Purposeful girlfriend

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I called my girlfriend tonight as I walked out of work.  I usually never get a hold of her – we keep up with each other by leaving long-winded messages on voicemail.  Buy tonight she answered.  And we laughed. I needed that.

K is my soul-mate girlfriend.  We have known each other since first grade.  We are both highly opinionated and strong-willed.  We both believe in ourselves and stand up for our principles. We both are attorneys who have experienced all of the stress and politics of law firms.  We both believe in supporting organizations that care for the underprivileged.  We both hate the suburbs.  The only difference I can think of is the one we had a while back over who should be the 2008 candidate for President (she was for Hillary and I was for Obama; I should have listened to Kath).

K became a mama a little over a year ago when she adopted her precious baby girl. Now, in addition to talking about the woes of practicing law or the aches and pains of turning 40, we talk about raising kids.  Tonight, we discussed our never-ending search for our purpose in life.  K found herself running to the mall to buy something and then walking around for an hour looking at books promising to provide the meaning of life.  I told her I searched the internet last night for an hour googling “meaning of life” and “life’s purpose.”  Searching, searching, searching.  I don’t think it’s a bad activity but I also think that I could probably realize just as much if I allowed myself to take time to meditate and have some quiet time.  Then again, I would probably be like Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love when she goes to the meditation school, sits down to meditate, and can only think about the twenty things she has to do and how she is being bad because she is not “meditating.”

M&M experiencing the joys of sliding!

We got on the conversation of kids.  Aren’t we supposed to feel happy and fulfilled because we have kids?  We are raising these helpless little creatures and showing them an exciting world where they can experience adventure and wonder.  What more can we ask for in life?  Obviously, lots.  Our conversation took me back to an article in 2008 in the Daily Beast.  The article reported studies that found that parents are less happy than non-parents.  More stressed, more depressed. Makes you want to take some birth control ASAP, heh?!  The article opines that maybe it’s because we are having kids at a later age and we look back to our 20s and even 30s and think “I loved having that martini with my girlfriends after work” or “How great was it to wake up on Saturday morning at 10 am, go for a run, and spend the day watching old movies.” None of those activities will see the light of day when babes arrive in the house.  Hell, I’m lucky to be ten minutes into a movie without some form of interruption whether it’s a kid crying or a toddler peeing the bed.

But the article did end with an interesting tidbit.   Although parents reported being less happy, they did find greater purpose in life when having children.  K and I agree that having our babes does push the purpose bar of our life up quite a bit.  There is no doubt that raising kids and experiencing the joys and depth of emotion that kids bring to you is purposeful. But it is not our only purpose.  And there we stand.  Still trying to search for that additional purpose for why we are here.  What more we can do in the second half of our lives to feel that we made the most out of this one, precious life?  It drives us nuts on many a day – we call one another and question “why can’t we just be content in our jobs and with our babies and our husbands and our homes?”  Don’t we “have it all?”  Obviously not.  In the end, as much as we joke that we wish we could just be unaware and unquestioning. I think it is yet another strength that we both carry.  Our ability to always search for more, to always push ourselves to grow, to always ask questions.  To have a girlfriend that I know is questioning right along side of me even if she is 100 miles away, provides a comfort to me that cannot be provided by any other soul.

No Rules

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Do you really think rules will help these goofballs?

Mario gave us a huge insight into his thinking tonight when Jon picked him up from school.  He had gotten all the way up to “Space” at school.  His classroom has the kids’ faces pasted to rocket ships and they move from earth all the way up to Space depending on how good they are.  Jon commented on how proud he was of Mario for getting to Space and then asked why he behaves so well at school and not at home.  His response: “because school has rules, dad. You and mom don’t have rules at home.”

So there we have it.  Little does he know how he just changed life as he knows it at home.  I told Maria that story when I picked her up from school, and she immediately started to plan when we should rule out “rules for Mario.” Jon asked about rules that would apply to her and she shook her head: “I don’t need ’em, dad.” 

Of course.

Broken windows and dreams

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We survived the holiday weekend.  Maria’s cousin, Alana stayed with us from Saturday through Monday morning.  I love having her over because the girls get along so well.  They go up to Ri’s room and play barbies or listen to Justin Bieber or play Pet Shop in the basement.  I can actually read a little bit of a book or clean the house without having Maria at my heels asking me to play.  Alleluia.  And I love that they are so close.  I wish I would have been as close to my cousin when I was little.  They are good for each other, too.  Maria shows Alana how to be more daring and Alana shows Maria how to play something for more than three minutes.

Mario stayed at Grandma Ionno’s house on Saturday night until Sunday.  He loves himself some Grandma and Grandpa time because he is all by himself and spoiled to death.  He gets to wrestle, show-off, watch tv, and lay around in his pjs.  Not a bad life.  He did want to come home on Sunday night, however, because he knew Alana would be there.  Jon explained to him that the girls may want alone time and Mario chirped back “Alana will want to play with me because she tells me all the time how cute I am.” Oh, ok…. We gotta watch that head of his.

When he walked in, the girls showered him with hugs and love (no wonder his head is big).  They all went upstairs and played “Big Time Rush”. This game consists of Maria and Alana being themselves and Mario being one of the BTR singers.  He played James when we saw him.  He walked by us with his nose in the air as Maria and Alana fawned over him.  It seemed to come natural to him – scary.

I walked up to Stauf’s to do some reading around 5 pm.  Jon watched the kids.  I got a call around 5:45 from Jon.  “Get home now” he stated firmly.  “Mario punched his window out.” My mind leapt to blood everywhere, glass shattered all over.  Luckily, his had suffered a couple of cuts with no glass in them and the glass mostly landed on the roof.  Jon had already subjected him to the wall when I arrived home.  He held a tissue on his hand.  He looked like a mean mama-jamba.  He looked like a prize-fighter.  Jon and I are in for it.  I made him put alcohol on it so that he felt the sting – until that time, he really didn’t see any negative consequences to his behavior.  After I stung him with the alcohol, he cried and shouted “I don’t want to do that again!”  When Jon asked him why he would want to punch his window, this was his response: “I wanted to get on the news.” Oh, are we truly in trouble.

Mario showing his wounds

After that chaos, the kids fell asleep in Maria’s room; Maria and Alana in the bed and Mario on the floor in his sleeping bag and band-aid. 

On Monday, we all talked about what an incredible figure Martin Luther King was and is in our society.  Both girls knew what he stood for and what he fought against.  I told Maria how we walked across the Broad Street bridge when she was one year old in order to honor him.  She couldn’t remember.  Mario knew that MLK “had a dream.” I told him how I remember going to his classroom when he was two and seeing his picture on the bulletin board.  The teachers had taught the kids about MLK’s famous “I have a dream” speech.  They then had the kids tell them what they dreamed of.  The words underneath Mario’s picture were “I dream of ‘popsicles’!” 

Thanks for giving us dreams, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lighten Up!

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Doing an alright job with these darlings

I had coffee with my girlfriend last week and spent a majority of the get-together lamenting about how I feel like I am not doing enough with my life.  She felt the same way.  We both tore off chunks of our chocolate chip muffin and shoved them in our mouths as if those morsels would satiate us and cease our thinking on this topic any further.  It didn’t work.

It doesn’t work for a lot of women, it seems.  I am around professional women all day (typically attorneys) and I can’t think of one that has felt she is doing everything she should be doing.  One feels like she should stay home more with her kids; another feels that she should express her artistic side more by joining a band; another feels like she should get more involved in her local community; another feels like she should be a first grade room mother for her son.  I always feel like I should be doing more to help the under-privileged. 

Here I am: a woman who worked throughout college and obtained a bachelor’s degree; worked as a Fitness Director; went to law school and obtained a JD; married a wonderful man and had two adorable children; beat out others for a great job with lots of flexibility; is blessed with good lungs for running; lives in an awesome neighborhood; has the most loving and accepting family; sits on the boards of two non-profit organizations; and can still eat a pint of ice cream a night!  What more could I ask for from life?

Obviously, with the way I think, LOTS!

I am part of a large crowd of women.  Should that make me feel better? It doesn’t.  It’s not that I want to stop pursuing ideals and goals that I set for myself, I just want to stop feeling like they should all be completed by 5 pm.  I want to stop beating myself up about not taking Maria to lunch when my colleague tells me about her lunch with her daughter.  I want to pat myself on the back when I take Maria and Mario to a board meeting to let them hear how people who are less privileged than us have to live.  I want to want a lot out of this life; I just want to do it keeping a smile on my face.  As writer Elizabeth Gilbert says “Lighten Up!” 

Let’s just anticipate that we (all of us) will disappoint ourselves somehow in the decade to come. Go ahead and let it happen. Let somebody else be a better mother than you for one afternoon. Let somebody else go to art school. Let somebody else have a happy marriage, while you foolishly pick the wrong guy. (Hell, I’ve done it; it’s survivable.) While you’re at it, take the wrong job. Move to the wrong city. Lose your temper in front of the boss, quit training for that marathon, wolf down a truckload of cupcakes the day after you start your diet. Blow it all catastrophically, in fact, and then start over with good cheer. This is what we all must learn to do, for this is how maps get charted—by taking wrong turns that lead to surprising passageways that open into spectacularly unexpected new worlds. So just march on. Future generations will thank you—trust me—for showing the way, for beating brave new footpaths out of wonky old mistakes.

Fall flat on your face if you must, but please, for the sake of us all, do not stop.

Map your own life.

The joys of snow

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Old man winter decided to shower us with snow today. Finally.

Snowflakes danced on my nose and eyelashes as I ran through the neighborhood this morning. My IPod died on me ten minutes into my run. Irritation and anger raced through me for not charging it the night before. However, as I continued to run and pout, I heard vibrations of snow on the trees and a trio of birds still chirping away in the 15 degree weather. I changed my thinking: rather than be irritated for 60 minutes, I became grateful for the glorious morning and the snowflakes and the weekend and the opportunity to be by myself for an hour. The results were much better, indeed; I had a most enjoyable run.

Maria teaching Mario early

I came home to a trashed house – the remnant of a crazy week juggling colds, homework, work, and kids’ addiction to electronics. As I began to clean, I sat Mario down with a phonics workbook. He is having trouble with his ABC’s and we are trying to think of ways to help him learn them. When Maria was his age, she had numbers and letters down pat. Mario’s teachers tend to put less emphasis on rote memorization and more emphasis on creativity. I like that style of teaching but I still want Mario to learn the basics! Then again, he isn’t hitting Kindergarten for another year and a half so I should probably just chill.

All Maria needs to hear is that Mario needs to learn something and she transforms herself into “teacher-mode.” She set up a desk and asked Mario to sit with her. She quizzed him on letters and when he got them wrong she gently told him “that is not right, buddy; let’s try it again.”  He surprisingly hangs in there with her, even letting her lead in the ABC song. He gets to “LMNOP” and he mumbles something incoherent and continues on with Q and then straight to Y. I have no doubt that Maria will straighten him out and get him reciting his ABC’s in no time.  She is a born teacher – even giving Mario a report card based on his ABC’s (“You did ok but keep practicing.”).

After an hour and a half of cleaning, Jon and Patrick and Mario left for Marion to see Jon’s mom and dad, and I stayed home with Maria and Alana (Mario ended up staying with Grandma and Grandpa Ionno after just pleading to them one time to spend the night – he is spoiled). The girls stayed in Maria’s room for a while playing a game that scares me. One of them is the mom and the other the teenage daughter. The daughter screams at her mom and tells her she hates her and drives off in the family car. It seems to always start this way. A snapshot of the future? Let’s hope not….

Maria has inherited my ADHD so after a short time of playing that game, she was ready for something new. She threw on her coat and went outside to play in the half-inch of snow. Alana followed. I continued to clean the counters. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. I answered and saw the girls giggling around the house. I went back to cleaning. They rang again. I opened the door and they both lobbed tiny snowballs at me. I stood in the house with snow falling off me. Should I get mad about the snow in my house or the snow on my shirt? Should I get mad that they interrupted my cleaning.  No.  Instead I got even!

I threw my coat and shoes on and chased them around the yard until I got ’em both with snowballs. Since we were covered in snow, we decided to try to build a snowman. The snow was light and fluffy and sparse, which prompted both girls to tell me there was no way to build one.  But I always remember my dad’s actions on a summer day at the farm months ago. He had bought Mario a kite and Mario wanted to fly it but there was absolutely no wind. Everyone told Mario he could not fly it; that is, except my dad. He took him outside to give it a try. With a hill and a will, my dad ran down the hill with that kite flying high in the sky behind him. Mario jumped up and down with sheer joy on his face and we all stood in awe.

The girls with Alycia Snowy

And, following my dad’s footsteps, Maria, Alana and I made ourselves a sweet, little snowman. It took lots of work – the girls shoveled their hearts out – but we did it. Alycia Snowy Ionno is her name and she is a beauty.

Caribbean Queen

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Jon turned on a “goin’ Back to the 80s” concert tonight.  Billy Ocean was singing “Caribbean Queen.” I could still recognize him even though he had visibly aged.  He still looked fine, though, with his dreads and his warm face.  Maria’s mouth dropped when she saw the crowd in their flourescent clothing and big hair.  “Why are they dressed like that?” she asked me and Jon.

“Because that’s how we dressed in the 80’s.”  She looked at me like she didn’t believe me but then understood I was not lying and shook her head in amazement.  She proceeded to ask what the 70’s were like and the 90’s.  Jon and I confirmed that the 80’s was the best generation.  Mario and she listened to a slew more 80’s songs entranced more by the crowd members than the music.  One activity that we can all engage in is the listening of music.  At the old house, we plugged in Jon’s Ipod and listened to songs in the bedroom with Maria and Mario dancing on our bed and Jon and I swinging them around.  I can’t tell you how many times we jammed it out to “Move It Move It” or “Who Let the Dogs Out.”

Thanks, Justin.

Nowadays it is more like Katy Perry.  At night, Maria lays in her bed and I give her a goodnight kiss.  She then asks me to turn on her CD player.  Justin Bieber begins his serenade to her, and  she drifts to sleep.  Mario usually heads into Maria’s room an hour later and towards the end of the CD.  He snuggles next to her in bed listening to Justin’s final songs while drifting off to sleep himself.

Yogurt Pizzazz

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Maria loves to cook.  She would much rather cook macaroni and cheese than draw a picture or play Wii or read a book.  In fact, she has her own recipe for mac-n-cheese that is pretty daggone good (she allows for a much more generous portion of butter and milk than is typically added). 

Tonight, she concocted a brand new dish for me.  A dessert – my favorite.  She named it “Yogurt Pizzazz.” Before bringing it to me, she acted like she was a waitress.  She held her pad and paper and took my order.  When I said I was not hungry, she begged me to eat.  Then I said I wanted chocolate, and she said I needed something a bit healthier.  She described a dish that would have calcium in it and fruit.  I would love it.  How could I not be sold?  Mario stood by her side whispering “Ria, I am going to be the waiter and you be the cook, ok?” 

Chef Maria and her yogurt pizzazz!

They left for a few minutes and returned with my yogurt pizzazz.  Maria had mixed vanilla yogurt with chocolate syrup and fresh strawberries.  Not bad at all.  In fact, pretty darn good and the name fits it perfectly.  Who knows, she just may be the next Rachel Ray or (gasp) Martha Stewart?!

Skippin’ Football Sunday

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The family woke up on Saturday and got working on cleaning our rooms.  It caused much heartburn in Maria on Saturday night – she worried that she would be bored cleaning her room.  “How can I make it fun, mom?” 

“I used to listen to music and dance around my room while I cleaned,” I told her.

A while later, she headed to her room to go to bed.  Jon and I were sitting downstairs when we heard Justin Bieber’s voice coming from upstairs.  A few minutes later we heard crying.  Jon went upstairs to see what was wrong.  Maria stood in her room with tears down her cheeks and told Jon “I am trying what mom told me to do but it isn’t working.  I am still not having fun.”  Poor thing….

That is why when we woke up on Sunday morning, I jumped out of bed and made cleaning fun!  I smiled and laughed and skipped around as I helped Maria pick up her room.  Mario jumped right in, too, picking up barbies and folding clothes.  Maria picked up a book here or there, made her bed and then moved on to getting dressed.  She is going to be one that takes two hours to clean her room on Saturday morning.  When we moved to Mario’s room, he lost interest in cleaning.  He was more concerned about jumping off his loft bed and doing kick stands around his room.  Maria helped me check the clothes on his floor to determine whether they were too little for him anymore and if they were dirty.  He somehow still does not understand where the laundry basket is located. 

Maria and Alana outside of the hospital with the flying pig

After cleaning, we got ready for the day.  Jon scooped up Mario under his wing, and headed to Dover, Ohio to visit Big Mario and Vicki for a day of pasta and wrestling.  I scooped up the Maria and Alana and headed to Cincinnati to visit my grandma in the hospital and to play at Aunt Julie’s house.  We listened to Big Time Rush for most of the ride and then colored pictures for grandma.  The kids were anxious to see grandma – I think they were more anxious to see “sick” people and the devices and instrumentalities of the hospital.  Neither of them remember a hospital.  They peered at the people in the hall and in the beds entranced by the fragility of life.  When they got to grandma’s room, they greeted her skeptically not quite sure if they should get near her.  As time went on, they got better at engaging with her eventually singing Christmas songs to her and talking to her about school.  Alana must have sung her 10 religious songs that she learned in Catholic school.  When Grandma asked Maria to sing a song, Maria belted out Jingle Bells!  My grandma looked at me and said “you need to get Maria in Sunday school.”  

After grandma’s, I took the girls to a delicious bagel shop in Blue Ash.  I grew up on these bagels and cream cheese.  They are fabulous.  We got toasted bagels with a load of cream cheese and sat at the bar.  Heaven.  Next, we headed to Julie’s to see her dogs and visit Grandma Lolo.  The girls LOVE to walk Julie’s dogs because they are just right for them.  Both are maybe 25 pounds and do not pull on their leashes.  They allow the girls to drag them anywhere.  A win-win situation for all. 

I went back to the hospital to be with grandma. We had a pleasant conversation about her friends, card parties, and needing solitude.  Us Menkedick brood all have that solitude gene in common – we need alone time to be our best.  We picked it up from grandma, I learned. When I returned to Julie’s house, the girls were downstairs listening to records on a Fisher Price record player.  Yes, records!  Maria was amazed at the looks of the record player, laughing at how I used to have to listen to music on such an antiquated device!

We hopped in the car to head back to Columbus.  Alana’s parents are much more strict than Jon and I and wanted Alana home by 7:30 since it was a school night.  We raced up I-71 in order to hit McDonald’s Playland for ten minutes (it has become a staple with each Cincy trip).  We got Alana home 1 minute late and proceeded to Orange Leaf for a frozen yogurt treat before bed. 

Mario walking up the long hill.

The boys met up with us at the house – they were exhausted from four-wheeling and wrestling all day.  Little Mario also decided that he was old enough to walk up the long hill from Mario’s shop to Mario’s house all by himself.  He got tired of waiting for Jon to finish his conversation with Big Mario and informed Jon that he was big enough to take the trek himself.  Jon agreed, not sure if he would make it or not.  But that boy has determination and will when he needs it and he made it.  

We all gave each other kisses hello, got in our pjs and headed to our beds – no time to watch football on this jam-packed Sunday….

What did we used to talk about?!

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My girlfriends and our talking points!

I drove down to Cincy today to take care of my grandma.  On the way down, I got the chance to make all of my phone calls that I usually never have time to make.  I called my girlfriends in Cincy and my former colleague at the law firm.  The conversations all went something like this:

“How was your holiday”?

“Great, INSERT KID’S NAME was so cute.  He unwrapped his presents and had a big smile on his face. He’s been starting to talk.  Do you think he should be talking more?  He hasn’t learned how to go to the bathroom yet.  Do you think I should be potty training him yet?…

Before kids, the conversations would have went something like this:

“How was your holiday?”

“Great.  I went out dancing. Remember that dance club we went to last week?  Saw that cute guy there, too.  I hit that running trail that we love. It was so nice to get a ten mile run in and then hit the sauna….” 

Why is it that once we have kids, they are all, or at least a majority, of what we talk about?  I am positive that I had a full life before M&M but the way that I talk, you would never know.  Dance club? More like Kids Club anymore.  Workout class. More like Toddler Gymnastics class.  The Onion wasn’t too far off when it parodied this dilemma. It has become a game for me and my girlfriends now.  As soon as we notice that we are talking only about the kids, we struggle to find at least one other topic to discuss.  It’s just that a majority of our lives are spent with these little munchballs so a majority of our conversation turns toward them.  But I do feel bad for the poor souls who don’t have kids and have to hear us drone on about our little darlings.   Even though I must say that those other poor souls without children tend to spend a majority of their time talking about their dogs…. 

 

Hangin’ with the Cousins

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Baby Grace

Liz and Baby Grace came to visit us today. Maggie and I were hoping she would come up and spend the day with us! Baby Grace has been my biggest fan lately running up to me when she sees me and begging to be held. I love the way that she chirps “Aunt Mary.” Mario showed her all around the house and played with her in Maria’s room. He tried to find books that she would enjoy, barbies she would like, and toys that were “baby toys.”

Maria taking Zach over!

Soon after they arrived, Maria came home from a sleepover with her friend, Zach (when are girls too old to sleep over at boys’ houses?!). Zach and her are the best of friends and the worst of friends. They play really well for an hour or two, and then they scream at each other non-stop. They both are passionate, loud people and neither will back down when they believe they are right (and they always believe they are right). Zach’s mom reported that they woke up by 8 am and by 11 am, it was time to split them up. Maria was bummed about coming home until she realized Gracie was here. She grabbed her up and gave her the “Maria Bear-Hug” smothering Gracie in pure love.

The kids danced to  Wii Dance Party 3. Mario and Maria both figured out that the number of stars you get relates to how well you followed the moves. They both get upset when they doesn’t dance perfectly. They should add stars if you sing along to the song – Mario would have the max. He tries to sing to every song. After we danced for a while and I carried Gracie to every room, we decided to get some lunch at Champps. Thank god for electronics. Maria and Grace played with my Iphone and Mario played his leapster allowing for Liz, Maggie and me to talk. A wonderful gift! How did Maggie and Liz turn from little babes to smart, funny, endearing women? I swear it was yesterday that I was changing their diapers and playing peek-a-boo with them!

The crew at Champps

After lunch, Maria opted to hang with Liz and Mag and Grace at Target and Mario and I went home. We got out the stroller (it hit 52 degrees today) and headed to Giant Eagle to find discount Christmas toys and candy. I supply M&Ms at work and getting the big bags for $1.00 is too good of a deal to pass. We also scored a baby doll for Gracie. On the way home, Mario asked me to tell him a story. Mario loves stories about him in different situations. Typically, he is in the forest saving animals or on a boat catching big fish. After my fourth one, I looked down and he was fast asleep (yeah, I have quite enticing stories)! It reminded me of when Mario was one-year-old and I used to stroll him around the neighborhood to get him to sleep. I miss those days… somewhat.

Making "grass" angels

When we got home, the girls were waiting for us. Maggie and Liz were on the couch watching football and Maria and Graice were playing in the basement. Maria loves to watch Grace and try to teach her things. But Grace is an independent little soul, too, so she often wants to do things on her own. This leads to frustration on Maria’s part and a bit of crying. We decided that we would take a walk with Gracie to see if she would close to Maria on the playground. Sure enough, Gracie started to take to Maria as we walked along and maria continued to play peek-a-boo behind the trees. When Maria made a “grass” angel at the park, Gracie was hooked.

When we got home, we sat around watching football, eating ribs and ice cream, and taking turns playing with the kids. Liz and Mag left around 7:30 and the house felt empty. Messy, but empty. When I took the kids upstairs to bed, Maria asked if Gracie could come over again soon. In a heartbeat, I told her. I miss the chirping of “Aunt Mary.”