"And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something that you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
From High Up Above to Down Below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights Will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will Try To Fix You" Coldplay




I fell in love with our dog, Lola,
the moment I saw her photo on the Western PA Humane Society's website, a mere two weeks ago.
A big pudgy American Bulldog with tons of little black spots all over her belly, it was hard to get her out of my mind...
so I arranged a trip to the shelter, in honor of the boys' school teachers, with donations of dog and cat toys/treats/food, last Tuesday. We brought Lola home on Wednesday, and she quickly became an integral part of our family.




Lola died tonight, by euthanasia. She was a wonderful, five year old, who had experienced a hard life before coming home to live with us. Despite our best efforts, not a day went by that we didn't have a frightening moment or two, where her hidden aggression reared its ugly head, sending me running for cover of my kids. She bit me today, in a most sudden and horrifying display of vicious force. I knew, then, that it was over and that the safety of our home had been compromised beyond repair.

As the despair of losing this magnificent spirit, washes over me in waves, I feel no regret for loving this beast who taught me more in five days than I ever learned in a classroom or from books. During her hours of life here, she showed amazing skill and intelligence, learning to "stay", lay down, roll over, and walk submissively on a leash (no small feat for a dog with almost eighty pounds of pure strength!). Some of my dearest friends stopped by yesterday and marveled, seeing her sit, frozen, with a much loved treat within inches of her body, waiting for my command before lunging and dining with fervor. Never in all my years have I witnessed a creature of such will.

The work of Humane Societies, in our country, is heart wrenching and endless, and the turmoil that lives within their walls, due to the unconscionable evil of heartless human beings- who abuse these defenseless animals, then leave them for dead, is sickening. While it is romantic to believe that the answer to our massive population of unwanted dogs and cats are "no kill" shelters, the reality is that animals, such as our Lola, would be turned away as "unadoptable" and have no haven from the streets, were it not for the "open door policy" of the facilities which often must then provide "humane" euthanasia for them. Several days ago, when it first became apparent that Lola may not be able to remain in our custody, I spent hours researching but found no rescue group who would be willing to take this animal who had instances of severe aggression. As awful as this may sound, we are thankful, tonight, not only for the priceless gift given to us, in the form of this mostly lovable dog, but for the heartfelt "welcome back" she received, when returned this evening. A testimony to her contagious energy, she had many workers, both professional and volunteer, who had fallen in love with her, since her placement there nearly forty days ago, and she displayed no anxiety at walking back through the doors to their waiting open arms.

Tom and I have always had a relationship built on love for animals,
especially of the canine species. We are devastated by this loss, as we were enriched and strengthened by the presence of Lola in ways indescribable with words.

My good buddy, Stacey, while visiting from Texas, yesterday, commented that we seem to always have such terrible luck- and she's right- its been a staggering year of loss for us, in pet terms. But as I sit here, now, wondering if we're crazy to open ourselves to such drama all the time, I am reminded of that oh-so-tried but true Bette Midler classic-"The Rose" and its ever-so-timely sentiment "its the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance, its the dream afraid of waking, that never takes the chance, its the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give, its the soul afraid of dying, who never learns to live....". And through it all, we live with great passion, sometimes leaping both feet first, thinking last, with little caution to reason or logic, but that is who we are and what keeps our love going...and, at the end of the day, I like us this way. I'll take the hours with a dog who breaks our heart but teaches us compassion and perseverance, rather than waiting for a safer, less painful route. For Lola and Belle, our furry companions who crossed over this year, we are better for your lives with us. We miss you.

Our Family Christmas Card, still waiting to be sent, from the night we adopted Lola, last week. We were so thrilled to be adding such a goofball girl to our brood!

I got Lily up at the crack of dawn this morning to go "early bird" shopping- just us girls. The cashier at Kohl's recommended we check out this YouTube video of hospital workers in Oregon- Enjoy!

We left the Island a week ago and headed back to Pittsburgh. Since our return I have been asked numerous times "how was your trip?" My reply is always the same- "FANTASTIC!!" along with the line that "it is hard to be back." I think most people assume that it is because of the frigid temps we are experiencing here in Western, PA. Of course I cannot deny my discomfort with being cooped up in a house, with grey skies and feeling cold no matter what, but the real sadness is in our lack of togetherness. In Florida, we spend ten days enjoying one another's company, watching as our children ran about and lived life without restraint- jumping into Renee's pool with their clothes on- over and over again, catching frogs and building them habitats, holding three inch long grass hoppers, fishing in the canal, flying kites, digging for shells, building sandcastles....now there are worksheets and inane rules and sitting for hours at a desk. Tom and I both feel the intensity, now more than ever, to get back to our togetheritis. And I believe we will, sooner rather than later.

After two years of worrying and sobbing and yelling and screaming over the education or miseducation of my oldest son, we have received the exciting news that tests show that Liam has reached grade level with his reading. Two years ago, Liam had a teacher who treated him like a behavior problem because he wasn't getting his work done, and was unwilling to entertain any alternative explanations to his functioning other than a sheer rebellion against her authority. Only after a slew of meetings and intense conferences with the principal were we able to get him tested by a psychologist who revealed that he indeed had learning disabilities which were affecting his success in school. We never received any apology for the mistreatment our son received that year, but he did go on to have several wonderful educators, inside and outside of class, who have been very supportive of his achievements and have seen him for his true potential. I have been able to challenge the system so far this fall by having him re-introduced into the classroom for spelling, and beginning this Monday, for reading. This is such a time to rejoice for this boy who seemed stunted by the inner-workings of his very complex but powerful brain- his potential to see his own dreams come to fruition is better than ever and we are so thankful for those in his school day who have and are his greatest cheerleaders. To Mr. O'Toole, Ms. Hinderschodt, Mrs. Oldaker, and Mrs. Harding- we are so grateful.

We had an amazing pizza pie at "Oma's Italian Restaurant" on the island



, then spent the afternoon frolicking in the sand.



Lily contemplated riding the Gulf waves on her boogie board then settled into sand castle architecture, Liam flew his kite (nearly decapitating an older lady sunning herself peacefully a couple yards from us), Benjamin tried his best to ride the wooden skimmer- more than adequately lubed with wax, and Seth battled to keep his siblings away from his new sand bucket ("MINE!!!") I think my husband has made the executive decision to take a rather lengthy sabbatical from the coming doom of the Pittsburgh winter. If only....

We arrived on Anna Maria Island, on the Gulf in Florida, at about 2:45 yesterday afternoon. I felt an amazing relief the moment our car passed the welcome sign- we all piled out of our van and the kids immediately began trolling for shells. We spied a manatee at the edge of the water and a
gorgeous blue heron. The burdens of swine flu, endless daily chores, and schoolwork just rolled right off of our shoulders and I instantly knew we needed to be here- together- simply enjoying our lives for a change.

(I found Tom this shirt at a thrift store in the North Hills of Pittsburgh, the weekend before we left on our trip. Fate was a'hollerin'!)

In WYTHEVILLE, VIRGINIA, having just finished the FIRST LEG of our Third Annual "Thanksgiving Mystery Tour." Hint: We are heading SOUTH!!!!

For those of you new to this blog, or who don't remember, every Thanksgiving, beginning two years ago, we travel to a destination which we keep secret from our kids until we get there....It is cold here in Wytheville but by this evening, when we stop to celebrate Lily's 12th birthday, IT WILL BE WARM!!!

Tom and I started a business a couple of months ago, which forces us to spend time within inches of one another, in a cramped office space that we thieved from our six year-old son. This may only happen once a day, for a few minutes, but it is fun- it is the way we met fifteen years ago, and what we've always enjoyed.

We are in the midst of planning the annual "where in the world are the silly Sombars" annual Thanksgiving roadtrip. I mindlessly began creating a mix CD on my computer, before being hit over the head with the dreadful reality that my two year-old broke the CD player in the van by dumping about 25 pennies into it over the summer. Tom and I busted out laughing thinking of our few but pathetic options for playing our favorite tunes (it is going to be a LONG DRIVE- I'll give that hint)....bringing a boom box to sit on my lap, hooking up our tiny iPod shuffle to miniature speakers.....

Laughter is such good medicine for a marriage that has some craziness lurking around every corner.

This is a piece by Anna Quindlen- regarding overscheduled kids- the new plague. I liked it, I feel it, and I'm working, along with my husband, on a different path.

Enjoy.

Doing Nothing Is Something – The Overscheduled Children Of 21St-Century
America, Deprived Of The Gift Of Boredom
By Anna Quindlen

Summer is coming soon. I can feel it in the softening of the air, but I can
see it, too, in the textbooks on my children’s desks. The number of uncut
pages at the back grows smaller and smaller. The loose-leaf is ragged at the
edges, the binder plastic ripped at the corners. An old remembered glee
rises inside me. Summer is coming. Uniform skirts in mothballs. Pencils with
their points left broken. Open windows. Day trips to the beach. Pickup
games. Hanging out.

How boring it was.

Of course, it was the making of me, as a human being and a writer. Downtime
is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at
the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the
tedious blue of the summer sky. I don’t believe you can write poetry, or
compose music, or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a
hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels
inside that fuel creativity.

And that, to me, is one of the saddest things about the lives of American
children today. Soccer leagues, acting classes, tutors–the calendar of the
average middle-class kid is so over the top that soon Palm handhelds will be
sold in Toys “R” Us. Our children are as overscheduled as we are, and that
is saying something.

This has become so bad that parents have arranged to schedule times for
unscheduled time. Earlier this year the privileged suburb of Ridgewood,
N.J., announced a Family Night, when there would be no homework, no athletic
practices and no after-school events. This was terribly exciting until I
realized that this was not one night a week, but one single night. There is
even a free-time movement, and Web site: familylife1st.org. Among the
frequently asked questions provided online: “What would families do with
family time if they took it back?”

Let me make a suggestion for the kids involved: how about nothing? It is not
simply that it is pathetic to consider the lives of children who don’t have
a moment between piano and dance and homework to talk about their day or
just search for split ends, an enormously satisfying leisure-time activity
of my youth. There is also ample psychological research suggesting that what
we might call “doing nothing” is when human beings actually do their best
thinking, and when creativity comes to call. Perhaps we are creating an
entire generation of people whose ability to think outside the box, as the
current parlance of business has it, is being systematically stunted by
scheduling.

A study by the University of Michigan quantified the downtime deficit; in
the last 20 years American kids have lost about four unstructured hours a
week. There has even arisen a global Right to Play movement: in the
developing world it is often about child labor, but in the United States it
is about the sheer labor of being a perpetually busy child. In Omaha, Neb.,
a group of parents recently lobbied for additional recess. Hooray, and
yikes.

How did this happen? Adults did it. There is a culture of adult distrust
that suggests that a kid who is not playing softball or attending
science-enrichment programs–or both–is huffing or boosting cars: if kids
are left alone, they will not stare into the middle distance and consider
the meaning of life and how come your nose in pictures never looks the way
you think it should, but instead will get into trouble. There is also the
culture of cutthroat and unquestioning competition that leads even the
parents of preschoolers to gab about prestigious colleges without a trace of
irony: this suggests that any class in which you do not enroll your first
grader will put him at a disadvantage in, say, law school.

Finally, there is a culture of workplace presence (as opposed to
productivity). Try as we might to suggest that all these enrichment
activities are for the good of the kid, there is ample evidence that they
are really for the convenience of parents with way too little leisure time
of their own. Stories about the resignation of presidential aide Karen
Hughes unfailingly reported her dedication to family time by noting that she
arranged to get home at 5:30 one night a week to have dinner with her son.
If one weekday dinner out of five is considered laudable, what does that say
about what’s become commonplace?

Summer is coming. It used to be a time apart for kids, a respite from the
clock and the copybook, the organized day. Every once in a while, either
guilty or overwhelmed or tired of listening to me keen about my monumental
boredom, my mother would send me to some rinky-dink park program that
consisted almost entirely of three-legged races and making things out of
Popsicle sticks. Now, instead, there are music camps, sports camps, fat
camps, probably thin camps. I mourn hanging out in the backyard. I mourn
playing Wiffle ball in the street without a sponsor and matching shirts. I
mourn drawing in the dirt with a stick.

Maybe that kind of summer is gone for good. Maybe this is the leading edge
of a new way of living that not only has no room for contemplation but is
contemptuous of it. But if downtime cannot be squeezed during the school
year into the life of frantic and often joyless activity with which our
children are saddled while their parents pursue frantic and often joyless
activity of their own, what about summer? Do most adults really want to
stand in line for Space Mountain or sit in traffic to get to a shore house
that doesn’t have enough saucepans? Might it be even more enriching for
their children to stay at home and do nothing? For those who say they will
only watch TV or play on the computer, a piece of technical advice: the
cable box can be unhooked, the modem removed. Perhaps it is not too late for
American kids to be given the gift of enforced boredom for at least a week
or two, staring into space, bored out of their gourds, exploring the inside
of their own heads. “To contemplate is to toil, to think is to do,” said
Victor Hugo. “Go outside and play,” said Prudence Quindlen. Both of them
were right.

One of my best friends had open-heart surgery this morning. Please keep her, her two young girls, and her husband Joe in your prayers. Wendy is an amazing woman whom I have had the pleasure of being around for over nine years. I feel the intensity of this day in my soul- knowing that I am here, down with the flu, with the kids, when I so desperately want to be by her side.

Even if you are completely ovewhelmed by your own life- your issues, your dramas, your_______ (fill in the blank), one of the best gifts you can give yourself is giving to someone else. I know this for certain because today, after spending every moment from 6am until dinnertime engaged in some activity or another, and with my children in varying states of misbehavior, and my own spirit a little damp, I made a meal for a friend whose life is a bit topsy-turvey. And I thought about how my evening would have been like any other if it weren't for the fact that we, as a family, had just helped another family have a better day. We've been the recipients of this simple but extraordinary gesture, and I'd like to think that those who made meals for us were somehow as touched as I was tonight.

'Tis better to give? Oh, yeah- totally. (though the receiving ain't half bad either!)

I made my bed tonight- with crisp, newly laundered sheets...nothing makes me feel so cozy. Stacked up beside me are a bevvy of reading materials- I am so ADD people. We've got some decorating porn, which I just cannot get rid of, I'm afraid (tonight it is an old issue of Southern Living and "100 ideas Makeover Style"). There's also my heart's joy "Three Cups of Tea" which I am reading with fervor, though slowly (no, I never did finish The Friday Night Knitting Club and I may not get back to it....sigh). Then, the final straw folks, are you picturing me hiding shamefully behind my brown and silvery blue brocade pillow sham?.... "The Fat Flush Plan" which I am simply gazing at for motivation through osmosis. I don't actually believe that my fat will be flushed anywhere except down the drain at the surgeon's office whom I am going to hire for the ol' NIP/Tuck after Tom wins the lottery (I, myself, don't actually play those silly games so the chances of me winning would be zero, about a percentage point less than Tom's chance).

I love coming to the end of my day with a clean bed and the chance to read for a spell. It brings me such peace, like a meditation on my spirit's longing to grow and seek nutrients found only in the words of others. I am learning to honor this time, to enforce it really. Advocating for the needs of my soul- to be quiet and to ponder.

My minutes are here so I'm shutting the gates around me. Night Night Friends..

Life here is good. Well...It is what it is- every minute an education of sorts- where I throw caution to the wind and decide not to make my bed in order to spend a few minutes extra making fresh chocolate chip pancakes before the kids head off to school; where nobody wants the chocolate chip pancakes and I breathe deeply and try not to take it personally; where I trod the path to the local elementary school and get kisses from the boys that make me feel like a good mommy; where my boys take off running and duck to avoid my kisses and head into the building without looking back; where my kids remember our anniversary with hugs and whispered plans of surprises for another day; where Tom and I brush off our anniversary and shuttle kids to and from school and games and appointments- then fall asleep in mid-air before our weary noggins hit the pillows which I should have laundered a week ago; where romance is a second thought; where friendships are forged and well attended to; where friendships are neglected and growing weeds; where faith ebbs and flows, sometimes with certainty, often with increasing doubt; where sports become a thorn in the side of family time but leave me proud and cheering for my kids; where the kids I love disappoint me by lying, or sassing, or ignoring; where the kids I love behave like kids and I discipline and hold with soft kisses and whispers of acceptance; where the kids I love seem to bloom and unfold with surprising abundance and joy; where I learn that the minutes of life are to be experienced- both in exhilaration and dread-equally, but form a map of my days most perfectly soldered together by God.

Tonight Lily and Liam purchased with their own money and fixed, from start to finish, a most incredible dinner, in honor of their parent's twelfth anniversary. Tom and I were formally called to dinner in our dining room, with candle-light, champagne, and a four-course meal. The romance a mere pilot-light, with three of my four children joining us at varying times during the meal. Benjamin, after an afternoon of rampant misbehavior, was screaming from the confines of his bedroom, as the musical interlude for the evening. But I found that what I heard most was my own gratitude for the collective memories of this night- for the beauty of my two oldest children's intentions and generosity, their selfless pouring out of love for us, their maturity and skill and boundless excitement for the gift they were giving and had planned out over many days this week; for our follow-through with our most challenging son, whom we love feverishly but with great frustration and bewilderment-nothing could have prepared us for the challenges of parenting him, just as nothing could have prepared me for how unconditionally I love him and how I recommit myself to parenting him every second that I'm with him- never giving up on the hope that one day we will see clearly how most appropriately to parent him and meet his needs; for my two year-old's attachment to us and need to be as he is- young and vulnerable and needing of our constant love and attention.

Twelve years has passed since I vowed to love my husband for all of my earthly days, and then some. Our wedding, both jubilant and imperfect, was a foreshadowing of sorts, for the journey that lay ahead. Many moments of that day, on the 14th of September, on the beach, in 1997, were not as I had meticulously planned- the mishaps with the music, the quirky minister (she didn't seem to appreciate the frivolity with which we repeated our vows, a manner typical of our relationship then and now, none of which I would change), the delayed reception, the starving guests and luke-warm breakfast foods. That's all pretty much the way it has played out since- kind of funny, and frustrating, and giggly, somber then silly, angry then simmering then boiling over with love and mercy and contentment.

I wouldn't write the script this way. I'd make it more sappy and sweet, lacking of pain or bumps in the road. But I am not the architect of these days- and I'm becoming more at peace with this life that I'm living and its ups and downs. Because the ups are worth all the downs, any way you carve them.

Its 6:30- my husband is with my six year-old at football practice and I'm struggling, on the couch in my living-room, to figure out how to reteach my daughter the math she needs to know for homework (which I bearly understand myself), review and correct my eight year-old's math and reading homework (which is poorly written and well below where he needs to be learning, frankly), and cope with the constant antics of my two year-old, who is pulling my hair, tearing at his sister's paper, and screaming about the deer who were in our backyard today. I am trying hard not to snap, but my head is spinning and I feel nothing but completely overwhelmed.

You who speak volumes of reassuring words to my soul- vocalizing melodies of softness to my spirit which has been hardened by seasons of stark rejection and indifference. A piece of me, born of the Universe, rooted in the infinite timelessness of our existence, has known You- has wandered in Your presence, has wept in Your arms and collected Your tears on the tenderest pads of my fingertips. I was there when You could bear it no more. I know this as truth, in this moment, for my innermost being recognizes Your pain as a friend on my own path. I see joy in Your breath, in the very manner that You speak only what You feel at Your core, with all the intensity of every cell that inhabits Your spirit. I am honored to reside in the circle where You open Your heart- where You share weaknesses which are actually Your greatest strengths.

Dear You- I am grateful for You today. I soar in Your company, with every inch of my brokeness trailing behind me, catapulting my life into the realm of hope and possibility, once again.

thank You.

Our big girl Lily, so grown-up, ready to make her debut as a middle-schooler. I am so proud to be her mother. Sixth grade will be fantastic.
Benjamin,or "Big Ben Roethlisberger Sombar" as he likes to be called these days, with his little brother Sethy.

Liam (yes he had a nose-bleed), Georgina Dinardo, Eva Gbur, Pudge Gbur, and Benjamin, posing before heading back to school.

The Walk To School, lookin' cool (i'm a poet).

Liam, a third-grader, horsing around before the bell rang, with his good buddies Clark and Quinn Mitchell.

Benjamin with Nick Estabrook, and other friends. Look out First Grade!!

Ben arrives at his desk to find his friend Shana Rose, whom he's known since kindergarten. I'm sure there will be new seat assignments any day now- let's just say they like to talk.

Liam with his new violin, at our favorite coffee shop, after-school. (no, his nose isn't still bleeding. it now has a scab, which, incidentally, i tried to coverup with some computer techniques, but it then looked as if he had a big blue booger coming out of his nostril so I've left it alone. something for the memory books).

Seth at the Pittsburgh Children's Museum, where I took him once we'd gotten the big kids off to class. That shirt didn't stay white for long and we had a BLAST!

Before I retire, I must relay to you a story of my six year-old, Benjamin, just in case you are having a bad hair day and need some "misery loves company" kind of consolation. Last night, while we all gathered around the livingroom for storytime (Harry Potter: The Goblet of Fire), I noticed Ben leaving, quietly, and going down to the basement. His attention span generally poops out after about the first fifteen minutes, so I gave it no further thought, and kept reading to Lily and Liam. About twenty minutes later, Ben sauntered back into the room, and when I casually inquired as to his whereabouts, he confessed that he'd snuck out of the house, in his pajamas and barefeet, and walked to his friend Pudge's to play. Now, folks, I am a rather laid-back sort of gal but this show of naughtiness sent me spiraling to depths I'd rather not visit again. Six years old- venturing out into the dark, to visit his five year old buddy, and we didn't even know he'd left the house. Call Social Services- I need a break.

Fret not, dear readers, my silence here is only due to my willingness to more mindfully parent my children in these last few weeks of summer vacation though I just joined a writing group and find it terribly ironic that it coincided with me choosing not to write for a month). School has returned with a fervor and, frankly, I'm just plumb wor' out, folks. As I relayed to a friend last week, who was concerned about my silence, I blog everyday, most every hour, in my mind- a running diatribe of thoughts spewing any which way but on this page. Seems that when I finally take some down-time for myself, I just want to crash and read a good book. And I've been reading some fine literary works: Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen, Name All The Animals by Alison Smith, and The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs (which I'm currently enjoying while avoiding my tendancy to straddle many books at a time- because I've got the glorious Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson tempting me like the serpent to Eve in the garden "Pick me up, Judy- you can read us both and still have brain cells left for all your other duties...come on Juuuuuuuudy). I've also read some works that I've not enjoyed so much (just my opinion, of course), like: The Senator's Wife by Sue Miller, and A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick.

I am going to mosey to bed now, for some much needed slumber. I promise that a "catch-you-up" post will be forthcoming any hour now, along with some fabulous photos of my crazy bunch of kids.

I've got a million silly things to say tonight. And I'm going to try my best to just blurt them out and let them go, into the blogosphere, without the normal hours of exhausting editing and pondering that I generally do before being satisfied that I have written exactly what I want to, in the way that I want you to hear it.

My husband is chortling out loud, as only he can do, while reading "My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands" by Chelsea Handler. One might be curious as to why a forty-one year old man would be consuming this vomitous of promiscuity, meant for the most desperate of American females. Its okay, folks- I inherited the book this morning in a spree through my friend Missy's astounding collection of fiction, non-fiction, and, as evidenced by this literary work, pure vulgarity. He came home this evening, seeing me in tears, laughing so hard I was literally falling out of the chair. And I must say, in Tom's defense, that the book, which I read in the forty-five blissful minutes I had alone this evening, is completely hilarious, and more a comedic outlet than erotica. So if you need to give yourself a break from the drama of your life, you too may want to venture horizontally for a spell- be weary, however, if your bladder has a weakness in the continence department. Grab a Depends and read away. You won't have a straight face for hours. Guaranteed.

Today is Friday and in the Sombar household that can mean only one thing- CANDY. Nothing makes my children happier than sugar. We can call them in for dinner, in for a movie, in for a fight with silly string and shaving cream, and they'll ignore us and stay in the neighbors' yards playing feverishly until bedtime, when the obstacle of darkness and a lack of clear vision forces them back home. But this evening, when reminded in a loud roar from their father, that it was time to go to the grocery store for candy, the stampede of time took place, where only the most agile of children made it into our van without face planting in the yard. Our local Giant Eagle has a rather divine confectionery shop, with dozens of barrels of every candy imaginable, available for purchase, in bulk. Once home, the trading, bartering, begging, and hard-selling ensues, generally ending in bellowing and violence. Seth has now joined his siblings in the sugar-addicts club, though he is limited by my remaining common sense to the organic raw cane gummy treats, of which his un-chaperoned and less conscious father decided to purchase him an entire pound. I requested a few twizzlers and Hershey's Kisses and got neither (though there is a whole host of other delights on my kitchen counter, if you like root beer balls, blow-pops, dum-dums, and caramels, come on over. I'll pass).

Tom brought home The Shield, Season VII for our date-at-home-in-our-ghetto-bedroom tonight. I thought it rather hilarious and most mentionable that the cover boasted a DVD "Loaded With Extra Value- Adult Content." So....I guess we are to assume that Fox was trying to grasp the not-quite-porn-crowd with that nugget of info...I might find HGTV more titillating, frankly, though I do love Michael Chiklis and have devoured every episode of that series, over the past few years, with much fervor.

Well, everyone under five feet is nestled snugly on the love seat at the back of our kitchen, eating my famous stove-popped popcorn, watching....um....I'm not sure actually. Hopefully nothing loaded with some extra value adult content.

I took my three big kids to the pool this afternoon, while Sethy was napping and my husband was working from home. I can't say that I always feel motivated to get changed, remind everyone else A THOUSAND AND ONE TIMES to get changed, pack towels, snacks, water, membership cards, and pile in the car...actually I don't really ever feel motivated for that kind of suffering but I do it because it is summer, the sun is out, and I know it makes my children insanely happy.

So today, the four of us splashed into the water, carelessly making our way to the deeper end, and proceeded to play a variety of games, including an impromptu session of Simon Says. At one point, as we giggled together then huddled to keep the frostbite at bay (global warming has not hit the Pittsburgh area, apparently), I couldn't stop smiling thinking about how much I love these souls I'm raising, and how I am enjoying this summer with them so much.

On the way home we sang to the radio and hand-danced our way through the most ludicrous song I've ever heard ("Kiss me thru the phone.."), while eating candy we'd bought from the vending machines. Other than my gas tank resting snuggly on E, I was full to the brim with contentedness, something that escapes me most of the time, but about which I am trying to be more mindful.

Things are less than perfect- I could make a list a mile long of the areas in my life that need improvement...but I am coming to understand that being content is about accepting my life as it stands every moment that I live it, while working to carve out a path that feels kinder to the soles of my feet.

GLORY GLORY (HALLELUJAH) (SINCE I LAID MY BURDEN DOWN)
Traditional Negro Spiritual

REFRAIN:
Glory glory, hallelujah
Since I lay my burden down
Glory glory, hallelujah
Since I lay my burden down
Glory glory, hallelujah
Since I lay my burden down
Glory glory, hallelujah
Since I lay my burden down

All my sickness will be over
When I lay my burden down
All my sickness will be over
When I lay my burden down

All my troubles will be over
When I lay my burden down
All my troubles will be over
When I lay my burden down

Lord, I'm feeling so much better
Since I lay my burden down
Lord, I'm feeling so much better
Since I lay my burden down


It's a splendid day here in the Burgh (pardon the rather antiquated term of endearment, I just couldn't help it)and I've been having some rambling thoughts that I thought I'd share, regarding our current spiritual path:

We stumbled into The Open Door Church nearly three years ago after moving to Pittsburgh and getting settled (a process that took longer than it would seem from this sentence). Jen Lemen, in all of her "emergent church" wisdom, had helped me find three locations where Tom and I might want to worship (after years of being complacent in a rather hard-core evangelical castle, where christianity had been boiled down to a religion for pretty, happy, affluent, heterosexuals who befriended and voted solely for others who were the same.) I sent an email to BJ, the senior pastor, introducing myself, and proclaimed that I was a "stay-at-home attachment parent of three children, lover of blacks, gays, and feminism," to which he said "welcome." So we became off-and-on congregants, completely sold on their "we love kids, even if they are screaming during the service" and "come as you are" philosophies. Don't get me wrong, this is no "mamby-pamby-Jesus-is-all-smiles-and-rainbows" kind of community- it is a missional church, whose intention is to follow the words and works of Christ, with a heavy emphasis on serving others. It's hands-on style requires everyone to at least be paying attention for an hour and a half, if not participating with genuine enthusiasm. At times there are prayer stations for you to gather at, weep at, lay at, where even my children are welcome and encouraged to spend time

This spring, our family made a committment to have this church be a consistent part of our family life and have devoted nearly every Sunday since to being present there.
Here are some further tid-bits about our morning of praise and prayerful contemplation (actually I was the "designated parent" on duty with Seth at the back of the room so my contemplating was usurped by constant utterings of "shhhhhhhh" and "yes- there's a firetruck, sweety. yes- you love firetrucks. yes- there's a dog on the truck...".):

*Today was our monthly "community dinner". This has long been our favorite of Sunday traditions with The Open Door. Since the service has switched to mornings for the summertime, Tom prepared a lucious French Toast Casserole for us to bring- the smell alone would have driven even the staunchest of aetheists into the Lord's presence. Is there anything more delightful than bread with cinnamon and sugar baked into it? No....I daresay there is not. My children, who are infamous for their marathon eating sprees, look forward to the buffet of delectible dishes with as much fervor as going to Kennywood (okay- I exaggerate only slightly) and ran into the sanctuary, nearly landing on top of the various crocks planted on a side table. Truly you would think they'd just gotten off a boat from some land of famine. And unlike the more mature members of the congregation, The Sombar kids prefer to continue feeding themselves for the duration of worship, long after other folks, with a little more cooth, have taken seats and moved on with the prayer and praise. At one point, this morning, I spied Benjamin bringing a plate of three boiled eggs to his father to peel, about ten minutes before the benediction.

*As we were exiting the parking lot to head into the Union Project for church, Lily declared "Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy- you are wearing my shoes!!" Yes, friends, the time has now come where my daughter and I can swap footwear, and I can honestly say this is a good thing (she may not agree). And with our dualing ADD, one of us is bound to know where a pair of flip-flops are located, even when the other has no clue. This same big girl daughter of mine laid in my lap on the floor at the back of the sanctuary, causing my heart to swell- I just held her and tried to stop time, knowing that one day she will rather die than cuddle with her mother in public. The same is often true for Liam and Benjamin who generally, at some point, snuggle close before going off to play with other children or hear Bible stories in another room (today they were too busy eating).

*Seth resisted the urge to pummel other small beings, though he stared down an eighteen month-old pretty hard during the sermon. Even Jesus faced temptation, right?

*John Creasy, the assistant pastor and sometimes rockin' band leader, lead everyone in a rousing rendition of "Lay My Burdens Down" ("Glory Glory, Hallelujah, I'm Gonna Lay My Burdens Down..."), with a small herd of little people twirling near the pulpit. You couldn't help but smile, then clap and sing louder than normal- getting us all out of our typical "pathetic white people church droan."

I will never claim to be disciple-like in my following of Christ. My imperfection in this area is the same as my life in general, my best intentions being renewed with the dawn of each day, my heart firmly planted in the passionate pursuit of soulfulness, with sometimes disappointing results. I don't believe, anymore, that Western Christianity fulfills much of the purposes of Jesus, what with our mega-churches and cut-throat superiority complexes. But I do believe that there can be a happy medium between joining the throngs of hypocrites and rejecting spirituality altogether, and for me, it lies somewhere in the hood in Pittsburgh, where you sweat it out in the summer, on slanted floors with acoustics which make everyone nearly inaudible. It lies in the reality of everyone who steps through these doors-bringing forth their hodge-podge lives, their insignificance, their issues, their delight and despair, whose glow, despite it all, is infectious and with whom you know you will always have shelter and the love of God.

I'm feeling rather grumpy today, mostly due to a cumulative lack of sleep (wake up at 1:30 and Seth is between Tom and I in bed. Wake up at 3:30 and Benjamin is next to me, next to Seth, who is between Tom and I in bed). But also because I've just read Jen Lemen's latest post and I wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life (I think she may have this effect on a lot of people). About once a month, or so, I have this routine- where I sit back and feel like my life is completely insignificant and that I've now wasted almost thirty-nine years barely scratching the surface of my own potential, my destiny. Jen Lemen, whom I wiled away hundreds of hours with several years ago, is in Rwanda rescuing tribes of refugees or something and I'm just trying to get through the end of my days with clean teeth (showers have now become optional). People, like my friend Judy Albenzi, say- "You are doing what you are SUPPOSED to be doing right now- mothering the children you brought into the world." Then there's my twenty-four year-old guitar teacher, Pat, with the most remarkable yet simple words, imploring me to get a grip- "what could be more important than raising your four children- REALLY, JUDY, WHAT?" and I have nothing to say in response, except, "I don't know." And I don't know- I know that I've dreamed this dream for a lifetime and it is my struggle with contentedness that keeps me from realizing that I'm here- that I've made it. I know, deep down, that my life, as it stands, today, is all that I ever wanted and so much more. And I think about Mother Theresa's most famous quote "Do no great things, only small things with great love." But I've never dreamed small- I've never looked up to the heavens and wished for small- like the winter carnival at my elementary school when they raffled off the six foot tall stocking full of presents- I wanted that thing so bad I was doing ten Hail Mary's in the caferia, eyeballs praying while boring holes through the thick red felt which curved itself into a toe big enough to fit over the foot of a T-Rex. And just like with the stocking, which I did not win, I reach for the stars and always land, flat on my back, in the meadows of my reality, which are painstakingly normal and lackluster. This recurring nightmare, that I'll wake up at fifty and have nothing to show for my efforts, is here, in my leather chair in the living room, keeping me company, and I feel stuck.

The three big kids started their camps today. Liam and Benjamin are attending morning "playground camp" and Lily is at the Young Writers Institute, in the mornings, for two weeks.

This morning, Ben and I were snuggling in bed and he was interrogating me, with all his nervous energy, about what his camp would be like (this is the first year that he was eligible, due to age, to attend with his big brother). He then asked "Mommy- where Lily goin' to be?" So I told him about him about the Writer's Institute, to which he replied "What they do there, Mommy?" "Well, Ben, they write- these kids like to write." "What else they do there?" "Nothing, Ben." "Mommy- that bo-rin'. That a dumb camp...".

So there you have it folks, out of the mouth of Ben...

"Say" by John Mayer

Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put 'em in quotations

Say what you need to say [x8]

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

Say what you need to say [x8]

Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You'd better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say [x24]

This isn't the first time I have posted these lyrics....Forgive me for being redundent, but they've been on my mind, and in my ears a lot lately. Natasha gave me a CD she'd created, last May, after I arrived home from the hospital. She was the first person to see me- and I can remember just holding her- maybe for like an eternity...Life was so frightening after being cooped up in that prison for nine days, and her presence made me feel so safe- like maybe the whole thing had just been a nightmare- a figment of my cruel imagination. And later, after she'd gone home to her girls, I popped the CD (titled "Judy's Way Back") into the car and this was song #4. I played it over and over and over again and I still do- because somehow, I feel it epitomizes what I want, for my life and for this blog of mine. I pour my dailyness, my truths, out onto this space and I leave it here for you to do with what you wish...and for me to see how far I've come or who I was or why. And this "truth" is not always the best view of me- it doesn't represent a life lived simply or without suffering. It doesn't define "normal" or "abnormal"- it just IS. And,yes, there have been concerns, over the course of the last year, about some who may lurk here who don't have the best intentions for me (and those close to me)...but then, and now, I make the choice to "say what I need to say" because even if it gives me just one night free of my racing thoughts, it was worth it, or if it gives my children, in the future, some insight into their mother's thoughts and why I made certain choices on their behalf, it was worth it, and maybe, just maybe, if it gives you or somebody, somewhere, reassurance for their own journey, it was worth it.

Tonight...
I saw the naked behind of my two year old, who had taken his clothes off, deciding he needed to be in that ocean just the way he came into this world...
Tonight...
I begged my daughter to sit beside me on the beach, even though she really wanted to walk back to the house because she was "bored". I looked at her, in all of her beauty, and I whispered a wish to the heavens that we would always be friends...
Tonight...
I watched my six year-old try to surf on his boogie board, knowing that one day he will be a superstar at everything he does and I'm amazed at his energy...
Tonight...
I looked for seashells for Liam, who was nursing a sunburn in my bed at the house- and I missed him.
Tonight...
I walked slowly up the dune, trailing my family, and dared to believe that I may just be witnessing a life where all that I've longed for is right here in my midst and maybe, just maybe, i can finally exhale

There's a lot of what I will call "Tom Worship" going on in this fabulous beach abode, this week. There are two women here, other than me, and they've both decided that my husband is, without a doubt, a dream. He's one of those "hands-on" guys- who doesn't have any pre-conceived notions of what it means to be a "man"- (he cleans, pays attention to his wife and children, offers help when necessary). I laugh out loud at this- mostly because I know it is true, but it seems funny to me, somehow, that I, of all people, would end up with this marvelous life-partner. I'd tried many of the opposing gender on for size, so to speak, before he showed up. I've loved him now for so long that I hardly remember what life was like before we met- actually, I DO remember and it wasn't that great, frankly. I had a boyfriend that I had decided I was gonna marry, come hell or high water- until he put the nail in the coffin of our relationship with the "I don't want to ever have kids" conversation....and, after grieving for many months, there was my husband, this person I never thought twice about....and then I just knew my fate was sealed. He was this soul whose mold my own spirit fit into so perfectly- and he poured love all over me like I'd never experienced in my life. And to this day, he still does, though perhaps not always as I wish- but in ways that are sacred to him.

We have an imperfect marriage- as we are both human and flawed as individuals. At the end of the day, however, he's still the person I run to when I am my happiest or my most sorrowful...he is still the father who is so much more for my children than I could have dreamed of...Sometimes I feel like I need to be offering him more of me- that somehow all of what I have isn't enough- and he just shrugs me off- saying he's got what he needs and that is all he wants.

So my kisses for him today have been just a little sweeter- knowing that, for once in my life, I think I may have just done something right- finding this man. He's a keeper and I so love him.

I did most of the driving for this adventure, so I had Tom log onto Twitter and ESPN.com on his cell phone to keep me posted on the Penguins march to the cup last night. I was so nervous- white knuckled on the steering wheel until the seconds finally ran down. We missed all the hoopla of being in the city to celebrate- we were banging our imaginary pots and pans on the porch- in spirt.

Missy brought copies of the local papers on her flight to the beach house in South Carolina, to share with us.

Missy and the kids with the front page headlines. Yippeee!

The Superbowl and the Stanley Cup in one year people?! Gotta love Pittsburgh. (except for those pesky winters.....I am going to forget they exist for now- I am in my summer fugue).

Some friends of ours convinced us to travel South with them, and another family, for the week- to get the heck out of the Burgh and get a little vitamin D from its most natural source. So we took off (after a few minor squabbles)yesterday evening and drove until almost 3 this morning the Sombar kids, barely conscious, at 2:45am, after a very long drive, getting ready to settle into our suite in Charlotte, NC.,


stayed in a nice hotel, then drove another four hours to their beach house. My kids have been looking forward to this road trip since we decided to go and are ga-ga over this most fabulous beginning to their summer vacation. The house has a pool, so after check-in, my three oldest spent hours in the water (Lily didn't even bother changing into a suit- she dove in fully clothed!), doing their best cannonballs and dives.







Dinner was burgers and dogs on the grill, then we all danced around the kitchen to the latest hip-hop grooves (a real sight for sore eyes, let me tell you).
Lily and Ben getting groovey Sofia and Erin showing off their moves while devouring some Breyer's ice cream.

Benjamin lost a tooth a few hours ago, so the tooth fairy better find some cash then get some much-needed shut-eye.

Good night everyone! Lily watching some Disney channel before nodding off

Liam on the bottom bunk

Lily and Theresa, who is here with her mom, another "Judy."



Sethy is too pooped to pop!

My greatest joys can sometimes fuel my greatest anger....That's motherhood friends!

I know that I have believed that being a mother was wonderfully rewarding, but today, I can't quite recall those moments- in fact, it feels like a joy-ride through hell. And I know at least one other woman who is nodding her head in agreement with me right now- my neighbor Haley. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat here in my kitchen downloading a recipe for tonight's dinner, I heard her screaming for her son, over and over again. For about five minutes she was calling his name (in various forms- beginning with the nice nickname, then the modified nick-name, then the formal first name, then the even more formal first name, then the last straw- and we all know this one- the formal first, middle, and last name- YOU GET YOUR BEHIND TO THE DRIVEWAY RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!!") I could hear the anger and fear in her voice as he continued to hide from her and that motherly, sisterly, neighborly instinct kicked in and I went running outside to see if I could help, along with my other neighbor, Donna. Meanwhile, Haley found him- he was stowed away in her garage- and I am certain it was all she could do to hold it together and not throw him out a window. I know this because earlier, my son Liam, whose class performed plays for all of the parents today, out and out refused to wear the costume I had made him. I couldn't even phathom having gone out of my way this morning to get him something to wear so he would look like a ghost (Tom suggested I buy him a white T-shirt and paint the word "ghost" on the front- which I did!). And seeing him, with his script and no shirt, I stood at the back of the classroom, shooting daggers at him from my widest eyeballs, mouthing the words "PUT ON THAT SHIRT RIGHT NOW LIAM!!!" while he just smiled and shook his head "NO." Then I went home, threw a tantrum and told my husband that I quit. I'm done. Who cares if these kids have a mother who loves them, who goes out of her way to make sure they have what they need? Who cares? NOBODY.

And as I laid on my mattress, sobbing (Okay, I am PMS-ing people, give me a break), I remembered an incident with my own mother (she will not like this memory, I am sure)...I was a freshman in high-school and had gone away for a couple of days to a choral competition in Williamsburg. Well, when our bus finally arrived back at the school, instead of running into her open arms, appreciating how much she had missed me, I ran instead to my new boyfriend, a senior I had met on the trip, and began making out with him- in front of her. What a doophis I was- who does these things, people? Well, I did and boy- that woman was seething and I don't think she spoke to me for a week thereafter, except to tell me how inappropriate my behavior was, how I should never be kissing any boy like that unless I was married to him (to which I so kindly responded "I've done that before- what's the big deal?"), and how she'd slaved while I was away on making, by hand, a new bedskirt for my bed.

My point is that we give such great effort to these souls we bring into this world and the reality is that they are bound to disappoint us and hurt our feelings in the deepest ways because they are just trying to find their way through their own lives and don't understand that we've made our deepest commitment to giving them the best of us- our kids do not make life hard on us on purpose (I think)- I wasn't slobbering all over Eric Small because I wanted my mother to wish I was an ant she could just squash- I was doing that because I was immature, hormonal, and, well, a teenager. Liam didn't refuse to wear the ghost outfit to be an unappreciative twit- he doesn't like to be the center of attention and didn't want to stand out for any reason, and in my heart, I know this.

I am laughing, now, as I write this (hopefully you are too, Mom) and I'm only hoping that I can continue to find the truth in the muck that my emotions can become at the hands of my children (and at certain times of the month).