The oldest three Sombar children were rarin' to go this morning- well in advance of most civilized human beings, and their mother- eager to start back to school.  Lily is now a seventh grader in middle school,  Liam is in fourth grade and Benjamin is in second grade.  It was a near perfect morning, sunny and warm.  The throngs of parents in front of the elementary school rivaled the crowds at a U2 concert, I believe, and the boys were gone before any embarassing kisses or "I love yous" could be delivered by yours truly.  Tom, Seth, and I, did venture into the building to peek into their classrooms- and then it was "goodbye."

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.  

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.  

The memorial is beautifully composed of steel and granite benches, each with a stream of water underneath, which, at night, provides a spectacular yet peaceful display of lights (I'd first been by, with my friend Nancy, after a hockey game, last winter).  The name of each of the fallen is engraved into the individual benches, pointing toward the Pentagon for those who were working inside the building when the plane hit, or away from the Pentagon, for those fifty-five passengers and crew members who died on board the aircraft.  The benches are arranged by birth year, the first bench, sitting apart and alone, at the head of the Memorial, is for Dana, a three year old.  She'd lived in University Park, a neighboring town of Riverdale Park, where we resided in 2001.  We'd often seen her at the library for story time- my daughter, Lily, being three years old then too.. 

As I gazed upon her bench, saddened, of course, by the reality that such a young person had to experience such a terrifying ordeal, I began thinking, as I have for the last 9 years,  about the burden her parents must have faced, in their last moments aboard the flight- trying to comfort their children or shield them from what lay ahead.  None of us could ever know the horror of those minutes....they are unfathomable and unnerving to ponder. 

But there are ways we can break the unthinkable down into bits and pieces, which can then be applied to what we, as parents, must endure everyday.  And here is where the lessons come to me-  somewhere in our children's existence there is imperfection, pain, things that aren't going as well as we had imagined.  At some point we are faced with the fact that we have birthed human beings who somehow are not turning out by the book, so to speak... with the ease we had hoped for- the perfect lives, all colored within the lines......And what I struggle with, right now, and what you too may find difficult, is taking those realities, worrying about them, being CONSUMED by them, then somehow, being able breathe deeply and persuade your kid to believe, EVEN IF YOU DO NOT, that THINGS ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.  I wear my heart on my sleeve, friends, with all of my emotions right there for the world to see as I am going through them.  And when I am afraid, truly afraid, I'm not so good at hiding the craziness that lurks inside of me (actually, I am terrible at this)..  But I was advised recently, by someone I trust, that perhaps it is best to fake it, if you will.  Put aside all the books, the googling, the research, the statistics,  all of the wringing of hands and crying and say- "Listen, babe, this is all going to work out the way it is supposed to, even if it is yuckier than we planned.  I know it feels terrible and confusing, but I also know that you are strong and I am strong and we are going to get through this together. And with every fiber of my being, I believe that in the end, things are going to be okay..."  These words fly in the face of my most pessimistic self, not to mention that they take an enormous amount of mindfulness- but uttering them is calming for me- and the same is true for whatever kid I happen to be obsessing over in that minute. Even when my brain defies this bantering as nonsense, the voice of my soul believes that somewhere in there is the truth- and our kids need to hear it even when we are steeped in doubt and lying pittifully in our own dirt..

I don't know what Dana's mother said to her and her sister, once she knew that their flight was doomed.  I am not a betting woman, but if I had to bet, I would say that she soothed them with her words, whether she believed them or not.  I would say that she probably sucked it up and went for the "calming card"- and though, in the end, it would not come to pass, they would have left this world quickly- with the comfort of hope, which, even in much less tragic situations, is all we really ever have to give our kids anyway.

I wanted to talk tonight about what our children see.  This summer, my kids have seen a mother, a bit out of her mind at times, occasionally fluttering through her days like a lost bird, barely capable of launching itself into the air to find what it needs to keep going.  There have been days and nights where they've seen their parents come to their wits end with one another, more than I'd ever hoped.  They've seen grief, raw and aching.....And if I took these truths and separated them from the dailiness from whence they come, I could do a fabulous job at convincing myself that I was flunking out of the "good mommy school,"  just in time for Lily, Liam, Benajmin and Seth to be carted off to prison, or a psychiatrist, or a ditch somewhere, or perhaps, all three.

Last winter my daughter wrote an essay, in English class, about her hero and she chose me (she said it was a toss up between her mother and Eleanor Roosevelt....an honor beyond honors I would say)  The amazing thing about the words in her piece, other than the fact that they were a resounding pat on the back for me, is that they had nothing to do with how great I am as a mother or about all the time I've spent nurturing her and her brothers, all the cool places we've been to together- the gifts under the tree at Christmas.  Her paragraphs spoke of stories of how I'd given to others- meals when a friend was sick, or had a crisis of some sort, how I'd rescued baby ducks from the side of a busy road (truly one of my finer "superwoman" moments, believe me), and when I'd taken  my kids to wrap presents for orphans in a disadvantaged section of Pittsburgh.  And what I learned from this paper, which was humbling and validating and inspiring, was that my children, who often drive me to the end of my rope and don't seem to step out of the periphery to see what is truly important in this life, are getting it anyway.  They are watching- from the corners of their eyes while climbing trees, building forts, beating the crap out of one another, watching mindless T.V., or playing the Wii.....They are watching, friends, absorbing all the nuances and subconscious life-lessons,  and they are getting it.

We'd been on the road for a couple of hours today when Tom made a pit stop at a gas station/food court, somewhere along the side of the turnpike.  We parked, and  in the space in front of us, were two young people, struggling to change the tire on their run-down, beat-up excuse of a vehicle.  And it was so hot.  The sweat was pouring off  of their foreheads- down their arms- laden with vulgar art, most likely created by a peer in an altered state of consciousness.  The clothes they were wearing (not due to a lack of wardrobe, I'm assuming, but to a slightly less appropriate fashion sense than the rest of us) were foul.  They weren't the kind of people the typical American, middle- class family would  choose to invite over for supper.   In fact, I can bet, with some certainty, if you were to run into them in a dark alley, they'd either rob you blind or offer you a hit off of their crack pipe.  There was stark humility there, though- watching them throw their whole bodies into trying to get the most unrelenting tire bolts to loosen- as they lay on the dirty pavement, encouraging one another....and you couldn't help but want to lend a hand, though neither my husband nor I have the slightest clue how to fix even the most common of car problems (we renew that AAA membership, with fervor, every year!)  Lily, my twelve year-old, starts laughing, as the girl's pants slip down her backside, exposing her rear- end and though, I understand my daughter's viewpoint (exposed butts in public are really not attractive), I quickly and sternly reminded her that we too have been in such grueling situations, pulled over on the roadside, scared of being stranded, feeling like all the good Samaritans in the world must have changed their occupations or gone home for the day- and how awful it feels- that total helplessness.  So, without further deliberation, I listened to my gut and  I got out of the van-- Lily yelling- "Mommy- what are you going to do?  Mommy, MOMMY!  What are you doing (I think she sensed her "embarrassing authority figure" rising to the occasion and this mortifies her, constantly,  to no end)?".  I walked over to the down-and-out couple  and I spoke to them with empathy, asking  if I might purchase them some cold sodas.  At first they looked at me with some shock and hesitation, like I was a freak, then the girl politely says "I would love a Pepsi, please,"  her friend adding "could I have one, too?"  And as I bought them their drinks, my head didn't swell with  pride or preach to itself of my greatness (we do that sometimes, don't we- that sickening "I am so good routine.")($3.59 for some pop was not a sacrifice beyond measure, folks), but I did recognize the lesson happening here, for my kids.   In their world of stuff and getting, getting, getting, my children don't see enough that there are people all around them who need kindness- not from better people than them, just from others who can give it at the time.  And though, they were inpatient to get back on the road, and they were wondering why I had to be so weird and buy drinks for strangers (who looked so weird), they saw their completely imperfect human being of a mommy reach out, with nothing to gain, to ease the lives of others- something so simple, yet so powerful and life changing.  And the beauty of all of it, is that, in this simple gesture, lives were changed, even for a millisecond- maybe the downtrodden tire kids had a renewal of faith in the goodness of strangers, or they felt the presence of God in the cold bottles of Pepsi- cooling them down, easing the pain of life momentarily- and one day, four Sombar children, who've sometimes had marginal parenting, and who all have issues of their own- will remember these moments, and they will hear the whispering of the spirit inside of them, and they will offer kindnesses to someone in need-and the world will continue to be a better place.

Our goodness may be like filthy rags, as the Bible says (Isaiah 64:6), very often loaded with ulterior motives, agendas, or judgement of others, but the gifts we give instinctively from our souls,like a gut reflex, without fancy plans or maneuvers, are being seen by the world's children: mine, yours, some body else's,  across the ocean somewhere, and because of this, for all of the brokenness we see around us, every day, the circle of life and of love and of peace, will remain unbroken, and repeated by the next generation.

So the next time you're feeling like a miserable wreck of a mother or father, because you think that you screw up in front of your kids too much, or you weren't cut out to be any one's role model, and you figure that all they ever notice are your many faults and frailties- remember some of those little things you do for others, which may take only a few minutes of your time, or a few dollars out of your pocket- those little kindnesses do not go unnoticed.  Your kids are watching.  They are, most definitely, watching.

The Sombar parents had a date last night (do I hear "oohs and ahs"?  I should).  My husband, nearly at the end of his rope, for about the 1200th time since we produced child #1, swept me away at the last minute, to a movie, which I've been waiting to see :  The Kids Are Alright.  I love Annette Benning and I love Julianne Moore, and them loving each other just seemed like a good plot to me.  But here's the kicker....that I forgot about....Mark Ruffalo plays a starring role in this fabulous flick.  And if you don't know Judy Sombar that well, then you may not know that Mark Ruffalo does things for me that I just can't describe on here.  Tom, my endearing and tolerant husband, just smirked, as I nearly catapulted out of my seat, watching Mr. Ruffalo unbuckle his jeans...."Oh, baby its gonna be a good night for us....,"  I said, giving new meaning to the words "hot" and "bothered."

High on those vibes, we arrived home, not only to the snoring sounds of all four children, but to the slightly mysterious but miraculous news, that when our 7 year-old son, Benjamin, got bored, earlier in the evening, and no longer cared to watch TV with his siblings, he got up from his chair in the living room and....are you ready for this...he washed the dishes.  HE WASHED THE DISHES PEOPLE- BY HAND-VOLUNTARILY-WITHOUT BEING POKED OR PRODDED OR THREATENED WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE.  AND WE HAVE A DISHWASHER...

Now that is what I call a good night!