Niagara Falls!


For weeks we'd been telling the kids we would leave Thursday morning and drive to Splash Lagoon in Erie, as we had done the year before, but secretly Tom and I were planning to surprise them and keep going North. They'd mentioned several times in the last year or so that they'd like to go to Niagara Falls, and we figured that a few extra hours driving wouldn't hurt....

So Wednesday, after school, we piled in the van and headed out into the freezing cold. At first it appeared that I might need some heavy medication, as everything was going haywire in the plan. Of course, with my darling husband behind the wheel, anything can happen, and as usual, he took life by the seat of its pants and decided to wait until the last minute to get in the correct lane to go through the tunnel into Pittsburgh,so.....we got stuck for about twenty minutes, circling the city, trying to find our way back onto the highway (duh!). I could've strangled him, but somehow I knew there would be no celebrating with me in the State Pen. for aggravated assault or murder, so I suppressed my homicidal urges and sang Christmas carols at the top of my lungs instead, scowling just a little. About five and a half hours later we arrived at our pit-stop for the night-a hotel in Buffalo, NY (nothing short of a miracle, as Tom had decided he didn't need directions when we got off of the interstate, and, again, we circled and circled and circled). Our children, still clueless as to our whereabouts, began what would be at least eight hours of pure lunacy, as we, like the Beverly Hillbillies, crammed into a semi-luxurious 200 sq. foot room at the Hyatt. First there was the predictable jumping on the beds, then musical beds. At one point I seriously contemplated going AWOL but I fell asleep instead... then the neighbors woke me up at 4:00 because they were drunk and stupid, so I called the front desk twice with my most threatening sleep-deprived voice, then I began plotting evil things against the mean neighbors who didn't shut-up until 5:30. By the time we were ready to leave, Thanksgiving morning, I was astonished that I could've bred such an uncivilized bunch of humans- reaching for the toilet paper, I came to realize that my uncouth brood had pilfered everything in the place not held down by a bolt. So, with a deep sigh, or perhaps, some yelling, we checked out and headed back into the cold...
Scurrying for the elevators at the Hyatt in Buffalo- I secretly feared there might be a T.V. or telephone in one of their suitcases



Finally, about five minutes prior to the border, Lily pipes up "Mommy- I'm so confused- where is Splash Lagoon- I keep seeing signs that say Canada!" So our tricks worked and the kids were excited beyond reason that we were making our first trip out of the country together, though Ben kept wondering if we were going to be turning around and heading back to Erie- he liked the first plan better. As we, being the ding-bats of the earth, forgot to pack- you guessed it- bathing suits, Tom had to drive to several different Walmarts where we were greeted with laughter, given the snow, ice, and bone-chilling winds outside, at the inquiries about possible summer clearance attire. We got lucky at the last stop, however, and $40 later, we were back on board the ride out of my dysfunctional nightmare.



So, in a nutshell, our Thanksgiving was spent in a most non-traditional way: rocketing down slides, feasting on slush puppies and nachos
, and splashing through waves at the FallsView Waterpark in Niagara.


I would liken the adventure to frolicking about in an aquatic meadow- I had to constantly remind myself that I was inching on 40, as I ran with my children around and around the rides, ecstatic that there were no lines- really, it doesn't get better than this people.

In case you were wondering, we dined, unlike the pilgrims of yore, on Italian food


(does anyone notice that all of my children are wearing nice warm clothes, except for my daughter, the only person alive who would find a sequined tank top appropriate attire for Canada in the winter?!)


(cheese-less pizzas for the big boys, noodles for Lily and me, and a mushroom brick-oven pie for Tom and Seth)
then toured the breathtaking falls, via our mini-van,
ogling at the miles of Christmas light displays which the city had marvelously constructed.

Back in our suite, the boys fell asleep to the fourth Harry Potter movie while Tom and Seth snored, and Lil and I attempted to make our way through the CNN Heroe awards (which were fantastic, not to mention inspiring).

This morning we got up slowly and spent a few hours making our way around the Falls,


looking for the best candy store, and then heading stateside again.

Sethy, a/k/a the bottomless pit, dined on Japanese rice snacks while Lily and Liam watched various episodes of "Little House On The Prairie" and Benjamin took some moments to sleep on the way home.

We're already planning next year's surprise festivities, though it will be hard to top this one- we have all unanimously agreed that this was our favorite vacation yet.

Here I come Lily- ready or not! Look at me, Mommy! I am so big!



My children are all on the slow-boat to gross-motor skills. Every single one of them have pushed the envelope of "normal" when it comes to walking, talking, reading, writing, drawing, etc. This can be very frustrating for mothers, especially first-timers, when faced with peers who count their children's milestones as some trophy they've received for the Best Parenting In The World award (we all know mommys like that- don't we- "oh, dear marjorie- she's so wonderful- she's been sleeping through the night since she was just two days old, she walked at eight months, and now, at only two years of age, is fluent in four different languages! her preschool teachers think we should have her tested for intellectual superiority!! And how are your kids doing, Judy?!!"

Well, in the end, the Sombar children always come through in the eleventh hour, just short of some intervention by one professional or another. Seth, of course, following in the footsteps of his siblings, took his first real steps the other day, about two weeks shy of his eighteenth month. I had just warned Tom that we were going to be in trouble if he showed up at his next well-baby check-up without having walked, and less than an hour later- Sethy took off across the living room like a bat out of hell.

Who says he ain't normal?!!


Seth enjoying his favorite treat- Granny, so happy he decided to save his big achievement for when she was visiting, took us all out for ice cream to celebrate! Hooray for Sethy!

To all of you, out there in the blogosphere, who find some good laughs, and perhaps solace and comfort in my writing- even if it is only to validate the fact that you are not the only being in the world who finds themselves more falliable than you had hoped- I am thankful for you, my dear readers. I hope you have a day full of succulent food, family & friends who love you as you are-nothing more or less, and plenty of fabulous memories to warm your soul.

As for us, we are taking our kids on a surprise road trip- tune in again to find out "where in the world were those wild and crazy Sombars?!!!"

Every time I see you all the rays of the sun
Are streaming through the waves in your hair;
And every star in the sky is taking aim
At your eyes like a spotlight,
The beating of my heart is a drum, and its lost
And its looking for a rhythm like you.
You can take the darkness from the pit of the night
And turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright.
Ive got to follow it, cause everything I know, well its nothing till I give it to you. -Air Supply "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All"

Dear Liam,

I cradled you in my arms last night and you reached over and grabbed my hand, holding me tight as you drifted into dreamland. There are no words to describe how much I love you and how much your love means to me- and I'll try not to gush because you're not so fond of P.D.A.s (public displays of affection) anymore- but I've got find a way to let you hear, on this the eve of your eighth birthday, what a gift you are to me and Daddy and our family.

I can remember dancing around the top floor of our townhouse, spring of 2000, as I watched the pink line appear on the third pregnancy test I'd performed that weekend. There was a surreal air about my life- the miracle that we'd created another being- and my heart took flight on the wings of your soul that night....and late that November, you were born. "It's A Boy" they cried, and I had to stop and ponder, even in those magical moments right after birth, how I could parent a son- I'd never had one of those before- hadn't even had a brother or close male cousin....- Liam Michael Cleveland we named you- a strong Irish first name and the names of two of the most influential men in your father's life- his grandfathers Michael and Grover Cleveland, both of whom had sorrowfully missed your entrance into this world, but who most certainly would have adored you completely...

Nearly everyone who meets you catches a glimpse of something different in your being-the brooding intensity with which you meet your life and the maturity you portray at every turn, well beyond your years. As your mama-what I know is that, more than anyone I've ever met, there is something sacred about you, something more heavenly than earthly in your spirit- as if you've touched the soul of God and brought a little of it to share with the rest of us. As your mama, it excites me to think of the brilliance that unfolds in you, with each passing year- the gifts you bring to the world are significant and I believe, manifest the love of your creator. Never doubt, for even a minute, that you are worthy, and not because of the words you can now read or the numerical problems you can solve, but because you are- a boy of wonder and of divine purpose- whose gifts lie underneath the surface of what can be detected as you sit at a desk and struggle over mind-numbing worksheets or scribble in circles on the latest and greatest "How Is Our American Education System Doing" exam.

Thank you, sweet boy, for coming into my world eight years ago. Thank you for teaching me about peace and joy and intellect that is beyond what is quantifiable on standardized tests. Thank you for loving me and forgiving me the flaws of my own humanness in mothering you. Thank you for all that is wonderfully you.

Happy Birthday Liam Sombar - "I Love You More Than You Love Me" "That's Not Possible" "Kim Possible!".

Love,
Mama

Liam, in his new Harry Potter glasses, getting his birthday sausages from Daddy, in bed.




Lily and Liam left school at lunchtime and we all went, as a family, to the pizza place up the street, for lunch.


Liam and his new bike from Gramma.

I think I may have found the utopia of family games, people. RUCKUS!!!! Liam and I played for the first time yesterday afternoon and we were immediately hooked. All of us, including Granny, have played about fifty times since then, with virtually no quarreling or violence (guaranteed behaviors during other family activities). For all of you with kids five and over (even those with miniscule attention spans like some kindergarteners I know), or if you happen to be single and really bored, I highly recommend getting in your vehicles immediately, heading for your nearest toy store or game outlet- throwing down about ten bucks and heading home to deal the strangest cards you've ever seen-you won't be disappointed and you'll totally feel like a good parent, interacting with your children in a positive manner for at least fifteen minutes. Hooray for RUCKUS!!!

Lily celebrating her birthday- with so much brotherly love.
Lily holding her favorite baby brother (notice Ben punching Liam in the background)
Lily with her annual birthday # pancake- courtesy of her Daddy Lily looking rather snazzy in her new birthday outfit (she even let me put ribbons in her hair!)



I pause every year, on this day, to recognize the life of my daughter Lily, as she turns one year older. These are happy days for our family, when we can come together to celebrate each other- when we can make wishes come true and chose frivolity instead of the mundane, just for the heck of it. When icecream cake and rootbeer become acceptable meals for everyone, when marginal movies from the early '90s find us all camped out on the couch, laughing hysterically and enjoying one another's company- just because. These are days I wish we had more of but of which I am happy to give-over to at least six times a year (one for each of us in the Sombar Family)- the true daisy-picking moments of our lives.

My daughter Lily is an old soul- one whose days on this earth seem to have been longer than her birthdays would attest to. To those whose presence she graces she becomes an enigma, of sorts, a real stand-out girl in a ho-hum time. Lily is a kid I would have wanted to be best-friends with growing-up. And some days I wish I could travel into her world, in a Freaky Friday sort of way- and hang-out by her side as a ten year-old, though our mother/daughter relationship is enviable for all of its silliness and comraderie. Lily is an eleven year-old with complex layers of humanness within her soul- a spirit who embodies a lot of the best of Tom and I- exceptionally creative, uniquely gifted in the arts, a lover of all things mathematical and logical along with an amazing attention to detail; but some of our greatest weaknesses exist within her as well- my perfectionism and anxiety, my tendency toward chaos and drama, along with her father's muddled work/play boundaries. In parenting Lily, we see ourselves and, despite some of the flaws or because of them, we can finally understand our own greatness, our own dreams coming full-circle in her, and can finally accept that we are worthy children of God.

From the moment Lily arrived, I struggled to become a mother to her, to be adequate enough in caring for this being who seemed destined to go the path of most resistance, in every way possible. I can remember sitting on my couch in Arlington, Virginia, where we lived when she was born, holding her as she cried, calling my husband at work and begging him, with tears pouring down my face, to consider putting her up for adoption (yes, I know- crazy)- surely I wasn't cut out for this job, surely I couldn't do this thing called parenting for another eighteen years. I had made a grave error in judgement and I wanted to turn-back and take the detour to the more familiar terrority I'd trodden for the twenty-seven years before her birth. Luckily, Tom wasn't paying me much mind and the "I can't do this" became "okay- we're doing this." And each year of her life has brought us obstacles we couldn't have predicted, but ones we've surmounted together and in wich we've found our greatest strengths. Every minute with Lily is not perfect, but they are minutes worth more than any we had prior to her creation. Tom and I are better people because of this little girl- we are richer beyond measure, we are deeper and wiser and more capable of loving: each other, her, and her siblings.

My daughter is evolving with every one of these birthdays and it is so exciting, as her mother, to witness her growth and maturity into such an incredible young woman, and I am exceptionally pround and humbled to be her mommy- the being in whom she plants all of her dreams and ideals and worries on, the person she most wants to be loved by and enveloped within. That some one as great as this girl of mine could love me so perfectly is truly hope come-alive, the hope that she will have a journey that is one step better, one-step closer to greatness than that of her parents.

We love you, Miss Lillian Marie Sombar. May this year be your best yet. And may We meet you where you most need us on this journey to your soul's greatest potential.

I struggle daily on my journey in parenting my son Benjamin. He is a five year-old little boy whose personality is larger than life, and whose anger, sometimes, is beyond the strength of my will. Of all my children, he is probably most like me, which may be the gun powder at the root of our mother/child relationship. There hasn't been a day, in the last five years, that his very existence has not wiped me out, exhausted me to my core. I love him with every breath I take, but some days, or maybe just some moments of every day, I don't like him- I don't feel like being around him. He sucks the very soul out of my being and yet, because he is my son, I wake up to each morning with the hope that I can be better at knowing him- at understanding how to meet his needs while respecting my own.

Lately I have made a concerted effort to pick my battles with Ben. Were I less conscientious about my role as a guide in his life, we would be at each other's throat nearly every minute. He presses every one of my buttons with a vengeance, making me feel crazy and completely insecure. I have discovered that I must chose the times where I must say "no" to his whims, when his impulses pose danger to him or someone else, or when his behavior threatens our safety or the safety of our environment. There are other times, when I am tempted to restrict his desires to what I believe rest in the "normal" range of human experience, but which don't have a basis in reason- like when he insists on wearing his "Incredibles" costume, which is two sizes two small, for three days in a row, everywhere we go. Or when I just want some peace and quiet and he wants to play the same song on the stereo at least ten times in a row. Or when he shows up in my bed at two a.m. EVERY NIGHT, insisting that he have an aw-wum (arm) to lay on- and I want to lay on my side-ALONE....

To the outside world, Ben is a cute kindergartner, who has dimples the size of Texas and a smile that would knock you over in a second. To the outside world, Ben is a typical boy being a typical boy. But to me, he is a reflection of everything that I find difficult about myself and, perhaps, all that I don't want to deal with at the moment. Ben is my son- and I love him, so today I tried to let him be the best of himself and I said "yes" to basketball and dodge ball and the dirty super-hero suit. Those things I could do for him, and in his world, that means he can thrive. And in my world, it means that I had a morning without strife.

We were just 18 and introduced ourselves in that torturous but always thought provoking college writing class....and I felt then, in the deepest part of my soul, that I already knew you- it was a sixth sense, if you will, and from then on, life as I knew it would never be the same. You became an appendage of my spirit that I dare not live without, a person whom I trusted with my deepest secrets, my most protected pain, my greatest joys, my dreams....and because of you, because of your courageous love, I learned more about life than five years in college could ever have taught me. I acquired lenses with which to view the world that allowed me to see the layers of humanity in their truest form. I saw the struggles and pain of your awakening as a gay man, first hand, and discovered that the complexities of our lives were more unifying than dividing. I learned the value of civil rights by traveling your path and experienced the hatred of our frightened and mislead society in ways that my caucasion/heterosexual journey could not have revealed. I absorbed the magnitude of grief in the air surrounding the AIDS crisis, laying in your arms at the base of the quilt on the Elipse, failing to comprehend a God who would allow such substantial suffering amongst his people, then finding a God who embraced these people when no one else would. I uncovered a passion within my own soul for the cause of equal rights, in every facet of our culture, knowing I could never support politicians or politics which allowed for the discrimination against some human beings that would be unacceptable for the rest of us. I walked away from the evangelical church and found solace with brothers and sisters who worship a Lord who created a people of difference but of love. But most of all, I became a parent of children who will be loved unconditionally, because I loved you. And for those reasons, and so many more, I am grateful that you found a place in this world thirty-eight years ago, and that you've reappeared on my path to see me, and my family, into the next phase of our lives. Happy Birthday Tony.

Granny (my mom) is flying here this afternoon to help us celebrate Lily and Liam's birthdays (on Friday and Tuesday). Tom and I are so excited we could just about explode- Tom's already got the calendar full of date nights for us- The new James Bond movie, dinner at some of our favorite restaurants, etc. and the kids can barely contain themselves. Ben's been calling her everyday to make sure she's still coming (I think Tom would too if he didn't have such an aversion to the phone).

Now if the construction workers outside could just reassure me that my water will not be brown forever, I would feel a lot better about having company for the next week. Bleck!

Lily has been struggling this fall with a lot of anxiety over getting her school work done and having a life at the same time (sad but true, people). Lily is an A/B student with meticulous attention to detail and responsibility but she is also a perfectionist, much like her very fallible mother, and, unfortunately, this leaves my darling daughter all tied up in knots these days.

Last night I was attempting to relieve some of her angst by reciting some of my hardest learned wisdom, over and over again. But once she felt calm enough to sleep, then it was my turn to panic. So, I had to remind myself of the very words I said to my child, with such fervor: that the glass IS half-full and that she needs to just take her life ONE DAY AT A TIME. And ya know what- its true. As easy as those things are to say, and as simplistic as they seem, my glass really is half-full- I have a house in a good neighborhood, a husband who is educated and has a strong work ethic, who loves and cares for his wife and kids, four beautiful children who are mostly healthy, heat, food on the table, an education of my own, parents who support us and their grandchildren, cars that run, clothes and shoes (just to name a few). I lose sight of my blessings when I get overwhelmed by my worries. But I know that, at the end of the day, God is in control (like it or not) and the good DOES out-weigh the bad, and I can attest to both of these things, to Lily, with confidence.

So today I have found myself uttering this wisdom, like a mantra, as I began to teeter on the brink of trying to make my world a little too perfect. And it made this day just a little bit more manageable- which is always a good thing.

My gig this week- "FANCY THAT!!"


I read to the kids at Southminster Nursery School this week. They were having their annual "Stone Soup" fest, which Benjamin so loved when he was there. I have so much fun being with these tiny souls and they look at me like I'm the day's super-hero, which is totally cool.

My guitar lessons are coming along- my teacher and I did a rousing duet of "Frosty The Snowman" last night,though it felt a little dorky given that my teacher is a grad student and a good fifteen years my junior. He's my only source of validation each week, however, so I try to soak it all up in my half-hour ("I can tell you are working really hard- good job- that was perfect!"). My evening practices are making a huge difference and they are helping my kids get in the groove, too, which seemed so impossible before. Liam has mastered "Smoke On The Water" and is now working on "Day Tripper" (he has a cool teacher, eh? a real rocker) and Lily sounds like a genuine blues artist on her saxophone now (even when she's playing "Go Tell Aunt Rhodie The Old Gray Goose Is Dead!") I aim to include some strummin' with my story gigs by next fall. Now if I could just find some pitch to my voice, it would be really swell....

today is one of those days where you keep telling yourself that "if I can just get to the end" its gonna be okay. its chaos of my own doing- do first of three reading assemblies this morning, get the baby from Tom and drag he and Ben to the grocery store (because i forgot my promise to bring cupcakes to girl scouts for lily's birthday), nearly commit homicide against Ben while in the store ("mommy, can i have this? this too? why not- you never buy me ANYTHING MOMMMMMMMMMMMMY? TODAY IS TOY DAY MOMMY- THAT MEANS YOU HAVE TO BUY ME A TOY RIGHT NOW!!!! mommy, I'm thirsty- i get something to drink- wait i want to weigh this mommy- mommy i have a cookie- mommy I'm getting a salad too- mommy i ride in the cart- mommy, i want to get out of the cart- mommy i get candy because you not buy me candy on Friday and i didn't want that football cupcake you got me instead- I WANT CANDY- i wish today was candy day- i get chips mommy- you have a quarter mommy- i gonna get a gumball- you have another quarter mommy? why mommy? i don't want to help you put the bags in the trunk- I'M COLD......)fix Ben a lunch he then won't eat, fix Seth lunch and fresh juice while he screams at the top of his lungs waiting for me to get done, talk to Tom about why I can't handle parenting my five year-old right now, find some baby pictures of Lily (like finding a needle in hay stack), do the second reading at the school, come home, eat a healthy lunch, put my guitar and scrap booking supplies in the car, go set up for girl scouts at the church, sing happy birthday to lily at the meeting, teach the girls about scrap booking, drop lily off, pick liam up, go to guitar lessons, come home, do homework with three kids, put seth down, read harry potter to older two, put ben down, talk to tom about my stress levels.

yeah- I'm just treading water- only half-way done with what is on that list and i'm swallowing angst with every breath- "just let me get through, just let me get through."

its hard to find the right balance, when planning our life, because the things I am obligated to, today, are all things i LOVE doing (minus listening to ben talk to me about my inferior parenting), but having them fall all on one day is dumb dumb dumb- i keep listening to the evil voice in my head that squeaks "just because you can do something doesn't mean you should!"

if i would only give-in to my need to be a real slacker, I think we'd all be a lot happier. the moms who know when to say "nope-not doing that- sorry," and don't spend their hours fretting over not doing this or that are far better off than the rest of us overcommitted nutjobs. its such a crock that more is better. the women I know who are really keeping it together, whose kids are the most well-rounded and stable, are the ones who know how to put up their feet, pick up a book, grab a glass of wine, and say to themselves "i am a GOOD ENOUGH mom today." i want to be one of those.

if i can get to the end of today...i just might have a chance tomorrow.

i spent some time yesterday mindfully parenting my four children- after the three older ones were all home from school. It may seem to you like the obvious choice, but most afternoons I struggle to be truly with them, feeling this rabid compulsion to pick-up and straighten the inevitable mess that my house has become by that point- which isn't what they most need from me. Being in the midst of disorder is not my strong suit, so its a battle I wage every day- sometimes I cave and set about putting books and toys in their places, scouring countertops, vacuuming crumbs. Other times, I gather my wits about me and say "to hell with it" and just focus on the kids, individually if I'm really good.

So all five of us (Tom was working) settled into the livingroom where we made Christmas lists (pouring through catalogues and sale papers), sang silly songs, and played our famous game, we aptly titled "the butt kick" routine. Basically, the kids pile all the pillows and cushions onto the floor (there are a lot- i love pillows) and, with their backsides to me, I kick them in the butt and watch them fly across the room, landing softly a couple of feet away (they actually aren't flying- but they want to be). All of us end up in complete hysterics, nearly missing some grave spinal cord injury in the process, i'm sure. Even Seth, my seventeen month-old, would stick his heinie way up and let me push him over onto the pile- then laugh and laugh.

This weekend, if any of you are finding yourself at a loss for something to help you pass the time, you may want to grab a partner with at least one good foot, and offer up your behind for a good swift launch. You might be surprised at the giggling which may ensue- you might even snort.

I feel like my children are an extension of my heart, intricately intertwined with every life-giving force within me. From the moment they were created, there has been a spiritual connection between us that is unexplainable- words could not possibly do it justice- its just there. And for the most part- this feels like a gift, every moment of every day. But there is this ache....

Tom and I have parented our kids "the hard way" in a lot of respects- foregoing mainstream choices for those more attachment based- to the benefit of all of us . But I think that there is a certain idealism that sets in, for any of us mothers, where we begin to believe that we can save our children from the inevitable pain of growing-up, the harder lessons of life, by following the dogma of particular styles of parenting and doing it perfectly. As ludicrous as that sounds, none of us want to watch our kids experience pain at the hands of life- the skinned knees, the thoughtlessness of other humans, the failed tests, the betrayal of friends, the loss of pets or loved ones, the break-ups and break-outs....but much of it will happen, and as horrible as it feels to be in the midst of it, there is a toughening of the soul, a widening of the path that occurs when it does- and you can't really get to the sweetness of this journey without meeting those challenges head-on.

I was reminded of this by an email from a most treasured friend of mine yesterday- the mother of my high-school sweetheart. My wise sage of a friend, Edie, holding my fourth child.





She single-handedly raised a most amazing man, through many hard times, with amazing guts and tremendous values. Without her, I would be a different woman today, and for that I owe her immensely. I had confided in her some of the challenges we are facing with one of our children at the moment and she quickly dished out to me some of that hard-core wisdom I came to know when I loved her son so long ago- and for all of its simplicity- it was worth its weight in gold because she's right- this is life and you have to learn that bad things happen to good people...and it is what it is.

As parents, its easy to get caught up in the emotional side of protecting our children. But the bottom-line is, surely, that most of us have very little control over the hand our kids are dealt. We are given the gift of life with them for an indeterminate amount of time, and our job is to guide them on this path with the tools we have garnered from our own experiences. There are times, like now, though, where I want to go kicking and screaming down this road, much like a child myself...I want to scream at the Universe- no, not my child! not our family! not now! not ever! I've worked too hard- what did I do wrong?! What can I do better?! Can't we just all be happy?!

Ah- the lessons of mothering- they are both endless and humbling and I am caught at a loss continually, though ever grateful for the support of some of the greatest people on the planet. And Today, I am thankful for that.

Liam and I have been taking guitar lessons since September, at a music store down the street from us. We each have our own teacher but we go at the same time. He'd been wanting to play for a while and I've wanted to re-learn all the skills I had garnered in middle school, when I took lessons for about three years. I'm becoming a much more disciplined person, I think. Acquiring talent takes effort- unless you're born with some sort of gift (I was born with determination- that is about it). When I was younger, I was a lot like Liam- wanting to know how to do something well, without wanting to practice. I flew by the seat of my pants mostly. The lessons are expensive and we've threatened Liam to an inch of his life to get him to practice- mostly to no avail. I however, not wanting to embarass myself each week in front of my teacher, and not taking that $20 a half- hour for granted, have been working hard to hone my skills in the off hours.

I worked on chords yesterday for a long time. Its hard- I've cut my finger nails to the quick so I can grip the strings better, but now the tips are bruised and sore and playing is going to hurt tonight.

Music has always been such a huge part of my life- mostly in a passive way- listening to the radio, buying cds, going to concerts. I can't carry a tune in a bucket but I long to perform for the kids I read to- sometimes, like last month, I sing the words in the books- but I'm working on being able to really rock it out with them. My own children love to sing- and so do Tom and I. On Saturday night, after we all went to a birthday party together, we sang Christmas carols on the ride home- it was an incredible feeling- to leave behind all the worries about Lily, the pressure on Liam, the angst over Ben's behaviors-and just have fun for a change.

So here's to my rock star dreams and my strumming fingers.

A lesson I have learned the hard way- well, I'm still learning it, is to take time for myself. I feel like I've been on auto-pilot the last eleven years or so, just doing and doing and doing, but not really a whole lot for me. This is the sure-fire recipe to crash and burn people, believe me, the crash and the burn suck.

So...yesterday morning I decided to give in and let go. And it was so good for me. It did not feel comfortable every minute, and I had a lot of guilt, but I stayed in bed for a while, then I watched some decorating porn (Candace Olsen- she's such a dream), then I drove to Barnes & Noble and finally used the gift card from Stacey (thanks, girl) and bought a folk music book and played my guitar for hours. I did hang with the kids some, mopped and vacuumed last night, and watched a movie with Tom (his choice- Casino Royale), but I didn't read any self-help "you are a terrible mother" books or "your butt is too big" guides....I didn't rush around or feel obligated to anyone.

It was a fantastic Sunday and I'm so worth it. :)

My five year-old leads a charmed yet hilarious life. This afternoon he announced that he and his friend Pudge had tried out the port-a-potty currently nestled on the island in the middle of our cul-de-sac. They both raved about how good it smelled ("like peppermint mama!") as I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that he had been in there to begin with.

About thirty minutes later he storms through the front door, enthusiastically announcing that he and pudge were "storing up berries for the winter," as he pilfered through my baking drawer for a bowl.

There you have it folks- potties and berries. TGIF

We celebrate "wacky wednesday" in our home, every week, by having breakfast for dinner. As I continue to experiment with gluten elimination in my diet, I am attempting to find ways to eat "normal" foods sans wheat. Tonight I created these high-protein pancakes, which were surprisingly delicious.

2 cups of Pamelas Gluten-Free Baking Mix
1 large organic egg
1 C of whole milk
3 T of melted butter
1 C of cottage cheese
2 tsp. of brown sugar

You can find some terrific gluten-free sites in my sidebar to the right of my blog. The Gluten-Free Goddess is especially divine.

Enjoy!

I made a soup from scratch today for lunch (miracle of miracles)- and it was a HUGE hit in my house- my super picky hubby and my one year-old licked it up- with Seth screaming for thirds and fourths and uttering "yum" in between spoonfuls.

Here's the recipe:

In a Vitamix or Food Processor, combine:

2 c of hot water
1 c of organic beef broth
one large organic carrot, unpeeled
2 small roma tomatoes
1 c of organic green cabbage
1/3 of a yellow squash
1 each: mini yellow, red, and orange sweet peppers, including cores/seeds
1 small clove of garlic
1 T of southwest spice

process on high until thoroughly chopped and mixed (in Vitamix- 6 mins.)

on low speed, add 1/2 can organic black beans, 1/2 c of organic frozen corn
2 handfuls of organic tortilla chips.

serve with shredded mexican cheese and sour cream if desired.

Since hearing the news of Obama's triumph last night, I have contemplated over and over the feelings I wanted to share and the complexities of this victory for those of us on the democratic side of politics.

I made only one phone call at 11pm, to my friend Kim, a middle-class, white, stay-at-home mother of two young children who has worked tirelessly since I met her in the fall, to get support for this candidate she so believed in. All I could think of was how I wanted to get to her and congratulate her for a job well-done. Obama owes his win to volunteers, like my friend, who've done the uncomfortable (the cold calls, the canvassing), when they could have been living their lives more selfishly. I had tears in my eyes as I dialed her number, knowing her joy and relief- knowing her dreams had come to fruition, that her hundreds of hours of hard work had not been in vain, along with those of millions of Americans around the country, and Barack Obama himself.

I was a 12th hour supporter of this man- treading the path toward his campaign with great trepidation, and some bitterness, that Hillary hadn't been awarded the nomination I so felt she deserved. My thrill last night, and this morning, is that regular old people like Kim can see the fruits of their hard work and know that we really can make a difference, one-by-one. That black children in our projects and ghettos, as well as in our middle-class homes and, like Obama, even grander estates, can hold dreams of their own, alive, that they too can achieve, they too can conquer the long standing hatred and oppression that most of their ancestors, and maybe even some of them, have faced in their lifetimes. That white children will know that the President of the United States is a title given to the person who first and foremost wins the trust of his fellow Americans, not the person who fits the appropriate racial category. That girls and women, like myself, can dream that one day we too may see the rise of our gender to its appropriate status of equality among boys and men.

Today is a good day for all of us- its not only about regime change, which many democrats and some republicans, so desperately have wanted, but about life change- about hope come alive and about the pursuit of happiness for all who live on the soil of this great land.

This victory is for the little people- and its about time.

It was a seemingly perfect day here in the Burgh- nearly seventy degrees, sunny, the gorgeous autumn leaves surrounding us, as Tom and I, along with our four children, walked to the polls this morning. I felt a surge of empowerment, with Benjamin at my side, as I entered my choice for President in my booth. What a privelege it is to live in this democracy, where voting is a right, for everyone, and where we can freely display our opinions on the candidates, without fear of reprocussions.

Afterward, I took the kids to a friend's home and we raked her leaves and played a rousing game of softball- boys against girls (about nine testosterone filled little humans versus Linda, Lily and I).

I am proud to be an American today- proud that my children got to witness their parents caring about the state of our country and its future leaders; proud that there is a Black man and a woman on the ballot, and that we can FINALLY say to them, and mean it, that they CAN be whatever they want to be- even president!

Ugh- Hillary Clinton was here today- not in my half-clean home- but just a couple of blocks up the street...and I MISSED IT PEOPLE- She found her way to our little old town- and I hadn't a clue. HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED THIS? Some dingbat (it may have been me), accidently unplugged the charger for the cordless phones last night, so we were out of reach this a.m., as my local peeps attempted to let me in on the big news. So instead of gracing ol' Hillary with my presence, I was jaunting downtown with my ill-behaved five year-old, buying a hundred bucks worth of gluten-free baking products at Whole Foods.

I am clearly in the dumpster of life...

Tonight after guitar lessons, Liam and I went to our local coffee shop for some gluten-filled treats, and he says "mommy, who is hillary?" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHO IS HILLARY". And in true kid fashion, he exclaims "Well, I just know she's some old lady with blonde hair."

Now there you have it. I wasn't missing out on anything big at all, this morning- just some old lady with blonde hair. I feel so much better.

I go through my day having a one-way conversation with you in my mind, oh friends in the blogosphere . If I could pick up this laptop and write as often as I compose these soliloquies, I'd have at least a novella by now.

Its been one of those days. Actually its been a string of those days, tied together in a fog of moody delirium. I have been wandering through my hours with a chaotic combo of frustration/reliliancy (is that a word?)...scrubbing and vacuuming, carpooling, singing, yelling, cooking, baking, shopping, eating, snuggling, yelling (did I say that already), grinding my teeth, trying not to yell, sneaking halloween candy (actually my children have loaded me up with more than I want- which is a miracle any way you look at it), brushing my teeth, vacuuming, scrubbing...

I hate cleaning. Not the act of cleaning- I actually enjoy the mindfulness of chores- there is a sick but satisfying vibe I get just hearing the little pops that my Dyson makes as it sucks up the monotony of dirt on my floors...I hate that it never ends- like a hamster on a wheel, I never really make it to that point where I sit on the couch, knitting scarves, feeling the joy of having completed the task of shining my abode- I clean, then I answer the phone, then I run to get the kids, then I hold Seth, then I put in another load, then Seth poops and there are three more dirty items to put through the laundry shoot- and it all begins again.

Parenting, like cleaning, is also grueling for me. Some days I wonder why I chose this path in life- I didn't know it would be this tough. And its tough. The hardest part, I think, is the questions that remain at the end of the day. Did I do the right thing...is it worth being home, should I just go back to work, should I remove gluten from everyone's diet (I've eliminated it from mine- now you know why I'm crazy), are the cleaning agents I'm using slowly killing my kids, should I stop cleaning, should I clean more, will I be visiting Ben in prison twenty years from now, should I keep the kids in public school, should I move and invest in private education, should we buy a farm and homeschool again, am I depressed, is everyone depressed, do I know anyone who likes this job, should I let the kids watch this much T.V., will I ever have another career, do I want another career, does Tom want me to have another career (no), will I be broke forever, should I stop sparing the rod and beat the hell out of Ben?... and that's just about a minutes worth of what my brain is sorting through, and until I finally fall asleep around 10:30, it doesn't stop.

Tonight we are all geared up here in the Sombar household- not due to the impending election of the next President of the United States, mind you (that's another post), but because the REDSKINS ARE PLAYING THE STEELERS this evening...so I must go or I will miss the kick-off, and we've been waiting three years for this game.

Oh, and my guitar teacher says I'm a natural, so I'll end on that positive note. Yippeeeee.

(go skins- GASP- BLASPHEMY)