Memorial Day

My father was in the Navy after he graduated from college. It was during the Korean war. My grandfather swore my dad never would have grown up had it not been for the Navy. Nice try, but he really never DID grow up, which was one of the magical things about him, one of the many reasons his children adored him, and why he was, indeed, the world's greatest pediatrician.

The flag from my dad's funeral is among my prized possessions.

My step-father, Charlie, is one of the most fascinating people on the planet. He is a psychologist by trade and has voluntarily devoted much of his free time to veterans' affairs. He testifies before Congress on a regular basis, is interviewed by CNN and other news organizations as an expert on WWII, POW/MIA/VA issues as well as post traumatic stress disorder. He is invited to the White House on a regular basis (but refused to go during our former president's last term) and was instrumental in pushing forward the WWII memorial in D.C. His passion for this work comes from the fact that he, himself, was a prisoner of war during WWII. He walks with difficulty, not because of his age, but because he was pushed off of a moving train by the Nazis. The stories he tells of how he survived in captivity keep you on the edge of your seat. He has every right to be a little bitter, but he is far from it. He is incrediby unassuming and defines a hero in my book.

So for my dad and for Charlie and the millions of men and women who have served or currently serve in our armed forces, enjoy your family, your friends and your freedom today.

I'm Still That Mom

I'm that mom. You know, the one I've talked about before. The one that shows up to school events sweaty, in spandex, sporting pigtails and bandanas while the other moms show up in perfume, pearls and heels with perfectly coiffed hair. I'm the one that can't make it to Starbucks to hang out every week because I'm taking the peanut for a slog in the jogger, teaching spin, taking Strike or practicing yoga. I'm also that mom at the dance studio. I have even been known to go for a run on site between rehearsals and recitals, but I promise I clean up OK for the actual performances.

Between recitals on Sunday, Exhibit A took a nasty spill on the steps leading to the balcony. She had an impressive scrape, bump and bruise on her shin. She still had two recitals to go and I knew it had to have hurt. I gave her the appropriate amount of sympathy, told her not to take "break a leg" quite so literally, got a smile from her then wished her luck for the last shows of the weekend.

She danced like an angel the rest of the afternoon, with the passion and energy she always brings forth. She was on cloud 9 at her celebratory dinner out but once at home, I noticed that she was walking across the floor. Now this may not sound all that unusual, but it is important to understand that when The Prima moves from point A to point B, she typically throws in at least one twirl, leap, battement or chassé. I asked her how her leg was feeling and she stopped and looked right at me. She told me it was painful and that it had been during her performances. I told her one never would have guessed. She responded with the following statement:

"I got through it. I just thought to myself of all the times when you hurt so bad but you keep on going. You don't let it slow you down. You even ride your bike for a lot of miles and you never disappoint people that count on you for stuff."

And with that, she said goodnight, turned away and disappeared upstairs while I stood there utterly touched and utterly speechless.

So it seems that now, more than ever before, I am OK with being that mom.

Recital Highlights

It's funny how once upon a time I was the mother who dreaded having to sit through an entire recital when my kid was only a part of it for 5 minutes. Now I sit through six recitals and enjoy it more and more every year. I am easily annoyed and crankified by the people who leave right after their kid's performance. I secretly hope that some day their precious angel's number is last and she has to perform to a less than full auditorium. I can't help it. I am, afterall, an evil princess.

Speaking of princesses, Exhibit A performed flawlessly this weekend. There's not much else to say. I can't believe how far she's come in just a year and what a pleasure it is to see the passion and energy she puts into each show, coming home utterly spent but ready to get up and do it all over again the next day. She's beginning to do her own hair and make-up and, while in some ways this thrills me, in others it reminds me that I am seeing not only a physical transformation before my eyes but also a social and emotional one.

There were many highlights from this weekend, too many too count, but here are a few favorites:

It's always fun to watch the 3 & 4 year olds as they take to the stage for the very first time. They are unpredictable and you can usually count on at least one or two of them to just kinda stand there, bored to tears, looking at all the other little girls with a "WTF?" expression on their faces while the others dance around them. One kinderdance number, however, was absololutely priceless. Thse little itty bitty girls, all sassed out in sparkles and tutus, pill box hats and tap shoes danced their tiny hearts out to the song "Thank Heaven for Little Girls". Right before their last combination, the curtain opens and their fathers are standing there in suits/ties. All at once, the dads crouch down to catch their little girls with big hugs to end the number. Thank heaven, indeed.

During day 2, the pre-teen and teen acrobatics classes had to perform in every show (and they performed once on day 1). On day 2 they ditched the CD and had a live keyboardist/singer on stage with them. Incredible.

There are a few highly accomplished resident choreographers that teach at A's dance school. The companies peformed several of their most recent award winning pieces and they didn't disappoint.

The finale of each performance was a complete surprise to the kids. Little did they know, all of the instructors put together a little sump'n sump'n of their own. It was ridiculously funny yet still showcased what amazing talent they all have. They used the song Circus by Brit Brit and each dressed up as a caricature circus freak... errrr, I mean performer. Seeing Mrs. M, who has been teaching classical ballet for 30+ years doing some hip hop moves and the sprinkler was priceless. For the benefit of those of us who were at every show, they made it a little bit different every single time so we never knew exactly what to expect. The more times they did it, the more comical it became. By the end, the director of the school was tap dancing while hula hooping (around her neck, even) and the modern teacher who had been unable to be involved in recitals due to a back injury was wrapped in caution tape and wheeled out to the stage to take part in the hilarity. It was so much fun and, as you can imagine, the parents and kids alike were completely wow'ed.

Random Thoughts...

1. Every little girl that dreams ballerina dreams is, truth be told, dreaming of pretty pink pointe shoes. Each time I see Exhibit A twirl on her toes I wonder if she realizes that, at just 11 years old, she's already living out one of her very first dreams.

2. In my not so very humble opinion, the end of the school year is far worse in terms of busy-ness, small details to remember and stress than the holly-daze season, and it's *almost* as expensive

3. Chocolate is not one of my favorite things... but it sure tastes damn good along side a glass of pinot noir.

4. Having struggled with the decision of whether or not to send Exhibit B to the fancy private school next year, I waited until the absolute last moment to turn in his acceptance and deposit, as in I hand-delivered it there on the due date and arrived 7 minutes before the school office closed. I had a nasty gnawing in my gut for days prior and it worsened on the way to the school to take the plunge. I walked in and handed over my money and paperwork. Turning away from the secretary I thought, for a moment, that I might actually vomit. However, as I walked over the threshold into the bright sunshine and peered out over the meadow a sense of relief and joy washed over me and, in that moment, I was more sure of that decision than I've been of anything in a long time.

5. In the never-ending quest to help Exhibit C gain weight, I am supposed to offer him all kinds of junky and fattening things. He drinks whole milk with heavy whipping cream and either dried whole milk (double the fat and calories) or Carnation Instant Breakfast mixed into to it. When I make him a grilled cheese, it has butter on both sides of the bread, I put butter on PB&J sammiches, anything cooked in Pam for the family gets a separate portion for him cooked in butter. Milkshakes? As many as he wants (only "bee-niwwa" from Chick-fil-A will do, he doesn't like homeade ones). That's OK, theirs have 800 calories in them... more if you do whipped cream, and the fact that I know this off the top of my head should give some indication of how much a part of life all of this is for me. I have special powder that's basically colorless, odorless, dried carbs and fat that gets added to many things. Hot dogs? You bet, the more calories and fat the better. You get the idea. Today I asked him what he wanted for breakfast and he said Apple Jacks. Sweet! Sugary cereal with double milk and cream on it. I was thrilled. As I started to pour the cereal he added "but I don't want any green ones...". Kill.ing.me.kid.

6. There is no item number six.

7. I believe that no matter what training I take on, what exercises I do, how many miles I ride, that I am only at my highest level of overall health and wellness if I practice yoga on a regular basis.

8. Speaking of miles, I miss riding my pretty bike. I've been sidelined a bit this year. I wish somebody would be my hero and have the patience to come charity ride with me and my neurologically disasterous body.

9. Zeke is 98 pounds of goofy black lab. His head is like a box of rocks... dumbest.dog.ever... and he has... well, "issues"... you know, like he must physically be touching a human being at all times which, frankly, is not really all that convenient. That said, I am pretty sure my children could chew his ears until they bled, dress him up in Buzz Lightyear and Princess costumes all day long, and ride him like a pony and he'd just wag his tail and lick them. We should all be so fortunate as to take everything in stride, to love unconditionally when it's so well deserved, and be more than content with an encouraging word and a simple belly rub.

10. Change is interesting isn't it? Why is it that so many people fear it? Is it not a natural part of life? Often people do anything in their power to avoid it, sometimes even at the expense of their own happiness and fulfillment. I have trouble wrapping my tiaraed head around this. I am not afraid of change; in fact, often, I embrace it. We all change. Life is, indeed, about metamorphosis. I am a much wiser Cranky Princess than I was 10 years ago and I would never have evolved in this way had it not been for the many changes that have taken place in all arenas of my royal life. Now if I could just do something about the paparazzi...

I am...

... humbled. By people that ask for so little and appreciate so much.

... a sponge. A life long learner with a thirst for knowledge that I can't seem to quench.

... insightful. I can sum up people and situations, understand feelings, actions and driving forces, see red flags that are often invisible to the naked eye and predict the outcome of oh so many things.

... almost always right. It's not as much of a blessing as it might seem when it comes to the more unpleasant things in life, and I try hard to resist the urge to say "I told you so".

... saddened. By false promises and the inability some people have to make decisions and manage situations in ways that might hurt momentarily but ultimately are good and right.

... a workaholic. I do what I love and therefore love what I do.

... hopeful. That some day I will wake up and when I lie there as I do each morning, waiting for my body to tell me which part will ache or malfunction or die just a little that day, that the answer will be, once again, like it was in the beginning, a simple, yet resounding: none.

... unique. I see the world in a way I believe few are fortunate enough to experience and I help others lift themselves up to view it from my vantage point. I touch lives and leave indelible marks on hearts that I know are forever changed by my presence in them.

... secure. I question everything and anything yet I know with certainty who I am at my core, what I want, where I want to go, and with whom I want to go there.

... selfless yet selfish all at once. I figured out a long time ago that in order to give of myself, my time, my energy unto others, which I do so often and so freely, I had to first find my passion, follow my heart, create balance and experience my own brand of happiness.

... a dreamer. I still believe that there are so many possibilities and so very few impossibilities.

... a writer. Who knows the power of words and how it feels to touch somebody's soul with a few simple sentences.

Soccer Snooze

The temperature read 72 degrees but when we got to the soccer field the wind kicked in. Exhibit C, who is typically content to sit sidelined in his Spiderman chair or kick his ball around with the kids who are subbed out, was cold. He crawled up into my lap and I wrapped his jacket around him like a blanket as he curled up into a ball underneath it. I squeezed him tight against me. He wiggled around until he could get his thumb in his mouth, taking it out every now and again to tell me he loved me, ask me if I like Lego Star Wars or Indiana Jones better, or to encourage me to notice the foot he kept dangling out from underneath the jacket to tempt me into tickles. Instinctually, I started rocking him back and forth and, before long, I felt him melt into me and I knew he'd fallen asleep. As I sat there with a fierce wind blowing, whipping pollen into my eyes, sending a chill through me, I was struck by the thought that holding my contently sleeping child on my lap was a simple pleasure no matter in what time or place it happens, and that now that my children are older, it's a pleasure I will not be able to enjoy for much longer. Once again, though, I'm reminded that it's the little things in life that are our greatest gifts.

Fluffy White Cat

The "Things That Make Me Happy Today" post mentioned both my father and my cat and my mind wandered back to a moment in time that was undeniably sad yet moving.

As I've mentioned before, my father died a slow and painful death, suffering with metastatic cancer for seven years. He wanted to die at home and when we got to the point where he was no longer able to walk or care for himself, we had round the clock hospice care to be sure his pain was managed appropriately as well as provide some respite for my family.

At the time, we had a big fluffy white cat who adored my dad. Every morning after making his rounds of the house, eating, bathing himself in the sunlight for a bit and doing a little stretching, the cat would meander up the stairs and down the hall to hop in bed with my dad where he would stay for the day. He would greet each visitor by walking to the end of the bed, receiving ridiculous amounts of pets, playing, and purring, and would then settle back down either right next to my dad, pressed up against him or, more often, perched on his chest.

One Thursday morning the cat made his rounds, walked into the bedroom to settle in for the day's events, hopped up on the bed, two paws on my father's chest, then he seemed to freeze for a few seconds, staring at my father. With a single, startled sounding meow, he quickly jumped back down to the floor. I scooped him up and put him back on the bed but the cat wanted no part of it. He squirmed away and headed to the doorway where he sat, smack in the middle, facing the bed as if trying to decide what to do. My father, no longer able to speak by then, followed the cat with his eyes, and seemed very confused. I smiled and shrugged, not sure what to make of it myself. Throughout the day the cat was highly agitated... pacing, meowing, not interested in food, toys or attention. He seemed to almost wince in pain when touched.

Aside from the cat's absence on the bed, the day went on as usual. Meds and visitors, errands to buy meds, groceries and offerings for the visitors. I even booked a little bit of ice time that day to help me decompress. You see, I was a competitive figure skater in my youth and, at 21, while watching my father die, I found that time on the ice with my thoughts and my speed was incredible therapy, I even hired a coach for a few months. To this day, when I need to think big thoughts, the ice feels like home to me, even more so than my bike, but don't tell a soul.

I took my big goofy dog out to a park where we played frisbee and he swam. My best friend came to visit and we sat and chatted. She peeked in on my dad, who never failed to light up when she entered the room. She asked him where "that crazy cat" was as she was immediately struck by his failure to appear for attention upon her arrival. My father smiled at her.

When I got into bed that night, the cat finally emerged. He got up next to me instead of curling up at the foot of my dad's bed. He never seemed to get comfortable, moving around a few times until settling in one spot, and he wasn't in a snuggly kind of mood. He didn't put his head down or sleep. He sat with his tail twitching every once in awhile and his ears perked up, eyes toward the long hallway that connected my room to the master bedroom.

I finally dozed off and, soon after, was awakened with the news that my father had died in his sleep. I ran down the hallway, which seemed 14 times longer than it had ever been. I kissed my father's forehead. I had never come face to face with death before and I remember to this day how very cold he was. I understood it logically yet I just didn't expect it and was caught completely off guard. I couldn't talk or breathe or even cry for what seemed like hours, though I know it was only moments that I stood there over him, frozen in my pain and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next. The hospice nurse talked to me. I don't remember what she said but I remember knowing beyond all doubt that she was, indeed, an angel on earth. She led me over to the loveseat and asked if I wanted some tea which sounded wonderful yet completely preposterous all at once. As I sat, silent and alone, waiting and wondering, the cat walked past me as if I didn't exist and, without hesitation, hopped on the bed, curled up on my father's chest, lowered his head, closed his eyes and began to purr... a purr so loud I could hear it across the room, a purr so soothing I knew that the cat had known what the rest of us hadn't and had spent the day trying to tell us. His beloved human's pain was so immense, so overpowering, so disturbing that he simply couldn't get close to my dad... the cat knew that the end was near and needed that pain to be lifted in order to cozy up again.

And in that moment as the deafening silence was broken by the motoring purr of a fluffy white cat, I knew for sure, after all those years, that my father was finally at peace.