Oh, the Cathloic Guilt...

Come on, we all have it.

Guilt.

It sneaks up on ya, even when you don't see it coming, and in most cases is completely unnecessary. Yet, there it is.

Haunting, nagging, often causing stomach issues that I'd rather not discuss here.

Well, I'm tired. And for the sake of my near ulcer, here is my list of things I refuse to feel guilty about anymore.

1. I'm not technologically connected at all times. I don't have a web enabled phone, only check the email once a day, and don't carry my phone around all the time. News flash, if I don't answer the phone, return a message and/or text,or an email, I probably don't want to be found.

2. I hate texting. I don't know why, I just do.

3. I only have my boys involved in one extra curricular activity at a time. This is more of a practical thing since I can never remember what day it is, and who is supposed to be where at every given moment.

4. Letting the kids have ice cream sundaes for dinner. I refuse to think that one night of unhealthy eating will ruin them for life.

5. I LOVE bacon. I don't care how bad Dr. Oz says it is for you. On my death bed, I guarantee I will not be asking for broccoli.

6. I hold people accountable and refuse to think this is an outdated concept. If you did it, just say so. Don't lie about it, point fingers at someone else, or blame it on the dog. There is something to be said for old fashioned integrity.

7. I laugh at my sons every time they ask for cel phones, keys to the house, a Face book account, rated "T" video games, coffee, and motorcycles. (Actually this list goes on, but I'm usually laughing so hard I don't hear the rest.)

8. To indulge weekly in a second Dove bar during "The Biggest Loser", and be secretly happy that Jillian Michaels can't yell at me for it.

9. I am really okay with my body. It is the road map of the life I have lead. I have earned all the worry lines, as well as laugh lines. Grown two healthy babies beneath the stretch marks. Indulged in quality times with loved ones around the kitchen table resulting in an extra 20 pounds. That, and I have food issues so the fact that I will forever be "soft and squishy" is inevitable.

10. I am not the mother my mother was to me. I am not the mother I thought I would be. I do all kinds of things I said I would NEVER do, for the sake of sanity. Yup, when it comes to being a mother, I've adopted the motto "Whatever works", and that's just fine with me. It has to be, because I'm raising two evil geniuses and staying one step a head of them is exhausting.

Running Away (to) Home....

When I was 20 I ran away from home. At least that's what my mom will tell you.


"It was terrible, so horrible. She ran away from home. All the way to Florida." She says, and then adds "I cried all the time".

Okay, in my defense I was twenty. But I was running away, from my ex boyfriend and all the memories/baggage that followed the breakup. And, at the time 1200 miles seemed appropriate. So I moved to Florida, where I promptly found a new boyfriend/later husband who came with a whole new set of (bad)memories and baggage. But that's another blog entirely.

I liked Florida. The beaches, the weather, the lower cost of living, etc. etc. I lived there for seven years, met many good (and bad) people. I made some friends who will (with any luck) be lifers, and had the chance to know my grandparents as an adults. I learned to fend for myself, how to survive, and how to appreciate simple things, like swinging on my front porch swing. And, I also learned how to appreciate the bigger things, like home.

We moved back when my first son was six months old. The move was tough and financially difficult. Finding a place to live was also a challenge. Getting pregnant with my second son made going back to work impossible, and my husband was convinced there were people out there who would pay him to sit on the sofa all day. (Yeah, that didn't work out well for him, see other blogs tagged: idiot ex husband) Single mom of 2 under two, I struggled.

A LOT.

I still do.

But I can't imagine another place better to struggle than in New England. First things first, the history. The obvious things like the Pilgrims, The Freedom Trail, Textile Mills, Widow's Walks, or the cheesy-ness of Ole' Cape Cod is everywhere. But, what is often missed is the everyday things about my home that make it amazing beyond any textbook. Things like boat builders harvesting their timbers for the perfect mast from a road in town where the trees still grow 50 feet straight up. That road is now appropriately named Mast Road. Or, that Bloody Pond is so named because of a horrific Indian battle fought there that turned the straights between the two ponds red. Locals claim that when they were young they could still pull handfuls of arrow heads out of the water hundreds of years later. The yearly beach bonfires, though semi-dangerous and somewhat illegal, are a tradition dating back over 100 years. The only years they didn't happen were during WWII, when allowing the enemy to see our coastline would have been tragic. There are very few roads that you can drive down and not find a small cemetery with graves circa the 1700's or, happen upon the remains of an old house foundation, the workmanship so intricate within the stones that you can still picture the beauty of the house that once stood there.

Then there's the Family history. Yes, my family's here, but it is very common to find families that have lived here for 5 generations or more. Our town's oldest resident (born and raised in the same house) is still leading the fourth of July parade at 98. And although I'm sure there is much bigger news on any given day, the local paper always ensures that he still makes the front page of the paper in all his patriotic glory. Descendants of the "Holmes", "Barlett", and "Withington" families dot the real estate landscape more prevalent than the Oak trees. And, all of them (over 70) have a story from way back when if you'll take the time to listen. Simple tales of small school houses, the absence of traffic, and small businesses that still thrive today. I have lost track of the countless stories of romances that started in the summer at the local ice cream shop.


The other thing I find great about living here is the weather. 80 degrees on Tuesday, 40 degrees on Wednesday, snow in April, rain in December. Seriously people, it's why we live here. There's nothing better than curling up with hot cocoa during a weekend blizzard in February, or going for a walk during Indian Summer. Apple picking and hay rides in the Fall. Morning runs on the beach in May. Grow your own tomatoes and s'mores over the campfire nine months out of the year. It all makes this a great place to live. And the constant change of weather means there is always a reason to shop for a new wardrobe.

I think that if I really thought about it though, perhaps what I love the most is that in a city of 30,000 people I can't go into the bank, grocery store, or to the mailbox without running into someone I know. Let's be honest, life gets busy. We loose touch, and truthfully most of us would rather interface with a network than an actual face . But somehow, living here, my city feels more like a small town. Local business owners look familiar because they are familiar. They are my neighbors, my son's karate coach, a fellow volunteer on the Halloween Spookfest committee, a regular weekend warrior at Home Depot. It's comforting to know that my neighbors watch my house when I'm at work and that they notice and appreciate it when I spend two months pain stakingly painting my house. I love the fact that every summer my home is routinely raided for Popsicles by all the neighborhood kids. And every winter, the simple conversations of neighbors out shoveling snow at 4am. I love how small the world feels when I talk to a new customer on my mail route that day, only to find that he summered in my home over 30 years ago, or that the Mom I sit and talk to three times a week is related to half of my neighborhood. I love watching a Dad pull his kids in a red wagon across the street downtown for ice cream, yard sales, county fairs, and the houses dawned with flags and banners from May straight through 'til November.

Oh and I absolutely love,

just love,

When the kids come to the mail truck, not just excited that the mail is here, but because the woman who's bringing it, is their friend's Mom.

Yes my friends,




"Home"

truly is,

"where your story begins".

A Mom Walks Into A Bank...

Saturday.

A Mom walks into a bank. Posted for the customers is the question of the day. It reads, "If Poison Ivy isn't ivy, what is it?"

I'll tell you what it is...

Miserable. Especially when your nine year old has it and it's spreading like wildfire. Yes, my son has discovered these "leaves of three" and all their splendor while visiting my cousin's house last Sunday. Seems he caught it somewhere between the trampoline and skateboarding on his belly through the woods. (I didn't ask, but evidently this is really fun to do when your nine.) Thing is,those itchy red marks on his shoulder looked like bug bites. So off to bed he went, to spread the oil on all his sheets and blankets. Two days later, he's "kinda itchy", and his entire belly is covered. By Friday, he's a polka-dotted mess. Off to the doctor we go, where they happily take my $20 co-pay to tell me what I already know, and to outfit us with some new ointments and enough Benadryl to knock out a walrus.

Ah, the joys of springtime.

And the answer to the question?

It's a member of the tropical cashew family.

Who knew?

It's That Time Of Year Again...

Bust out the homemade cards and the cereal in bed. It's Mother's Day. As I lay here in bed, wondering when either of my two sons will even remember that they are supposed to appreciate me today, I remember all that I've traded for this moment.

I traded wild late nights out with the girls, for early nights in with two wild boys.

I traded finally restoring my 1975 T-top midnight blue Corvette, for a 2000 Subaru Forrester complete with chocolate milk stains and an occasional french fry.

I traded breakfast buffets at five star hotels, for cold cereal in bed and a mess to clean up in the kitchen later.

I traded not worrying about living pay check to pay check, for worrying everyday that 2 other people depended on that paycheck for living.

I traded staying up all night with a movie marathon, for the hopes of four hours of consecutive sleep (still hoping by the way).

I traded the hopes of owning a red mustang convertible, for being the proud owner of the Ninja Turtle Attack Vehicle AND the Batmobile.

I traded working hard and seeing immediate results in my chosen field, for the hopes that one day, a long long time from now, this job might actually pay off and produce two functioning members of society.


In the end was it worth it? The Mommy in me says Yes. No Mother really enjoys all that encompasses being a mother. And, the ones that say they do, more than likely have a nanny and a housekeeper that do all the actual work. Truth be told, I would do it all over again, even knowing that eventually I would end up doing it alone.

I'm off now to find out where my home made cards and breakfast in bed are.

I'll raise an orange Gatorade toast to all you Moms out there when I get it,

because I forgot to buy OJ.

Happy Mother's Day.

It's A Bird, It's A Plane, No Wait... It's 100% Cotton.

The thing about my kids is that they think they'll win everything. Field Day events, the lottery, radio contests, the Trix yogurt give away, etc. It doesn't matter if they want the prize or not, they just want to win. So it becomes especially difficult to convince them that they more than likely will not win the $25 gift card in the package of YoGos, when the first box we open, does in fact contain the $25 gift card. Or, when they drop 50 cents into the coin operated crane machine at our local Friendly's restaurant, and actually get the stupid claw thing to retrieve the prize that they actually wanted.

This lesson was once again tested last night at the Revolution soccer game. So,as the Rev girls strutted their stuff across the field to 10,000 fans, and proceeded to aim their high-powered cotton cannon in the general vicinity on the stands, I felt it was time to once again reinforce that the odds were not in our favor. As everyone around us jumps on their seat in excitement, I calmly explain to my son that they're only giving away 10 t-shirts so he shouldn't get too excited.

He didn't care evidently, as he jumps to his feet anyway.

Then I see it. Like a little rolled up dark blue sausage in the night sky. It's going, going, going... to fall right into our seats.

Unbelievable. Maybe I should try convincing him that we won't win the lottery either. I'd happily eat those words, with mustard even.

Now if it only wasn't a size XXL...