Taking the risk

My girl lost the student council president election. I received a phone call at 7:40 AM as I was taking my morning run. The phone call came up from my husband. I answered assuming it was him. Instead, I heard a sobbing daughter and the following words:

“I lost, mom.”

I should have been ready. I knew she would find out today. I also had an inkling that she may not win. She was up against a girl in her class who made a good speech about being responsible and a strong leader. She also has an older brother who graduated last year and was well known by students in the school.
But I wasn’t ready because deep down inside, I just kept hoping that Ri would win and that we would not be having this conversation. I remember learning about this “wait and hope” mentality when I was learning to be a facilitator at Ohio State. It is a default thought process I go to often. Let’s not delve into what could be painful or difficult conversations now with the hope that the difficult conversation won’t have to happen. Well, inevitably, the situation arises.

So here I was abruptly stopping my gait and trying to resurrect words of consolation to Ri as cars zoomed past me. My heart ached for her because I knew how much she wanted to be president and how sad she was about losing. I did not want to discount that sadness by saying something like “it’s not a big deal – who cares about being president” or “people are stupid – they should have voted for you” – although those were all responses that were coming into my head most immediately. But I took a breath and went in a different direction. I affirmed what she was feeling and simply stated that it had to feel crappy to get this news. But after listening to her for a few minutes, I told her this:

“You should be proud and hold your head high that you went for it. You ran for president when many people would be too scared to do so knowing that they could very well lose the election. You took the risk. That is where you won.”

I really believe that, too. I know even as an adult I have avoided certain challenges because I was scared of making a fool of myself or scared of not coming out on top. It takes a lot to dive into the waters and put yourself out there. She should embrace the strength she had to even take on the challenge.

I will talk with her in due time about what she can learn from this matter. Was there something more that she could have done to prepare? Could she have thought about her speech more and went in a different direction? Are there things she could ask her friends about what they liked about her friend’s speech over hers? This can take some courage because you are going to hear constructive feedback, but it is absolutely necessary in order to grow. You will need the ability to hear such feedback as you get older. Again, something I continue to struggle with – knowing the feedback is constructive and not a slap in the face. It is the only way to excel.

But for this morning, I will simply give her hugs and reaffirm my pride in her simply going for it. Girlfriend needs to feel that power, that strength, in putting herself out there. She needs to understand that is a trait that will be so important for her in years to come.

Vinegar!

A Facebook memory popped into my feed a few weeks ago. It was a video of Maria and Mario, probably ages six and four, sitting on our kitchen floor with a variety of objects in order to perform a science experiment. I remember purchasing the boxed experiment – it looked like something we could handle. All you needed was some baking soda, vinegar and food dye to create an erupting volcano. Those were the days when I would search Target and Giant Eagle for any craft, experiment or toy to add to our weekend days.

We probably had taken a run in the double BOB stroller that morning to Giant Eagle to purchase the volcano fun. I could usually get in at least a couple of miles prior to hitting Giant Eagle if I promised the kids a donut from the donut case. I sometimes made them bring a hard cover chapter book to read to me while I ran with them. Again, the promise of a donut can work wonders….

I faintly recall helping them with the volcano that day. However, it may be more of a re-creation of my mind after watching the video over and over. It is hard to remember back to those days when they were that young. I can recall feeling like those days lasted forever – waking up at 6 am and going all day until 9 pm. Stroller ride, walks, park, lunch, games, reading, paint, snacks, Dora….

I remember getting a small break to go to Stauf’s and read a few pages of a book while eating a darkly toasted bagel. It was heaven to escape the long days with the kids. I also remember telling myself that I will miss those long days when they get older, but I had no idea of how exactly it would feel because I was so engrossed in the everyday with the kids. What would it be like to wake up and not have Mario plead for me to stay home with him rather than go on a quick run? What would it be like to be swimming with Maria and not have her constantly ask to play an underwater game? What would it be like to go to the park and not have both kids pull on me to tackle the obstacle course and slide down the slide with them 10 times over? How absolutely exhausted I was at the end of those days, so how can I yearn for them so much now?

Crazy ass universe. What I would do to cradle those small feet and toes right now. What I would do to have that tiny sweet hand grab mine as we walk down the street. But, if I am honest, I have no desire to go back to the days of getting up at 6 AM and having to give my full attention to those humans all day long. It was exhausting and it was for a time that I could handle it. That time period is not right now. So I need to embrace where we are today. Two grown kids at over 5 feet tall, both with gargantuan feet, both with their own viewpoints, both happy and comfortable in their skin. When I look back to that video again, I see traits in the kids that remain with them today. Mario with his goofiness and desire to make people laugh, and Maria with her pedagogical style and desire to be in control.

Ten years ago I could never have imagined where we are today. Today, I can’t imagine having two kids in their 20s. So, what is the lesson? To totally absorb these times that I have in front of me right now because I will soon look back at the videos I am currently making and lament at how the time flew by.

https://www.facebook.com/mary.m.ionno/videos/10151705524597508/?extid=XKT9l8mb7l49ppcs&d=n

Mama’s day 2020

Is this good, mom?”

Maria knelt on the soft dirt and pushed the mulch between the irises. She was trying to use the fresh mulch sparingly so as to not waste it. She is her mother’s daughter when it comes to trying to save money. On the other side of the driveway, Mario poured out bags of mulch and left it 2 inches high to spare himself having to kneel down and spread it. He is his father’s son when it comes to penny pinching.

The neighbor’s yard displays beds of bright red tulips and manicured bushes sitting in pristine mulched beds. Maria and I have been lamenting about our yard’s aesthetic value for days, which continues to decrease each time our neighbors are out working in their yard. So, when Jon agreed to run to the store and buy mulch, I thought I should take advantage of the kids’ agreement to do whatever I wanted them to do on Mother’s Day. They had already been forced to take a 2 mile walk on the bike trail with me so they were undoubtedly hoping that their deeds were done. Ha, never.

Maria was the first one to come out and help. This is the typical case in situations where I need assistance. Maria is always the first one out to help unload the groceries. Mario takes his time so that all of the trips have been taken before he has to carry just one last bag inside.

Maria hopped in the back of the pick-up and heaved bags of mulch my way. She was hysterical to watch as she attempted to lift the bags with every ounce of muscle in her body. We dragged two bags over to our ivy-soaked oak tree and dumped the black mulch onto the ground. We worked together on opposite sides of the tree evenly spreading the mulch.  Neighbors passed by and commented about how good the mulch looked. Mario finally came out; Jon directed him to work on the patch of sticks and dirt by the driveway. Jon nudged me a few minutes later and told me to look over at him. He had his camo bucket hat on his head and was pulling weeds from the dirt. Ri was busy leaning over the stone wall to smooth a clump of mulch.

Peace. Appreciation. Love.

I could have been struck dead at that moment and left this earth in a good place. The sensation starts in my chest. It’s a lightness, as if all the blood has been drained and my chest is floating up in the air like a balloon. My mind ceases producing all of the bullshit chatter it is used to spitting out, and absorbs the delicacy of the moment. My babies working next to me, accumulating dirt stains on their forearms and shins.

Prior to mulching, they begrudgingly took a few walks with me throughout the day. One of the walks took us to our old stomping grounds along the river. We walked past the rocky bank where I used to pull the double stroller over, and carefully lead the kids down the jagged rocks to the river. They took joy in throwing stones as far as they could hurl them into the water. Mario would call out “watch mom” incessantly as he threw a bigger rock into the river to try to make an even greater splash. He is still that little boy calling out my name today as he picks up random rocks and hurls them into the calm river. Maria was never as interested in hurling the rocks; she would throw a few in camaraderie with her little brother but then she would choose to take off her shoes and socks and dip her feet in the water. She liked to feel the sensation of the water on her feet and fingertips. Mario wanted nothing to do with feeling water on him – he would freak out every time Maria splashed him. He just wanted to hurl rocks and jump from boulder to boulder. 

These babes have spent their lifetime with me. How weird is that? They have never known of life without me. They have come to understand this world, in part based on what I have taught them or how they have seen me engage with the people and things. Shit.

That is concerning.

The times I have not been working I have spent with them.  I did not go out for drinks on Friday nights with girlfriends because I wanted to spend the time with the kids. I did not attend work events because I would rather be at my kids’ soccer game or recital. I put myself in ridiculous looking swimsuits and hit the pool to dive off the boards with the kids because they loved to watch how scared I would be going off the high dive. 

I gave them and continue to give them all of the love that I could possibly muster. It is easy to do, after all, because they are my babies. It comes naturally. I can’t imagine not loving them with every ounce of my being.

However, I often still find myself wondering what more I can be doing in this life – helping out at the local shelter, participating in a food drive, teaching homeless kids…. I beat myself up about not doing more…I should take the kids to the shelter more often, I should start a non-profit, I should register for the latest 5k to stop Alzheimer’s…

Then I read this from Glennon Doyle:

“Were you afraid that you’d been so busy loving your people that you forgot to do something important?

Because what I’ve learned from you is that there isn’t a damn thing more important than loving your people.

Do you wish you’d written a book? A book? Mama, your love has written the entire world of our family into existence. The characters in your story are bold and brave because your love made them that way. Our plot line is love and courage and hope and steadfastness. Our family is a beautiful story, Mama—and the hero of our story is you. You are the hero. You are the one. You created this family and you watch over it and tend to it and delight in it and you are the closest I’ve ever come to seeing God, Mama.

And here is the moral of your story: You taught us that what matters is love, and that love is relentlessly showing up for your people.

Because of you, we will always remember that the most world-changing work we can do is this: We can live in a way so that our children will be able to say, Not one moment of my life did I wonder if I was adored. Never, ever did I feel alone. And they will pass it on.

(Full post https://momastery.com/blog/2020/05/09/to-my-mama-who-taught-me-the-most-important-thing/)

How beautiful is that? What a wonderful way to think about all the energy we put into our children and the lack of energy we often have to put into other areas. We are raising humans who will be able to love other humans, who will feel comfortable in their skin, who will know how awesome it is to be loved and adored. I will have succeeded if Ri and Mario grow up and think “not one moment of my life did I wonder if I was adored. Never, ever did I feel alone.”

Nuggets!

So I am learning day by day to try to appreciate certain moments experienced during the long, shelter-in-place days. It can be hard to do, especially when you wake up in the morning and realize you are still in the midst of this pandemic and that you have a full day ahead in the house or walking around the block.

But then there are those moments – that wake you up from your Groundhog Day slumber – and provide a renewed look on life. Mario came downstairs for dinner one night this week and told us he wants to make Chick-fil-A nuggets for dinner. He had seen a TikTok video where a guy made the nuggets from scratch. We kind of brushed him off, after all, who is going to listen to a TikTok video for a recipe?But the next morning he asked if I had gotten chicken strips for him to make the nuggets. I so happened to have bought chicken strips to make for me and Maria’s lunch that day. We had all of the other ingredients needed for the TikTok recipe so we decided to allow Mario to make us dinner for the evening.

Now, you have to understand, Mario doesn’t make dinner. Sweet Maria has been cooking since she was around four years old and has made us scores of amazing dinners through the years. Mario has sat back and enjoyed them. So I was a little doubtful that he would actually come through and make these nuggets himself.

But sure enough, as 5:30 rolled around, he placed his phone on the counter and began to watch his video. He proceeded to crack some eggs in a bowl and add milk. He measured out flour and powdered sugar into another bowl. He asked if I would put an inch of oil in our big cooking pot and cut up 1 inch cubes of chicken. He tasked Maria with making the sauce for the nuggets – she chose to make Cane’s sauce because she believes it’s much better than Chick-fil-A sauce. Mario monitored the amount of ketchup and mayonnaise she was adding into the mix and asked to taste test it with each new ingredient she included. When the oil started to bubble, he directed me to be prepared to stir the coated nuggets after he cast them into the oil. He was like a five star chef dictating what needed to be done in the kitchen. 

He took two pieces of chicken and rolled them in the egg mixture. Then he dipped them in the flour and powdered sugar and rolled them over and over until they were heavily coated. Finally, he tossed them into the boiling oil in order to avoid getting splashed. I was in charge of turning them over and over while they fried in the oil to ensure that they got toasted on every side. At first, we were a bit concerned because they were not getting too brown. But then magically, after three or four minutes, they started to brown and look just like the Chick-fil-A nuggets from the restaurant. Woo-hoo!

We used tongs to lift them out of the oil and place them in a bowl. Jon acted as taste tester and nodded with approval. Mario had succeeded! He allowed me to help dip the remaining nuggets in order for us to be able to move the assembly line a bit quicker and get to our dinner. Nothing like some fried foods to comfort you in a pandemic – Chick-fil-A nuggets and french fries.

 The time spent in the kitchen with Mario so intent on getting the chicken perfectly coated and Maria trying hard for the perfect combo of mayo and ketchup made my day – literally, made my day. I try to remember that the days are long and often monotonous with work calls, lunch, walk around the woods, work calls… But damn if these moments together, if only constituting 1/25th of my day, keep me hopeful and instill much appreciated bits of joy.

Coloring (a few) eggs

Between the coronavirus and the kids being at an age that they barely want to eat dinner with us, I debated on whether to get an egg coloring kit or not this year. But my sentimental self could not resist the purchase. After all, I had spent an hour earlier in the day looking at the little nuggets with wide, excited eyes dipping their eggs into the neon colored vinegar and water mix. They got such a thrill over transforming a dull white egg into a burst of oval color.

Tradition – another reason why I decided that we would do it this year. Maria loves keeping with tradition. She was devastated when I told her that we would not be having Christmas Eve at Aunt Susie’s this past year. Susie thought it would be easier for everybody to come in on the weekend before Christmas Eve since all of the cousins have other families they need to see during that time as well. Maria must’ve said 20 times over how ridiculous the change was and how she liked having things the way they always had been. I knew she would be all in for coloring eggs.  Onthe other hand, Mario could have cared less. He wanted to stay sheltered in his gaming room and not be interrupted with tradition. Heck, he was starting his own tradition – playing eight hours straight of NBA 2K during coronavirus. Tradition somitition. Who cares.

I watch the family across the street with two kids under the age of four. They are constantly walking up and down their driveway, drawing with chalk, helping feed baby dolls. I remember Maria and Mario at those ages – how many times Jon and I would say to ourselves “one day, they will do their own thing and we will not have to watch them every waking minute. ” Life is so strange – that when the moment comes when you get exactly what you wished for so many days on end, you want a piece of the past back. You want them to be by your side asking you to play baby dolls or telling you to watch them do a crazy jump off the bed. Now, I open the door to Mario’s gaming room and see him with his headset on talking trash with his buddies like a complete teenager. I watch Maria talking into her computer with her teacher explaining why she thinks certain questions are relevant to a book they are reading. She sounds like she is in college (and looks it, as well). Where have these babies of mine gone?

Yet, every once in a while, they do make a reappearance. Maria jumps into bed with me and Jon as we are watching TV snuggling up with the both of us. Mario grabs my arm as we walk through the woods and stands as close to me as he did as a toddler. The connection is still strong but in a new way.

We squeezed in 15 minutes to color the eggs yesterday. Mario colored around three of them before he was done. He strategically asked to color the eggs while we were prepping for dinner so that as soon as he started coloring them, he had to go back to start cutting the chicken. Maria did the same amount and lost interest in favor of setting the dinner table (however, she did come back to them later on in the evening).

I had to be happy with 15 minutes. I got a few pictures; albeit, not nearly as cute as the ones from years past where they were standing side-by-side and entrenched in the coloring. But we were all present and in the moment talking about how Mario got such a vibrant green egg and how Maria was able to get a peach one for grandma.



Snarky and sweet

I got sick two weeks ago on a Wednesday. It started as bad congestion and chest pain. I swore it was pneumonia. The doctor belied my belief and checked my lungs and nose and ears.

“It’s a virus. Nothing you can do but rest.”

Are you kidding? I can’t afford to be sick for the remainder of the week. I asked again if there were any drugs I could take. He reaffirmed the negative. I drove home giving myself a pity party. Eventually, I tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had needed a break from working out – my muscles were sore, my feet hurt. The universe must have known the only way I’d stop my routine would be to be taken out by a sickness. But I had no idea it would be a 10 day sickness. Yikes. I haven’t been sick for that long of a period of time in years. Again, in retrospect, the universe probably knew that I needed to have this sickness for that long of a period of time in order to give my body a rest. It is amazing now that I am feeling a bit better how rested my muscles feel. Imagine that!?

Anyway, in the thick of my sickness, probably day five, I tried to take the dog on a walk to the woods. It was a short walk – maybe 15 minutes tops. I saw a man who I see routinely in the woods with his German Shepherd. He is always friendly. He’s probably about 60 years old. He stopped me to say hello and ask how I was feeling. He could probably tell that I was not feeling the best due to my watery eyes and red nose. He proceeded to tell me how he got a really bad chest cold and major congestion. He told me that the worst of it lasted four weeks and five weeks later, he still doesn’t feel quite the best. 

“Are you kidding?!” I blurted at him. I wanted to kick him for giving me this information. I was already in a state of depression feeling like I would never get better. Five days of sitting around the house, anxious about not being able to breathe, not being able to sleep well at all, took it’s toll on me. I was fretting every night about trying to sleep. I couldn’t shake the thought that I was going to lose my breath in the middle of my sleep. Hence, not being able to sleep at all.

When the kids got home that evening, they came to check on me. Maria would provide me with tissues and Mario would take my temperature. I told Maria about my conversation with the man in the woods. She immediately responded with consoling words.

“Mom, he’s a lot older than you and he probably is not in any kind of physical shape that you are in. You work out all the time and you are healthy. It will not take you for weeks to get better. Do not listen to him about that.”

Later in the evening, Mario came in to check on me. He was hoping that I felt good enough to play a game of mini hoop. Not so much. I told him as well about my meeting with the man in the woods. He stood in front of me looking quizzically. Then he responded with sarcasm.

”Wow, mom, you only have three weeks left before you feel better, then! All right, let’s countdown these next three weeks.” He walked out of the room to grab some cheez-it’s. He came back in and bent down towards me whispering “hey mom, only three weeks!”

The difference in our kids. Maria went immediately to consoling me and making me feel better that it would not take three weeks in order for me to be alive again. Mario went immediately to taunting me and making me feel it would take an entire three weeks to recover.

Funny thing is that it could easily have been the other way around. Maria can be just as snarky as Mario (“Mom, you are seriously wearing that shirt – you look 85 in it”) and Mario can be just as caring as Maria (“Mom, you don’t need to put on makeup; you are beautiful without it”).

I adore these two so very much. Even when they’re snarky, I know they do it with love. As I laid around feeling crappy for ten days, one of the thoughts that kept me going was conversations with these two munchies. They are certainly coming into their own – be it snarky or sweet….

Tousled

Winner of the losers!

The moms got a kick out of our sons winning the championship of the losers bracket. As my mom said “you should call it the lower bracket.” Indeed, we should, but that’s not as enjoyable.

It is so fun to watch Mario play basketball now. It was cute back when he was in second or third grade and you’d watch him try to dribble the ball without stumbling over his feet. We would crack up watching them try to bring their elbow back and launch the ball into the net. Now they are like miniature NBA players with the dribbling between the legs and the cutbacks and the driving into the net. I love the athleticism. I am amazed at one of Mario’s friends who can grab a rebound and run down the court passing defenders like they are but ghosts, and then lobbing a lay up even with a defender fouling him. I watch Mario in awe as he dribbles around a defender and makes a jump shot – swoosh in the basket. These boys have been playing together for 6 years. They know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. They have formed a connection. 

The moms have formed a connection as well. We get excited for each other’s kids when a great shot is made and cringe together when one of our boys hits the ground hard. I receive videos from moms of Mario making a three, and I send out videos of other boys making a shot. It makes it all the more enjoyable to have a posse sitting with you and watching the games. It also gives us a chance to connect about what the boys are up to, whether we signed up for activities in time, what camps are popular for the summer….

Jon has been helping coach for the last few years. He loves the time with Mario and the other boys. He’s a natural coach and mentor. The boys look up to him and actually listen to what he has to say. I’m sure some of that is due to Jon’s stature – he can be viewed as the hulk – but some is definitely due to his attitude and playfulness with the boys. While my mom and I watched them play yesterday, there was a moment when the boys had huddled for a time out. Jon and another coach went out on the floor to talk to the boys and as Mario turned to go back out to the court, Jon placed his hand on Mario’s head and tousled his hair. Mario turned and smiled at him. The moment filled me with joy. I could feel the bond between those two in that simple gesture and I was so grateful for Jon in that moment. He is an awesome dad to our kids, and they feel his love for them.

This tournament was the last hoorah for these boys. They move onto 7th grade basketball with a school coach rather than coaching by their dads. Mario talks about how ready he is for middle school basketball because he thinks it will be more competitive. He is excited to ride a bus to games. But I think he will carry a tinge of sadness when it starts up next year because he will miss Jon on the coaches’ bench. A hair tousle from another coach just won’t be the same.

Making the meatballs

The past two Sundays have been marvelous. Both children home with Jon and me all day long. Of course, both children want to be locked away in their respective rooms watching you tube or playing NBA video games – but they are at home. I feel whole with them in the house – like the package is complete. And when they actually choose (or sometimes are forced) to be in the same room with us, my heart comes close to exploding.

Jon spent nearly all Sunday afternoon cooking. He made homemade meatballs and ricotta and pesto shells. He relies on his Italian daughter to taste test. She does not hold back on the accolades or the criticism. Jon knows if he asks me or Mario, he will get a “they taste good” answer every time. We don’t have a refined palette. He yelled for Ri to come up from the basement to try his sauce. She took a taste off the wooden spoon and pinched her lips together while staring at the remnants of sauce on the spoon.

“It needs more garlic and salt.”

Next came the meatballs. Ri had complained last time that Jon’s meatballs were too dry. Jon was offended. The funny thing is that Jon does the same thing to his mom. He is brutally honest when it comes to her cooking – now he has a mini-him doing the same.

He asked her if she wanted to help him make the meatballs this time so they wouldn’t be too dry. She poured in the breadcrumbs as he mixed the meats and eggs together with his hands. Then they stood side by side and rolled the meatballs. It was straight out of an Italian Renaissance painting (or not). It did make me swoon watching them roll and chat. She loves time with him and she loves meatballs so I knew we’d keep her in the same room with us for a while. She even talked with Jon about her friends and gave him insight on who liked who – more than I’ve ever gotten out of her:) Them again, doesn’t surprise me, they do love them some gossip….

Bring on the commercial

I usually don’t mind when Jon heads to his cousin’s house on Sunday. However, when the Sunday happens to be Super Bowl Sunday, and we have watched the commercials as a family for the past few years, I mind. I don’t mind enough to argue they shouldn’t go (after all, it was his cousin’s birthday and there was going to be a smorgasbord of Italian foods) but I just got sad. I have to fight to find time where the four of us are together anymore between sports, robotics, work, friends, homework….

So, I struggled with whether to go with them or not. It was going to be a gorgeous day and I could use the time to sit outside and get work accomplished. I could also get a much-needed massage and clean up the house. But then I thought about all my self-help books and how they advised to forget about the dirty house and just experience life. This back-and-forth in my head was processed further in a conversation with my mom. It is comical getting her and I together. We are two of the most indecisive people on this planet so we just play off each other with “well, take this into account; oh, but what about this….”

I still hasn’t decided whether to go or not (although I was pulling in favor of going so I could be with my clan even if it would be driving for four hours in a crammed car) when my hubby got a text from his cousin informing him the matriarch was sick so they likely wouldn’t have Sunday dinner.

Decision made – not by me – by an outside force – but made.

And made in my favor. My Sunday rocked. I’m not sure if it was because I spent the 48 hours coming up to it thinking about how nice it would be to just have family time and lamenting the thought of having to sit in a car for four of the hours or whether the universe just bestowed a much needed family day on me, but whatever it was, I’m grateful.

I took a walk with Rocco when I woke up. Ri walked a loop with me on her way home from her friend’s house, which made me smile. Any time I get a walk in with my teenage, you tube, phone-addicted daughter, I’m happy. I made pancakes for Mario when I got home, and played Monopoly with both kids (although it ended poorly with Maria quitting based on Mario’s insensitive comments to her about not looking like she could wear Air Force Ones – it got better when Mario apologized and told her he’d buy her a pair).

Mario, Jon and I spent the afternoon working on Mario’s basketball hoop – we had started it weeks ago and then realized they gave us the wrong parts. It is always hysterical to work on a project together. Lots of laughs and lots of cursing. I took a break to get Maria out on a walk/run with me and Rocco in Tarpy. She did not want to go but was a good sport about it once we left the house. She talked about school and how excited she was for Florida. At one point in the walk, as we lunged up the steps towards the old Tarpy home, I felt a wave of gratitude. The sun poking through the massive oaks, the robins perched on empty branches, and my daughter by my side chatting away about life – it really doesn’t get any better. I halted her in her steps and made her take notice of it all. We breathed together. I photographed the moment into my brain.

When we got home, I took Mario to get his haircut. He got spoiled with a shampoo and head massage at Aveda. He thinks these pampered cuts will continue but he is sorely misunderstood….

We came home to the start of the Super Bowl. Maria came upstairs to watch with us. I had my wish – we were all together in the same room for two straight hours watching the game and the commercials. Mario ate pretzels and dip, Jon ate chicken and potatoes, Ri ate a chocolate chip cannoli, and I ate Hershey bars. To each his own….

Even if Mario expressed his frustration with me massaging Ri’s feet or Jon barked at Mario to stop flopping around – it was all good because we were all together while we barked and sighed. And the being together grounded me. This was my clan – my tribe – and we were all safe in our nest.

I woke up with a positive, ready-to-go attitude on Monday morning. This has not happened in a while:) I attributed it to the time together on Sunday. Funny how Jon and I used to dream of the day when the kids did their own things and we had the freedom to do whatever we desired. We would sit in the living room of our old house as they showed off their dance moves or sang a new song. It would be 9:30 am and we would have been up for three hours already. We were exhausted and it wasn’t even noon. It’s a reminder to absorb those moments – even when they feel everlasting and you just want one more hour of rest – because they fade away and you find yourself excited about getting to watch a commercial because your babes will be next to you.

Guilt

Every moment of mindfulness changes a moment of conditioning.

I felt horrible for skipping out on a Friday gathering with my girlfriends. They had come up from Cincinnati and gotten a hotel room for two nights in order for all of to hang out together. It’s a once or twice a year event with my four girlfriends from grade school and high school. I knew I’d be tired as hell on Friday evening, and I knew they would not. They would want to head out late and drink wine. I’d want to slip on pjs and decompress. Friday nights are rough for me after a week of work. I need downtime. I made the executive decision to tell them I would meet up with them on Saturday morning.

I felt horrible about it – very guilty that they had come to my city and I was not even going to meet up with them until the next day. This was not out of the ordinary. I live in guilt. Be it that I was raised Catholic, or that I’m the oldest child, I often feel guilt about decisions I make. I fretted about it throughout work on Friday playing each scenario in my head.

“If I go, I will be tired and pissy and will want to go to bed at 10.”

“But if I don’t go, I will feel bad and worry they are mad.”

I took a walk in Tarpy with Rocco as soon as I got home Friday evening. This is my go-to refuge after long workdays. I kept my phone in my pocket so it was easier to resist the urge to look at Facebook as I walked the same trail I walk every day with my pup. I asked myself why I felt guilty. What brought that emotion up in me so strongly. My mind traveled back to childhood, and my need to please. I wanted others to feel good. I remember going to the movies with my dad and not paying much attention to the movie itself. Rather, I focused on glancing over at my dad every few minutes to see if he was laughing and enjoying himself. If I had girlfriends over, I’d make up plans of everything we could do so they’d have fun – even if it wasn’t my idea of fun.

I looked up at the changing leaves on the trees. One hosted leaves colored a dull red on the bottom with yellow on their tips. Rocco rushed by me with a large stick in his mouth. I took a deep breath and let it out. Repeat.

One of my girlfriends texted me when I got home. She sent a picture of all the girls eating cheese and bread and said “can’t wait to see you tomorrow!” I texted them back to tell them I could not wait to meet up. They texted me back some inappropriate responses due to their drinking state…. made me laugh.

I glanced up from looking at my phone. Rocco licked my hand. It soaked in how useless my hours of guilt had been. They were having a raucous time together. They weren’t talking about what a schmuck I was for not coming Friday night. Get out of your thoughts, Mary.

I woke up Saturday morning, took a long run, and ended up having a most fabulous day and evening with my gals.