reading to kids. I cannot say enough about how much I love my storytelling gig at Ben's old nursery school. I spent the morning and afternoon yesterday, and the morning today, reading "Caps For Sale" by Esphyr Slobodkina to some very lively and beautiful 2,3,4, and 5 year olds. Aside from this being one of my all-time favorite children's books, interacting with those kids has got to rank up their with the greatest moments of my life. Generally, when I am planning the time I spend with them, I try to choose books that have a lot of repetition, in addition to characters whose quirks I can give life to. In "Caps For Sale", the peddler, who is the only human in the story, gets very angry and begins yelling at some monkeys who have stolen his caps-"You, you monkeys you, you give me back my caps." So, for the last two days, I've been hanging with the little people, encouraging them to conjure up their favorite toys, then imagine how angry they would be if someone took them- then having them repeat the peddler's lines throughout my reading, with all the anger they can muster. We growled, hollered, and stamped our feet together and not once did I ever get bored- each new class who walked in the room, brought shining new faces, funny answers to the question of their favorite toy (lots of batmans, spidermans, hello kitties and webkinz- but then there were the ones where you were holding your stomach so you didn't burst- like the boy who told me today that his favorite toy was the twenty hockey teams he has in his bedroom, including the Pittsburgh Penguins- especially Sydney Crosby and some buy named Malkin, and the other boy who said he had 900 million garbage trucks that he loves, and the little girl who said that her Nintendo DS was her favorite toy but then she admitted that she didn't actually have one but she was hoping her Grandmother was going to buy her one and the other little girl who said that Batman was her favorite toy but her Daddy hates batman so she didn't really have one but her mother said she might let her read some of the books) and pure joy for me in making them laugh (especially when we sang "head and shoulders, knees and toes" and I would forget what the nose was called and mistake it for a belly-button or an armpit).

Like I told my guitar teacher last night, if you can make a kid laugh- you've had a good day. So I'll chalk it up to two good days for me- and I'm glad for them both.

Benjamin, my 6 year-old, is a constant source of comedy for me, in addition to sometimes being a real pain in the behind (I've mentioned that on here a time or two, right?). Today we ventured out, just the two of us, to return an item to a store that is about twenty minutes from our house. On the way, Ben starts telling me some of the interesting facts that he has gathered on George Washington. I, trying to participate in this conversation, asked him if he knew what dollar bill our first President was on and he very quickly and confidently said "the five dollar bill, Mommy." "Well, no...," I said "George Washington is on the one dollar bill, sweetie. The President who was REALLY tall, with a beard and a big, black hat, is on the five dollar bill." "Oh," Ben replied "you mean John Wilkes Boothe!!!" I nearly wrecked the car laughing- poor Abraham Lincoln, being mistaken for his assassin. Then, of course, we had to go into the very titillating conversation of just how Mr. Boothe shot Lincoln in the head and how that made Lincoln died. Yes, son, he's pretty dead....

There's also the thought that "wouldn't it be funny, Mommy, if everyone had a burger [booger] coming out of their nose that was the size of a boulder?"

These are the days when I feel really lucky to be a mommy.

My good bud Mizzy Kozar rescued me in the midst of a very bad week back in the beginning of January- the anxiety and post-natal depression had come creeping back into my life and I was so desperate for someone to hear me and give me some hope...Well, in true Cuddy-Kozar fashion, she came riding her white horse (actually it is a souped up Toyota pathfinder- but it worked) and took Lily and I for subs (oh- hoagies- I'm sorry Pittsburgers- I misspoke) then to join her in the "Ozone"- where we cheered on our high school girls basketball team, headed up by Liam's teacher, who is the coach. I can't say I really wanted to go- I've never followed local teams- just the big-time stuff- at the pro-level....but I have to say, it worked and I became an instant fan- cheering like some sort of raging lunatic on the side-lines while my kids just kind of clap and hope that no one recognizes us. As I walked into the gym tonight, ready to support the team, I felt happy and extremely grateful to Missy, and to Liam's teacher, for giving me something to get out of the house for, with the kids, at night, even when I'm beat and I just want to hibernate. Lily along with friends Erin Kozar, Sarah Walters, and Paige Gilberg, at our first ever Lebo Girls Game....The start of a great journey for the Sombar family, for sure.

There is a unity in following sports that I felt after the Redskins hired Joe Gibbs the first time, in the early 80s and he took them to two Superbowls in a row. I, at twelve, watched every game, screamed at the T.V., and took the metro into D.C., with my poor mother, to be there in the chill and rain for the parades. My husband and I have a mutual love for the game of football and we both listen to ESPN on am radio, almost exclusively (since we can't get our favorite Sports Junkies from Maryland anymore). I told Tom last night that I love sports- but I think I also just love men and that may explain why I tolerate the idiots on talk-radio going on and on about- uh, nothing. Anyway, we've betrayed my father-in-law and forged a new loyalty to the Steelers ("the Stillers" as they are called here in the Burgh-) despite his demand to the contrary- being that he's a mad Ravens fan who just got the wind knocked out of him this season by the ol' black and gold (sorry, Poppy).

Well, our high school girl's basketball team remains undefeated, and, after tonight's win over their arch nemesis, they are headed to the WPIAL finals, which will be played in the big-time arena in the city this Saturday. GO LEBO!!! Lily and Liam, pretending to love one another at the game.


Here's to "UNFINISHED BUSINESS", Coach Oldaker, and friends helping friends find their way.....

Ah, what can I say, friends. It is a continuous spree of sliding in by the skin of my teeth, yet once again....

Today was the annual Variety Show at my kids' school. Lily has been practicing a skit with her friends for weeks now and finally got to show her stuff...she's a natural comedian- not unlike her mother, I might add. Well, I decided I would go to the afternoon show so that my husband and mother could attend the evening performance while I stayed home with my slumbering baby. But, of course, the "usual Judy" reared her ADHD-filled brain as I scooted into my seat in the middle school auditorium AN HOUR LATE ( I asked a friend seated in front of me- "did it just start?" and she looked at me like I was nuts and retorted "uh, no- it began at 1:15!!!). Ugh. Well, providence was smiling on me because Lily's act was second to last so my sweat turned to glistening relief as I saved my self from yet another disaster. Lil was funny, as she is regularly and with little effort, and quite unrecognizable, to even me, with her grey wig on top of her curly red locks. Lord, I love that girl to death, I tell ya. And I was so proud sitting there, befuddled, watching as she bravely performed her lines, then sang with the entire cast at the end. I saw a lot of myself in her face today- which is funny- like looking at a video of me as an eleven year old.

And, oh, Lily's favorite part?- getting to wear my high-heeled pumps across the stage.

Benjamin has his own room now- that chaos I mentioned about switching the bedrooms around in the house, leaving my hubby and I to slumber in the family room- well, it was in part due to our third child's need for space- and his sibling's need to be away from him from time to time (like during his thrice-weekly night-time temper tantrums). So tonight, as I do on most nights, I laid with him and read some cool books we found at the library, then we turned out the lights and I started praying. I think I've mentioned our routine- the one I learned in my fifth grade Sunday School class- J.O.Y.- Jesus, Others, and You. So first, we thank God (Jesus) for something we are grateful for, then we pray for someone or a group of someones who need to be lifted up, then we pray for ourselves. Benjamin often gets this reversed, and I hear him beginning his conversation with the Lord by asking that next Christmas he get that Nintendo D.S. he so deserves (Apparently, God was too busy working on the problems in Darfur or some other desperate place, to listen to ol' Ben's constant cries for this piece of modern technology this go around). Well, tonight, friends, after I laid my requests for rest out in a whisper for Jesus to ponder, Ben very quietly says- "if I promise to say two prayers tomorrow night, mommy, can I just go to sleep now?" Heck yeah- son- you go right ahead. So he did- he turned his little torso right over and within 30 seconds he was snoring and I felt a little chuckle from heaven as I was given the instant gift of peace. :)

He only seems to bring dread into my home these days-that postal dude of doom. Today there were two worrisome notices: 1) the confirmation of Seth's developmental evaluation by both a speech therapist and a developmentalist, and 2) the ten-page evaluation of Liam by the private Occupational Therapist that we hired last fall. It had already been a rough morning for me, a wind storm blowing in and causing our mild temps to drop and the regular chill of the Burgh to hit my tender skin with a thud. I had driven to Target with the boys to get Benjamin a bike, which my parents had sent money for as his birthday present. Silly me- to think I could fit a 20" cycle into my husband's sedan (he'd taken my van to work). Well, lots of four-letter words and my frost-bitten self later, we headed back home and there were the envelopes. I should have put them to the side and left them for a better-mood moment. Hmph.

I will admit that I am mentally compromised at times, due to some hormonal havoc in my body, but most mothers would surely agree with me that there is nothing worse than finding out that there is something "wrong" with one of your children. The Seth issue, as far as his developmental delays, I can cope with- but Liam, my eight year-old, it has been at least two years of constant concern and efforts on our part and things seem to be getting worse, at least according to the test results I'm seeing. To top it all off, as much as I love his current teachers, I am beginning to suspect that our school district is pocketing a lot of the coin they receive on behalf of "Title I" kids (like my son), instead of actually putting it towards services that these children need and deserve. Rage has set in, like a lead balloon in my belly, and I can already sense that the "mean Judy" is going to be appearing very soon at the elementary school, popping open a can of whoop-ass on those people. I believe that there is a window of time where significant developmental issues can be addressed and successfully put to rest. Then, at some point, and it is probably an individual time-line, certain basic elements cannot be retaught and you lose kids to the system. And let me tell you folks, I AM DONE WITH THE SYSTEM. And my kid isn't going to be some statistic, in some prison somewhere, because no one gave a hoot when he was in _______ grade, that he wasn't thriving- that his self-esteem was plummeting while they gave him a number and told him they'd get to him when they had a chance. Hell no. Especially given the fact that we thought we had left the "bad school" thing behind when we left the D.C. area and headed for what some would consider the utopia of educational experiences. And my tax bill will prove to you that we more than pay our fair share for our children's five days a week here (you could pay a mortgage with just the school tax alone- not my mortgage- but someone's mortgage).

Its funny, but for a long time, I've had this real "unschooly" type of mind-set where I believed, and still do to an extent, that children don't need mass-education in order to LEARN- that the very act of learning, as quoted by the infamous John Holt (see my sidebar), is innate, and happens as an act of nature, not manipulation. But if you are going to plop your children down into the public school system, then there are certain things you must accept about their lives at that point- that they will be told what to learn and what is important, and you will have very little control over how that is done. And, as long as your children fit into the mold, they will be fine- even great. But if they don't learn the way that the "majority" does, its sink or swim and even in the best districts, it may be sink. We have plopped three into this system thus far, with some hestitation- there are pros and cons to everything, and three years ago, when we settled in this town, the pros about the local schools seemed to out-weigh my doubts about them. The pros have mostly panned out-all except for one of the teachers that any of my kids have had, thus far, have been superb- tremendous people that I truly enjoy being with on conference days or on the occasions that I read to the class or volunteer. Even in Liam's case, where he has very notable delays, his teacher and resource support team this year are really experienced, positive role-models for him, and women whom I feel genuinely care about his welfare. But the institution as a whole is failing him, and its hard to be in this position and not feel bewildered and depressed. Next week he has an appointment with an Occupational Therapist at Children's Hospital in the city, for what will hopefully be a real turning point for him.

On to brighter topics, Granny (my mom) is here- flew up this afternoon in the storm- spending hours in the air while the Pittsburgh airport attempted to declutter its runways from all of the debris which had taken it over in the wind. My kids love this woman to death (as do I) and were thrilled to come through the door to find her in the livingroom, hanging out. She'll be here for a little while, to help us get through some business trips and school meetings and maybe even a date (if we're lucky). I know that there is nowhere she'd rather be (sorry, Dad) and the happiest I've seen her in my life has been with my kids. That alone, is a blessing.

Well, I've got a stack of new reading materials to pore through, all about my own diagnoses and maybe some cures, then the "See You In A Hundred Years" piece by Logan Ward, which I mentioned a couple of posts back. Reading generally lifts my mood at least an inch or two- so here's to sunnier days, Granny in the House, and our ever-so-kind mail-man who really doesn't deserve to be the bearer of bad news- he's a very nice fellow (and he speaks kindly to Benjamin and the kitty!).

Thanks to a playdate that Benjamin had with his good buddy Cosmo, I got to spend some one-on-one time with Sethy, which is all too rare. After dropping Ben off with his friend, I took Seth to the library (as you know, my favorite place), so we could peruse the stacks of board books, specifically on is favorite topics: doggies and kitties. It was fun watching him look through the books then attempt to share books with another toddler who was sitting at the table next to us. Seth is a pretty jovial, hands-on kid, and the two year-old he became fascinated with didn't much appreciate Seth's continuous petting of his head. My baby, being clueless, remained persistent in following poor Jack around the children's area, until we were all saved by the "bell" so-to-speak: the call to baby storytime. Having never been to a storytime that I myself was not in charge of, I was thrilled to see how Seth would react to a room full of people his size, singing and clapping and playing lap-games. Well, much like his siblings before him, he sat, thumb-in-mouth, quietly observing the rather boisterous but somehow grumpy librarian do her shtick, then really took-off during free-play, where he proceeded to bounce around the room, gleefully popping in on the other mommies in the room ("hi, my name is seth, i am really cute with my wild blond hair and dimples, and now I'm going to pat you on the back for a while and maybe pull your hair).

All in all, it was a real treat for me to play with my twenty-month old, just the two of us, for once.

When I was in the hospital last April, one of the nurses reminded me that nothing is permanent, and that includes feeling bad and feeling good. I didn't much appreciate that sentiment at the time- I desperately needed someone to tell me that I would indeed feel good, again, and that I would never, ever feel as bad as the week leading up to my hospitalization. I still want that to be my truth, but the year has not panned out as I had hoped, with alot of ups and then some really terrifying downs. I am having a "down" day, following some that were more hopeful. Most of my negative emotions at this point stem from pretty "normal" circumstantial things- like my nineteen month-old who screams "MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMY" a thousand times a day, which is only cute maybe once then it is like nails to a chalk board. He will be evaluated by a speech therapist and developmentalist next Thursday morning- I decided to take the bull by the horns with child number four, as my previous three have not fared well with this "wait and see" approach (and the assumption that because my husband didn't talk until he was like thirty-two, that my children will all turn out okay in the end). Lily was a late walker (18 mos) and a late talker (close to three) and had a lot of issues with reading and writing. After homeschooling for a year and a half, then putting her in public school here in Allegheny County, she has thrived and is academically on track or better. Liam, who walked and talked slightly earlier in life than Lily (walking at 14mos and talking by two or two and a half) is not doing quite as well as we'd hoped he would be by this point and we continue to feel concern over his future academic success (whatever that is). I've called another conference with his support team to get a better idea of how things are going, as the standardized testing reports revealed little improvement, after a semester or more of individualized instruction in reading and writing. While Tom and I do see a spike in his interest to read and write, he is still quite behind his peers in this area and I worry that he'll slip through the cracks and end up with problems that can't be fixed. Benjamin, who didn't say more than two words until age three, has grasped many of the tasks expected of him in kindergarten (far better than his two older siblings at the same age) but is now seeing the reading specialist regularly for an extra boost. It was all I could do not to break out in sobs during his conference two weeks ago. I'm so tired of the pressure and my kids not making the grade- only because I care for them and don't want them to have a harder life than normal because of this. So, friends, I'm not sitting in the laid-back seat with Sethy. If he's going to follow in Daddy's footsteps, he's going to be doing it with a lot of intervention from therapists, whether it helps him or not.

I'm still trying to clean my kitchen from the meal prep debacle of the weekend- Note to self: no more BIG projects- just baby steps. b-a-b-y s-t-e-p-s. Remind me that I said that the next time I confess to some whim the size of Mt. Everest....I often have reality-amnesia.

It rained all day today in the burgh, but I forced myself to walk Ben to school, as well as walk to pick the kids up and bring them home, so that we could be outside in the "warmer" temps (40 degrees instead of 5) and I could move my body a little. The winter has brought on quite a bit of seasonal affective disorder and an almost complete absence of exercise. The Wii Fit from my parents has helped but there are days when I just need to breathe the air, even if it is freezing cold.

Murphy's Law has also entered the picture and I am now without the use of my laptop and cell phone (the laptop has an electrical issue and my phone was snapped in half by my bionic baby Seth). As I struggled to get the bottom rack of my dishwasher to pull forward and I was rigging my dryer to stay put on top of the washer, I got pretty overwhelmed with feeling that nothing in my life is working right now. I have to fight that negative talk as I can quickly spiral into a real doozy of a state at that point.

Keep us in your prayers- the specialist I found last week, whom I saw again yesterday, is really great and I think will be a catalyst for healing in my life in the weeks and months to come. She has a lot of experience with Post-Partum Depression and Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder and has already made some very helpful recommendations. I will see a new doctor in two weeks, who I would like to believe will be able to make sense out of my hormonal/chemical imbalances and create a plan for getting them straight. My hope is dim, though, as I know her from her treatment of some acquaintances and its pretty much a farm of patients moving in and out of her office, quickly, and with a lot of prescriptions. Our insurance doesn't have many options in the psychiatric department, so aside from the ding-bats who've treated me over the last year (and made my situation worse), there aren't too many other choices.

Well, the bath is running for Benjamin and I need to help with some homework. Perhaps tomorrow will be an "up" day again. Fingers crossed....

I thought my second child was the biggest baby in the whole world. Pictures of him from those early months reveal a jovial soul surrounded by rolls and rolls and rolls-big head, big body- he was just plain big. So I started calling him, ever-so-affectionately, "Pudge." But as his first Birthday approached, I figured that I'd better reinvent a nick-name for this child, lest he be known by a rather unflattering term for the rest of his life- so I switched it to "Budge" (well, and sometimes "Wudge"). It has stuck and more often than not, you will hear me calling him by those names, rather than by his more eloquent, legal name, of "Liam." (Coincidentally, my son, Benjamin's best-friend, Carl, is known to EVERYONE as "Pudge"- named after Carlton Fisk, the baseball player. Between Budge and Pudge, there is a lot of confusion in our household).

Monday evenings are really special for the two of us, Budge and I, because we go to our guitar lessons and then, as long as I have cash in my purse, we stop at the coffee shop next door for a treat (they make some really divine cookies- and chocolate cake with butter cream frosting, which I found out about tonight, thanks to the suggestion of ol' Budge).

As we shared the four layer splurge, I watched him, and his deep blue eyes, and just tried really hard not to engulf him in my arms and layer his head with kisses (I succumbed to the temptation a couple of times, to his chagrin). We talked about rock and roll and other things, which I can't remember, because I was too happy just to be alone in his presence.

As I went to get napkins from the stand behind us, I saw a box asking for donations. Reading further, I was horrified and saddened to read of the deaths of two brothers from the town next-door, last summer (the donations are for a skate park to be built in their memory). The older brother drowned trying to save his younger brother, while they were on a camping trip with family. The thought of losing just one of my children is more than I can bear, any day, but TWO of them? As a mother, this is a nightmare beyond measure and, after Liam and I deposited our change in the slot, I left the shop deep in thought about how lucky I am to have four healthy children and how life can be so fleeting.

Here is a link to the website for Pitcher Park. May that mother get her wish and may the citizens of this town, and others, give generously to make that happen.

Every weekday I awake with the same pangs of anxiety, which whisper softly to me "what are you going to do with the kids this morning, Judy? How is today going to go?" I don't like that voice and resent the stress it causes me. When I can't figure out an answer to the question, I typically climb the stairs to the kitchen, overwhelmed, which doesn't make for a good start in mommy-land. Mondays are generally the worst, when I'm coming off of the high of having a partner in parenting for two days- then shifting into a mode where I often feel lonely and isolated. Today was no different. I got Lily and Liam out the door and immediately began my "hurry up and get a plan" panic. Benjamin doesn't last very long without this plan, so I only have about ten or fifteen minutes at best to figure out our morning before he gets antsy and starts to spiral downward. I folded three loads of laundry in the living room while he watched looney tunes and Seth spun around in circles and played with his cars. Then I showered (hygiene, people, you gotta love it) and we headed out the door into the SUNSHINE- YES- YOU HEARD ME CORRECTLY- SUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE, and drove to IKEA, where I shopped for a couch cover to replace the one I have which just ripped in half on the side. And all the while, I was doing some super-duper parenting- conversing peacefully with Benjamin, even while he complained of boredom. Lunch was a beautiful scene of mother and sons, sharing bites of food and laughing. Then, just when I figured I'd won the mommy-lottery for the day, Benjamin slammed his car door into a late-model high-end Acura, giving it a nice big dent. Well, I'm proud to report, people, that I calmly apologized to the young woman for the boo-boo, gave her my insurance information, and fled the scene, with no yelling or animosity toward my six year-old whatsoever. Perhaps all of you, dear readers, would have found this reaction a knee-jerk instinct in your parenting lives, but I'm here to tell ya that a few weeks ago, I would have been hospitalized, perhaps in a straight jacket, after such an occurrence, and my son would surely have felt the magnitude of his mistake with a bitter mommy on the ride home. After a deep breath, I told myself that this little boy didn't need to be shamed for something we've all done at least once- and maybe even this year, and my unspoken forgiveness and understanding would do wonders for his life- and mine. So, we drove to kindergarten and I ushered him into his class with a hug and a kiss and a smile- no mention of the little accident and no harm done.

Days like this give me hope for the next- and optimism that one morning, soon, I will awake to the reality that life is good and we'll get by, somehow. I'm tired of sweatin' the small stuff- and its pretty much ALL small stuff.

Okay- I couldn't help it. I wanted to just quickly talk about some of the books I've been reading- because they are worthy of this post and you, friends, are most worthy of these recommendations.

First of all, run, don't walk, to your nearest library and order "Scratch Beginnings-Me, $25, and The Search For The American Dream" by Adam Shepard. A very interesting diatribe of this young mans' journey to prove Barbara Ehrenreich wrong (she is the amazing author of "Nickled and Dimed" and "Bait and Switched", both of which I read without skipping a beat and loved). He sets out for a year of living outside his comfort zone to show that the ability for most of us to succeed in blue-collar or corporate America is still possible, despite her argument to the contrary. I am only half-way through his account so I don't how the end will come to pass, but it is hard to put down, even with my benadryl-aided exhaustion.

Second, for any of you who have dealt with or are dealing with post-partum depression or generalized depression, while having to parent children of any number and age, the book "The Ghost In The House- Real Mothers Talk About Maternal Depression, Raising Children, And How They Cope" by Tracey Thompson, seems to be a winner. It was recommended on the website "Post-Partum Progress" which I link to in my sidebar on the right. I have read short bits of it but have had to put it aside for a couple of reasons: 1) the afore-mentioned book that I can't stop reading, and 2)mainly because it is hard to read books about what I am going through without it adding to my anxiety. I have learned the hard way that small doses of even the best information are key- otherwise it may do more harm than good.

Lastly, "Women's Moods- What Every Woman Must Know About Hormones, The Brain, And Emotional Health" by Deborah Sichel, M.D., and Jeanne Watson Driscoll, M.S. R.N. C.S. My mom had found this for me some months ago and I've been daring to turn the pages lately, in my effort to come to a greater understanding of my body and how it is functioning or not functioning these days. The specialist that I began seeing last week recommends this book very highly and I must say that the stuff contained within its chapters is very enlightening. I will, again, caution, though, that one must use restraint when diving into materials on depression/anxiety because they can really take you on a rather uncomfortable ride through your psyche. I threw this particular text across the room last week and melted down into a puddle of sobs- feeling hopeless against the hormonal challenges my genetics had dealt me.

In closing- I just have to exclaim- we are so lucky, as Americans, that we can waltz into our local libraries (provided, of course, that we are not homeless) and roam through the stacks, finding and checking out, for free, an infinite amount of information on almost any given topic. And despite the advocates of censorship, which amazingly, still abound in our society today, we can read about anything, by anyone, with any sort of opinion or label- such freedom. I feel privileged tonight, that my nightstand is littered with library books- on such a vast array of topics- my ADD holding true to my need to just know stuff about stuff, at all times.

And now I really must sleep because my husband and children, who are all morning people, will be bitter and disappointed, when I can't lift my head off the pillow before 10am.

P.S. I finished Mr. Shepard's book before finishing this post, and, according to him, the American Dream is alive and well for anyone who wants to work for it. Whew- a happy ending at last.

Well, folks, we're off and running here with our baking and freezing frenzy. The "we" would be my lovely 11 year-old daughter, Lily, and I. She volunteered to help at the last minute and has been a great kitchen buddy. She's made pizza dough, dough for dinner rolls, crumb cake, and an orange sour cream bread. Really, friends, I have bred the child well, apparently...So all in all, we have her loot in addition to my two batches of french toast (apple and blueberry), honey pork chops, lemon bread, and sour cream muffins, in the freezer tonight. Tomorrow will be a full-day of baking and freezing dinner entrees. It is a bit overwhelming but one of those delayed gratitude kind of missions where you know you'll be rockin' in the end. The hardest part, truly, has been not sampling the goods- the smell of all that bread baking is rather sadistic.

Financially speaking, this project has proven to be expensive on the front end. My trip to Costco and then the three hours I spent nearly bent over and collapsed in the aisles of Giant Eagle cost a fortune, even with my coupons (which were fun to plunk down at the end, by the way- a whole twenty bucks worth). But I am trusting that next month will prove lighter on the budget as much of what I had to purchase initially will go farther than this go around (i.e. spices- which are outrageous people).

I'm worn-out and will be going to plop myself in bed, shortly, to read many a chapter in my latest favorite book.

Good Night All.

DINNER'S IN THE FREEZER by Susie Martinez, Vanda Howell, and Bonnie Garcia. This is my project for the weekend. I will be ATTEMPTING to freeze a month's worth of breakfasts, dinners, and dessert items, in order to try to eliviate the over-spending that we do on food every week, as well as adding some greater organization and ease to my meal prep every day. This morning I will take my two youngins to Costco to shop for food that cannot be found on sale and with a coupon at our regular grocery store (butter, for example, is always cheaper in bulk). Tomorrow I plan on shopping for the sale items and organics that Costco doesn't provide. I will update you on my progress, with hopes that it is a resounding success. Just imagine me in my kitchen for two days preparing thirty-one dinners, dozens of muffins, cookie dough, etc. Perhaps I am nuttier than it appears- and I will be dead by Sunday.

Today, despite my husband leaving for a trip in the weeeeee hours of the morning (he woke me up at 3:30am), I am having a good day- which for me is not fireworks and candy bars (well, a candy bar might be nice), but normal living with my kids. After getting Lily and Liam fed and out the door for school, I read to Seth while Benjamin slept in for a bit (miracles never cease). Then we got ready (I actually showered, people, AND ate breakfast) and took off to the town next door for some great indoor play (a new toy store has opened here which has a fabulous space for kids to jump and swing and play house, and drive cars- all of which is American and European made equipment/toys with no lead- yipppeeee). Though it is a bit pricey ($10), it is worth it when you've been cooped up for so long that you forget you are not under house arrest. So we fiddled around for about an hour and a half then went to lunch, which we never do anymore. Panera Bread company serves excellent organic kids meals, along with salads and soups which I love- so we splurged and had ourselves some yummies- with no major catastrophes (other than grilled cheese bits on the floor and a couple of quarrels over who got the juice box and who got the smoothie). Then it was off to the library to renew some DVDs that I checked out FOR MYSELF and haven't had the time to watch (imagine that). I love the library. I could write a long post about my love for that place- really, friends, I need to just get on with that masters of library science and go surround myself with books for pay- I am that nutty. I walk in and just swoon at the sight of all those materials, free for the borrowing (though my propensity for late charges leaves our public library very well-funded indeed). So Ben and Seth chased one another through the stacks of the children's department then settled down to find some books they had to have (the big poster of Ben Roethlisberger on the back wall was quite a show-stopper, too). And with about one second to spare, we raced into school for kindergarten. For a bonus, as we were headed to the stairwell to escort Benjamin to his class, we saw Liam in the hallway with some other boys, practicing his math facts. Seth nearly leaped out of his pants with joy- turning to see that familiar and unexpected face greeting him so low to the ground. It was really fun to behold- Seth loves his brothers so dearly.

Now I am home, with some quiet time to myself- Seth is napping and I'm giddy to be alone with my thoughts, which are optimistic today.

Normal is so good. That is really all I want- nothing fancy or flashy- no more money or better cars or a bigger house- just normal.

According to my six year-old, Benjamin, over breakfast this morning, "my favorite people in the whole wide woo-wold, mommy, you are #1, then Ben Roethlesberger (Big Ben), then Holmes (who ran for the longest touchdown in the woo-wold mommy), then Hines Ward, then Troy Polamolu (#43) then chocolate.

Well, God Bless America, I'm even better than the Steelers today. That is a good sign, people.

It may be a good day afterall! :)

Last summer, when I was in a partial hospitalization program here in Pittsburgh, I befriended a woman who was, I believe, in her early eighties. She was severely depressed and not functioning well, barely making it to the hospital everyday. I remember something she said so many times- that she wished she had cancer because her husband and other family members would be more supportive and understanding of her pain. Instead, she felt pressured to provide dinner, keep the house, and basically resume the life of any other senior citizen, all the while, feeling weighed-down and burdened by intense anxiety and sorrow. Everyone around the table, in the room, with her, we knew....because people who've never walked in these shoes, these God-awful, chartreuse colored stilettos that cram your toes into a space meant for a toothpick, and remind you of your suffering every minute....people who've never even tried on a pair of these shoes have NO IDEA what it is like. Depression is not being sad or sullen about something bad that is going on in your life. It isn't those moments in adolescence where you yearn to be loved by some boy who doesn't even know your name and it really gets you down. Depression is like waking up in the morning in some sort of fog where your circumstances, good or bad, don't really matter, because you can't feel them or appreciate them for all of the weight that is sitting on your shoulders. It's like an invisible bubble that encapsulates you and forces you to move around in a daze of emotion- none of which is good. And no one, NO ONE, gets it unless they've been through it...and because you look like a normal person, you must go on with your day, and BE a normal person. And it sucks.

I have mentioned some women on this blog who are battling right now, with cancer. And with respect to them, I will say first that I don't know what it is like to face the uphill physiological strain of that terrible disease- my husband does- and he survived- and he reminds me all the time that my illness is like his and that I will get better and he'll still be hanging around, like I did in those days. I've never had cancer- but I do know what it is like to feel like you are dying a very slow death and that all the meds and the therapy just feel like temporary fixes, band-aids to your pain- which at some point, just peel-off and leave you still wounded and bleeding.

To ease my anxiety last summer, I often weeded the hillside in my backyard, so vigorously, that I'd be sweating and sliding everywhere, covered in mud and worms and muck....and sometimes Donna, my neighbor, would come out and help or just keep me company. She had been doing some research on post-partum depression, and she told me that one woman she'd read about had compared it to a roller-coaster. That you go up and down and around and healing does not come in some straight, pretty line like you expect and want it to. I hated hearing those words from her then...it was not the panacea that I had hoped for (I wanted to be told it would all be over in two days and then I'd be the "normal Judy" again). But now, nine months later, I know that she was right and that the rollercoaster is my reality. Some days I live like your average mommy- playing games, fixing meals, cleaning, eating, driving, listening, singing, playing...then other days I'm doing all of that and trying not to cry and fall apart and working to convince myself that it is all in my head and that everything is really okay and I'm not really teetering on the edge (all of which is a big fat lie, I know).

This week we are trying new doctors and specialists and more exercise, vitamins, and maybe, new meds. If the budget allows, we will order the therapy lights. I am a walking experiment and today I am pissed about it. But I have visions of my old self and I want her back really bad so I'm going to press on.

Mothering three boys is often a rather comical experience. Before having Liam, my first son, I hadn't a clue what to expect, being an only child and not having been around a lot of boys growing up (with the exception of the ones I was constantly kissing through the years). Well, I'm here to tell ya, friends, that the biological differences between the genders, specifically in the area of genitalia, is really rather unfair, us girls certainly requiring more time and patience in the bathroom department and most definetly performing all of our duties, so to speak, with a heck of a lot more dignity. A good example of this would be the latest stunt courtesy of my youngest child, Seth, who is now nineteen months old. The other night, after changing Sethy's diaper, my husband decided that actually finishing the job was more than he could take, so in walks the baby, naked with the exception of an unsnapped onesie (we do have heat in the house, luckily, as it was about 9 degrees at the time). Well, all of a sudden, Benjamin, my six year-old, who was sitting in a time-out in the foyer, begins squawking and laughing uncontrollably, falling headfirst off of the loveseat he was planted upon- he was ecstatic that he was witnessing his baby brother, whipping out his ding-dong and peeing all over the coats and snowpants littering the floor by the front door, then dancing with glee. Only a boy ....

Heather Cleary is the sister of my good friend Frank Tetlow. She is the mother of three young boys and has been battling metastatic melanoma since 2005. She will be starting another round of treatments, called interleukin therapy, at a hospital here in Pittsburgh (she and her husband and sons have to travel from upstate New York, where they reside). The cancer has spread to her liver and adrenal gland and they are hoping that this latest experimental therapy will lead her body back into remission, where she had been until September 2008, when the disease returned and perforated her bowel. We are praying for wisdom for her treatment team, for the success of the interleukin therapy, and for the well-being of Heather and her family.

Thanks!