Saturday, December 25, 2010
Images of Christmas Morning
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| Seth and Lily- Snuggle Buddies. Lily herded the kids this morning and woke me up in the early hours. She and her brothers had been practicing for this morning all week long. Seth would get so excited when Lily got home from school everyday, begging "plead Leely-plead pay Pitmat Eeb Bame (please, Lily, please play Christmas Eve Game). |
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| The Calm Before The Storm- Tom nails sheets over all the doorways, every year, so the kids can't peek during the night. This creates a frenzy in the morning, of course, with all the kids lined up behind the barricades. Tom and I snuck into the livingroom. lit the fireplace, and enjoyed a few minutes of peace before the stampede. We love Christmas through the eyes of our children! |
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| The Much Coveted Lego Harry Potter Castle....A total fluke to have found it after many many weeks of searching online and in stores. My mom discovered it, misplaced, on the bottom shelf in the Lego section of Walmart. I nearly passed out. Liam is convinced that he needs a longer Christmas break in order to finish building it. |
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| The Tractor- Seth has wanted this and talked about it for months. I was most excited about this gift because I knew it would bring him so much joy. He has yet to master the art of driving it without running into the furniture and his family members, however. |
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| The Droid- which again makes me far inferior in techno gadgets to my 13 year old daughter. sigh. |
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| The Zigs, which are too small. Unfortunately the next size up is $25.00 more. |
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| Upgraded DSi XL, to replace broken DSi- this got a squeal |
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| concentrating hard on the Lego Power Miners- on top of my kitchen counters, which would normally be a "no-no" |
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| Freeing Dobby- first to be completed of castle components |
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| figuring out the Droid- excited not to be using the 7 year old hand-me down phone anymore |
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| Tom enjoying his chance to sit and hang out with his family, even though his wife crushed him at the Wii game we were playing.. |
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| Our new big screen TV, donated by a wonderful friend. |
Friday, December 24, 2010
On A "Normal" Christmas Eve
*Mothers would not be awakened by their 3 year old children, at the crack of dawn, demanding that they put on "Barney On Da Parm (Barney On The Farm)"
*Fathers would not be buying a Christmas present for their daughters at 7:05 am, in a crowd, at Best Buy (because they would have turned over a new leaf, by now, and had it done well in advance of today.)
*There would be a wholesome breakfast on the table, optimally including all food groups, but at least a protein, grain, and fruit. Twizzlers and Swedish Fish would not be on the menu.
*Brothers and Sisters would love each other and not fight all day long. *We would bother to tell the elderly employee at Chik-Fil-A, who appears to be wearing her late husband's watch, that we appreciate her for the rounds she has made through the restaurant, for five years, offering re-fills, mints, and warm smile.
*Nursing homes would not smell like urine...would not have forgotten mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, so eagerly awaiting anyone to keep them company, even for five minutes...They would not have employees who are grumpy and underpaid. And the four people we visited today, including the woman who did not know we were there due to her Alzheimer's, and the man who didn't wake up when we entered his room and left him a gift, would feel a sense of purpose and peace, despite their grim surroundings.
*Nobody would need to run to the grocery store for last-minute items, so when the Sombar family had to, it would be a pleasant experience, one not involving demolition derby type of behaviors, with carts that resemble race-cars, and other Pennsylvania residents.
*A brother would definitely not be screaming at his sister, at the top of his lungs, in the organic foods aisle, that she is a "butt hole." *There would not be at least a half dozen instances of folks passing gas, in front of you, in the store, then walking away, leaving you begging for an oxygen mask.
*Fathers would not curse and mothers would not lose their patience for the thirty-seventh time by 5 pm.
*It would not be a serve-yourself dinner of toast, water, and more twizzlers and swedish fish.*Youngsters, high on twizzlers and swedish fish, would not punch each other in the head, repeatedly, until everyone is crying, at bedtime.
Many times today, friends have phoned or texted, completely out of their minds or somewhat bewildered, that their Christmas Eve wasn't so magical and that life really sucked. They were feeling insecure and ashamed that this year they just couldn't get it together....
Somehow or other, I feel that way every holiday, every year. So tonight I have decided to try something new. Tonight I have decided that this chaos that we create, with our hustle and bustle, or the realities that we face that leave footprints on our souls and sadness in our hearts, the quarreling and bickering over things soon forgotten- THIS IS NORMAL. Every other scenario is a script out of Hollywood that we've been brainwashed to believe is how things "should be." (Though, I suppose that there is a distinct possibility that if we let all the materialism and consumerism go, and moved into the woods, with no technology or other modern miracles, we might have that "Little House On The Prairie" ah-ha moment. But even back then, Ma and Pa were probably trying to get some under the mistletoe when Pa had to grab his rifle and fend off a coyote and the kids were crying that the wood was running out and they were freezing to death....)
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| Ben, the non-conformist, who refused to wear the matching Christmas outfit..and who had to be threatened within an inch of his life to have his picture taken in front of our tree. These are the things you don't know when you get other people's nice family photo cards.... |
May you embrace your normal, tonight, whatever that may be. May you give yourself the gift of letting go, tomorrow, when the kids have turned your home into a cyclone of wrapping paper, when your camcorder has stopped working, when nobody will smile on cue for your camera which keeps flashing "low battery", when your meals contain enough artificial food dyes and sugar to screw up everyone's brain chemistry for life, and when you lay on the couch, exhausted, and wonder, as your children become bored with their gifts or when their gifts far outweigh your own technology by centuries, if anyone even remembers the true meaning of Christmas. Or for all of you who will face your first, or one more, Christmas morning alone- may you know that you are loved in your letting go of "normal."
And may we call create new traditions of accepting where we are, just as we are, on Christmas morning.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
On a Lighter Note
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| the two of us, doing a guided meditation? totally hilarious... and necessary. |
Monday, December 20, 2010
A Testimony To Brokenness and Hope
.**To those in the blogging community, it is only with the expressed permission of my husband and daughter, whose lives are most affected by this public display of my personal struggles, that I am willing to share this with you.**A Testimony To Brokenness And Hope
Today I am embracing courage, which I have learned is stepping out, not in confidence, but in fear. I have reached the end of my treatment in this program and I've been asked, as all patients are, upon graduation, to give my testimony to wellness. Wellness, in many ways, eludes me, so I will settle for simply telling my story, with the hope that it evolves into something meaningful to those of you who are listening.
Over the last six months, three of my four children have been diagnosed with "special needs.:" I immediately went about reading every morsel of detail I could find, making appointments with specialists, and shuttling each of these kids to doctor after doctor, wanting to find answers and make them "better." By the end of September I was so exhausted with anxiety and panic that their lives would be frought with difficulties and that I was not the right mother for them. At my worst point, I laid on the asphalt, just outside of my van, and wept, having taken my youngest son for one more evaluation. I was barely sleeping and no longer keeping what food I could eat, in my body.
On the morning that I arrived, in this place, I was completely incapable of sitting in a chair without shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. I was sobbing so hard that the Doctor insisted I be secluded in the office so that I would not scare the other patients. There was talk of a trip to the Emergency Room- and I had just left a twelve day stint in the hospital the night before. Fear gripped every cell of my being. My eyes begged everyone that met them for help. It was Friday, October 15th. In those frightening hours, I could not imagine that the limited time I would be given here, in this place, could undue my brokenness. I had hoped, though,, that when it was my turn to leave, to fly, it would be with wings that were completely healed; wings that remembered how to soar and could do so higher than they ever had before. I had hoped that I would know that I was ready and that there would be some sort of guarantee that I would not fall again. I had hoped that I would no longer feel pain. That my injuries would be fixed. That I would be whole.
I leave you here today with the reality that brokenness is a part of my life. If I were to choose to speak in the voice of the victim, I would tell of my flawed genetics, of times when terrible things were done to me, of how I will always be predisposed to feelings that may become uncomfortable, or unthinkable or unbearable. But in the voice of a warrior. I see the possibility that there may be a purpose here. That the very brokenness of my being is woven into the fibers of a universal plan, in order to bolster the fortitude of my spirit, and eventually the spirit of others. That if every hair on my head is numbered, the struggles which loom so much larger over me must also be counted, cared for, and made part of the larger picture. In this voice, the voice of "the glass is half-full," the brokenness makes me an artist of my own unique story-an empathetic ear to the weary and the lost-a writer who can communicate my horrific imperfections in a way that reverberates to those who most need to hear them-a sister to the hurt and to those who believe that the sun will never shine on them again-and most of all, the mother that my children most need me to be. Claiming this brokenness does not resign me or my family to a life of pain. It is not a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom. Claiming, in its most organic form, is an act of power- and by owning what is rightfully mine, this brokenness, I can somehow feel peace in the present.
I am not the Judy I was before I ventured through these doors. I am coming to accept that I can no longer be her. I am embracing the commitment that I must make to continue this metamorphosis. I am beginning to understand that in order to move forward, I must leave behind the very idea that I am in control of anything other than what I am doing in this moment. I must accept that for those of us who suffer with anxiety and panic attacks, the road is uncertain but the map of our lives can be filled with more direction if we work at recovery in the present. This is the recovery that takes place in the smallest of steps- crafted out of caring for our physical, mental, emotional, social and spiritual well-being.
Today is Monday, December 20th. And today is a celebration. Not because I am fixed. It is a celebration because I am renewed. I celebrate today because I am able to offer more of myself to others than what I am taking. And today what I offer you, dear friends, is hope.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
For my mother and father
who have made all of this possible....i love you more than you could ever imagine and i owe you debts that i could never repay....thank you.
My children, with all of their hearts and enthusiasm, baking treats for my very big day tomorrow.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Rosary Of Gratitude
When I was a freshman in high school, the gospel choir performed a song that I've never forgotten, and sometimes I sing it to my little boy, as I'm rocking him to sleep. "Count your blessings, name them one by one, count your blessings, see what the Lord has done, count your blessings, count your many blessings see what the Lord has done." Even during the worst of times, you usually can count at least one, though it may roll off of your tongue amongst sobs so palpable, you fear you may actually stop breathing as they fall from your lips. 
I am not Catholic but I own a rosary. There are days when it occupies a space in my nightstand, or its perfectly draped over my three year-old's lampshade Occasionally I look over and discover it around his neck when he wants to hold "Deezuts". But tonight this bejeweled version of Christ resides between my fingers, as I move over each bead and whisper one thing that I am grateful for. There have been many times over the last few months that I would not have made it even half-way down one side of this string, but, as I lay here in my claw-foot tub, soaking in a bath of minerals, I work through two full circles, speaking to God with abiding thanks for the people on my path who are daring to walk next to me, even as I stumble or seem to be out of courage. I stop to consider the bare necessities that I no longer take for granted. I praise him for chances to make a difference, even while my own needs can seem so great. And for Christmas-for the beauty of this season as seen through the eyes of my children, while they gaze at wonderous displays of lights, pack shoe boxes of toys to go overseas, compile lists for Santa, and getting excited over what they are giving to one another. Once the water becomes too tepid, and my heart is fully humbled, I raise up an "amen". Tomorrow night, its more of the same, with mercy and grace flowing over me, reminding me how far I've come, how I never thought I would feel my troubled soul rejoice again.
I am not Catholic but I own a rosary. There are days when it occupies a space in my nightstand, or its perfectly draped over my three year-old's lampshade Occasionally I look over and discover it around his neck when he wants to hold "Deezuts". But tonight this bejeweled version of Christ resides between my fingers, as I move over each bead and whisper one thing that I am grateful for. There have been many times over the last few months that I would not have made it even half-way down one side of this string, but, as I lay here in my claw-foot tub, soaking in a bath of minerals, I work through two full circles, speaking to God with abiding thanks for the people on my path who are daring to walk next to me, even as I stumble or seem to be out of courage. I stop to consider the bare necessities that I no longer take for granted. I praise him for chances to make a difference, even while my own needs can seem so great. And for Christmas-for the beauty of this season as seen through the eyes of my children, while they gaze at wonderous displays of lights, pack shoe boxes of toys to go overseas, compile lists for Santa, and getting excited over what they are giving to one another. Once the water becomes too tepid, and my heart is fully humbled, I raise up an "amen". Tomorrow night, its more of the same, with mercy and grace flowing over me, reminding me how far I've come, how I never thought I would feel my troubled soul rejoice again.
Monday, November 29, 2010
A Decade With Liam
I have three sons. People often comment, when the boys are together, that they all look alike. I ponder this and silently disagree. As their mother, I view them through the eyes of my spirit- and it is through those eyes that I see the depths of their personalities- how each one was woven by God to be unique and gifted in their own way. My first son arrived three years and four days behind his sister Lily. I'd been expecting another girl. During labor, I talked to my belly, encouraging it to be kind to me, "Maggie- its mommy- you can do this babe...let's make this a quick one..." And perhaps, out of annoyance for my lack of androgyny, he sat in my birth canal until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Seventeen hours and twenty three minutes after my water broke, I helped to ease him forth, into this world, and was shocked to discover a beautiful baby with the biggest testicles I'd ever seen (who will one day either love me for boasting of this or be completely mortified that I chose to announce such a thing on the web). A boy. Liam Michael Cleveland .
The first year was a bit rough, trudging through the muck that is food allergies and related ear infections, until I was eating only about five different foods so that my milk would be tolerable to his sensitive digestive tract. (Proof that a mother's love can endure most anything). Shortly thereafter, he was such a joy that his semi-retarded parents made the hasty decision that a third baby would be a great way to mix things up. Silly us. But that's a story for another month- another boy.  |
| My husband's traditional gift to each of our children, upon rising on their birthday, a breakfast item in the shape of their age. This year, as you can see, we slummed it a bit with the frozen waffles. But an honor nonetheless. |
Right from the start, Liam was an "old soul." You could see in his eyes that he embodied the wisdom of a thousand years. At a conference, when he was in preschool, his teachers proclaimed that he was the most intuitive child they'd ever encountered- he just seemed to know how other children were feeling and how to help them when they were angry or sad. And today, this ten year-old is just as he was then- mature beyond his years- carrying a sixth sense in the shadows where he often works, shying away from the center of attention, preferring to stand cautiously in the background, taking in all of the world around him,while weaving with his stunning attention to detail, a web full of creativity and remarkable compassion. He holds the mind of an inventor, an engineer of spectacular objects and story lines. Liam is an artist, a lacrosse player, and a loyal friend, brother, and amazing child of mine. I cannot imagine my world without him. That I lived thirty years without his presence is mind-boggling. While there were indeed times, some years back, maybe around age two or three or four, when I envisioned him a serial killer, he has left those tendencies behind to be embraced by a younger sibling, who will go unnamed for now.
Happy 10th Birthday to you, Liam, a most treasured boy, for whom I hold hopes for a future of splendor- of endless possibilities and continued strength to forge a path capable of holding all of your dreams and the perseverance to see them to fruition. "I love you more than you love me...", every minute of every day.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A Letter To My Teenager
In just a few short hours you will make a grand entrance into adolescence, with all of your intellect and beauty surrounding you. You are wise beyond your years, and a spirit unmatched by anyone I've ever met. The pride I take in being your mother is unfathomable- as you glide through your days with such grace and fortitude. There are countless moments when I marvel that a young woman such as you could have developed within my being and burst forth with so much potential- so much to offer the world....
At the start of the school year, this year, you had to write a piece about something you'd accomplished....and I watched, bewildered, as you struggled to name something- those which I can see so clearly as gifts of your spirit which set you apart- make you the wonder that you are. You wrote about modeling for Martha Stewart, back in kindergarten, and I hung my head....because, while that certainly is an interesting piece of trivia about your life, thus far, it says nothing of your brilliance- how everything you strive to do, you do with such passion and fervor, always giving your best. You don't recognize the gift you have at creating masterpieces with your writing and with your amazing culinary skills- all the cakes and pies you bake from scratch- with every last detail given all of your attention.
I sometimes sit back and stare at you- trying to absorb this daughter whom I love so intensely- love I could not imagine before they placed you in my arms and I memorized every detail of your face- how familiar you looked-how miraculous your life was to me. And every day of your life, since then, how I've ached for you, longed to be with you, poured all of my finest work into nurturing you.
I have often said that you are a girl I would have wanted as a best friend when I was your age. And you are a girl that I want for my daughter always. No matter what.
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| Lily baking her homemade macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving |
As you celebrate your thirteenth year on this earth, my hopes for you are that you remain true to yourself, to your dreams. Don't settle for second rate anything. And know that your mother is wildly imperfect but loves you to the moon and back and there is nothing you could do better to make me love you any more than I already do.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Lily The Poet
She's got her father's red hair and her great-grandmother's sea-green eyes, but she has inherited my passion for writing. This has been a difficult month for our family but I thought I would share Lily's piece because it amazes me.....
100% Me
by Lillian Sombar
If you happen to be looking for me
Here is where you can start.
I will be anywhere and everywhere,
Out in the open or in the shadows.
On the stage or behind the curtain.
You can find me anywhere and nowhere,
Any day or any night.
You can find me by an open fire
That warms me like melting butter on toast.
As the night cools while roasting marshmallows,
Watching them heat and catch fire.
You may find me here, then there,
Then back here, for a week,
There for a year.
Here, there, everywhere.
You may find me by the counter,
Mixing together a vat of chocolaty goodness.
As I wait for them to cool, the wonderful aroma of chocolate
Makes my mouth water, creating a tsunami,
Wiping out all of my taste buds.
I might be hiding down carpeted steps
Across the frozen wood floors, to the right, through the loud door
And under the covers being another side of
Me, worrying over something so small.
Loopy loops maybe for Lou
but you will never find me there
Maybe the next one over,
With the super speed, for a short second long.
You can definitely see me drinking steaming hot
Milk chocolate hot chocolate,
With a tower of whipped cream piled high on top of the warm mug,
As I sit lazily in the chestnut brown leather chair
With my eyes glued to the TV,
Wondering what will happen next.
You can find me in the cafeteria
at the long table full of chattering girls.
Wondering what's going on here, there,
What's going on in math or English.
Doing what friends do best, being true.
On cold winter nights, I will never shiver,
Never chatter with my silk-like throws,
with the warmth of the sun.
Or in summer, having a slumber party with friends,
Pinkie swearing everything we say will not leave the room.
And as the night creeps on,
our secrets bounce from person to person.
We sip Sprite and demolish potato chips,
As we all watch a breath-taking adventure
We'll never forget.
Unlike you, its all me
Never changing, never the same.
100% me.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Happys For My Weekend
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| Ewan Eliezer Petermann How Great Thou Art |
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| Yours Truly at the Bankgkok Balcony - courtesy of Tom |
*laps around the stadium, in the dark, with a neighbor, bringing a whole new meaning to Friday Night Lights
*waterballoons
*Ewan Eliezer Petermann and the fact that every kid in my family cared that that kid made it into the world okay...
*Nanny McPhee, the original
*reading Diary of A Wimpy Kid, out loud, to my not-so-wimpy kid, and laughing hysterically, to the point where he thought I was very weird, and asked me to stop.
*the return of canned pumpkin to the grocery store, and the 48 muffins that followed, deliciously, from my oven. My children may have an overdose of vitamin A.
*Thai with my husband-alone.*Lily and Liam Sombar
*getting to watch the Redskins, here in Pittsburgh, because their game went into over-time, and the network switched over in the last few minutes (I will not mention how they lost in a most stressful way).
Sometimes When We Give To Others
Sometimes when we give to others, the blessings flow back to us in such abundance that it takes our breath away. Such a thing happened to me this weekend- my sons bringing me an envelope filled with old newspaper clippings, prayers, and inspirations, from a neighbor, who had been collecting them on my behalf- knowing that, right now, amongst my many moments of joy, are times of deep, deep worry. I read this one over and over. Maybe you could use it too.
Enjoy.
How Much More Will The Father Give
1) Only for today, I will seek to live the livelong day positively without wishing to solve the problems of my life all at once.
2) Only for today, I will take the greatest care of my appearance: I will dress modestly; I will not raise my voice; I will be courteous in my behavior; I will not criticize anyone; I will not claim to improve or to discipline anyone except myself.
3) Only for today, I will be happy in the certainty that I was created to be happy, not only in the other world but also in this one.
4) Only for today, I will adapt to circumstances, without requiring all circumstances to be adapted to my own wishes.
5) Only for today, I will devote ten minutes of my time to some good reading, remembering that just as food is necessary to the life of the body, so good reading is necessary to the life of the soul.
6) Only for today, I will do one good deed and not tell anyone about it.
7) Only for today, I will do at least one thing that I do not like doing; and if my feelings are hurt, I will make sure that no one notices.
8) Only for today, I will make a plan for myself: I may not follow it to the letter, but I will make it. And I will be on guard against two evils: hastiness and indecision.
9) Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good Providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world.
10) Only for today, I will have no fears, in particular, I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and to believe in goodness. Indeed, for twelve hours I can certainly do what might cause me consternation were I to believe I had to do it all my life.
Blessed John XXIII
Enjoy.
How Much More Will The Father Give
1) Only for today, I will seek to live the livelong day positively without wishing to solve the problems of my life all at once.
2) Only for today, I will take the greatest care of my appearance: I will dress modestly; I will not raise my voice; I will be courteous in my behavior; I will not criticize anyone; I will not claim to improve or to discipline anyone except myself.
3) Only for today, I will be happy in the certainty that I was created to be happy, not only in the other world but also in this one.
4) Only for today, I will adapt to circumstances, without requiring all circumstances to be adapted to my own wishes.
5) Only for today, I will devote ten minutes of my time to some good reading, remembering that just as food is necessary to the life of the body, so good reading is necessary to the life of the soul.
6) Only for today, I will do one good deed and not tell anyone about it.
7) Only for today, I will do at least one thing that I do not like doing; and if my feelings are hurt, I will make sure that no one notices.
8) Only for today, I will make a plan for myself: I may not follow it to the letter, but I will make it. And I will be on guard against two evils: hastiness and indecision.
9) Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good Providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world.
10) Only for today, I will have no fears, in particular, I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and to believe in goodness. Indeed, for twelve hours I can certainly do what might cause me consternation were I to believe I had to do it all my life.
Blessed John XXIII
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Pajama Day
Today is "Pajama Day" at the elementary school where my two oldests boys attend. My fourth grader, Liam, has decided that this tradition will be going on without his participation-"Yeah, I am NOT wearing pajamas to school, MOMMY!!" Benjamin, however, who is in second grade, could not wait for this privilege, donning a comfy yet cool red thermal Star Wars get-up. Once we began walking, Ben got a little nervous, though, and kept asking me to assure him that it was indeed pajama day- the obvious embarassment he would face, given some mistake on my part, beginning to concern him.
Ben has quite a few friends in the upper grades, which he normally thinks is fantastic, especially when they include him in their football games on the playground. But this morning, upon his arrival in front of the school, they laughed at him and his p.j.'s- and we all know how that feels, friends...so he ran after me- crying his eyes out.
Whew!
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Letter To My Husband
Dear Tom,
How do I begin? This isn't what we planned, is it? Our scrapbook of days begun with passionate words and open hearts, thirteen years ago-on a beach, in Delaware-me in the white dress (off-white, custom-fit for a very pregnant bride), you in the tux... It isn't quite what we bargained for- that "for better or for worse" stuff seemed more benign when we said it back then- more "in theory...."
Right now there are times when it seems that we are coaching a team that has no chance of winning. And we can't replace the players...even if we wanted to. We have moments where we're going down at the line of scrimmage- and I want to just walk away. I want to take the bonus from another franchise- give it a shot somewhere else- where my dirt isn't layered on the field, where my record can be expunged- wiped clean, where I haven't fumbled and missed so many plays. To punt and start over and over and over seems so arduous- so hopeless.
How do I begin? This isn't what we planned, is it? Our scrapbook of days begun with passionate words and open hearts, thirteen years ago-on a beach, in Delaware-me in the white dress (off-white, custom-fit for a very pregnant bride), you in the tux... It isn't quite what we bargained for- that "for better or for worse" stuff seemed more benign when we said it back then- more "in theory...."Had we seen the life that lay before us, would we have taken the risk or run screaming in the other direction ( or worse, in two separate directions)? Would we have bothered? Or would we have cut our losses? Losses...Losses.
Right now there are times when it seems that we are coaching a team that has no chance of winning. And we can't replace the players...even if we wanted to. We have moments where we're going down at the line of scrimmage- and I want to just walk away. I want to take the bonus from another franchise- give it a shot somewhere else- where my dirt isn't layered on the field, where my record can be expunged- wiped clean, where I haven't fumbled and missed so many plays. To punt and start over and over and over seems so arduous- so hopeless.
But here's the thing- when I go to bed at night, when I wake up in the morning, and when I go through the dailiness of my life, with the beings we have created, I want you there. I want you there like I wanted you there when we were younger, thinner, more adventurous, reckless and wonderful, financially comfortable, fun....when every moment of our existence didn't have to be poked at, prodded and planned, the very minutia of details discussed and disected- when there was freedom around every corner- freedom we took for granted... Even in the depths of the ditches, when nothing seems to be going as it should, it is you and your face and your quirks and imperfections that I long for- it is you that I want to call when I have something exciting to share or something goes right in my day. It is you that I want to cry on when there are so many disappointments and I feel I can't go on any longer. It is you that I want to navigate with, through this storm, to calmer waters- one day...It is your greying hair, amongst the peach fuzz, that I want leaning close to me- right now, and thirteen years from now, then thirteen years more, and then some....
Being with you, on any given day, at any given hour, at any given moment, when the going is good, and when the going is bad, is still better than any other story-line I may have conjured up, since the minute I fell in love with you, so long ago.
So here I am- beat up, worn-out, exhausted, junk-in-the trunk, self-centered, self-indulgent, full of grief and anger sometimes, nearly out of my mind all of the time, but with the same hopes and dreams, the same affection, the same contagious sense of humor, and the same drop-dead determination that I had when I was walking down the sand- that morning- September 14th, 1997. But now I stand before you with a much deeper love- one with more maturity, more grace, more wisdom- one that has been tried and tested and battled and won, over and over again. Today this love is less of the fairy tale and more of the real.
And today, of all days, I choose you, all over again.
With everything I have,
JudyThursday, September 9, 2010
23rd Place
In the land of parents who take credit for their kids' first place ribbons, honor roll membership, and accelerated status, with bumper stickers who will proudly tell you all about it, I'd like to offer an alternative post of sorts. My daughter's cross-country team had their first scrimmage today, with an opposing school district. As I picked her up, so to speak, with Seth in the jogging stroller, she came running towards me- "Mommy, guess what? I came in 23rd!" For many of you, this would seem to be some sort of ill-placed pride. Maybe laughable. But here is what 23rd means tonight. 23rd means that Lily, despite all of her anxiety and fear, did join the team, never having "run" a day in her life. 23rd means that for the last ten days, she has practiced, every day, after school, for at least an hour, running in some of the hottest weather we have had this season. 23rd means that not ever did my daughter utter one negative word, one cry of defeat, one morsel of woe. 23rd means that she did not quit when her legs were sore, when her head was pounding, and when she was beat up, beaten down, and drenched with sweat. 23rd means that this girl of mine gave it all the guts she could muster which also means that she's got more going for her, right now, than most of the rest of us. 23rd means that she was not last- the worst case scenario that we discussed, as I encouraged her for two hours, in our living room, almost three weeks ago ("but what if I'm the worst?" she cried. "Well," I said "so you are the worst, but you keep practicing and one day you won't be." I think there's some law of physics or philosophy that says that, right?)But 23- now that is the sweetness that made all of the hours after I heard it, tolerable and hopeful- my arms around her- inhaling that courage- giving up all of my love in one breath- "you, my wonderful baby girl, you AMAZE ME and I think 23 is fantastic."
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Harriet Tubman Part 2: Only In The Life Of A Sombar
Okay- I just have to tell this little story....as a side note to my ramblings about ol' Harriet, earlier today.
My children were playing some carnival games this afternoon. You know the ones- you spend an absurd amount of cash to maybe go home with a stuffed animal, or a blow-up machine gun, most likely made in some sweat shop somewhere....but these are the moments our kids will remember....so we do it anyway...
Well, Lily had popped a balloon in the dart game so she got to choose a framed picture....and here is where the story gets dicey....My daughter is not the most decisive human being on the planet, and there was a line, and the dude behind the counter was beginning to look unamused....so she grabbed something....
Oh boy....you know this is going to be good, right?!
She turned around and handed me a Confederate Flag. A CONFEDERATE FLAG, PEOPLE!!! (AND ONE WHICH SAID "GET 'ER DONE", to make matters worse)....I nearly collapsed in horror, immediately forcing her to return the prize for a more appropriate replacement (her choices were rather slim- a playboy bunny silhouette, a John Deere tractor...your basic nightmare).
In her defense, of course, Lily had no idea what that flag represents- she knows about racism, from a historical perspective, but she's grown up away from the kind of folks who might find the display of such a symbol to be a nice decorative touch to their homes or their mudflaps or their bandannas. She was a bit confused by my negative reaction, though not after the impromptu civil rights lesson we had on the sidelines, a few minutes later.
Yesterday, when I first glanced over at this particular game booth, and saw the picture of the flag, I quipped to my husband "who would want that? don't they know this is 2010 and Confederate Flags are hateful? what is wrong with people?" And here we nearly ended up with one.....
Lily is now the proud owner of a Robert Pattinson (from the Twilight series)photograph, which she claims not to like....but I think I know better than that.
My children were playing some carnival games this afternoon. You know the ones- you spend an absurd amount of cash to maybe go home with a stuffed animal, or a blow-up machine gun, most likely made in some sweat shop somewhere....but these are the moments our kids will remember....so we do it anyway...
Well, Lily had popped a balloon in the dart game so she got to choose a framed picture....and here is where the story gets dicey....My daughter is not the most decisive human being on the planet, and there was a line, and the dude behind the counter was beginning to look unamused....so she grabbed something....
Oh boy....you know this is going to be good, right?!
She turned around and handed me a Confederate Flag. A CONFEDERATE FLAG, PEOPLE!!! (AND ONE WHICH SAID "GET 'ER DONE", to make matters worse)....I nearly collapsed in horror, immediately forcing her to return the prize for a more appropriate replacement (her choices were rather slim- a playboy bunny silhouette, a John Deere tractor...your basic nightmare).
In her defense, of course, Lily had no idea what that flag represents- she knows about racism, from a historical perspective, but she's grown up away from the kind of folks who might find the display of such a symbol to be a nice decorative touch to their homes or their mudflaps or their bandannas. She was a bit confused by my negative reaction, though not after the impromptu civil rights lesson we had on the sidelines, a few minutes later.
Yesterday, when I first glanced over at this particular game booth, and saw the picture of the flag, I quipped to my husband "who would want that? don't they know this is 2010 and Confederate Flags are hateful? what is wrong with people?" And here we nearly ended up with one.....
Lily is now the proud owner of a Robert Pattinson (from the Twilight series)photograph, which she claims not to like....but I think I know better than that.
Moses
I am an avid reader of children's books. Over the years, I have amassed a rather nice collection of them. One of my favorites is Moses-When Harriet Tubman Led Her People to Freedom by Carol Boston Weatherford. I'd bought it a number of years ago after seeing the cover from across the room at our local Barnes & Noble- the beauty of it gripped me and was unlike any I'd ever seen (Kadir Nelson is, in my opinion, one of the most gifted illustrators....everything he paints is breathtaking).
Benjamin found this book, in a random stack, the other night, and asked me to read it for his bedtime story. I thought this request rather unusual, given his other choices (like T is for Touchdown, or the current issue of Sports Illustrated for Kids), but I obliged. And in the fifteen or so minutes it took me to read it, with about eighteen different interruptions, I uncovered some solid, if not mind-boggling, inspiration.
Benjamin found this book, in a random stack, the other night, and asked me to read it for his bedtime story. I thought this request rather unusual, given his other choices (like T is for Touchdown, or the current issue of Sports Illustrated for Kids), but I obliged. And in the fifteen or so minutes it took me to read it, with about eighteen different interruptions, I uncovered some solid, if not mind-boggling, inspiration.When I was in elementary school, Harriet Tubman was one of just two (just two....) black people that we learned about in history. Every year it was the same summary- she was from Maryland, she escaped slavery and led other people to freedom via the Underground Railroad....blah blah blah.
But- friends, I have got to tell you- when you read the details of this woman's life, you are not only humbled into a pile of dust at your feet (my aforementioned anxiety holds not a candle....) but you are utterly dumbfounded by her will to accomplish feats so incredible that the rest of humanity may as well hang it up.
Harriet Tubman was born into slavery, in the early 1800s, and, at age seven (SEVEN!), she was forced to rock her master's baby, day and night. If the baby cried- she was whipped. I could just stop there. That's enough. She's a hero- if I'd been whipped every time one of my babies cried, I'd have died, though the baby may have died first because at seven years old, I would not have been that capable (I barely felt capable at 27). But I digress.....A short time later, Harriet Tubman, after refusing to tie-up another slave who had attempted to run-away, sustained a blow to the head by a two-pound weight, as punishment, leaving her with a lifetime of severe headaches, dizzy spells, fainting, and bouts of speechlessness....And we haven't even gotten to the part where she walks nearly ninety miles, barefoot, to Philadelphia, then turns around and makes the trip, with a $40,000 bounty on her noggen, eighteen more times. She helped to free over three hundred human beings- uh huh...yep.
So there I was, laying beside ding-bat #5 (our term of affection, sometimes, for our third born), trying not to assault him in any fashion as he is standing, on his head, on the bed, making fart noises, my patience wearing thin, and I'm hearing myself, repeat, several times, "Benjamin- BENJAMIN- are you paying attention? Ben- BEN?- are you listening to this story? because this woman was great and if you and Mommy could be even a little bit like her, we would be doin' somethin'. Benjamin- BENJAMIN!!
So, in your spare time...if you are needing a good boost...and you can't decide between eating a bowl of ice cream or going to the gym...read about the life of Harriet Tubman. It will renew your faith in the human condition, in women, in our ability to persevere through even the toughest of circumstances and strengthen the idea that if you put your mind to something- you really can change the world.
Whispers at Dawn
My therapist told me, during one visit early this summer, that in order to bring peace to my mind I had to focus on the "what is" rather than the "what if." Little did I know how much I would need that gem of wisdom so soon thereafter-
After a particularly rough night, this past Monday, I woke up Tuesday morning, before sunrise, to my husband snoring at my back. My heart was running a marathon, the tingling had begun, and my mind was speeding by me so fast that I couldn't catch what it was saying- except that we were in trouble. It was still dark outside of my bedroom window, but the sky had begun its chameleon shift into shades of lighter blue, pink, maybe lavender. And, in that moment I knew what I had to do- I knew that there was no way I could face the day ahead of me unless I got a hold of those thoughts and changed them. So I kindly nudged Tom- "Baby.....Baby.....Baby...I need you....Baby...I need you to tell me what is..please just tell me what is? baby.because I can't remember and I need to know right now- right now." "Judy- we have a good family- the family we wanted. we love each other and we are good together. We've got issues to overcome but they are easier than they seem right now. You are a great mother- Are you perfect? No. But you're great- and you can't see that when your mind is spinning- but I can and the kids can. We chose these children. And they are going to be fine. Some of them have problems-no doubt. But you are working hard on getting them reasonable solutions- and right now, that is all you can do. Judy- I love you, and we are going to be okay. We are already okay-better than okay, in fact. We are strong when we are together, we love our kids and they know that- and everything else we are going to figure out. "
Armed with that, I got up and made it through my Tuesday, though almost every day since then I have had to stop and ponder "what is?" or ask my husband to remind me again.
I keep telling this ball and chain- this anxiety- that it must move on now, but it is rather stubborn and is loitering, surprising me around a corner, or showing up somewhere on the path that I walk everyday....it meanders into my consciousness and offers very unhelpful information-the kind I call the what ifs. But I'm learning, without the assistance of medication, to be with those uncomfortable feelings, and to talk them out of sticking around. I hear my husband's words, from my heart, and I whisper to my racing mind- "listen, up...here is the truth- this is what is." And then somehow or other, I know, that I'm going to be fine.
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| As I am writing this, my neutral-ground.. my rock.sound asleep, right now, across from me,with our 3 year-old son,\ in our hotel room. |
Anxiety has been my companion now for over a week, triggered almost entirely by my worries about certain of my children- worries that are consuming me, that frighten me to my core. At worst, worries that cause me to weep, wringing my hands together, pressing my face against the walls of my shower, the water pouring over me in an impromptu baptism- "please, God, please...please...I'll do anything, God, anything you want...just please let my kids be okay...please...."
After a particularly rough night, this past Monday, I woke up Tuesday morning, before sunrise, to my husband snoring at my back. My heart was running a marathon, the tingling had begun, and my mind was speeding by me so fast that I couldn't catch what it was saying- except that we were in trouble. It was still dark outside of my bedroom window, but the sky had begun its chameleon shift into shades of lighter blue, pink, maybe lavender. And, in that moment I knew what I had to do- I knew that there was no way I could face the day ahead of me unless I got a hold of those thoughts and changed them. So I kindly nudged Tom- "Baby.....Baby.....Baby...I need you....Baby...I need you to tell me what is..please just tell me what is? baby.because I can't remember and I need to know right now- right now." "Judy- we have a good family- the family we wanted. we love each other and we are good together. We've got issues to overcome but they are easier than they seem right now. You are a great mother- Are you perfect? No. But you're great- and you can't see that when your mind is spinning- but I can and the kids can. We chose these children. And they are going to be fine. Some of them have problems-no doubt. But you are working hard on getting them reasonable solutions- and right now, that is all you can do. Judy- I love you, and we are going to be okay. We are already okay-better than okay, in fact. We are strong when we are together, we love our kids and they know that- and everything else we are going to figure out. "
Armed with that, I got up and made it through my Tuesday, though almost every day since then I have had to stop and ponder "what is?" or ask my husband to remind me again.
I keep telling this ball and chain- this anxiety- that it must move on now, but it is rather stubborn and is loitering, surprising me around a corner, or showing up somewhere on the path that I walk everyday....it meanders into my consciousness and offers very unhelpful information-the kind I call the what ifs. But I'm learning, without the assistance of medication, to be with those uncomfortable feelings, and to talk them out of sticking around. I hear my husband's words, from my heart, and I whisper to my racing mind- "listen, up...here is the truth- this is what is." And then somehow or other, I know, that I'm going to be fine.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Scenes From Back-to-School 2010
Seth and I miss the big kids- I always do, though it is nice to be back into a groove...Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Laps With Lily
Um...yeah....TOTALLY PRICELESS....took my incredible daughter to the high school track to start her running career. She's thinking of joining the cross-country team. And she's never run in her life, really, at least not as a sport in and of itself. This was a fairly last minute decision on her part, the first practice being next Monday.
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| I added the "bonus" of running the bleachers, which is part of my regular routine these days, when I do my "long haul" on the weekends. She was not amused- and I'm surprised, once she realized that people were in the stands, that she didn't bail on me...you know, being twelve, and having to be seen in public, running with your "not so athletic"mother....gotta give her props for that. |
So I agreed to the pricey shoes (Tom, that husband who was breathing with some pain over the gluten-free grocery bill, will need CPR tomorrow night, from the shoe bill). Then I lost my mind and agreed, like a good mother, to provide the necessary encouragement- i.e. running along side of her (and despite my recent exercise phenomena, this is still laughable). And of course, friends, this encouragement, just had to start tonight. So there I am, exhausted from my day, 8:30pm, looking like a dump truck had just run me over- hauling my sorry self, around that track, either shaking my head at the fact that she was going too fast and was going to burn out, or telling her to pick up the pace as she slugged it behind me. And all this in front of a crowd watching a soccer game- like I really needed an audience for extra humiliation.
In the end, though, I love this girl and I'd humiliate myself all over again to be her sidekick. I couldn't help but smile- knowing that she's the exact age that I was, when I first wanted to do what she's doing, and I didn't have half the guts that she's got, so I didn't.
Gluten-Who?!!!
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| Tonight's meal- none too shabby if I do say so myself. |
I am experimenting again- this time removing gluten from our diets in an effort to lessen some of the troubling symptoms certain of my children are experiencing at this time. It is a radical move, and one made with great trepidation on my part- most of the mass market processed food, that makes my job easier on certain evenings, contains gluten. Pizza contains gluten. Need I say more?
While die-hard GF advocates may argue with me on this, eating in such a purposeful and conscious way is very expensive. I've never seen a food bill like the one I paid yesterday. Never. Ever. Trader Joe's on Penn Avenue is building a new wing in our honor. Tom is still breathing, though very deeply, and with some pain.
In two hours I may retreat and call it quits. My commitment to the removal of wheat from this household is teetering on the brink as we speak. I like wheat. And I like the convenience of American foods made with wheat. Especially the kind that my kids can fix themselves- at around 10pm, when they are supposed to be dreaming, but have the munchies and are watching a movie. Not to mention, there are larger issues that I haven't even begun to deal with- like my kids eating at other people's homes and parties... If you've ever removed a large food category from your diet you will know that its pretty much all or nothing- and many offenders can take a long time to leave your system, even once you have eliminated them. Dairy takes roughly two weeks, it is believed. Gluten may take longer.
Gluten intolerance is a fairly hot topic right now- for those of us who pay attention to that sort of thing. If you have Celiacs Disease or symptoms related to the consumption of wheat products, you are fully aware of its far reaching consequences. And medical testing for allergies is not all that reliable, from what I understand. Thus, the experimentation phase- the trial and error, the let's just see what happens if... Success can change lives- and even if we're only marginally "successful", it will most certainly change ours.
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| Liam, looking a bit weird, but he's eating a homemade nugget, friends. He can look as weird as he wants. |
Tonight I garnered all the motivation I could muster and made a gluten-free meal, from scratch. On the menu was chicken, battered with a homemade mixture of crushed almonds/cashews, spices, rice flour and organic/free-range eggs, along with sides of polenta, garlic mashed potatoes, spinach salad, strawberries and gf cupcakes from a bakery for dessert. And miracle of miracles, Liam, the pickiest eater on the planet, devoured the chicken (and this child eats about six things- McDonalds' nuggets, carrots, a variety of fruits, chips & salsa, pretzels, and yoplait creamy key lime yogurt). I could have fainted or cried or both.
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| No one was any the wiser that these cupcakes were gluten-free. And if you can make 'em good, and sell 'em, you'll be rich. Trust me. |
Tomorrow I will probably give-up. And the boys are out and about, most likely undoing the diet, indulging in every wheat product imaginable (anyone who knows the Sombar children, has fed them- they are vultures). I neglected to inform 3 of my kids of "the new plan"- figuring food anarchy would take over and I'd have hell to pay. Lily knows- but she got an extra cupcake so she's quiet- for now.
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About Me
- Judy Sombar
- Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States
- Forty-three year-old, mother and staunch advocate of four young children, passionate warrior of truth and self, finding the soul in each day, sharing my struggles and triumphs as I live them. Mostly I do this for me, so my thoughts don't race as much at night as they used to. But I also give this to those of you who need to know, in any or every way, that you are not alone.
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