A Good Weekend

Despite not food shopping and having nothing more than three pickles and some barbecue sauce in my house, and despite not doing even one of the eighty loads of laundry awaiting me in the basement, we had a really good weekend.

I had some much needed girl time and got a lot off my chest.  And I got to spend an entire Sunday with only my husband and my daughter and not one single solitary committment other than being together.  We haven't had a Sunday with only each other in a very long time, and I really enjoyed it. 

Despite the raging hangover after drinking 24 points of wine (!!), I had a really good weekend.

.

Le Weekend

Hmm, where shall I start?

Gymnasties on Saturday morning.

Followed by marshmallow roasting at night.  (Oh, it was just soo much fun not eating these since I had completed my daily points intake for my stupid diet.  Er, I mean lifestyle change.)

A little cuddle between Mommy and Baby...

Followed by Matthew's birthday party on Sunday.

Mmmm, cake.

And we rounded out the weekend checking out the swing set at Adriana's new condo complex. 

Two feet up!

.

A Week of Firsts: Greg

Greg started his new job on Monday, and it's going great!  He is in the training period right now, which apparently requires one to be at work at 11 a.m. and be done for the day at 1:30 p.m.  How nice for Greg, while his wife pulls 12 hours days out of the house! 

He is excited to start the actual selling that the job entails and so am I.  1) I like money, 2) I like to see Greg happy, and 3) I like money. 

When I started this website Greg was all I want my own page, put this picture up of me, oh, get me from his angle, however, recently he's been quite modest and no longer allows me to plaster his picture up all over this place.  So, right about here is where I would plop a picture of Greg in this post, but instead, you get the cartoon character that best sums up Greg.

.

On A Day, In May

It's her day, and it's my day, and we never got the chance to celebrate together.

And today I'm spending the day with Adriana.  As per the usual.  At the crappy nail salon that we are forced to go to because it's the only one that's open on Sundays.

And, I've decided to turn over a new leaf and bring Leah with us.  Up until this year, I've felt like Mother's Day is my day to do whatever I want, however selfish, even if that means not spending the day with my daughter.  But this year I realized that wanting to spend the day without my daughter is exactly the opposite of how I want her to feel on this day.  When she's older, I hope that she wants to do special things with me on this day, and how horrible is it that I want to be alone?  Just because I no longer have a mom to spend the day with?  God, Dana, you're such a brat.  So, today, Leah gets her first pedicure, Dana will undoubtedly need an early glass of wine, and Adriana will most likely take extra birth control tonight...but, we'll spend it together like we would have done if my mom was still here. 

 I choose to have Leah with me today because I love her and I want to spend Mother's Day with her.

And because I totally don't have a babysitter. 

.

Taking Life For Granted

One of the things that I learned from my last job was to take advantage of the time that I was not at work.

I would stare at the clock on Friday afternoons, willing it to move quickly to 5 p.m., and then run out of there and haul my booty home, excited for the two full days in front of me where I didn't have to be at work. 

I would forget about my job the second I walked out the office door and not think about it again until Sunday night, when the pending week would loom on my mind. 

I would pack our weekends full of family activities and functions, taking advantage of every second that I was with people that I loved, doing things that I enjoyed.  I learned to not take happiness and good times for granted, because I knew what the opposite felt like.

I learned to love my commute, because it was valuable time that I got to spend with myself, reflecting on my life, relishing in the fact that I was NOT at work at that particular moment, and listening to inspirational music*.  (Ed. note: When I say "inspirational music" I mean music that inspires me, like a song about a girl who quits her job the day before a lice breakout.  Not, you know, Inspirational Music.)

Even though I like my job and generally enjoy life so much more now, I still get very excited for the weekends.  Friday nights are reserved for family time, where I get to spend time with Greg and Leah, not worrying about cleaning the house or laundry, just kinda hanging out happy that I get to spend the next two days doing family stuff.

So there.  I've found one good thing about that wretched place.  ONE.

*Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air

I know I can count on you

Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care"

But you've got the love I need to see me through

Sometimes it seems that the going is just too rough

And things go wrong no matter what I do

Now and then it seems that life is just too much

But you've got the love I need to see me through

When food is gone you are my daily need

When friends are gone I know my savior's love is real

You know its real

You got the love

You got the love

You got the love
You got the love

You got the love

You got the love

Time after time I think "Oh Lord what's the use?"

Time after time I think it's just no good

Sooner or later in life, the things you love you loose

But you got the love I need to see me through

You got the love

 You got the love

You got the love

 You got the love

You got the love

 You got the love

Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air

I know I can count on you

Sometimes I feel like saying "Lord I just don't care"

But you've got the love I need to see me through

You got the love

You got the love

You got the love

You got the love

You got the love

You got the love

-Florence and The Machine

Three Whole Years

Four months and seven days after the anniversary of my mother's death, which goes down as the worst day of my life, we celebrate Leah's birth, which goes down as the best day of my life.

In my 34 years of living on this planet, I have a few accomplishments.  But NOTHING makes me prouder than when I look at what Greg and I brought into this world on March 26, 2008.

Happy Birthday, Leah.  I've said it before, and I'll say it forever, you truly saved my life.

Now, go pick up your shoes and fortheloveofgod stop throwing your crayons.

33 Months Old

I wish I could freeze frame this age, and have Leah stay here forever.  This, by far, is the best age yet, and I love it so much. 

She talks all the time--can tell us what she wants and what she thinks.  But, she still says words funny; so listening to her non-stop chatter is adorable, because who doesn't think that "Despica-Me", "popcorns", and "Tan I have a tootie?"  are hilarious?

She's super dramatic, and everything that happens is such a big deal.  She throws her hands up in the air or throws her palms to her cheeks with an open mouth when something as harrowing as the cat running by her occurs. 

She cares.  Has a heart of gold.  Tells us we are special.  Hopes that my feet aren't chilly-willy.  Asks me if I'm okay if I bump my knee.

She has interests.  Loves to draw with markers.  Enjoys doing chores, like loading and emptying the dryer and dishwasher.  She's into movies--wants to put the disc in the DVD player herself; wants to press play.  Lives to turn on the vacuum for me.

She's got an awesome memory.  She'll remember her friend Ashlyn's glittery shoes, and why her friend Jackson wasn't at daycare that day.  She can tell you an entire story that occurred while you were at work, complete with dialogue that was spoken.

The tantrums are pretty much non-existent.  She adapts to change better than anyone I know.   Will choose "little bit of chub" over "skinny minnie" when you ask her what she wants to be.  Isn't jealous when Greg and I hold another baby.  Loves to spend time with me on the weekends.  Asks me every night if I have to go to work the next day and loves my answer on Friday nights best. 

Her memory is phenomenal.  Knows when it's Wednesday and she spends the day with my sister.  She loves babies and wants to hold them, kiss them, feed them, cover them, pacify them. 

She's perfect, and this is the perfect age.  We are having so much fun.

.

Some Good Advice

I have a friend from college whom I recently got back in touch with.  We have an email relationship and have become pen pals.  This friend has insight, and I cherish it, and when I spoke of the three year anniversary of my mom's death coming up, this is what my friend said:

Do something good with your own daughter.

Not necessarily that day, but soon.

Something that your mom would have either enjoyed

or at least strongly encouraged you to enjoy.

I like that advice.  And I'm going to try to take it.
.
.
.

Brought To You By Coffee

Sometimes having kids feels like doing time for a crime you didn't commit.  I mean, yes, technically, with regards to Leah, I did "commit the crime."  I mean, we wanted her, and she's here due to us.  But, there are times when taking care of her seems really exhaustive and heavy and just plain tough.

I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice.  He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend.  He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time.  And, he's right.  I don't know how I do it.

We spend a lot of time in the car.  And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car.  There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too.  It's non-stop.  When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy!  Look at my sock!  Oh, man!  There's a bus!"  And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does.  So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride.  Every ride.  Every day. 

Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not.  Much.  I knew it would be tough and challenging.  Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea.  What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it.  We still have kids.  We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs.  We still think about them and worry about them.  We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them.   We love them to pieces.  More than we ever thought possible.  It's worth it.  It must be, right?

Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents.  I can't even remember life without Cha Cha.  And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer.  And, really, who wants to think about that?

.

.

.

Handbag Love

I get a lot of mail and feedback about this website.  I don't always get to respond to everyone, but I want you all to know that I read each and every thing you are writing to me, (sometimes two and three times) and I appreciate it more than you will ever know.  There are times when I will get a message from someone that I only have known in passing who is sharing their eerily similar story with me and I am just amazed at how closely our lives resemble each others. Like "stare at screen with gaping mouth open" amazed.

I never knew just how many people out there were experiencing similar life stories and I am so thankful that you have all been kind enough to share yours with me. 

I feel like I don't say this enough, so thank you so much for the comments, stories, inspirational snippets, emails, messages, and feedback.  It's part of the healing process and it's helping me so much.

Ok!  On to cute baby pictures!

Leah is obsessed with purses.  It started when she was about a year old.  We were in Boston hanging out in our hotel and she found a small bag in our suitcase.

She played with that bag for the longest time.  Taking everything out of it and putting everything back in.  Over and over.  Her love for things that hold things began right then and there and has flourished since then.

It's gotten a little out of hand, recently.  Her need to carry around several purses has reached epic proportions.

I gotta admit, this passion for purses that my daughter has holds a special place in my heart.  Because I, too, have an unnatural obsession for handbags.  And, after a look through some albums over the weekend, I see that I started early, as well. 

I pity her future husband, who will wonder why there's no bread in the house, but a bedroom closet door that can no longer be opened without the need for protective gear.
.
.
.
.
.

Gratitude

Right after my mom died, I was determined to figure out why.  I was convinced that she had died for some reason--like a sign for me to see that would prevent something BIG and BAD from happening in my life.  When Leah was born, I was a wreck.  I just knew that she was going to have something wrong with her.  She was going to have a heart condition, or a blood clot, or have an attack in her sleep and, if I missed it, then it was my fault, because, hello, I had received a sign in the form of my mom dying, and if that wasn't a big enough sign, then I was an idiot.

Alas, none of this happened.  There was nothing BIG and BAD, but you can bet your bottom that I had her heart checked at every doctor's appointment and I watched her sleep for hours on end.  Ok, fine, full disclosure:  I still check on her several times a night to make sure she's breathing.  A regular monitor wasn't good enough, so I got a video one so that I could make sure she didn't suffocate on the crib bumper.  I refuse to let her eat a snack in the back seat of the car while I'm driving because I'm sure she's going to choke, so, instead I just drive with her screaming her head off.  LISTEN: I am crazy, this I know.  My father is an overprotective Italian, and my mother died suddenly while I was pregnant.  It's a miracle that I let my kid leave the house on most days.  But I am dealing with my crazy.  And most people don't even know about it.  Until now.

Anyway, after two years of trying to figure out what the reason was for my mom dying I realized something.  There might not be a reason.  She might have just died.  This was such a devastating realization for me that I almost let it take to me a dark place.  But, just as I was about to cross the bridge to that place, I remembered something.  I was no longer just in charge of me.  I had a child.  And she couldn't live with a mother who couldn't function.  I had to keep going for her.  And so I did.  And so I do.

But I couldn't just let my mom be a thought in my head; a memory to hold on to.  I wanted her here and I wanted to tell her things, and so I conceived of this blog.  I would write her this story, and pretend that she was here, and if other people wanted to read about it, then I would write for them too.  And I would write for Leah. This would be a living memory of her grandmother.  And, maybe someone would see it and comment on it.  Maybe someone would enjoy a post; maybe I'd get an email; maybe someone would find a similarity in their life...

It's been a week since I launched the blog, and I cannot believe just how many people have commented, enjoyed, shared, linked, loved, laughed, cried, you name it!  I've heard from so many of you!  And the things you've told me, and shared with me, and cried to me: I just don't have words.  YOU ARE MY PEOPLE, and I can't believe that this whole time I've been wondering if I would ever be able to find others out there like me, only to find you all just a "publish" button away.

You've given me wonderful feedback, left funny comments, sent encouraging messages, and proposed differing thoughts.  You've been people that I talk to daily, monthly, weekly, and people that I've never met.  You've shared intimate secrets and revelations, and you've sent me poems and stories you've found.  You've contributed your most heartfelt thoughts.  You've validated my feelings and you haven't made me feel whiny or dramatic.  (Two feelings that I sometimes think I've got the corner on.) 

You've just been there, and you've let me know that you're there.  And I want you to know that I am here.

Starting this blog and making it public was the biggest decision I've had to make in a long time, and I wasn't sure that I was doing the right thing.  But, after only one week, and because of all of you, I know that I made one of the best decisions of my life. 

Thank you.  All of you.  Thank you so much.

Dana and Mom, Italy, 1977