Memories of a Proposal

In the last few weeks, one of my brothers has gotten married and another has gotten engaged. It has been a whirlwind of family and celebrations and I have been soaking up every moment of it!


This past weekend we were together and had the joy of hearing proposal stories.  My soon to be sister in law is a nurse, so when my brother surprised her by getting down on one knee and calling after her as they were walking--her response was "OH NO!" because she thought that he had fallen and was trying to get up--she didn't see the ring in his hand!  We laughed at it and she is actually mortified that it was her response! 


I laughed so hard at that!  The reason I laughed is because we had our own proposal story.  18 year ago yesterday he asked me to marry him.  We were in our favorite gazebo on the campus where I went to school.  What we didn't know what that it had been taken over by hornets, and when he was on one knee--we got SWARMED!  I am very allergic to stings, so we RAN full steam out of that gazebo to the truck--I escaped stings, but he sadly did not.  We laughed about that for years.  I have not thought about it in years, but it was funny for me to rethink.  My soon to be sister in law who never had the pleasure of meeting Robert actually had the kindness to ask me how he proposed.  I was so touched that she asked while she was celebrating her own engagement--there are not words for my gratitude!


She was even kind enough to ask my sister and I to participate in the planning of the wedding, and I am excited to help in any way that she needs! We were searching pintrest for wedding dresses and looking at ways to merge Irish and Italian traditions. 


In all, we had a wonderful weekend of celebrating and I wish both of my brothers very long and happy marriages, I wish that they will get to grow old with their wives and see their children have children.  I pray that they never have to join our widowed club here---but if they do--any of them, well at least there are many in our family who have walked this path.  I just pray they never need our wisdom--I will happily pledge my love and support to their marriages!

Happy Heart

Robert LOVED woodworking.  He learned from his grandfather and used to tell me how sad he was when his grandfather died.  One of his early memories was putting a thing that he made into the coffin at his funeral and then seeing the funeral director remove it and throw it away (he did go rescue it from the trash at the tender age of 6). 

Given his love—I had kept most of his woodworking tools—the power newer ones and the hand tools (mostly his grandfather’s) that he used.  

Munchkin is 8—and wanted to build his own pinewood derby car.  I decided that it was the right time to pull out the tools. 

I hauled the big bins out to the garage—and we looked at what he had.  Munchkin had drawn the model for his car and then carefully marked the cuts. I only had one minor issue that I needed to call my brother to figure out—but other than that everything is still in working order!

Munchkin is big enough to reach the work bench.  I used the scroll saw to make the big cuts and Munchkin carefully and meticulously used the hand tools to shape and sand his car.    He has earned his whittling chip in Scouts so he knows how to safely use tools and cut away from himself.  I was relegated to a space outside of his safety circle. 

I stood there and watched him.  He was careful and smiley and did things the way that he wanted to do them.  He carefully touched the wood to ensure that it was smooth enough and sanded away any rough spots his little finger found.   As I watched, I realized that the connection to Robert is starting to come full circle.  That even though he wasn’t here to teach Munchkin himself, by using his tools and answering his questions, that was connection between them.

It is nearly eight years since the accident, and Munchkin was a baby-so it sometimes hurts my heart on all that they missed together.  Today—instead of hurt, I was able to see the joy of a young boy using his father’s tools.  That joy—that joy makes my heart happy.  

Family Reunion

This weekend is our family reunion.  Four days of family, food, shenanigans and laughter.   All of my father's living siblings (they are down to 7 out of 10 now...) will be here either themselves or through proxy and most of their cousins too!  We will have mass on Sunday in memory of the family members who have died.  There are "families" within our family that are missing someone for the first time and we will surround them with love and compassion as they walk their road. 


I have four siblings and for the first time since the summer Robert and I were married, we are all at the beach together.  Here is the thing, earlier in the week, I felt an ache--we are all here except Robert.  It took me time to identify the ache. It wasn't a sobbing mess of missing him--that happens so rarely now, I can't remember the last time. 


Last night, Munchkin was in bed watching a movie and my brother shared with him that he was watching one of his daddy's favorite movies, and I realized I am not the only one who remembers. 
We are all feeling it.  But at the same time, the hole in the fabric of our family that was created, is now a part of the family.  It no longer reduces us to tears.  I no longer stare into the dark of night wishing the pain away.  It is just a part of me and a part of all of us. 




The life we live now is NOTHING like the life Robert and I had with Munchkin. 


Munchkin and I have figured out our two person family and it is our normal. I have been "only parenting" so long, I don't remember what it was like to have that extra set of hands. I don't remember what is it like to have someone else to do things--we are just normal now. Part of that normal is enjoying our family and family reunion. 

No Thank You

A week or so ago I was shopping with Munchkin.  He is exceptionally well behaved in the store.   We went to Target and then on to the grocery store.  At the grocery store, he is responsible for label reading---when he asks for foods that aren't an acceptable healthy choice, I task him with reading labels and making a better choice.  This results in him looking at the actual ingredients and content of the food. 

A woman was shopping at the same time and we kept running in to her in aisles.  She observed him in the cereal aisle comparing boxes of cereal before deciding on his peanut butter panda puffs.  She observed him in the dairy aisle comparing processed "cheese" product to real cheese.   We  finished our shopping and went to the checkout lane.   The lady was in line behind us.  Munchkin helped me load the belt and then took the bags from the bagger and lined them up in the cart while I paid.  He was polite to everyone and extremely helpful. 

At this point, this woman was in awe.  She looked at him and looked at me.  She told me she was very impressed that he was so well behaved while shopping. I thanked her for the compliment.   She then looked at him and told him that he should tell me to buy him a candy bar for behaving so nicely. 

WHOA--shut the front door.  I was floored.  I told her kindly, "we don't reward behavior that is expected in our family".   I mean seriously, why on earth should I buy my kid a candy bar for doing what I expect of him.  I expect him to be well behaved and well mannered when we are out in public.   The behavior expectations that I have for him are constant.  When we go out to dinner, I expect that he sits in his seat, orders his meal and speaks softly.   When we go to the playground, he can run amok and be loud and noisy, but he can't push or hurt others and he should treat other kids the way he would want them to treat him.   When we go to a store, he is expected to stay "close enough to touch me", be helpful and not run around or be loud.   This is just the way that it is.   I have these expectations of him because I know that he can do them.


 I am also well aware that there are a lot of 1st graders that simply would not be able to do these things and that is ok too. 



What I cannot understand is why some stranger would think that it is ok to tell a child to "tell their parent" to do something.  Quite frankly, I find that to be one of the things that seems to be wrong with society these days.   It certainly takes a village, but that village should be more focused on manners and safety of everyone rather than demonstrating and encouraging pushy behavior by kids toward their parents.  

Perhaps I am just sensitive, I don't know.  What I do know is that we have expectations in our family and we expect that everyone in our family follow them-myself included. I would never presume to tell a kid to tell their parents to do something.  I may tell them gently to be careful if they are in danger, or even pull them back out of the street if a car is coming (I have done this in the crosswalk on the way to school) What I would never do is intrude on another families values.

Where's My Handbook?

Seven years have passed. A few weeks ago was our wedding anniversary, Then my birthday my birthday and 14 days prior to that the reminder of the day my life shattered. After seven years-I have pretty much figured out "how" to survive and even get out and get more than the basics covered on occasion. I mentally give myself a high five on those days. Other days through a curve ball-or worse keep throwing them and paint the corners. Those days, man those days are now gratefully few and far between but those days I still fumble. For instance-I'm researching some educational things with our son. Robert was a teacher and a music therapist. These curve balls are his wheelhouse. I have even gone so far as to pull out some of his music therapy references to find what questions I want to ask. It is hard. It is draining. I am physically alone. I'm grateful for the friends I have that are educators and know munchkin well-and can be my sounding board. I'm grateful for his pediatrician who sees the whole picture and helps by talking to his school. Even with all of that support around me-I still find myself wishing there was a handbook. We should have a parenting handbook they give you at hospital discharge. A widows handbook you get when your spouse is pronounced dead. An additional parent handbook for when your child is seriously ill-this one should focus on finding members of the healthcare team who won't ask you more than once why your husband isn't at the appointment. So if anyone has found any of these handbooks-please feel free to send them my way-I was never given my copies and I am still taking things as they come! - See more at: http://www.chicagolandwidowed.org/blog/wheres-my-handbook-monday-april-20-2015#sthash.rT2e6rsM.dpuf

Thanksgiving 2014

Feeling especially grateful this morning.   I got up early and baked what I need to take to Mom and Dad's.   For once it looks like all of my siblings will be present and we will be able to hopefully have a nice meal.  

This year, mom and dad won't be here for Christmas.  They will be spending it across the country, which reminds me that all too soon they will be true snowbirds and it will be dependent upon us to go to them.   Which also means that holidays in my childhood home are limited.  

I remember when each of my parents had to say good bye to their respective childhood homes.  For dad, we did a final walk through and I was a small child--early elementary school.  He showed us the "hiding spots" in the floor boards and I could see him remembering his childhood.   At the time, I didn't understand the melancholy that hung in that attic bedroom that day, however, I now know that time will come soon for my siblings and I. 

For mom, I was in college and her dad was selling the house because he was getting remarried.  To say it was chaotic would be putting it nicely and be an understatement of the world.  There were so many memories in that house, that I even as a teenager knew I would miss.   I learned to read on my grandpa's lap in front of the fire place.   I learned to love science in the basement lab, and I learned how to be prepared for emergencies as my grandmother was diabetic.  

I wonder what Munchkin will remember of the house---will it be living there after Robert died?  That his grandparents provided a safe landing for us in the biggest turmoil of our life?  Will it be the fact that his Nana has taught him to cook in her big kitchen?  Will it be reading with them in the den?  Watching football and baseball with Papa? 

At any rate, whatever his memories of my childhood house hold, I hope that they are happy ones, and I am grateful that he has so many experiences with my family.

I hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving!

Dialing the phone

For the past several years in my career, I have been on teams where I was flat out told to not let people know that I am smarter than them.   Literally, I was expected to not answer questions because 60 year old men don't like to be reminded that a younger woman could be smarter than they.

Talk about irritating,   I resented it, however being that my industry is dominated by old men...I played along.  

Ultimately that was one of the driving factors off me leaving my old job.   As we speak I am on a plane returning from the first conference that I have been to in a long time.    I am in the same industry-new company.  This time was so different, I was actually applauded and encouraged for my intelligence.    I had potential clients come to our booth for the express purpose of debating policy or data analytics with me.  

I spent an entire dinner debating statistical analysis and predictive modeling to refine a project for a client.   The person three levels above that person came to me this morning to thank me for my insights and tell my boss that I was brilliant and a true asset to the company. 

I'm on such a high right now it is unbelievable.   There were so many great things that happened this conference.   As I was getting on my flight I just wanted to share with someone.   

I actually dialed Robert's cell phone number and almost hit send before I caught myself.    He has been dead over six years and my instinct is still to call him first.   It was a sucker punch to the gut. I mean-I can't remember to take out the trash but I remember a phone number I haven't dialed in six years?!?!  What kind of joke is that?  

Ironically...my mothers radar must have been going off because she tested me asking about my trip.  I called her back and we chatted and shared everything.   She was excited for me and I was excited to share!