What It Means to Have a Family

I carefully unwrapped the tissue paper surrounding each delicate ornament and set it on the counter, only to have a little set of hands grab it a moment later.

We'd started a tradition: Mom unwraps the ornaments, boys wrangle for and grab the "interesting" ones and run them to the tree where Dad is waiting to guide the placement of the baubles on the tree.

I insist on unwrapping the ornaments myself. It serves as a mini-trip down Memory Lane for me: the handmade ornaments from my childhood, the trinkets I collected as a single gal in my twenties in anticipation for the family tree I would one day have, and the souvenirs from trips Hubby and I took as newlyweds.

Many have long since been broken; shattered by overzealous little hands unable to resist the glittery shapes of trains and snowmen and rocking horses. As I unwrap the ones that have survived, I remember certain ones that had meaning for me - ones whose shattered pieces I regrettably had to scoop up and throw in the garbage. If I had known that having a family meant my precious memories would get destroyed, would I have rethought having one?

"I want this train," the four-year-old yells as he takes a cable car ornament that Hubby and I picked up from a street vendor in San Francisco. I clearly remember the moment. After months of trying, we had found out that day that we were pregnant. We had the artist write "The Glows" on the top in anticipation of the family that we were starting.

Two weeks after returning from that trip, I miscarried. We struggled to get pregnant for a year after that and had two more miscarriages on our journey to become parents. If I had known having a family meant struggling so much to obtain something that should have been so easy, would I have rethought having one?

"Here's a Joey ornament," the ten-year-old announces as he picks up a star with the name of the brother he lost to cancer. I look in the box and see Joey's smiling three-year-old face on another ornament and his bloated, sick cancer face on another. If I had known having a family meant I would have to hold my child as he took his last breath and bury him at the tender age of six, would I have rethought having one?

If I had known that having a family meant heartache and pain, struggle and sadness, would I have wanted one so badly? If that twenty-something single gal had known that she would suffer unimaginable losses and wail tears of utter heartbreak, would she have been so eager to share her love with others?

"It's done, let's light it up!" Hubby claps his hands together as the eleven-year-old runs to turn off the lights.

As the tree lights up and the dark living room floods with lights, my heart and mind flood with memories:

The midnight proposal on New Year's Eve. 

Holding my two newborn babies in my arms. 

Dance parties in the basement of our first family home. 

Camping in the backyard all huddled together in a small tent until it became too cold and we had to cuddle inside.

Movie nights and popcorn - always popcorn.

Reading "oldies, but goodies."

Vacations and discovering new things and places

So many hugs and kisses, cuddles and sweet compliments. 

Memories that are unspeakably sweet and bitter at the same time. 

Memories that don't need a vessel to contain them - only my heart. 

I know what it means to have a family. It does indeed mean heartbreak and heartache, but only because it also means total and complete love and joy. It means that the memories we'd rather forget coexist with the ones we want to relive over and over again. It means cherishing both the light and the dark times because they have equally made us a family - a family who loves and laughs and lives and cries and remembers.

We hold on tight because we are a family. Through syrupy thick and bitterly thin, we stick together. That's what it means to have a family.


Read my latest post on Her View From Home about a sweet and sour Christmas family memory. 

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Closing Time: One Last Call for Memories

We finally had a closing date. It was to be the day after Christmas. I panicked and scrambled to complete all the packing I had been putting off until we had a firm date. Hubby would have had me just throw things in boxes, but my organized brain had to pick through and categorize every item. My sentimental heart had to pause, remember, and reminisce.

Since most everything was packed up, we did something different and ate dinner out on Christmas Eve. We chose an Italian restaurant, and I was surprised by how many patrons were there. It was just the six of us at our table, and I wanted to make it special even if we weren't technically in our own house for our last Christmas Eve. I smiled and tried to engage the boys in games of Tic Tac Toe while we waited for our food, and I ignored their continued whines that it was taking too long.

"Let's talk about our favorite memories of our house," I suggested.

"When Baby E came home from the hospital," began Knox. That surprised me, but made me puff my chest in pride. Joey was always so happy when the new babies came home, too.

Edgie (formerly Baby E) added, "Snow sledding in the front yard!" That was a memory that involved Knox as well. He would pull Edgie down the small slope in our front yard and end up in our neighbor's driveway.

Slim offered this funny nugget: "When I used to run in circles around the house!" Our stairway was in the center of the house, and every morning Slim would run down the stairs and make several laps down the hallway, through the kitchen, through the dining room, and through the living room. Honestly, that was kind of my first indication that something about him was a little different. But, since I can't remember the last time he did that, it's really a marker for how far he's come developmentally.

Lil' C's memory surprised me and made me giggle: "I liked when Joey and Knox went down the waterslide in the backyard!" When Joey and Slim were three and Knox was a little over a year old, we made the slide into a water slide with the hose. Knox had decided to strip off his diaper and go down nakey. Joey, always wanting to be part of the fun, stripped off his clothes, too. Slim was operating the hose, and Hubby and I were sitting in lawn chairs crying from laughing so hard. It was just one of those moments you can't plan. And Lil' C? He was a seven-month-old fetus in my tummy. He has heard us tell that story so many times, I'm sure he feels like he was "there."


Dinner was nice, and once home I retrieved all the Santa presents out of their in-plain-sight hiding places (the moving boxes). Christmas day was a blur of wrapping paper and plastic ware on which we ate our traditional Christmas morning cinnamon rolls. Toys and last-minute "must be packed items" littered the house. Hubby's sister has people over every Christmas night, and I told Hubby to take the boys while I continued packing.

"Just come over," he implored. "Take a break. This will still be here in two hours (that's what I was afraid of). C'mon. It would mean so much to all your boys."

Usually, he doesn't care what I do; but I knew it meant something for me to be there. So I took a break and went. I'm lucky to have wonderful in-laws whom I truly enjoy. And a lot of them! We recruited lots of help for our move.

That night, into the wee hours of the morning, I was packing. My problem was the basement, and all of the things stored down there that no one really knew about but me. All of the boys' things I wanted to save. Pictures, cards, memories. Joey stuff. All last year I thought I would get it organized, but that never happened. I didn't want the movers to touch it. I sat in the basement amid the mountainous stacks of boxes and cried. Partly from exhaustion, partly from regret over my own disorganization, and partly because I was thinking of MY favorite memory of the house.

We used to have dance parties in the basement when all the boys were little. We would crank up some kiddie music - usually Raffi - and just dance and giggle until we all dropped exhausted on the floor. I could almost hear the music playing "Knees Up Mother Brown," which was Joey's favorite. I swore I could hear his giggles.

I always knew, even though Joey died in that house, there he did not remain. I spent the last year, though, scared that somehow we would be leaving him behind. The next day, as I walked through the empty house ready to follow the moving truck to our new one, I spoke aloud, "Joey, we're going now. You come with us, okay? You come with us. Don't stay here. We're going."

In a flurry, I was telling people where to put things, what boxes to unpack, which ones to leave for later. I fell, exhausted, night after night into my bed in my new smaller, cozier bedroom. As I organized this and cleaned that and made those things fit into this space, I managed to check e-mail on my phone.

What was happening was incredible.

This post from 2012 was making the rounds again. People were commenting in droves both online and in person, even more so than when it originally was posted. Hubby was even receiving calls at work telling him they had seen it. People from all over the country were reaching out to me.

I am convinced this was Joey's way of telling me that he knows where to find us. Considering that he would be tickled beyond all belief that something written about him is getting all this attention and considering that it came out of the blue two years later right at a time that I needed a sign was amazing. This good memory. This way of bringing Joey with us wherever we go. I choose to believe that he had a hand in it. I need to believe that.

So here we sit amid boxes and discarded bubble wrap with still so much to do and organize, yet we are home and cozy and familiar already. I go and check on the old house, still unsold. It seems cavernous to me and unfamiliar, like I am seeing it with different eyes. It feels lonely and desolate; and I don't like going there. It reminds me of how I feel about going to Joey's grave. I don't like going there either. He's not there, nor is he at the old house. I know that. I know that he - and our memories - are always with us. All right here in the new house where they are supposed to be.

For someone like me, who hates change, this is important to remember. 

Can You Stop Time By Saving Memories?

You all know by now that the Frog family is moving. Probably not until the fall, but I will go crazy if I don't start to pack and weed things out now. So that's what I'm doing.

If you've ever engaged in this process - which, as painful as it is, I highly recommend - you know it can be difficult for many reasons. There is the stuff you like, but can't currently find a use for. There is the stuff that was a great deal, but that you have absolutely no use for, there are your favorite things that you have outgrown (literally and figuratively) and can't bear to part with, and there are the things that simply hold memories within.

For me the latter category is proving the hardest to weed out. And I will probably write about this a lot in the coming months. If you are sick of hearing about it, I understand. Please click here to read I Wish I Could Stop Time on Mamalode.* Please click here if you just want to go pee/make yourself a sandwich/have more important things to do right now. You can close the window when you get back.

For those of you who just love my writings on Mamalode (thank you for that), you can read two of my latest here and here.

*Edited to point out that someone else has put their name on my writing. But rest assured, the words are all mine. 

10 Events from the Past Decade I Wouldn't Want to Forget

I am currently working my way through the book What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty. I know, I'm a little late to the game as this book was published in 2009, but that's what happens when reading for fun gets "shelved" for other things.

Anyway, in this best-selling book, Alice is a 39-year old mother of three who finds herself with memory loss after falling off her bike in spin class and hitting her head. She thinks she is still 29, madly in love with her husband, and pregnant with her first child. She slowly begins to piece the past ten years back together, only to discover that her life hasn't exactly turned out the way she thought it would.

I have always romanticized the notion of getting amnesia. I imagine being the damsel in distress, slowly piecing the fragments of my memory back together like a puzzle or a mystery. Though, reading this book makes me think about the past ten years of my own life and how much has happened. Sometimes ten years can seem like nothing - events that happened a decade ago can be recalled as easily as if they happened last week.

But sometimes, you catch yourself thinking, Wow, that happened that long ago??

For me, it feels like the bulk of my life has been lived in the past ten years, and I definitely would not want to have missed it by not remembering the events as I lived them. Here are ten events I wouldn't want to forget:

1. Childbirth and my children. Ten years ago, I had two newborn babies. Two babies who, though they were born in December, didn't come home until this week. I wouldn't know their personalities, how easily I fell into motherhood, and how much I loved it. I'd be surprised to learn I had more babies - lots more babies - despite having undergone fertility treatments for the twins. I'd know nothing about my other pregnancies, breast feeding, or Slim's surgeries to repair his cleft lip and palate. I think I would also have to grieve the fact that I have no little girls. I accepted it each time the doctor announced, "It's a boy!" But I always saw myself being the mom of girls.

2. Our two-year stint living on Long Island. Although I was reluctant to move initially, those two years were some of the best of our lives. We were doing it on our own. I'll never forget the feeling of confidence I had every time someone came to visit us and I took them to all the tourist hotspots just like I was a regular city dweller. If I didn't remember living there, New York City would still be a big, scary, mysterious place to me. Now I think I could go back and fall into step like I never left.

Us in Central Park, Hubby with hair, me PG with our third

3. Our current home. I always saw us living in our little brick home for a long while, filling the tree-lined backyard with lots of kids. I think I'd be amazed to learn that we are actually living in Hubby's sister's old home and that we're about ready to move. I would have missed all the renovations of our current home, the plans for our future home, and all of the memories we have made here along the way.

4. Our travels. I have always wanted to go to Hawaii. We went last year at this time. All I would have would be pictures rather than the memory of flying over the island in a helicopter (I wouldn't believe I had done that!). I would have missed Florida, California, all of our memories of our vacation condo on the lake, and all the times I've explored a city alone while Hubby was at a business conference.

5. How much our extended family has grown. In addition to our own children, between the two of us, Hubby and I have about 30 nieces and nephews. Most of them are teenage and older, and it's been so fun to watch them grow and mature, marry people, develop serious relationships and careers, and have babies of their own. I'd never be able to catch up on everything that's gone on with all of them if I forgot it all. Hubby and I also each have sisters who've been divorced and remarried, too. I'd have to get to know the new spouses and all the new kids our siblings have added.

6. Facebook, social media, e-mail, and texting. While there was e-mail ten years ago, it wasn't as easy as it is now to check, send, and receive. And the boom of social media has been incredible. I think it would be pretty difficult for me to wrap my head around all the people I hear from on a regular basis now that I have Facebook.

7. My friends. 90% of the people I interact with now are people I have met in the past ten years. I'd have to get to know them again, learn where and how we met and under what circumstances. And all the people who live in my computer (ie: my blogger friends)? There would be no one who could explain them to me but me. Plus, my two best college friends I thought were long lost to me are in my life once again. That would definitely be a pleasant surprise I'd want to remember.

8. My blog and writing. Though I've always wanted to be a writer, having a blog wasn't even on my radar 10 years ago. I'd miss knowing the process I went through to start it, choosing the name, and the other sites I've written for along the way. In addition, I've been published in a book and write for a print magazine - two things that were just dreams a decade ago.

9. Physical changes. How in the hell would I explain to myself all the weight I've gained in the past ten years?? My mom has gone all gray (she looks great!), Hubby has gone almost all bald (no comment), and there is a huge expressway that runs through the middle of our city now. It would be like I'm in a foreign land with unknown people. I don't do very well with change.

10. Joey's battle with cancer and his death. How would I even be able to come to grips with the fact that the little baby I just had was gone already? Gone before I even had the chance to know his adorable personality, his hilarious outlook on life, his sweet positivity? I definitely wouldn't want to grieve it all over again, but I also wouldn't want to forget what we went through because ultimately it changed me as a mother and as a person.

Last week on Facebook I asked if I should check out a spin class (totally unrelated to my reading of the book). Considering everything I could forget, I think I might pass.


Have you ever thought about what would happen if you lost your memory? What are some of the most unforgettable events of the past decade for you?

A Parent's First Best Halloween Ever

When we become parents, holidays are one occasion that we look forward to with great anticipation. Tiny little ones dressed to a "T" for Christmas and Easter. Finally dressing them in that outrageously adorable Halloween costume you've been eyeing. Yep, holidays are supposed to be so much more fun with little ones.

That is, until they complain that the collar of their dress is too scratchy, or they put a hole in the knee of their freshly pressed dress pants, or spit up all over their bow-tie right before pictures or refuse to wear that adorable costume.

Life with kids is anything but predictable. Sometimes special occasions are a total let-down. My own family never had a holiday picture until this one. We didn't even celebrate Halloween the first two years.

The first year we had kids - our twins Joey and Slim - we were living on Long Island far away from friends and family. Hubby was on call in the Bronx that night, so I was home alone with the boys. I didn't buy them costumes because, well, who was going to see them? I did outfit them in cute Halloween shirts from Old Navy, secured a huge bowl of candy for the throngs of Trick-or-Treaters, and turned on my porch light in hopeful anticipation.

But no one came. Not a single trick-or-treater rang our door bell. I chalked it up to us living in a two-family house and ours not being the main door.

At least we were left with lots of candy.

The next year, we were still on Long Island, I still didn't buy costumes, Hubby was on call again, and I didn't waste my money (or calories) on any candy. One little boy showed up - a neighbor we had gotten to know. I felt so bad I didn't have any candy that I dug in the cupboard and gave him a chocolate granola bar (good thing we moved before he could egg our cars).

Our third Halloween, we were back home and super excited to go around our neighborhood trick-or-treating. Joey, who was not quite three at the time, wanted to be The Man with the Yellow Hat from Curious George. This actually fit perfectly with the darling monkey costume (again from Old Navy) I had purchased for 14 month old Knox. Slim, on the other hand, kept telling us he "just wanted to be himself." We finally put a plaid shirt on him, convinced him to wear a toy construction worker hat, and called it good.

It was pretty chilly that night, and Knox had developed a cough, but we set out around the neighborhood determined to finally trick-or treat. At each house the boys would dutifully say, "Trick-or-treat!" and receive their candy. As we were leaving each house, Slim would yell in the cutest two-year-old voice ever: "HAPPEEE HALLOWEEEEEEN!!" Every. House.

Joey, on the other hand, did something contrary to his character. After the first couple of houses, in spite of still saying 'trick-or-treat,' as the homeowner reached over to place candy in his plastic pumpkin, he would draw back and say, "No thank you, I already have candy."

I mean seriously, whose kid does that?

And poor little Knox - his cough had turned barky, and he had begun to wheeze harder and harder at each residence. Parents of the year here. Yup.

Finally (after about a couple blocks) the boys were all pooped out, despite Hubby and me wanting to go further.

So we brought the little rascals home, tucked them into bed, and settled on the couch with their pathetic candy stash between us.

Until Knox started coughing and barking and wheezing harder, and I decided I had to take him to the ER. He did have croup, and they did treat him for it. It was my first experience with that. Pfft, first time mom. Now I just put them in the bathroom with the door closed and the shower going full-steam ahead.

Even though it wasn't the "perfect" holiday we were looking forward to, it was pretty memorable. It is one of our favorite memories to share with the boys, and we do so every year. I might have even shared it here before too; but it's so cute it bears repeating.

Anyway, I sincerely hope only fond memories are made tomorrow night as you head out to do whatever it is that you will do.

Oh, and HAPPPPEEEE HALLOWEEEEEEN!!

What are some of your favorite Halloween memories?

Something Always Brings Me Back

I was awake at 4:00 a.m. the other morning. This is not unusual as Baby E has never been a great sleeper. I don't mind, though. I know soon enough he will wake in the night and not need me to soothe him back to sleep.

 

I know that all too soon those sweet, middle-of-the-night moments will be over, and he won't be my baby anymore. He'll be my little guy, dreaming little guy dreams that don't require Mommy's cuddles to get them started.

 

So, the other morning, when his cries woke me, I went to him right away. And we rocked and we cuddled. And we both drifted back to sleep.

 

Then, somewhere in that hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, I felt a memory of a simpler time. A time when Joey, Slim and Knox were all under three, and we had just moved back to Nebraska after being in New York for two years. A time when the double stroller was my fourth constant companion and trips to the park were a daily outing.

 

I must have smiled in my sleep remembering how we would take walks on the trail next to the park (for Mommy) as two rode in the stroller and the third would be perched on top of the cup holder (held in place by Mommy, of course).

 

You're laughing. Kathy, how was that simpler than cuddling with one little baby?

 

Because it just was. There was time for daily trips to the park. There were daily walks because everyone was portable. It was a time of Playhouse Disney and Curious George and everyone agreeing with everything Mommy suggested.

 

I don't remember it being difficult or complex at all.

 

It was before Sponge Bob and I Carly introduced sarcasm and insults. It was before homework and soccer and Cub Scouts kept us too busy to go to the park. It was before phone calls from the teacher and behavior charts and trips to the behavioral psychologist.

 

It was before cancer and medication and negativity changed us.

 

I thought about it all day, that time in our lives, and it kept me smiling.

 

And then, when I was swapping out a broken picture frame, I found this picture hidden behind a more current one:

Knox (23 months), Slim and Joey (age 3)

 

And it brought tears glistening to my eyes. It was not for Joey's presence in the picture. I actually never liked that picture of him. I remember being upset that he wouldn't put his hands down. It was mostly just seeing the three of them, in the midst of that simple time.

 

But it was Knox, too, and that cherubic face and those huge, innocent eyes. They brought me back to a time when he was happy to tag along like a puppy after his brothers. He was happy simply being "one of the triplets" (as everyone thought they were).

 

Now he's older. Complex. Negativity brewing. Nothing will ever be as simple as walks to the park and brothers playing together. There will be school struggles and girl crushes and self esteem issues and peer pressure and grown-up decisions thrust unfairly at adolescents possibly ill-equipped to handle them.

 

I've read several columns lately, new moms asking if they will survive this time with a newborn. It pains me to know what they have not yet discovered: that this is the easy part. The fatigue, the spit-up, the sore nipples, it will all wan and be a distant memory. What will remain are the cuddles, the smells, the coos, the tiny fingers wrapped around your hand, the fuzziness of baby hair, and the feel of a little head asleep on your shoulder.

 

Memories of watching Sesame Street together for the first time and being delighted when he claps in time with Elmo singing his theme song.

 

Remembering how you felt the first time you saw him dance to Thomas the Tank Engine's theme song or the first time he wrapped those tiny arms around you in a hug.

 

Remembering how you used to cuddle with him until you were both asleep pressed together in his tiny twin-sized bed, sweating from so much heat emanating from such a tiny little body.

 

Remembering how you laughed over his pride of "reading" for the first time, even though the word was totally wrong, but he was just so sure that's what it was.

 

I think that's why older parents always say to "enjoy it now because it goes by too fast." I think we always look back and remember a simpler time than the one we're in now. That's the beauty of parenting. It's the ability to have memories that sustain our todays. To know that however hard today is, there will be something about it that will make us smile someday, even if we can't quite see what it is today.

 

As I sat down to write this, I couldn't find the t.v. remote. Surely my fifth little toddler had hidden it under the couch. When I bent down to look, I found a stash of Knox's toys. After a brief initial annoyance, I smiled as I pulled one treasure after another from under the couch.

 

I remember that Joey used to do that, too. As I sifted through the pile, I smiled as I remembered the first time I pulled a stash like that from under the couch. It's always something.

 

It's always something that brings me back.

 

 

 

What are some of your favorite memories of raising your kids? Are there any you thought were hard at the time that have become fond memories?