A tragedy today and some thoughts on our freedom...

The news is filled today, with horrible details regarding an elementary school shooting that left approximately 25 dead, 18 of them young children. Most of the children were in one kindergarten class. I cannot imagine the horror in that school, in that room. I don’t want to imagine the inerasable images left on the minds of the children that survived. It makes me shudder, makes me ill. I stopped watching for my own mental health.

Facebook, true to its identity as social media, is flowing with comments. Some are geared towards the sadness for the families, while others are geared toward gun control.

Typically, I keep my politics to myself. I have made a few exceptions, however, and this blog is one of them. I sincerely apologize to anyone I may accidentally offend, as I am writing this pretty darn upset. 

I do not understand why we, as Americans, refuse to vote for higher gun control. Haven’t we seen the proof that our society can’t handle that kind of freedom with such a lethal weapon? I know… guns don’t kill people, people do. And it’s not that I disagree with that statement. I don’t actually think a gun grew legs, walked itself into a school of innocent children and fired on its own volition. I do fully understand that it was used by a sick and disturbed individual and that HE was the one who killed those innocent souls. 

Those in favor of more relaxed gun laws cite alcohol as an example. They ask if we blame alcohol for alcoholics. As a consumer of alcohol, and not an alcoholic, I guess I am living proof of their argument. I drink, but I don’t drive drunk. If a life is senselessly taken by the actions of a drunk driver, it’s the driver’s fault. Right? It’s not like the alcohol that criminal consumed was different than the alcohol I consume. It was ME who created the distinction. Or rather, my choices. 

And I don’t love the idea of massive government control. I have seen the results of controlling political systems on countries all over the world and the result isn’t pretty. Do I want that for my life, and for the life of my children? No way… 

But I still don’t understand the gun control resistance. WHY does the average human being need access to an arsenal of weapons when they are not a business that mandates the need? Police… fine. Military… fine. Those in rural areas that utilize guns for their farming (or related) business… fine. But the average citizen? 

Why? Tell me why you need those weapons. Why does the city dweller need an Uzi? Would it kill you to sacrifice your right to that weapon for the greater good of our society, for the increased safety of our children? 

And I know… ideally we wouldn’t have to give up those rights. Ideally, our civilization would be civilized enough to handle our weapons (all our weapons) responsibly. Ideally, we would tread our own paths, respecting each other as we go.  We do not live in that world, however, and I would gladly give up many of my “rights” to guarantee my children’s safety in school, in life. Because it’s not about what I want, what I think I deserve. 

It’s about all of us.

The fourth year of my motherhood... at it's end.

4 years ago today, my beautiful little twins were born and rushed to the NICU, because they weren't breathing properly. They stayed for seven weeks, one week short of their real due date.

This morning, my son was extra tired and didn’t want to get out of bed for school.  My daughter climbed into bed with my son to snuggle. They smiled into each other’s eyes and she said to him. "I love you. You're my best friend." He didn’t reply, he simply smiled back in way that spoke volumes. 

It’s safe to assume that I cried like the babies they no longer are. 

We celebrated more officially last weekend, as parties are more fun on the weekend. If you asked the kids on the day of their party, they were 4, despite the calendar’s technical disagreement. It’s less complicated that way. And they are really proud to be 4. It’s pretty darn cute. 

We made it a home party and themed it Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The decorations were fantastically adorable. I had to exercise huge restraint in my purchases. Goody bags were insanely fun to make and the cake turned out beautiful. I actually contacted the bakery to say thank you. They even took my order somewhat last minute when my initial plans fell through. 

We had contemplated a party at an outside venue, a play zone or something, but ultimately decided against it. Our kids have never been totally at ease in those kinds of sites and it didn’t feel right to make them work that hard on their special day. Maybe next year. 

The turnout of the party was fantastic. I could not have been more pleased. 

I look back on the past year, as I suspect many people do on birthdays, I cannot help but feel a significant level of contentment. Funny how retrospect erases the minute and less significant gripes of the time, maintaining the essential. 

My children have made huge strides in the past year. They have met their struggles head on and are confidently perched to do the same with the next batch that arrives in the coming year. They are best friends and are busy making wonderful new friends in school. And you know what makes it even better? I love the friends they are picking. If I were 4, I would pick the same kids to be my friends. Friendly, sweet, cute… They have good taste. 

Shopping trips and outside ventures have gotten significantly easier as the kids learn to cooperate more with my organizational agenda. Oh, and they can now really be reasoned with on a whole new level. 

Today is a good day. A fabulous way to embark on the next year.

Why being famous stinks sometimes... Poor Kate!

My husband, being British, always gets a lot of questions about the royal family. Most of the time he doesn’t know the answer. Always, he couldn’t care less. He’s not really a tabloid or popular culture kind of person, unless its science or government related, for the most part. The royal family and their adventures don’t make his interest list. 

For the most part, I agree with him. That said, I am very much a people person and it’s no wonder that I studied psychology. I love the study of people. I love to study how they think and why they do what they do. I feel badly for them when I see them suffering. Regardless of what part of society they inhabit. 

And that’s the only reason I have paid any attention to the whole debacle of Kate and William, as everyone waits for this precious royal baby. And to tell you the truth, all I feel for them is sympathy. 

When the tabloids first started in on Kate, suspecting pregnancy and detecting that almost invisible baby bump, I cringed. Poor girl… what if she just ate too much the week before and her royal schedule made it impossible to get to the gym? What if she were bloated? I mean really, she is just a woman. And to be honest, she looks really good. I wouldn’t mind having that body or that face. Frankly, she’s beautiful.

Then the media finds out that she is, in fact, pregnant. And they find out because she is admitted to the hospital with pregnancy related symptoms. And they post it everywhere. How nice of them to be so very informative. (Insert heavy dose of sarcasm here) 

We looked online and the given story is that her “symptoms” were basically full blown morning sickness. I hope that’s true, for her sake as a woman. I know lots of women who suffered terrible morning sickness and produced healthy children regardless of their significant discomfort.  In the long run, I guess it’s better for the mom to be sick as hell than the kid to inherit such symptoms. Right?

But what if it’s not morning sickness? What if it really is a serious complication and they were keeping the pregnancy quiet until they could verify that it was without significant risk of miscarriage? It’s pretty early for complications, based on her physical appearance. That would not bode well. 

 I’ve never had a miscarriage but I know many women who have, and they have all been devastated. And THEY didn’t have to share their sadness with, oh, the entire world. I mean really, like it isn’t bad enough to suffer alone or with those that love you. You have to suffer publicly?

No thank you. 

And so, I sincerely hope that Kate is “just” suffering from an enormous case of morning sickness. I hope that she is simply bearing the burden for a beautiful little unborn baby. Because I don’t care how regal she is, how big her house is or how many servants she has… at this moment in life she is a woman, a mom and a wife. Everything else is secondary. 

And I hope it all turns out well for her and the man she loves, because we all deserve to have the healthy family we yearn for.

My dear husband and his mid life crisis!

Those of you that follow me, or know me, know that I adore my husband. We don’t fight; beyond the usual squabbles of a couple sharing a home and a life, and we are typically pretty good at staying out of each other’s way enough to let the other person have some personal space. 

My husband is prone to obsessive patterns. He knows this. If you look back into his past, you will see a string of passionate encounters with various sports. Climbing, kayaking… just to name a few. And he practices them well, well enough to get pretty good. Then life takes a turn, or he loses steam and it becomes a thing of the past. 

I tell you this, not to poke fun at him. I tell you this to understand him.

Birthdays are not his strong moments, much like many other adults. The prospect of aging is not comfortable for his sense of eternal youth. When he turned 30, shortly before I met him, he let the local bar ease his suffering. And now he’s turning 40… and is none too pleased. I reminded him it was better than the opposite. You know, NOT turning 40. He was not amused. Go figure. 

My age related crises, while equally present, tend to be brought on by events as opposed to birthdays. I had no aversion to turning 30 and I suspect 40 will be equally peaceful. Sitting on the parent side of a parent/teacher conference made me seriously contemplate my age, however. Me, the parent in a conference? Didn’t that make me, like, old? Sigh. 

I remember the first time I drove across one of the enormous New York bridges by myself, alone in the car. Every time before that, I had been the backseat passenger with my parents. They were the adults. This time, however, I was the adult driving the car. Pretty surreal in a bizarre sort of way.

So, my dear husband is smack dab in the middle of a pretty good mid life crisis. And how has this crisis manifested?

In Lego. Yes, you read it right. Lego. 

As a child, my husband loved Lego. He and his brothers would spend hours playing with them gleefully. As a grown man, he is effectively an engineer in his job and I credit that, at least in part, to the brain development of his youth spent building Lego. It’s creative engineering at its finest. Present a child with building blocks and ask them to create. Seriously? How cool is that? And they call it playing? Fantastic!

In the black Friday sales this year, he scoured the online ads looking for good deals on the really impressive Lego sets.  He scored some pretty fantastic, and economically sound, purchases and plans to display them in our basement when they are fully assembled. 

One of my friends jokingly asked me if I minded and my response was immediate and sincere. Absolutely not.  We all hit our age crises; it’s what makes us human. What matters is how we respond. Some men hit a mid life crisis and have an affair with a younger woman. Other make insane purchases that put the family budget in jeopardy. My husband… he buys engineering toys that transport him back to his youth. 

Could be worse.

Tis the season to be sappy, fa la la la la, la la la la

The holidays reduce me to a sappy glob of melting woman. I suspect I was always a bit like this, but being a mom increased it significantly. Now I’m just a happy disaster. Sigh. 

Christmas, or the Christmas holiday season, now has special meaning for me. For those of you that don’t know why, here’s the cliff notes version. 

1-      My kids are December babies.

2-      Their start to life was pretty rough, as they weren’t really ready to be born when they were.

3-      Their first Christmas, and my first Christmas as a mom, was spent in a NICU where I watched my tiny and unstable babies try to learn to breathe. Really not fun.  Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. 

It should not come as a shock that these images will never erase from my mind or my heart, no matter how much time passes. They are permanent, as they should be. 

The other night, my husband and I took out our Christmas decorations after the kids went to bed. We contemplated having them “help” but decided against it. We decided to do everything except decorating the tree and let them help with our newly acquired shatter proof ornaments. Turned out to be a great plan, in all respects. 

When the kids came downstairs the next morning, they went nuts. Seriously nuts. My son stood, feet planted, eyes huge, pointing at the tree… exclaiming “Mommy, it’s a Christmas tree!”. He couldn’t believe it was in HIS kitchen. No way! 

My daughter first noticed the tinsel on the banister and had to be coaxed past the front hallway, persuaded to move to the kitchen. She kept exclaiming, “Mommy, we have decorations in the house!” with eyes aglow, mouth in a gigantic grin. When she saw the tree, I swear I heard angels singing. 

Then they found the singing, candle holding (battery operated) Santa we acquired last year in the sales. As they stood before it, their enchanted faces adorned in the light reflecting off the candle, I began to cry. You know… that cry that comes from so much happiness in your chest that you can’t hold it back. 

I’m not one to persist in negative thought and I certainly don’t spend all day every day worried about my children’s rocky start.  Around the holiday time, however, it’s hard to avoid. My children are turning 4 and they are perfect. Ok, not perfect. Beautifully imperfect. Smart enough to piss me off, active enough to make shopping difficult and determined and independent enough to not follow directions at inconvenient moments. 

You know, normal kids. What an absolute blessing. 

So I stood there, crying and smiling. My kids tilted their heads, perplexed, when they noticed me. Huh? Why’s mommy crying? Hmm… whatever. Mom’s just crazy. Let’s play with Santa some more.

Merry Christmas to me.