Short Stuff

I am short.  I am always in the front row of pictures. When I was 10, I almost made it into the second row, but a classmate was absent so I got stuck in the front row. Again. I was in the MIDDLE! Of the front row.
By the time I turned 11, my brush with being tall was halted and by age 12, I stopped growing completely. At 5'1", I was staring down the barrel of a life of height restrictions.
So, naturally, I married a man who is 6'2". He comes from a family of giants  tall people, so I am frequently looking up at family get togethers. And luckily, one of our children (my daughter), seems to have inherited my husbands' long legs.

My husband and I in Jamaica.

My husband's  40th birthday party, it was an 80s theme.....

So I thought I would share some of the things that suck  the things that are a challenge with being short.

1) Tall  cabinets. In order to get to the top of my cabinets, I have to get on a stool, scale the cabinets, stand on the counter, balance on tip toe and reach precariously to get what I need. It's fun to risk falling on the hard tile floor for the plastic butterfly cookie cutter.

2) All pants are too long.... And capris.. Well I since they look like high water pants instead of Capri pants, I don't wear them. Luckily, my mom is an excellent seamstress and is very good at hemming pants.

3) Your 12 year old nephew and your 10 year old niece are ecstatic when they reach your height. And my 8 year niece is close to it too. Upon their glee of being taller, I brag that I was taller than my 5 foot tall grandmother (may she rest in peace), but then again, everyone was.

4) I am not a terrific swimmer. I feel more comfortable in the four feet and below section of the pool. This becomes an issue when your 18 month old floats in his floatie bat mobile into the five foot and over 4 foot section. Multiple times.

5) Driving. In the past, my husband's car had this awesome seat memory feature. Push a button, and the seat moved all the way up to my position. Push another button, it went all the way back for his position. We don't own that car anymore, and yes, I still move my seat all the way up to the front and as high as it will go. Of course, I do an evil giggle when valets and car repair men bang their knees getting into the car.

But being short isn't all bad.

I am a damn good limbo player.
When I fall, it's not as far.
I make a great armrest for my husband.
I am closer to my kids (for the time being).

And

Good things come in small packages.

Rambling run ons

Since I have recently been cast in the  DC Listen To Your Mother Show, I am becoming more and more aware of the amazing writers that surround me. I have been trying to up my game and just write. But there are times, like last night, when I am all ready to write and nothing that is coherent or meaningful comes out onto the page.

It's frustrating. I am going to try a few new things on this blog, because I can, because it is mine, and we will see what happens.

Dancing With Fireflies, a fun writing blog/web page hosted by my friend, Crysta, has a poetry writing challenge for the week. When I was in high school, I used to fill up composition books with poetry (mainly of teen angst). I loved putting symbolism and imagery to my ordinary thoughts. I remember being in an English class and having to write an existential poem. I had been struggling in the class (mainly because I wasn't reading the required books) and my teacher had lowered expectations of my ability. I felt my inadequacy of writing when my friends in the class were getting A's on papers and I was getting C's. Across my papers were comments such as "rambling" and "run on sentence". (In my senior year, a teacher asked me if I understood English- side note she was a drunk, whom my brother had issues with before and I promptly changed classes to another teacher). I had great difficulty with writing efficiently and succinctly. It wasn't until college when a teacher's assistant helped me that I learned the right way to write a paper for class.  The existential poem I wrote for my high school class made my peers and teacher speechless. I had gotten the assignment on a level higher than anyone else. I had gotten an A+ and my poem was applauded by my teacher, my peers and my parents. I will have to see if I can dig up that poem and post it here.

I digress. My true love is creative writing. I have novels in my head and make believe stories playing through my mind on a regular basis. My father used to write haikus. He loved the efficient and succinct way to write. I would be jealous of that ability later when we would trade haikus and I could never quite get the rhythm he so easily could use in his writing.  But the truth is that was his style, his talent. I am not of that mind, I prefer to ramble, to carry people away in my thoughts. So while I will continue to post about my daily happenings, I hope to post some creative writing pieces as well.

Here is a poem for today:

Child sleeping
illness exiting his body
on a slow march
to another host
Breathing softly,
suck suck of the thumb
tug tug of the hair.
Deep sleep.




What about you? What do you like to write?

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Twinkle

I am currently the "Spotlight Cast Member" on the Listen to Your Mother DC Website. Hop on over there if you haven't seen it yet..
http://listentoyourmothershow.com/dc/2014/02/27/meet-the-cast-tiffany-patterson/)

I was going to try to be uplifting and witty with this post.  I know that a good amount of people will be reading this post, and I didn't want to be a "downer".

However in the sense of honesty and authenticity, I can't be witty tonight. Sorry. I have a lot weighing on my shoulders this week. I am in the middle of my online graduate class which has left only a few coherent brain cells left. More than that, I am in the middle of yet another family member being very ill and near the end of their life.

Over the last 7 years, my husband and I have had a close family member pass away every year. Most due to cancer and some from old age. I am desensitized to the process of illness and death. In October, we congratulated each other in a macabre way for making it a year without going to a family funeral. And here we sit, February. facing yet another end.

I am a very lucky woman. I have had three grandparents (two grandmothers and one grandfather) who were were present in my life, all the way into my thirties. Not many people get to say that. I am blessed that I was able to witness and experience my grandparents throughout many different stages in my life.

I am blessed that my 93 year old grandfather knows and has a wonderful relationship with my kids. I am blessed that my husband has a unique relationship with my grandfather. And I am blessed that I am able to have the relationship I have with my grandfather.

In the past week, so many people have stated that he is a "national treasure". While I agree with that, given his heroic WWII fighter pilot missions, I never thought of him as that. He was never the "Colonel" in my eyes, never the Reverend or the "Cad" as my mom and Grandma would tease him about. He was/is and always will be just my Grandpa.

It wasn't until I was older that I learned of his missions and the importance of them. It wasn't until I was religiously knowledgeable that I understood his spirituality and it wasn't until I was much older that I began to understand his "charming" personality.

When I was a little girl, we could speak with looks, and very little words and just "get" each other. I knew if he was joking around with me if I could look at his eyes. He could never pull a trick on me as long as I could see his eyes. Even now with his eyes half closed, I know when he's joking with me... through the slit, I still see the twinkle.

When I was younger and he was a smoker, I used to throw his cigarettes in the trash. He would get so mad at me. Until one day, he realized the importance of what I was "saying" and he quit cold turkey. That was about 30 years ago. No one else could get him to stop. But I did.

My Grandpa is a man with a quick and sharp tongue. But he is kind too, always caring for others and praying for others. A fighter pilot turned reverend. A man who had to try not to say "Damn" at the pulpit and made sure he had his 5:00 martini (5 olives, if available);  but one who feels privileged to teach about God and welcome people into his faith.

Myself, my Mom, My Grandpa, Dylan (as a baby) and my Uncle

I have learned so much from him. I have learned how to be tenacious and proud of who I am. To love unconditionally and keep my heart safe. I have learned how to hide a Rubik's Cube really well, and how to hammer a nail. I have learned how to play Zilch and that Rice Chex cereal tastes better when your Grandpa sneaks extra sugar on it when your Grandmother isn't looking. I have learned that a good man is one who loves his wife for 67 years and is a Patriarch of his family in an unquestionable and proud manner. I have learned that you are never too old to try new things, to love someone and enjoy life.

My Grandpa and my Son, 90 years difference

I have had the privilege of having him marry my husband and I, and baptize myself and my children.

His spirit and mind are still alive and well, but his body is giving out. And that, truly, is the most difficult part. I just want him to have peace in whatever way he needs.

The other day, I went to visit him at the hospital and I just held his hand. I didn't need to say much, but of course I teased him. Just a little; cause that's what we do. And through the slit in his tired eyes, I saw the twinkle.

My Grandpa, being goofy

Sunday, Fun Day

Today, I went on a date. Without my husband.

My daughter was begging me to take her to a real nail salon. Today was NOT a good day. I had a list a mile long of things to do and I thought there was no way it would all get done if I took off to get our nails done.

But I did.

And I am so glad.

For two hours, my little girl and I lived in the moment. My shoulders were heavy with looming deadlines, but it all disappeared when I saw her authentic but quiet excitement.

I decided to stop thinking of the to do list and instead focus on my sweet Lily. I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. The answer: Rock Star. I already knew, but I wanted to make
 sure she hadn't changed it. We discussed what colors she would get on her nails, and she stated that she wanted a star, you know for the Rock Star thing. She ate ice cream while we waiting for our appointment at the salon, giggling over brain freezes and gummy bears. She skipped and hopped on a stone wall and invited me to join her. I hesitated for a second, because I am an adult, and then joined her with childlike joy.

We went to get our nails done and she asked me what each tool was and we counted in Spanish while our nails dried. She was so proud of her nails and I was so excited to show a special "big girl" right of passage. I came home rejuvenated and ready to tackle what needed to be done.

She is such a blessing to me. My sweet little girl.

Dunkin Donut Trenches

There are eight kids in my daughters' pre-K class. Of those eight children, 6 of us have younger children that are ages 2 and 3 years old. Every week, our older children go to school five days a week for two and a half hours a day. There are glorious days when some of the kids may go for an extended hour for lunch bunch, or science club or the younger child may have an activity or school one or two days a week that allows the mom to have a genuine break.

At least once a week we get together, all of the younger kids and the moms. It may be at the library or  a kids' gym. But frequently it is at Dunkin Donuts. Because what is better than 6 kids hopped up on sugar running laps around Dunkin Donuts, banging on the ice cream refrigerator and dancing (on the floor)?

Some of these women I have known for three years, some for two, and some for less than a year. But we are in the trenches together. We ask each other what we are doing in the 2 1/2 hours of freedom from our older children. The answers are either going somewhere to occupy younger child or running errands. And often, someone will tag along. We are all on social media and know when one of us has had a rough night, when someone has amazing news or someone is sick. The arrival is always met with: "How ARE you?" and "What can I do?"

A couple of favorite stories about the ladies and their adorable children:

There is one whose two year old daughter has taken to wearing her older brothers' clothes and shoes. We all remark on her delightful ensemble. The other day she had on a ball cap, striped shirt, pink leggings, one Mary Jane shoe and one boys' sneaker that was distinctly larger than her foot. We all congratulated the mom on getting out of the house with her children. Smile, laugh and sigh.

Then there is the child who is sensitive to noise, stimulation and sensory things. We are all sure to keep her safe from other kids when everyone is running around like crazy children in the morning before school starts. We shun her away if a kid seems particularly hyper and ready to charge.

There is the young boy who has a sour puss face on most mornings and often needs his space. We say: "Hello" and if he smiles, take that as a cue for safe interaction. If not, we let him be; he will come around.

There are the boys who want to run with the big boys and often surprise the big boys by knocking them down.

There is the boy who got a mysterious illness and we cheered as he took his first steps again in over two weeks.

These kids are not related to me, (ok one of the bruisers of the big boys is mine) but they are in my heart. When one is sad or having a bad day, we feel it. When a mom is at her wits end, we jump in to give relief. When a mother can't take it another day because her husband is deployed for the third time,  we take time out to talk, offer relief or maybe just a Coke Zero.

And we rejoice together too:   when the mother welcomed her husband home from Afghanistan, we sighed relief and cried tears of joy. When the mother of two boys is finally having her girl, we squeal with delight. When a child gets potty trained or an older child gets a treat for not talking in class, we congratulate them. Together.

But seriously, the best part is dishing late at night on social media about designer bags, dream homes
 and of course our children. I don't know what I would do with out these ladies. They are often my sanity, my personal cheerleaders, my compadres in the trenches.


Oh and one more thing, I really want a donut. So ladies, you know who are... Monday?

One step at a time

I am restarting this blog... I know I know I have said it many, many times before. But this time I have peer pressure.  See, recently, I was cast in the Listen To Your Mother DC 2014 show. It's a wonderful program of a panel of incredible mothers who read their own pieces all about motherhood. The director, Stephanie Dulli, of Stephanie Says, is a friend of mine. When she told me about it, I thought it would be right up my alley. I would be able to write and then perform my words on stage. I haven't performed on stage for over 17 years. So, this seemed like a nice way to ease back on the stage, one step at a time.

I read my piece in an audition and it seemed like old hat. I wasn't nervous or anything. I was confident, and of course it helped to have a friend in front of me. Although my friend was the director, I knew full well that I may not be cast, my piece may not fit into the show or, I may not be the performer they were looking for. And I was ok with that. My old audition values of "what will be, will be" came flooding back.

When I received the news I was cast, I was excited, but I honestly had no idea what it meant. I mean of course I knew I would be performing my writing. Of course I knew it meant sharing a part of my soul to an audience and the Internet, but I didn't know it meant joining a cast of an amazing group of women. I was cast a week ago.

In that time, I have "met" the cast members, and instantly we are a social media and motherhood "family". And so hear comes the pressure. I don't keep up with this blog. But these brilliant women write on a daily basis. (Click here for links to these brilliant women and their blogs)   My information and blog is going to be broadcast on a big level and I haven't written in forever! Pressure.

What if my daily musings and babble are not good? What if I don't keep up with the blog?

Truth? It doesn't matter. I have always felt that if you like my writing, great, if not move on. I write for myself ultimately and if other people like it, great!

So I will try to babble some more, I promise. Really I do.

Follow their lead to the brightest star

On every clear night my daughter, who is now 4, sees her "Paga", (my father). She points to the brightest star in the sky and says , excitedly, "Hi, Paga! I love you!" And then she blows "him" a kiss and hugs herself. Almost 18 months ago, my father passed away from Cancer. My daughter, who was 3 at the time, was close with him. She brought out joy in him and she loved to play with him. My son was one year old and doesn't remember him. But he is my fathers' spitting image. He walks like him, marches like him, is stubborn like him and surprises us on a daily basis with how much he is like my father.

When my father was diagnosed, my grandmother was four days away from leaving this world. My daughter was 18 months and my son was still in the womb. I remember the day after I sat in her pediatricians' office for a routine appointment. I was raw with emotion. I was hormonal from being pregnant and the doctor asked how I was. I sighed, started to cry and told her that I was having a tough time. I was going through an intense process of grief and possible grief, I was in the throws of first trimester pregnancy and I was worried how my instability was affecting my daughter. She assured me that she was ok. She told me to hug her when I needed comfort, and let her take the lead. But I wondered, how do I deal with death and helping my child who doesn't understand that dessert only comes after eating your vegetables, understand death? I had no idea where my journey would take me.

I did let my daughter take the lead. And it was beautiful to watch. Over the following year and a half, my father was in and out of hospitals. There were times when we wouldn't see him for over a month because we were sick and his immunity system was compromised. There were times when he entered the hospital for weeks at a time due to some sort of ailment or another. There was the time he shaved his head and I feared taking my daughter to see him, I was scared of her reaction. And ultimately, she had no reaction to it. As long as he was smiling, she was fine. Kids are resilient that way. And adaptable, more than we give them credit for. There was a time when he was in a state of confusion due to a head injury, and she was scared of him because he kept asking her questions over and over. But we redirected her and all was fine.

The month before my father passed, we were all at the mall and my father was walking with a cane. My daughter went to hug him goodbye and she was so exuberant she nearly knocked him over. We all laughed but she cried. At that moment I realized his demise of health was indeed affecting her. But I let her take the lead. In the car, she asked about him. We said he was still sick and to just be careful with him. But that he still loves her. And she said "I love him. I am sorry." I explained there was nothing to be sorry about. That it was an accident. My heart was breaking.

Four weeks later he passed away. I returned home from my moms' the morning after my dad's passing. My heart was heavy and I was nervous about telling my daughter that her Paga had passed away. We aren't overly religious. I ran through questions she might ask and the answers to them:

Q: How did he die?
A: He was sick, so sick that his body couldn't handle the bad "germs" anymore.

Q: Will I see him again?
A: Someday you will but not for a long time.

Q: Where did he go?
A: Heaven

I was ready. Or so I thought. I open the door to my house and sighed. I hugged my husband. we pulled our daughter aside and my husband and I began to tell her that her Paga had died. She didn't ask all of the questions above. She did ask where he went. We began to talk about heaven but the concept was lost on her.  I had remembered hearing someone say once that the loved ones who pass are on the brightest star. So I went with it. And she grabbed hold and I followed her lead.

Since then, she has a special bond with the night sky. Surprising us at the most random moments with memories of my father. And yes, we follow her lead when it comes to Paga.

Recently a friend, who is going through the same thing with her dad, asked how I handled it with my children. I gave her the suggestion of the star. But I also told her to follow her kids' lead.

Kids react in different ways. Depending on their age, understanding the topic of death can be difficult. It is a vague concept and not everyone believes the same thing. Everyone grieves differently. And the children have to navigate how the adults are grieving, their own grief and understanding the concept if death: it can be a lot. And their feelings and grief can manifest in many different ways. Fear, anger and attachment may occur, leaving the parent to be exhausted. But before exhaustion comes, take a moment, talk with your child and follow their lead.