in the ass but for giving us options

Heather B. Armstrong for keeping me laughing (www.dooce.com)

Carol Meyerson at Sugar Plum Dresses in New York who went above and beyond

Lisa Minakata for the very funny newspaper articles and her mom, Pat Demus, for picking up a phone and being a voice I’d recognize anywhere.

Jeannie and Bill Petrosini for taking my kids into their hearts and amazingly into their home (you guys are nuts)

The Cremation Society of Illinois, not because I used them (I didn’t), but because their motto is “Thinking outside the box”. Seriously

Ron Schweigert for loving my mom and for being the closest thing I’ve had to a real dad

Hele Effgen for always thinking about my family and Caitlin for keeping me busy

Every woman (and there were many) who confessed to me that, they too, were raped (including my own Mom) when I wrote this post. Sisterhood cannot be under-valued, women get through trauma by sharing and your sharing was a gift to me. Thank you

Everyone who had something interesting or funny to say about my mom

Dr. Anthony DiCarlo at Batavia Back and Neck Center for fixing me when I'm broken

Logan for lighting up any room he’s in

Boston, Natalie and especially Mason for being the best friends my daughters could have

All of the facebook friends who lifted me up when I was down, something that is usually silly became like a life preserver

My neighborhood for its safety, friendship and comfort, I love my pajama party girls’ nights

Cathi (again) and Jim for loving my kids like their own; the feeling is mutual. An extra shout-out to Jim for being able to tell my girls apart since infancy, it's really special to identicals to be known apart

Tricia (again) and Nick for the same; although your love feels a little scarier like if they ever go missing, I’ll be knocking on your door first

That my grey hair is coming in the color of my very expensive highlights (thanks Hagan genes)

That by this time in 2012 I will have chickens, so many chickens

As usual I have much more to be thankful for than I deserve. Have a blessed and beautiful 2012.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart

2011 Part One: Things That Can Kiss My Ass

2012-01-02T15:31:00.000-06:00

This post was to publish on New Year’s Eve and I just plain forgot as I was busy throwing out my hip.

As what has been a truly horrible year for my family ends I’d like to share two posts with you. The first one will be entitled, “Things That Can Kiss My Ass” the second one, “Things That Lifted Me Out of Darkness (Even If Only Momentarily).” I thought I’d finish with the good in some sort of effort to fool karma or whatever force it is that has been fucking with my family all year.

Part One:Things That Can Kiss My Ass

Death

Uterine cancer

COPD

“End-stage” anything

Mortgage companies

Soccer Ball sized cysts and fibroids

The Republican Party in general

Arch Bay Holdings, LLC

My flat fucking feet

My back, neck and all bones attached to either

Over draft fees

AT&T for keeping me on hold for 40 minutes while deciding weather to give back my dead mom’s money

All doctors at Suburban Lung except the lovely, hopeful and empathetic Dr. Tim McGee (my mom would want me to tell you he looks just like Rahm Emanuel)

MDS (the blood disorder, and while we’re at in; throw in muscular dystrophy, that sucks too)

Alcoholism

Clinical Depression

AD/HD

Food poisoning

Packing up your life

Moving your garden in the late Autumn

Writing thank you notes that you can’t send for your mom’s memorial because it's too final

Anything that causes any of my children to be heartbroken, except bedtime; that one is ridiculous

KISS MY ASS, 2011, DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU IN THE ASS!

Where Upon I Get Trapped In My Life (Literally)

2011-12-28T10:41:00.000-06:00

The lock on my bathroom door is broken. Well, it's not so much broken as it is unable to withstand my two smaller children. Literally, they have found a way to just make the locked door open. I have one of those fancy knobs and their forcing the lock has sometimes caused the outside handle and this long metal piece to fall out. It's really annoying but the door is easy to open. Or so I thought.

This morning I decided that I was going to make one of my own Christmas wishes come true. I was going to go to the bathroom in complete and total silence and privacy. If I need to go to the bathroom or if I have a phone in my hand I go from being a red-headed step child to being the belle of the ball. Instant popularity.

To overcome my passive lock, I locked my bedroom door. My children have perpetrated the following list of evils upon gaining entrance to my master bedroom/bath over the years resulting in a heavy duty utility doorknob with a heavy duty lock being placed where my beautiful, stylish doorknob used to be. It requires a key which we keep hung out of reach (although, working as a team, they have gained access to it twice). Here is the list:

Used approximately $500 worth of my extensive make up kit to decorate the (at the time) 2 year old carpet with tribal drawings rendered in $35 Bobbi Brown Gel Eyeliner in both brown and black and a large variety of Bare Minerals eye shadows for color and highlight.
Drew stick figures in Black Sharpie marker on the carpet and left signatures (which did not keep them from arguing their innocence)
Unwrapped a stack of beautifully wrapped EMPTY lia sophia boxes for a display (they knew they were empty, they watched me wrap them).
Cut their hair no less than 5 times between the two of them.
"Cleaned" mom's closet by unhanging everything within their 3 year old reach.
Used Essie "Jazz" nail polish to decorate the cabinet in our bathroom that their Dad built for me
Put SEVEN small bars of soap down the toilet at one time and flushed.
On at least 2 occasions they dumped an entire bottle of shampoo in the Jacuzzi tub while jets were on resulting in an 8 foot high pile of bubbles and a level of giggling that nearly made it worth while.

I'm sure I'm leaving out some of the better ones. Now, back to this morning; I lock my bedroom door, I walk through the open bathroom door, I close it and I lock it. When I'm done, I turn the handle. Nothing happens. Did I mention that I've turned up the TV so that I won't even be able to hear them yelling, "mom, mom, mommmmmmmy" at the door? No? Well, I did. Did I mention that the outside handle had fallen off earlier that morning? No? Well it had; it happened to Olivia and I promptly forgot about it. Did I mention that I am naked except for a fluffy pink bathrobe and that the window to my bathroom is small? No? Well, that's true too.

As it turns out, it's not so much that my lock is passive; it's more that it's passive/aggressive which didn't work in my favor. I keep my house at about 62 degrees and suddenly it felt very warm. I yelled and yelled for the girls. Aidan was sleeping soundly in his bed across the entire house and up a flight of stairs, safely insulated by his ever-present headphones. The girls were busy playing with the Disney Enchanted Castle. No one came. Where was the popularity? Didn't they know I had just used the bathroom privately, with no interruptions? Usually my cell phone is in my pocket. Not when I'm naked in a pink fluffy robe. I tried yelling again, targeting the specifically helpful child.

"Gracie, Gracie, GRACCCCCCCIIIIIIE, mommy needs HELP!" Success.

"Mom," she yelled and I could tell without seeing that her entire little body had been thrown up against my bedroom door, "mom, how did you get stuck in your bedroom?" "Gracie, I'm stuck in the bathroom too, can you go get your brother?"

Suddenly Olivia the spy is interested, "I'll get him, Mom, I'll help save you!" Away they tear to get their brother, Olivia screaming, "Hurry Aidan, our mother is in grave danger, you must come quickly."

The plan was that Aidan (who can reach the keys and is welcome in our room) would unlock the bedroom door, re-assemble the bathroom knob and free me. Who am I kidding? There was no plan and quite honestly I figured he'd just push the door and it would open. The adrenaline induced emergency fueled newly fabricated plan involved the aforementioned lock re-assembly. And, it would have worked except....for once in her life Olivia stopped upon dropping something (the doorknob), picked it up and sat it where she figured it belonged......IN MY BATHROOM!

On to plan C. Aidan had to go out the kitchen door onto the deck and I had to hand him the pieces of the doorknob through the window. The girls heard him, thought he was in the bathroom with me, and started to cry because they wanted to be in there with me. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have stayed in that bathroom alone until someone came looking for me. It probably would have been the highlight of my week.

Aidan re-assembled the lock and I was free. The moral of the story, I think, is that privacy in the bathroom is highly over rated. It's also possible and I would venture to say, probable, that the ghost of my mom was just having a little laugh. Until I was a mom myself, I just thought my mom was one of those people who pees with the door open. As it turns out, she was just a mom who couldn't catch a two minute break by herself. Well Mom, you got me back, I'll never try to go to the bathroom alone again!

Grace

2011-12-13T23:45:00.000-06:00

Dear Gracie,

Happy Birthday, you’re 6! Remember the other day when you read to me and I started to cry? That was because I’m so proud of you and so happy for you. You are a lot like me; reading is going to save you over and over again. I’m so excited that you are beginning that journey.

I love, love, love that you could give a crap about boys in general but are a loyal and good friend to Jake. I’ve never met a six year old in a 1 ½ year relationship, it’s really, really interesting to watch. It’s further proof of how consistent you are as a person. Once you make up your mind about something, that’s it. You get that from me, maybe that’s why I like it so much; I get it. That will serve you well for your entire life. It’s a gift to make decisions and not ever question them.

I admire your independence and I love that you and your sister are close without being clingy.

I’m really excited about this summer, the new house and all of the gardening we are going to do.

I know this year has been hard, you are the middle child for certain; always keeping steady, never causing waves. I hope you know that it’s okay to freak out. It was really hard to lose Grandma and have Grammy get so sick. You are amazing.

Here are some things I think about telling you:

Keep working on your kindergarten grip; it gets easier.

Snuggle your sister more; the opportunity won’t be there much longer.

Don’t be self conscious; everything about you is absolutely breath taking.

Sing loudly and dance more, you are a fabulous dancer and I’d be happy to get you some singing lessons.

Embrace your curls, know that your hair is God answering my childhood prayers.

I hope you never, ever, stop squinching up your nose like an angry troll; it’s enchanting.

Crocs don’t actually work with everything; in reality, they’re hideous and I hope you grow out of that phase.

I would never willingly leave you.

Gracie, it’s your day, enjoy every moment of your 6^th birthday. I love you.

Love, Mom

Olivia

2011-12-13T23:23:00.001-06:00

Dear Olivia,

This year has been a hard one, but you are finally six! I am so proud of the person you are growing into. When Grandma died and your Grammy got really sick, I was really worried about you. Don’t tell your brother and sister, but one of my favorite things about you is how joyfully naughty you are. I think when Grandma died and Grammy got sick you got scared that I might die too and you started trying to be too good. You did a really good job at it; I was afraid that you were never going to be my joyful naughty girl again. But, I think you’ve found a really nice balance between naughty and nice; I’m sure Santa is impressed.

We had so much fun while you were five and I’m really excited about six; it’s one of my favorite ages. I can’t wait for all of the adventures we are going to have together this summer in our new house; it will be even better than last summer.

And, no, you may not have a cell phone now that you are six. Just relax because it is going to be a long, long wait.

I’m trying really hard to remember all of the funny things you say now because faster than anything you are sprinting away from your babyhood. Just the other day you asked me if the holes had grown into your ears yet so you could wear earrings and even though you got really mad when I said that you have to have them pierced and you’re not allowed to until you’re ten, I thought it was so cute that you just believed they appear with age. I’ll be really sad when you say “thank you” instead of “fank you.”

Here are some things I think about telling you:

Don’t be in such a hurry to get married, being single is really, really fun

Don’t worry about being “cool” for Boston or anyone else, you’re cooler than any boy I’ve ever met

Sing louder and dance more, you have a charming voice and moves that make me question weather or not I am biologically responsible for your existence.

Stick with the leopard print; it works with your personality.

The key you wear around your neck makes you seem mysterious, that will work in your favor in years to come.

You have great taste in music.

You will be reading fluently momentarily, I am literally holding my breath; whole new worlds are about to open for you.

I would never willingly leave you.

Liv, I think you’re amazing and I hope you have a fantastic 6^th birthday. Also, six really is too old to draw on furniture and walls now, please stop.

Love, Mom

I'll Be Home For Chirstmas

2011-12-07T23:37:00.002-06:00

If I had it my way, I'd have a Christmas tree up year long. I'm not going to lie; I've stretched it from the weekend before Thanksgiving until the week after my birthday. My birthday is March 7.

The appearance of the Christmas tree marks the beginning of what has always seemed a magical season. For me, it is more my mom's doing than Christ's and beyond her; my grandparents. Every year I helped my grandparents put up their tree. I'd soak the branches in the bathtub with my Grandpa and then after it was up, I would spend hours decorating with my Grandma. She would tell me the story of every ornament. For years and years, long before I was an adult I collected ornaments and planned which ones would decorate my tree when I was an adult with my own children. Probably an odd hobby for a long-time Pagan. To me Christmas trees symbolize magic and family; home.

This year, my collection has expanded expotentially; I have my mom's ornaments. Every single one a story, a trip, a memory, a fragile thread wound from myself to her. It is a connection between generations; my children never met my grandparents, but through the stories of Christmas ornaments they have come to know them.

I just finished my tree tonight. Traditionally, I start it myself, I finish it myself, I have lots of help in between. I like to do the tinsel alone; and while I obsessively and carefully place 2-5 strands per branch, I think about how my mom would throw it on while telling me how she used to like to torture her sister by throwing it. My aunt Donna likes it like I do; placed with intention, my mom....not so much. Tonight my brother came over and together with the kids, we hung hundreds of ornaments on my beloved, 25 year old tree, even Dan hung out with us. My tree broke the other day; it is 25 years old, and I had a little bit of a nervous breakdown about how much I've lost this year; Dan fixed it up immediately; it will likely last 25 more. It takes me 3 days to light it; it has over 40 strands of the big, old fashioned bulbs on 5 power strips spanning 3 separate circuits in my house (my new house will have a dedicated Christmas tree circuit, courtesy of Handy Danny). The assembly and lighting of the tree is something I thought I liked to do alone; I have to admit, this year I had the help of tiny hands and it was nice. Figuring out how many lights I can plug into which strips and which circuits is not for children. The language is coarse, my temper is short; that part gets done at night, alone. But the ornaments, that is the fun part. As we hang them, my kids ask questions about them, about my mom, about my grandparents. I tell stories. I get to re-live one of the favorite parts of my own childhood with them. Always, it makes me feel closer to my grandparents. This year, my mom.

I thought I'd share with you a few of my favorite ornaments. As my family gets ready to spend our last Christmas in our home and our first Christmas without my mom, I am thinking constantly about home and family. I wish for you and yours a beautiful and peaceful holiday season filled with magic; Cheli style. Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice, peace.

It says "Cheli", one of her best friends has them made every year.

A hand-blown German snowman bought at Disney World with my Mom and Aidan.

Glass ballet slippers bought when the girls were born.

This one is a tape measure; spanning & recording 5 years of Aidan's growth.

A Swarovski crystal ornament, a wedding gift from my Mom.

A clown from the 50's, it lost it's umbrella long ago, but it was one of my favorite ornaments on my grandparent's tree.

A tiny mouse in a dried milk-weed pod. My Grandma bought it for me at a craft fair at the American Legion when I was 5. For nearly 35 years I told people it was a butterfly cocoon until I started gardening and realized it was a milk weed pod!

Sparkly love from my girls.

At my wedding, Aidan and I danced to "Baby, Mine" from Dumbo, we bought this that Christmas.

A gift from my Aunt Vicki for my wedding.

A bird and nest that were always the first ornament I hid in my Grandma's tree.

A hand-blown German glass ornament, part of a bridal set, that my Mom and Erin gave Dan and I when we got married.

A gold glass bead covered stocking from the forties; one of my Grandma's favorites.

An ornament from my Grandma's childhood.

A few years ago, my mom gave me a limited edition Artisan 6qt mixer from Kitchen Aide and this ornament, I wept with joy. I named my mixer "Martha."

My Mom and I got this one at a craft fair at the Odium in Villa Park when Aidan was 6 months old.

Why Bologna Is Bad For You (Please pee before reading this post)

2011-11-28T13:13:00.000-06:00

I am prefacing this post with two facts, I love Target and I'm a big fan of Oscar Mayer (a fact which may be purely based on my love for their jingles and the existence of the wiener mobile)

I'm running through Target this morning in a quest for Tassimo espresso pods. I'm in a hurry, Dan is waiting for me to get home to two children with four pink eye outbreaks between them so that he can leave for work. As I run by the coolers, I remember that Olivia is newly in love with bologna. I'm not going to pretend to understand or endorse her new love, it is what it is, and of my three children, Olivia is post in need of protein. So, as I approach the bologna, I reach up to the top shelf and grab the only size available, the one pound package. The one pound package looks exactly how you're picturing it. Oscar Mayer is not of a Pepsi mind; they don't change their logo, they don't change their packaging, the bologna looks exactly like it did when we were little. Probably the same as when our parents were kids. Except that 40 years ago they didn't sell bologna in ONE POUND packages and it wasn't in a spring-loaded bologna package holder.

I grab the package as I'm walking, my head is slightly turned away from the bologna as I have just remembered that I wanted to grab eggs as well and I see them up ahead. I grab the bologna and suddenly all hell breaks loose. I am hit in the face with more force than a good soap opera slap and less force than something you might see on UFC. My glasses are knocked askew, I've closed my eyes as I don't know what's happening. My body starts to fold in on itself; the brain reacts to protect you even when it can't figure out what's actually happening. WHACK, hit in the face, WHACK something slams into my chest. Target is doing some sort of major restock and I'm not kidding when I say at least 10 Target employees are standing in the aisle all around me. I hear someone yell "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD". I think, "this is it, the end and I'm too afraid to open my eyes and see what's taking me out." The attack stops as suddenly as it began. I straighten my body and slowly inch open my eyes hoping that they still work, checking for bruises and blood. I'm okay. A Target lady is there, checking me too. She's apologizing and I'm wondering why she's apologizing, had she attacked me? What had I done to deserve such a vicious onslaught? But, no, she didn't attack me. The SPRING LOADED BOLOGNA ATTACKED ME. Seriously, the spring loaded bologna was over-filled by some well intended, zealous Target employee and when I grabbed mine the one behind it started to come up and well....I was shot point blank by two one pound packages of bologna exploded directly from a bologna rocket launcher.

If you know me, you know this would only happen to me or someone related to me. I have nothing else to add except this; I would embarrass myself if I told you how long I searched the internet for a picture of the offending rocket launcher. I'll have to snap one next time I'm there!

Why I Wanted To Be Black When I Grew Up

2011-11-17T16:54:00.000-06:00

When I was little my mom told me I could be anything I wanted to be. I was probably six, it was the seventies. What I wanted to be more than anything else in the world was a black woman. I was in a bit of a Motown phase and to me, black skin was not only beautiful, but, if you were black you could sing and dance. Singing and dancing was all I wanted to do. If you've ever seen me do either, you'll take note that it was a prayer that went unanswered. I'm sure this is politically incorrect on many levels, but I was six and I had nothing but the best of intentions. My kids are at that age and I started laughing today when I was thinking about being anything I wanted to be.

When my mom followed her statement with the obvious question and I answered honestly, she said, "well, I guess you can be almost anything you want to be, how about an astronaut?"

On that note, a very happy birthday to the lovely RuPaul.

Happy Birthday Cheli!

2011-11-15T13:51:00.000-06:00

The following is what I wrote for my mom's eulogy. I told you I'd post it and today is her birthday, so here it is! I cannot even explain to you how much I am missing her today.

My Mom has always been larger than life to me, which is why I think I don’t really believe that this is all true yet. 4 weeks later, I still can’t begin to imagine a life without my mom in it. My mom was interesting, generous, loyal and really, really funny. What I will miss most about her is her sense of humor. My mom could deliver a one liner like only one other person I know, my son, Aidan. I feel very lucky that I have him to remind me of her every day. He was the light in her life and the closest I’ve ever been to being her favorite. Erin may be nicer, but I produced the grandchildren!

I’m sure my mom would have been as important to me with a dad around, but without one, here’s what I know; your mom becomes everything. She was Mom, Dad, bike fixer, lawn mower, killer of mice, source of food. You name it, my mom did it on her own, well maybe with an occasional assist from her Dad, but you get the picture. Until my mom was hospitalized this last time, I had never gone more than a week in my entire life without talking to her and that was only because she wouldn’t let me call her in Europe. Even when we weren’t getting along I spoke to my mom at least once a day and more likely 5 times. Just ask anyone who ever worked at St. Paul Federal; I called a lot. I’m 40, I can still tell you the phone number, 963-7575.

My mom and I had what you might call a complicated relationship. Not all of it was pretty, but all of it was real. Fights which flared up quickly passed in an instant. Love, humor and a sense of home never wavered. My Mom could make a cardboard box feel like a home. My brother and I never understood why our friend’s bedrooms were so ugly, why were they so plain? Why didn’t they have a 5 foot Ziggy painted on their wall with matching decoupaged storage or a crystal chandelier and hand-made desk in their rooms? Well, it turns out it was because Cheli wasn’t their mom, she was ours. Lucky us.

I think most people would assume that my mom was an extrovert, but a select few of us knew differently. My Mom was really introverted. She struggled to feel comfortable in a crowd and I’ve always thought as a coping mechanism she developed this way of just bringing you in so that she wasn’t alone. Really bringing you in. You could have a 5 minute conversation with her and know her enough to truly call her a friend. She just had this open, here’s who I am, take it or stick it quality that drew people to her in droves. My mom’s heart was huge.

I was certainly not immune to it. I have intense memories of just thinking my mom was this magical person, the smartest, the most beautiful, the coolest. She made the most mundane things exciting. I remember when I was 5, it was our first St. Patrick’s day in these awful apartments after my parents divorce, I’m pretty sure I wanted a shamrock shake from McDonald’s and I’m fairly certain my mom couldn’t afford one. My mom poured plain white milk into a glass and up came bright green milk; magic. She was always doing things like that. To me, my mom was always more magical than Walt Disney and Santa Claus. She worked a lot, she did it totally on her own with not a penny of child support, so any time we got to spend with her was well worth the wait.

Even at five, I knew my Mom was something special, she always captured the room. I don’t think my Mom every thought of herself as the prettiest girl in the room, but wow, she had this something that just stopped people in their tracks. It was amazing to watch. You could literally watch people fall under her spell, it wasn’t always the easiest thing to live up to, but I wouldn’t have given it up for the world. I’ve never known what to call it, maybe charisma? Her old love, and really her soul mate, Ron says “allure”; that’s a good word for it. Whatever it was, it always felt like magic to be around her.

That same quality is what made her such a good friend; she didn’t care if you agreed with her, or really if you were even interested in what she had to say, she just threw down her whole personality, BAM, you could take it or leave it. And no one left it. At the same time, she allowed you to throw down your stuff too, encouraged it even, she probably got you to talk about things you didn’t even know you wanted to talk about. Even if she disagreed, it didn’t matter, you were her friend.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard in the last few weeks things along the lines of “your mom changed my life.” You don’t have to tell me about it; my entire life is based on either doing exactly what my mom did or exactly what my mom didn’t. Either way, I wouldn’t be who I am without having had her for a mom. My Mom adopted people, and when she adopted you, she made you family. Period. By the time this is being read to you, you’ve already heard the same thing from at least three other people; there was no one like Cheli, they broke the mold when they made her and they broke our hearts when they took her back.

Now that I’m a parent, one of the things I really admire about how my mom raised us was that she didn’t do that whole “saying no for the sake of saying no” parent thing. If she didn’t have a problem with what you wanted to do, she let you do it. Even if it meant that she had at least twice as many kids as she was supposed to in the house, even if it meant she ended up feeding them all, even if it meant becoming their legal guardian. If she did have a problem, she let you explain it; if it made sense, if she could see your point, she would change her mind. If your friend needed a place to stay because things were bad; she said yes. She said yes because they were important people to Erin and I and that made them important to her.

That ability to open her heart and just love people is an amazing gift; I’m so grateful that I have it. There is nothing like the feeling of loving someone and being loved in return. That is really noticeable during times like this; I can’t tell you how grateful I am for my friends and family. You have held me up and kept me going and the relationships I have with many of you are a direct result of that quality in my mom. She didn’t have the easiest life, definitely not the easiest relationships, but she never let that keep her from opening up and loving again, reinventing herself. That’s really amazing.

Next summer I plan on scattering some of my mom’s ashes at Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills where my best friend Shawna lives. Some of you know this story, all of you will think it is funny. I’ll clean the language up and share the story and then I’ll tell you why it’s really funny to me.

Many years ago I was with my mom and she brought up one of the natural wonders of the world; Mount Rushmore. “Mom,” I said, “Mt. Rushmore isn’t a natural wonder, its man made” “What?” she said and then quickly recovered with, “well, what the hell is the big deal if someone made it?” “Mom, someone spent years of their life, and then years of their child’s life to design and carve Mount Rushmore.” She said, “well, what a ridiculous waste of time.” And then she was done thinking about it, well, at least until I opened my big mouth and blabbed and it became the family joke. When Leah broke up with her high school boyfriend, a boyfriend who was in on the joke, my mom said, “Now we have a loose cannon out in the world.” Wherever Mitch is today he should be thanking his lucky stars that my mom didn’t have him whacked.

What you might think is funny about that story is that my mom thought Mount Rushmore just happened that way, like maybe God did it. Which, don’t get me wrong, is funny, but it’s not what’s really funny to me. What is truly funny is that if you knew my mom, you knew she never spent 30 seconds thinking about things that were unimportant to her; Mt. Rushmore was barely a blip on her radar. It wasn’t that she thought about Mt. Rushmore and decided it got there on it’s own, she never bothered to think of it at all because it didn’t matter to her. So basically, she took this ridiculous story about a statue she barely cared about and she made it this fantastic and dramatic tale, which involved threatening my life on at least two occasions, and made it part of her personality. I will not be the least bit surprised when someday while standing at the foot of Mount Rushmore I overhear total strangers recounting the story of this crazy lady who thought Mt. Rushmore grew that way.

Sadly, no one will ever hear the story the way it was meant to be told again, because the only person who could do it justice is gone. I’m sorry that you had to settle for my version. I wish for nothing more than my mom to be here to tell it to you herself. Since she can’t be here to tell that story or so many other amazing stories, or how she felt about any of us; I will say this on her behalf; my mom loved her friends and family more than anything. We were what kept her going while she was alive. We are who is left to keep her memory alive now that she is gone. I wish for all of us a long and accurate memory so that we can tell and re-tell the wonderful stories that she gave us because every time we repeat one and laugh, my mom lives in us.

In Direct Proportion

2011-11-13T17:39:00.000-06:00

I've spent countless minutes of my life wishing for my mom's voice to quiet so that I could have a thought to myself. You know where this is going, right? Now, of course, I'd do just about anything to hear her voice......

In the past I've had entire conversations with her when she wasn't in the room. A drawback to having a person so much larger than life in your life is that you find yourself with them even when you're not. Any decision I've ever made about decorating a room, for example. While decorating our house, I'd hear my mom's opinion about whatever I was doing; before I did it, while I did, after I did it, occassionally as I re-did it. Sometimes she was actually there and sometimes I just heard what I knew she would say; the good, the bad and the ugly.

It's possible that growing up without a dad shaped that aspect of our relationship, but I tend to think that it was just the pure force of my mother's personality. My mom informed most of the information and opinions of the people in her life, myself included.

Now I find that I can barely write and I am wondering if the amount of words that came out of my mom's mouth were in direct proportion to the amount of words propelled by my pen. For the moment, she is quiet and I seem to be out of ink. I certainly hope it's temporary and I wonder what my mom would have to say about it?

In Memory of My Mom, In Memory of 9/11, In Thanks for My Blessings

2011-09-11T19:08:00.001-05:00

Yesterday my family said a final goodbye to my Mom, exactly one month after losing her. Today our country remembers the terrible tragedy of September 11, 2001. Tomorrow Dan and I will celebrate 8 years of marriage. To say it has been a weekend of emotional highs and lows would be an understatement. In the days to come I will publish the eulogy I wrote for my mom and, if they will let me, the ones written by her sister, her niece and two of her life-long friends.

My Mom and I threw a lot of parties together over the years; it was one area where we never disagreed. I’ve been told more than once that I should be an event planner, and that would be thanks to my Mom. She threw a hell of a party, I watched and learned. I had a really specific vision of what I wanted and it seemed to be in tandem with what my aunt and brother wanted too. We didn’t handle her memorial as a traditional funeral, my mom was not a traditional woman. My Mom was cremated and all of the urns I found were just hideous; hideous and outrageously expensive. So, my Mom showed up to her memorial in a lovely turquoise urn from one of her favorite stores; Homegoods. $29.99, thank you very much. This memorial service, for me, felt like the last party I was ever going to throw with my Mom and I wanted to do it right. I feel one hundred percent certain it came off with the feeling I intended and my Mom would have been proud. I did over-buy the MGD 64; I guess I just didn’t factor in that my Mom wouldn’t actually be at the party. We had amazing speakers who all shared a common thread; my mom had a huge heart and if she loved you, she considered you family. Period. We had beautiful music and wonderful food. My Mom would have enjoyed herself.

There aren’t enough words to explain how I feel about my Mom, so today; I’m not even going to try. What I’ve been thinking about all day today is how blessed I am. First of all, I have absolutely, hands down, the best family and friends on the planet. My friend Jamie found me two bartenders and acted like that was a normal favor to ask. I sent one email to three people and Jesica, Thia and Pam handled everything in the kitchen. They baked for me, they gathered vases for me, the handled caterers for me, they set-up, they organized, they cleaned. Thia kept me from jumping off a building when I accidentally spilled some of my Mom’s ashes in transit between urns (a story for another day). Her husband Tim became our personal DJ/audio guy. Shawna dropped her life and flew 500 miles to save mine. She entertained my kids, she cleaned my house and she kept me together. My friend Colleen found me a projector at the last minute and showed up when she hates funerals because she loves me and loved my Mom. My friend Jim helped me with my video and my friend Cathi fixed my girls’ hair and brought my family to me. Cathi and her mom, Randie also weeded my yard this week, and Cathi does NOT garden. Five years ago Thia and I joined a garden club to get away from our kids. What I ended up with is a group of friends that have held me up with their mothering both before and after I became motherless. They have gathered around me like mother hens, calling me to check-in and calling each other to make sure I’m okay. They have opened their homes, their gardens, their linen closets and their hearts to me and I am so thankful. They know who they are, but I’ll feel better saying their names. Thank you, Diana. Thank you, Ron and MaryAnne. Thank you, Yvonne. And thank you, thank you, thank you to Jeannie and Bill, Sally and John and Melissa. I'm sure I'm forgetting people, I'm tired, it's not that you're not appreciated. And, I’m not even going to get started on my family today, I still feel too emotional.

So today, while remembering what happened 10 years ago, I’m choosing to focus on the positive that came out of it. Tragedy brings out the best in Americans like nothing else. I’m remembering the fire fighters and responders who ran up while others ran down. I’m remembering Frank DiMartini and Pablo Ortiz who saved nearly 80 people from the North tower while sacrificing their own lives. I’m remembering that all the stereotypes about New Yorkers aren’t true; on that day the entire country were New Yorkers, and we all helped each other. I’m remembering that I stood in line for four hours to donate blood because so many people beat me there. I’m remembering a group of brave Americans who became heroes on a suicide mission that ended in a field in Pennsylvania instead of our Capitol or a white house on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Today, I am remembering, remembering, remembering.

Rest In Peace, Mom

2011-08-14T22:25:00.001-05:00

Yesterday at 1:25am my Mom died. My Mom died. My Mom died. I've said that at least 150 times in the last 24 hours and it still does not feel real. I can't say "passed" because it makes me think of kidney stones and poop. Every time someone says it to me I have to concentrate on not cringing.

When I woke up this morning I thought, well, that's it, now the clock starts counting back down. Every day that will happen from here on out is a day without my mom. I remember feeling that when I was 16 and my Grandma died. I hit 32 and every day after that was one more day of my life that was longer without her than with her. Every day after I am 80 years old, 5 months and 6 days will be a day longer without my Mom than with her. That sucks. But it's true and it's not. My mom is fully entrenched in nearly every thought I have, and that's not because she's dead, we've always had a very enmeshed relationship. It was complicated and probably a little messed up but it was what it was and I wouldn't change it now. She is with me always.

In February my Mom moved in with us, it was a move that turned out to be more of a blessing that I ever thought. One of the complications of combining two households is what to do with all of the "stuff". One of the things my Mom insisted on bringing was a framed copy of a poem I wrote for her on May 11, 1996; if I remember correctly it was an inexpensive, but heart-felt gift; this is it:

From you I have learned

that a woman can be a mother,

a father, a banker....

a friend.

I have learned that pointy feet

must be earned,

and staying on your toes is not only taught

in ballet class.

From you I have learned

that grief fades in time,

that strength can be found in heartache

and that sanity is found in laughter.

I have learned

that laughing at yourself

can keep you from crying,

and that sit-coms are good for the soul.

From you I have learned

that the war is more important than the battle,

that grace is a gift

and that courage can be worn like a medal.

I have learned that keeping your chin up

lets you see where you're going

and music helps you remember

where you have been...

From you I have learned

that love is not a simple thing,

that it grows and changes

and takes on different forms,

I have learned that somehow you always know

which kind I need.

And that's just what she taught me in my first 25 years. My Mom was a force of nature and the world is a darker place without her. My hope is that my Mom has found peace and that the strength I've learned from her will get me through the coming days.

For My Mom and For Myself

2011-08-05T09:37:00.000-05:00

For me, my favorite thing about my mom is her humor. Most people would tell you she's really, really, really funny. One of the unique pieces of our interesting and complicated relationship is that I really see my mom as a person and not just my mom. I'm glad for the ability to separate the two. I don't spend much time writing about the complicated part of our relationship on my blog; it seems like the inappropriate venue to work out relationship issues that span 4 decades and really belong on an expensive therapist's couch. What you read here is going to be very funny Cheli stuff; usually.

I asked on facebook the other day for people to share their funniest Cheli stories and they're funny and you can see them here. What started out as a request for a much needed laugh ended up getting me thinking about some of the things that I always admired about my mom and haven't spent too much time being grateful for lately.

My friend Amy is who made me remember with her comment (you can read a funny story about Amy and Cheli here), "all I can say is that your Mom was there for me in the depths and I underline depths of despair. Not funny, just amazing" and that is true. My mom was constantly, amazingly, unselfishly available to every person I decided to love. If they were important to me, they were important to my mom. She was able to stop her life at that moment and mother a child who was not hers and who was truly in a deep, dark place and she made a difference that Amy still thinks about 23 years later.

On the same post, Shawna (who you can read about ALL over this blog) said, "I loved that she bought me the book "Looking Out for #1" when I was 15 and told me to "get some confidence" which is also true. But more true is that Shawna had a complicated childhood and as a teenager suffered a long and dangerous eating disorder. If you ask Shawna why she is alive today she will tell you that my mom saved her. And she did. And in a million little ways that I forget about when I'm annoyed with her, she has saved me over and over again.

Most parents probably don't love all of their kids friends, but my mom just totally, completely opened her heart to anyone I deemed worthy to love. It is a gift that I will be more appreciative of going forward. For my mom and my family this week, I wish peace no matter the outcome of my mom's illness. For anyone who reads my blog, I thank you for the outlet.

Wherein Gracie makes out with Olivia's Boyfriend

2011-07-14T18:27:00.000-05:00

Suppose you sail through life as the younger identical twin? The older twin, she falls, she works hard, she punishes herself to learn skills; crawling, standing, walking, running, riding a bike...you name it. Almost without exception the younger one is "no, I'm scared, I can't, Gracie will do it" (good thing my girls can't read yet, they don't actually know who is older and who is younger). No amount of coaxing or bribing will incite Olivia to even try a skill. Almost without exception the younger one just does the skill two weeks later that the other one broke her neck learning. Really, truly, just "does" it. Crawls, stands, walks, runs, rides a bike. It's an interesting thing to watch.

Now, if I was a smart parent, I would have just paid for swimming lessons for Grace, she would learn the skill. It would be hard, she would get frustrated but she would work through the frustration and learn to swim. Then, two weeks later, Olivia would do a swan dive from the highest platform and swim away like Ariel in The Little Mermaid. Alas, I am not a smart parent, I paid for lessons for both girls. As you can imagine, Gracie is working hard, pushing herself, she wants it, she's going to swim; no one will stop her. As you can imagine, Olivia is resistant at best. Shamefully, I bribe her to participate. To her credit, she is working, but she is crying and complaining the whole time.

The moral of this story is this; Olivia, when you are 17 years old and have just found out that your sister pretended to be you and made out with your boyfriend, this, this right here is why. It is a lifetime of the exhausting position of leader. I'm not saying it comes without perks, I'm not saying it's okay that she made out with your boyfriend, I'm just saying it's work to be the eldest. This is where the money I'm going to spend on therapy for the girls will start. But here is what I'm going to do, I'm just going to pay for therapy for Grace and two weeks later, Olivia will be cured.

Goodbye To The Boy Who Lived and Happy Birthday To The Boy Who Grew

2011-07-11T13:03:00.001-05:00

In July of 1997 my son was born. Later that summer, in September, the phenomenon known as Harry Potter was born with the release of the book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I’ve been an avid reader of the series since it’s release. When Aidan was old enough to understand I read him the books, at a certain point he started reading them to me. He has finished the series next to me on the couch, both of us books in hand; scared to keep reading, sad to see it end, unable to put it down.

The movie premier dates are always around either Aidan’s birthday, July 12 or my mom’s birthday, November 15th. The series is the only thing (to my knowledge) that my mom has ever taken the time to read. It’s a nice little generational bond we share. We do every premier, the three of us, popcorn in hand usually for either her birthday or his.

Tomorrow my eldest child turns 14. For some reason, something is more emotional this time, the year? The number? Harry? I don’t know, but I keep tearing up every time I think of it.

On Friday, at midnight, my mom, my son and myself will head for the movies one last time, popcorn in hand, to say goodbye to Harry. The boy who lived is all grown up. Maybe that’s what is so emotional this time. Somehow, Aidan and Harry’s childhoods are all wrapped up together for me. I see Aidan every day and sometimes I’m taken off guard by how much he has changed, sometimes, but not always. One of the great illustrators of Aidan’s change is Harry’s. Looking back to the first film, Harry, Ron and Hermione were babies, so was Aidan. Friday at midnight we will be saying goodbye to young people on the verge of adulthood. While I’m not naive enough to think 14 is the verge of adulthood, I’m stunned by how fast the years have gone by and how fast my tiny, premature baby has grown up. Harry is the boy who lived, Aidan is the boy who grew.

Aidan has passed me in height, in character and in humor, he has less than 3 inches to catch his dad. His voice is changing, his shoulders are broadening, he is growing up, before my very eyes. As far as teenagers go, I’m lucky. Very lucky. Aidan still likes me, still wants to occasionally hang out with me, even kisses me in public places. I know the day is coming fast when I will be the last person he wants to hang out with. So, for now, I’m going to get in line, get my popcorn, say happy birthday to my kid and goodbye to our friend Harry. Aidan is 14, I have lots to look forward to; it’s like a book I’m scared to keep reading, sad to see end and unable to put down. Happy Birthday Aidan, I love you.

How My Grandma Gave Me God

2011-04-07T08:34:00.000-05:00

September 12, 1987 was the first time I, personally, had proof of the existence of God or whatever makes sense to you; Allah, Higher Power, Creator, Goddess (my personal favorite).

I am a person who has had a complicated relationship with God. I feel spiritual but not religious. I believe, but I need constant convincing.

Grace Hagan would more than likely be 88 years old today had she never picked up a cigarette. She beat breast cancer at a time when many woman didn't, she survived a depression era up bringing as one of ten children (of whom only two are left) on a hard-working family farm, but she couldn't beat cigarettes. An on-going theme for the people I love most. She has been gone for 24 years; more than half my life. I still have moments of picking up the phone to call her. I was 16 when she died.

My Grandma quit smoking when she was 54 and died for ten years. During the time my Grandma was dying, the only real medicine available for emphysema was the steroid prednisone. My mom is the same age that my Grandma was when she died, I look at her arsenal of medicines and have hope that she will live much longer than her mother did.

So, back to God. In September of 1987, I was a bussing tables at a steak house where I had worked for a long time. Earlier in the day I had been at 707 Washington Street (my Grandparent’s house) and things with my Grandma had been getting progressively worse. I was also sick; I had probably 102 degree fever. My mom asked me to stay home and I said I just needed to get out of there and go to work. I went in to say goodbye to my Grandma and she had finally fallen asleep, I didn’t want to wake her up.

I went home, got ready and went into work. I think it was around 4pm. When I walked in I told the owner that I wouldn’t be staying for my entire shift. When she asked why I told her that my Grandma was going to die and she just looked at me like I was crazy.

Just after 7pm I was standing over an empty table and I felt my Grandma walk up behind me, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and I heard her tell me goodbye. What I remember most is that it was the first time she sounded alive in a long time. To this day, I have never felt such an overwhelming feeling of peace. Ever. I picked up the phone to call her house and got a busy signal. I tried to call my friend Anissa to get her to go check the house, she wasn’t home. I walked in the back, got my coat and purse, and went out to the hostess stand where the owner was still looking at me like I was crazy because, waiting in the front of the restaurant, was my mom’s friend Carol who had come to take me to my Grandparent’s because my Grandma had died at 7:07pm.

Today is my Grandma’s birthday. Happy Birthday Grace Genevieve Outhouse-Hagan, you are missed every day.

Happy Birthday, You Are Forty.

2011-03-07T00:02:00.002-06:00

As I regularly write birthday letters to my kids and birthday posts for my loved ones, I thought I’d take a moment to write one to my self; I have exactly 40 minutes left of my thirties.

Dear Kris,

Happy Birthday! So, you’re just about forty now and I was just thinking that you’ve crammed 23 years of total parenting into 13 years, no small feat for a girl who feels like she’s yet to grow up. You’ve cultivated lasting relationships, survived loss and broken hearts and you still manage to walk up right (most days) with the ridiculous boobs. Which reminds me; you chickened out on the surgery in your thirties, you’re going to have to rethink that one in your forties, and soon, we’d really like for you to buy some bras in a regular store, ones that don’t require custom tailoring, a suspension system and a second mortgage….maybe even ones that come in colors, that’d be new.

I wanted to tell you that I think your relationship with the teenager is pretty cool, you did a good job; he’s perfection. He will be an amazing man, a fantastic partner for someone, and an excellent parent. The jury is still out on the other two, but while we’re on the subject, you might want to reign in the littlest one, she’s becoming a tyrant. Remind you of anyone? That’s right, you were that bossy too. Well, the good news is it doesn’t seem to have done you any lasting harm, you still have friends from your childhood, you still have family that loves you; she’ll be okay too.

Your thirties were life-altering; you lost a dad you had barely found, you found the love of your life, and you married him, you grew two kids at one time in your body, you finally got to return a favor and catch your best friend’s baby. You re-negotiated a relationship with your beloved mother and you're living together again. You picked up a pen again and wrote yourself out of post-partum depression. You and Dan created a home with your hands from a train wreck while parenting small children and building a marriage. Out of a longing for your much missed Grandma and a need to gain perspective about your screaming infants, you crafted a work of art out of a patch of lawn. You’ve spent the last couple of years settling into this parenting twins thing and finally, I know you’ll make it through. And, oh yes, remember to enjoy the girls; they’re a lot of work but they are enchanting and joyful. They truly believe you know and see everything; it won’t be long before they question your magical powers, enjoy them while they still work!

Well, that’s about all. I’m pretty sure you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with some new age issue; your smile sticks around for a bit after you’ve stopped smiling. Your earlobes look wrinklier, painting your nails now requires an arm just a couple of inches longer than the ones you have, that kind of thing. Don’t worry about it, Dan thinks you're hot and in 11 minutes you’re going to enter your sexual prime; happy birthday to me.

Love, Kris

CH-CH-CH-Changes

2011-03-03T19:50:00.000-06:00

The last two weeks of my life have been crazy. My mom spent most of that time in the hospital on partial life support. She's here now in what started as a place to recover and has ended in her permanent move; we've moved up her move in date from April until last week!

This is a move that encompasses a lot. I am packing up my mom's house and selling the things she no longer needs. My mom is adjusting to a new house and constant hypothermia. Her thermostat is usually at 72, mine hovers closer to 60. Dan now lives with more Hagans than he can shake a stick at. Aidan occupies the entire second floor of the cape-cod portion of our home. The girls have been in a tiny bedroom on the first floor of the cape-cod portion (because the oldest kid gets their pick of the bedrooms, guess where I am in birth order???) for 5 years waiting for their new basement bedrooms to be ready. Their new bedrooms are not ready, but we need their room for Grandma. Aidan was nice enough (or stupid enough I'm sure he's thinking right about now) to offer half of his bedroom as sleeping quarters for his sisters.

I just put them to bed, they are up there right now, alone, probably dismantling every Lego set that Aidan spent his entire childhood painstakingly assembling. It's the story of his life. Things that have been around since my childhood made it through his childhood in pristine condition, then his sisters looked at said things with their scary laser eyes and the beautiful, perfect old things disintegrated into dust. Truly, I am afraid to go up there.

So far, so good, it's been nice for everyone to have my mom here. You know how some girls marry their dads? Well, apparently, if you grow up without your dad, you marry your mom. Some days I'm pretty sure my mom and Dan are the same person. So, it's even nice for Dan, now there are two people here who know everything. As for me, at least while Cheli is camped on my couch, my girls have decided to bug her at 6am, I've never gotten more sleep in my life.

Next week I'm sure everything will be back to normal (wink, wink), oh wait, I'm turning forty on Monday.

Facebook....A Prayer Circle??????

2011-02-19T11:32:00.000-06:00

Lots of people make fun of facebook; I am one of them. For me, home all day with little kids, facebook is two things; a window into people's lives who actually have a life and an adult voice. If I've been playing Princess Yanna for 2 hours, I can hop on facebook for 90 seconds, state an opinion, feel heard, and go back to drinking imaginary tea out of a green plastic tea cup (I NEVER get the pink one) while wearing a tiara and a bath robe (sadly, Disney doesn't make dress up clothes in my size).

My mom is a life-long smoker, my grandparents were life-long smokers. My Grandma quit smoking when she was 54 and died from smoking when she was 64 (the age my mother is now). My Grandma is the reason I don't smoke. Nearly all of my friends smoked; it wasn't always easy to be the only non-smoker. My grandma got really sick when I was about 13. My mom never had a ton of time with us to begin with because she worked a lot. When my grandma got sick, my mom pretty much disappeared from our lives and left us with our step dad. My Grandpa continued to smoke even while on oxygen, which made for some real family entertainment. We finally had to ask what kind of explosion we would be talking about; take out the house explosion or take out the kitchen explosion. Turns out that it would probably just have taken him and the chair he was sitting on. In any case, it never happened. My Grandpa took 15 years to die, fighting it the whole way.

I love my mom very much, but I will say this about her and I mean it; I am really angry at the choices she has made about her health. My mom watched both of her parents die from smoking and it was an interactive process, we all got to participate. My mom gave up a huge portion of her life to take care of her parents; she gave up her kids and it is a large part of her failed marriage. She has been an adult daughter left to care for ailing parents, and she has chosen the same path for me. A decision I find selfish and careless.

Boundaries are not my specialty. But here is what I know; I have made a conscious decision to be a non-smoker, my kids (to the best of my knowledge) are non-smokers. I will not give up my children for cigarettes no matter how much I love my mom. So, I find myself in an untenable position. I of the weak to no boundaries is having to set boundaries. It has been overwhelming and emotional to say the least. I spent Thursday at the Shedd Aquarium because I already had plans to take the girls there. I went, even though my mom is in critical care, I thought about her all day. I felt terrible, as a daughter, that I wasn't there, I wanted to be there. I did it anyway, because my kids didn't make this life choice, my mom did. My mom is an adult, she walked into this position with her eyes wide open; she knew exactly what she was choosing for herself, and frankly, I'm sure she knew what she was choosing for me. I know what I am choosing for me and my kids and it isn't an easy decision, but it is the right decision.

Which brings me back to facebook. Say what you will about how silly it is, how ridiculous that people share random and personal information with the world, and you're probably right. But it is also a surprising wealth of support when you are overwhelmed and feeling like it's all on you. Much research has been done about the power of prayer; this week, while I've just felt like a crazy person, facebook has felt like my own little prayer circle. People who I rarely see feel connected to me in a personal way, and I just wanted to say thank you in way more than the 440 words a facebook status update allows you. Thank you to each person who has taken a moment out of their own life to think about mine; it is a gift.

On a Lighter Note...Insert Blonde Joke Here

2011-02-09T10:46:00.003-06:00

Long, long ago when I was in high school my mom got tickets to The Nutcracker for my family and my friend Amy. It was an hour drive during which my brother never shut up about the fact that he didn't want to go to the Nutcracker, which annoyed my mom into this exchange:

Cheli: Erin, every child in America wants to see the Nutcracker.

Erin: Well, not every one, because I don't.

Cheli: EVERY CHILD IN AMERICA KNOWS ALL OF THE WORDS TO THE NUTCRACKER, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU????

Me: Mom, It's a ballet, there are no words.

Cheli: Ballet? Why the fuck would I want to go to a ballet? What do you mean there are no words?

We took the tollway and this was back before IPass when you still had to drive over those crazy loud warning bumps and give your money to an actual person.

Amy: I always wonder why those things are there?

Erin: Oh, it's so that blind people know when to slow down for the toll booths.

Insert blonde joke here.

What Keeps Me Up at Night

2011-02-07T09:50:00.001-06:00

When I was in my early 20s I was raped by someone I knew while out of town at what was supposed to be a happy event. He didn’t beat me senseless or cut me up or hold a gun to my head and yet, what happened was forcible and it was a rape. It was without my consent and a violation of my person, body and soul. Soon after I came home I found that my boyfriend who had been sober for several years had gone back to alcohol and drugs. Our relationship became volatile. I found out that I was pregnant on the same day that he hit me, in a PCP fueled rage, for the first and last time. It is nearly two decades later. I am a mother with three children; children I cherish above all else. I know today that the abortion I had then, was the correct and healthy decision for me and for my future family. Sharing this story is hard; it meant a conversation with my 13 year old son that I didn't think I would have to have for a few more years, it means that some of my family may be hurt or embarrassed. I hope you'll read this blog post in its entirety; this is what is keeping me up nights these days. I hope you'll continue to read my blog, regardless of your feelings on abortion, I promise I'm not switching over from smart-ass to soap box, this particular issue is an issue that hits a little close to home.

Off the top of my head I can think of 10 women I know who have lived through similar experiences, mainly involving a rape by someone they knew. Knowing someone doesn't make rape not "forcible" all rape is forcible, that's what makes it rape. I’m sharing what is an intensely personal story for a reason. Most Americans, even Americans against abortion, feel that exceptions should be made for cases of rape, incest or cases where the mother’s life is in peril. By sharing my story, I want to illustrate that you, personally, know someone who has been a victim of one or more of those instances. It’s not just a nameless, faceless person. People you know and love have found themselves in situations where decisions have had to be made; decisions that were painful, personally necessary and possibly the result of an intensely traumatic event. Decisions that our constitution says are exactly that; our decision.

Many people have strong feelings on the topic of abortion, I am one of them. I am pro-choice but I have many friends who do not feel the same. They are people who I both like and respect. I understand that people have religious and spiritual beliefs that may be different from my own, I embrace that. My own, personal, feeling is that it shouldn’t be political. No one is pro-abortion. This post is not about the topic, per se, it is about how we, as Americans, go about changing or circumventing laws.

Roe vs. Wade is a real, legal decision of the Supreme Court, upheld by the 14th amendment of the United States Constitution. In order for the 14th amendment to have become legal, legal steps were taken; a bill passed the House and the Senate by at least a 2/3 vote. It then moved on for ratification in at least ¾ of the 50 states, it passed. In order for Roe vs Wade to be a legal decision, the Supreme Court followed a legal procedure. No one snuck it in the back door while people's heads were turned.

There is a legal, moral and ethical way to repeal Roe vs Wade, a new amendment against reproductive freedom could be added in the exact same manner that the 14th amendment was added. The way to handle this, if you feel strongly that Roe vs Wade should not be upheld, is to work hard to vote people into office that can make that happen. That's fair; that's how our government is supposed to work.

It seems that there is a sneaky and underhanded way to make the Roe vs Wade and some of our 14th amendment rights null and void. It is called “H.R.3 No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act” the bill is a wolf in sheep’s clothing aimed at making abortion impossible to access in a reasonable manner for American women. There are already two laws on the books that prohibit federal funding of abortions, The Hyde bill and The Affordable Health Care Act. Both carry exceptions for rape, incest and mother’s health. The name of this bill doesn't sound that bad, many people don't want federal funding for abortions, but that is not what it is. It is misogynistic and morally repugnant. Its first aim is to re-define "rape" by adding in an additional word; "forcible", implying that the act of rape has degrees. Leaving the door open for date rape, drugged rape and coerced rape to become....not rape. It re-victimizes people who have already survived a rape. This bill, being pushed by the Republicans, was authored primarily by Representative Chris Smith of New Jersey. It leaves the door open for interpretation of what rape is, it leaves the door open for who gets to decide who has been raped. In addition, its wording regarding the mother’s health is also open to interpretation.

The bill not only victimizes rape survivors, it punishes corporate America and American women across the board. Women who have money in tax-free medical savings accounts will not be able to use that money to procure an abortion without paying taxes; money that is tax-free for medical purposes. Companies are offered sizable tax breaks to offer health insurance policies to their employees. If those policies offer coverage for abortion, even if those benefits are unused, the company who supplied the health coverage will lose their tax breaks. What that means to us is, some employers will stop offering health insurance and many or all health insurance companies will stop offering policies that include coverage of abortions; a legal medical procedure. Imagine for a moment what might happen if this same small group of Republicans decided they had a problem with organ transplant or blood donation?

I understand and respect opinions against abortion. Even if you are against abortion, I urge you to contact your local representative about HR3, because it's not about abortion, it's about a few members of one political party trying to control an amendment they don't agree with by circumventing the law. If the law is changed, it should be changed in a legal and transparent manner. Our country is free, part of that freedom is living with some laws you disagree with, and there are moral and ethical ways to change laws. There are also moral and ethical ways to raise your children in a country that has legal abortion so that they know and respect your opinion of abortion. Weather or not you are pro-choice, I urge you to contact your representative and let them know that you are not okay with the “H.R. 3 No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act”, that there are already laws on the books prohibiting federal funding for abortion and that you would like your representative to focus on whatever issues that are important to you (jobs, jobs, jobs).

This is a link to a list of representatives by state. On most of their websites, you can email them directly. I've already written Randy Hultgren the Republican representative in my district. Please, write to your representative today! Contact me, and I'll be happy to share the email I sent to Randy Hultgren with you.

I am leaving the comments open, but please be respectful of the fact that one of my children reads this blog.

Time Flies

2011-01-30T17:03:00.000-06:00

My Mom is really funny, she is the best story teller ever. This post would turn out much funnier if I let her write it. I won’t, I have some control issues; she’ll need to start her own blog if she wants to write! Most of the people who read this blog probably know my mom and know she’s funny. If you don’t know her, it will be important to know a couple of things about her before you read this; my mom is not totally crazy, and she is truly, really, really funny, also, she has terrible insomnia, she barely sleeps and when she does it’s in short, unsatisfying increments.

So yesterday, my Mom wakes up at 6:15. She is fully clothed, and feels like she just had the best night sleep she’s had in years. Years. She feels really good, really refreshed. She is ready to start her day. Coffee is so integral to my mother that she has a second coffee pot and supplies in her bedroom. She gets up; she makes herself a pot of coffee and starts thinking about what she has to do for the day. She pours her second cup of coffee, the phone rings, it’s my brother calling from Las Vegas. My mom wonders, why is he calling so early? Isn’t Vegas a couple of hours ahead?

Cheli: Why are you calling so early?

Erin: It’s not early.

Cheli: Oh, it’s later there?

Erin: No, it’s 4:30

Cheli: Where are you?

Erin: Shopping in Vegas

Cheli: At 4:30 in the morning?

Erin: Mom, it’s 4:30 PM

Cheli: Oh, my God. If you tell your sister this, I will kill you.

It was 6:30 in the evening. Apparently her best night of sleep in years was a really good nap.

Snack Time at Tiffany

2011-01-28T19:39:00.001-06:00

Here’s what I did today; I purposefully took my two five year old daughters into Tiffany in Oak Brook. Truly.

Long, long ago when I was in my early twenties I was in retail management for a swimsuit retailer in Oak Brook. I had an employee who I will call Daisy. I will call her Daisy because she’s an international spy and if I used her actual name I might get a call from Homeland Security. Really.

Now, for visualization purposes I will tell you that Daisy is more of a Tiffany or Jessica; I just happen to know she has a long and abiding love affair with Daisy Buchanan (The Great Gatsby) and I’m pretty sure she’d be annoyed with Jessica or Tiffany. It’s not meant as an offense, she isn’t cookie cutter; she’s definitely one of the most unique people I know.

When I met her though….well, she was the biggest pain in my ass. She was 16 or 17 and she was from Oak Brook which loosely translated means; bored, snotty teenager from money. She was what you might call “high maintenance”, she came in late, needed days off, blah, blah, blah. I’ll give her this though, she always took initiative and was just all around smarter than the bevy of Oak Brook girls that came and went through that store and I was always a little impressed that she bothered to work at all.

On one occasion I was asked to let her go if she wouldn’t work Saturdays and I just couldn’t do it (I’m pretty sure I ended up working Saturdays instead), there was just something about her. Yes, she was a pain in the ass, but she was trustworthy and constant and infectious. She moved across the country for college but whenever she came home she would pick up shifts and help me out at the store. In 1997 I had Aidan and I think I was her first friend with a baby; she was wonderful to him. Eventually the company closed but by then she had already moved permanently across country. For 13 years we saw each other a time or two a year and spoke occasionally on the phone, eventually we became real friends. Recently, she moved back to the Chicagoland area.

Very honestly, I was worried about maintaining our relationship. Daisy is single and self-involved in that way only single, childless people can be. That is in no way meant as an insult, I think that’s what you’re supposed to do when you are single and childless. And she is self-involved, not self-absorbed or selfish; she is one of the most generous people I know. I just worried that I wouldn’t have the time or energy to focus on the things that are interesting to her, but like most things, it worked itself out.

Turns out I was wrong for two reasons. First of all, Daisy is a real friend; she’s funny and entertaining and engaged. When she re-met the girls after not having seen them for a year or two, I told them, “Girls, before I met you two, Daisy was the only real princess that I ever met”. Several weeks later when Olivia was torturing Grace with the fact that princesses are not real I heard Gracie scream, “DAISY IS TOO REAL”. My children adore her; Aidan calls her “Mom Too”. Secondly, letting Daisy talk about her is like therapy for me. I’m interested, she’s interesting but it doesn’t have too much of an affect on my day to day life, it’s just relaxing. I support her, she supports me; her friendship is an easy and unexpected gift.

So back to Tiffany and how in the world I decided I should take my children there.

Daisy’s boyfriend is a sword fisherman on the east coast. He’s coming in a couple of weeks for a visit and wants to get Daisy a Valentine’s gift. His budget is pretty high, higher than she is really comfortable with (Note to Daisy, take it now while it’s still available, before your future children suck it all up). We went shopping together today to get some ideas so I can point him in the right direction.

I have several pieces of jewelry from Tiffany (and a broken vase). All of them are sterling silver; all of them were given to me before I was married.

So after much lecturing about not touching the glass and not running, we went in. I avoided eye contact so as to keep the fear in their eyes out of my head. I was nervous enough on my own.

The girls shouted things across the store like, “well, how about THAT? They have YELLOW diamonds here” and “hey, how about this one, it’s BIG”. But, they did it fairly quietly and when we left the saleslady took them aside to tell them how good they were and how many kids come in the store who are not good at all. Lady, you’d have my business…if I had any to give.

I had a moment of envy standing there, picking out jewelry for another woman. Then, as I turned to bend and pick up with my bare hand the chewed piece of gum that had fallen out of my child’s mouth and onto Tiffany’s floor, I had an epiphany. It continued as I carefully folded the piece of chewed up gum into a Target receipt (furthering the imagery of how far our lives are separated financially) and placed it gingerly in my purse; I had experienced a fleeting moment of envy for the romance and spontaneity of the past while Daisy is right at this moment hurtling towards the life I already have; true love, husband, kids. Our friendship has come full circle. I get to go along for the ride while she makes her own dreams come true, and I feel very lucky to count her a friend.

Leaving My Thirties and My Babies Behind

2011-01-24T10:56:00.001-06:00

I’ve been thinking about the fading away of things lately. I think it may be that my 40th birthday is rapidly approaching and while I’m not freaking out per se, it does have me thinking. It's not helping matters any that every period I have gets worse than the one before, ovulating is even more rough. I'm picturing sad little geriatric eggs trying to escape via walkers and wheelchairs from an equally sad, over used geriatric ovary in a mad dash to get in one more pregnancy before it's too late. Hey ovaries, for the record, it's WAY too late, that ship has sailed.

I remember when it annoyed me that Aidan slept with one of his lights on. I thought, how will this kid survive at a sleep over? He’s probably been sleeping without it for years, but I just noticed the other day and it made me a little sad.

Things change. He doesn’t call Toys R Us “Toys 4 Us” anymore, he doesn’t say psketti instead of spaghetti and alas; today he would say “run for your life” whereas he used to say “run from your life” (to which I thought, kid, you have NO idea).

At the beginning of the year, Aidan became truly and actually taller than me. When he was born 6 weeks early, he was a tiny little thing and right up through four we worried constantly that he would perish of starvation. He didn’t, and as a result, we don’t worry when the girls go on hunger strike; turns out it is WAY harder to starve them than you think!

The girls too are moving out of babyhood rapidly. Let me tell you, as a parent who can barely tolerate kids 5 minutes younger than my youngest child, I am in general thrilled at their developing personalities, emotions, etc. But every once in a while I feel sad for what is gone. They still want to jump in bed with Dan and I at 5:30 every morning and cuddle for a good hour, but for how much longer? They are about the age that Aidan was when he politely asked me to cease singing lullabies and radio tunes. So far, they still think I sound pretty good (I don’t) but I’m sure that too is almost a thing of the past.

So, as I ease out of my 30s, I think I will concentrate on enjoying the stage they are at while they are at it. It won’t be long until Aidan finds every other girl on the planet more interesting than me and the girls will quit seeking my advice and actively be going against my make up and fashion tips. For now, I’ll enjoy how I started this day. With Olivia yelling, “Mom, you are FRICKIN’ beautiful, really”. I’ll take my praise where I can get it!