Looking up

We all know what today is. I always, ALWAYS spend time reflecting on this date...usually watching the remembrance service at Ground Zero. I cry a lot. I feel for those families who lost loved ones. I didn't know anyone there. I have never even been to New York. But as an American I feel it and as the wife of a firefighter, I feel it. I won't go into a lengthy post. I'll just say that today is a Tuesday. 9/11/01 was on a Tuesday. It's a beautiful, clear late summer day, just like it was then. And I see so much when I look up. An empty sky...and remember the empty skies in the days following 9/11. A sky that is blue and beautiful and covers us all, in every town in every nation in this world - people of all kinds. A hope that a new day lies ahead and that we are fortunate to have that gift and that we have a duty to embrace it. And I kind of see the souls off all those innocent people looking down who left that day...watching over.

Almost here!

Last May I had an awesome opportunity to do a reading in the NWI production of Listen To Your Mother at the Memorial Opera House in Valparaiso. I felt so fortunate to be part of the cast of amazing women, which ranged from a pediatrician to a mom of triplets to an adoptive mom to a single daughter. It was such a diverse group, but we seemed to all blend well and all hit it off great. 

The other day this arrived in the mail - it's a commemorative book that includes all 10 cities where Listen To Your Mother took place on or around Mother's Day. It really made me smile. And then I smiled even more when I got an e-mail that videos went up last week from 5 of the cities and the rest will be up this week! I am looking forward to watching the whole thing all over again. In the meantime, here's the link to LTYM's YouTube Channel - http://www.youtube.com/user/LTYMShow/videos if you'd like to take a peek at some of the shows.

What are little boys made of?

Remember this rhyme? For some reason, I thought there was something about toads in it...but I see it is SNAILS, not toads. 

What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails
That's what little boys are made of !"
What are little girls made of?
"Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what little girls are made of!"


Anyway, I snapped these pics of my 9-year-old and the toad he found - that I swear sounded like a squeaky toy. It kept making these very loud chirping sounds. I guess he was trying to round up the troops to rescue him. My son let him go in the garden soon after finding him. They've found dozens of toads in the backyard, but I've never ever heard on like this one.

Ok, I'll say it

Ok, I know I may face some criticism here, but I'm going to just say something. Something you might think, but you're not supposed to say out loud. I wanted a girl. I wanted boys, too. Actually, I always envisioned my family being complete with four - two boys and two girls. But, God had other plans. Those plans were for five boys - and no girls. And it really is a lovely, blessed and rowdy life.

Just because I'm admitting I wanted a girl, doesn't in any way lesson the tremendous love I feel for these darling little boys I brought into the world, it just means that once in a while I wish I had a daughter, too. Like yesterday when I was shopping. I was in the Fashion Bug dressing room and in walked a mom and daughter. They were giggling. They were trying on clothes and critiquing each other. They were making lunch plans. It has only happened a handful of times, but once in a while, when I see and hear a mother/daughter duo like that, I just get this pang - don't know how to describe it - I guess I just kind of feel cheated.

As a girl, I always looked forward to having a little girl of my own, who would grow to a big girl who I could go shopping with. Who would be the things I wasn't. And then I feel incredibly guilty for longing for that when I consider all that I have. I have so much and I feel terrible for missing what I don't have, even for a couple minutes in the dressing room of a clothing store. One day, I'll have a daughter-in-law and I hope we'll be close - and go shopping together and I'll have more than I ever wanted.

Just as I left the store, my husband sent a text that he and the boys were outside in the back yard while I was gone - catching a toad, spending time in the garage, using tools and making things with wood. For those few moments I was feeling pity and wishing I had a daughter - I want so much more for my husband to have that with his sons. Then another text  from my husband came at just the right time. "My money says they'll remember this day in 20 years." And of course, I sat in my car and sobbed. I have so many gifts, even if I don't have a shopping buddy. :)

My introduction to the soccer mom world

It has been a few years since one of my boys played soccer. Four of the five of them have played soccer, but when they did play, it was in the 4 to 6 age group through the local park district. This year, my 10-year-old decided he wanted to start playing again after giving up on baseball. I signed him up for a soccer camp over the summer and then enrolled him in a soccer league where they play in a variety of places around Northwest Indiana.

Today was the first game and it was a home game. Yesterday, I had heard that rain was in the forecast. I shrugged it off, especially when the sun was shining brightly this morning. When it was time to head out for his game just before 1:00, it started raining. Not just drizzling, but really raining. As I left I grabbed some water bottles and my purse. I didn't bother with an umbrella (luckily I had one in the car) or chairs or a raincoat or hat. I figured I'd be getting a call on the way over there that the game was cancelled.

I showed up and it continued to rain. The coach was out on the field and a few players were out on the field. The coach made a comment about the timing of the rain, but still they warmed up. One of the other moms showed up and I mentioned that I was surprised the game wasn't cancelled. She laughed. "No, they play in the rain," she said. "They'll only cancel if there's lightning."

I guess it's not like baseball. For many years, I had kids playing little league and if it had been raining like that for a baseball game, we probably would have gotten a call before we even left saying that it was cancelled. Apparently, soccer is like football. It's just a little rain...why not play? How was I supposed to know? However, once you're already there, it is nice to go ahead and have a game, rather than having to deal with make-up games and all the schedule juggling that it causes. It's also nice to have games just on weekends and pretty much only once a week as compared to a baseball schedule, where they would often play two or three games a week, plus have practices in between.

I also made another snafu when I walked over to talk to a couple of the only parents I recognized, all the way across the soggy field. Once I got there, with soaked, muddy, grass-covered feet, I realized that I wasn't supposed to be on that side of the field. That's where the coaches go. Spectators are relegated to the opposite side of the field. Ooops...noted. Won't do that again.

One part I really liked was that the game time is about half of what a baseball game is. It seemed to be about  a half hour, then it was a short half-time break, another half hour and the game was over. And...it got tied up just before the second half was over. But it still ended. In baseball, you never, ever end a game that is tied. Sometimes they go on for a long time. There was usually a 2-hour time limit in little league, but if it was the middle of an inning or the game was tied, it got extended. I could get used to this one-hour game stuff. And really with the constant running on the field, one hour of play is plenty. Baseball is much more idle.

I do need to brush up on the rules of the game and the positions, because I have to admit that I don't remember much at all...other than you can't touch the ball and that there are offense players, defense players and a goalie. But it will be fun to enter a new chapter. He seems to really like it and I'm thinking he may be playing it for a while. I'm looking forward to the season and to easing into soccer mom mode.

Life with my flame

Right now it is a quiet Sunday morning. Kids are rolling out of bed and hubby was off early this morning working an extra shift at the firehouse for a co-worker. For all of us parents, our lives - how we live, what our lives revolve around, our lifestyles - are dictated in part by what we do for a living. I'm married to a firefighter, which means our life is much different than a family where the head of the household might be a salesman or a stockbroker or an engineer or a teacher.

Our activities revolve around my husband's unusual schedule or we're forced to do things on our own with out him. Today is the first soccer game for one of our boys. Most dads have Sundays off and will be there to watch the game. My husband will be on duty. And if he manages to be in the area of the park and is able to take in part of it (it's a home game that's in town unlike the upcoming away games), people see him stopping there in uniform for a few minutes to see his son and complaints roll in that he is on the clock and should be working, not taking a little time to see his son at his soccer game. It has happened. Many times. I have had people say to my face, "They just sit around at the firehouse. They aren't really working." I usually respond with something along the lines of "No, they aren't working every minute of a 24 hour shift, but when they have to work they definitely earn it. Like tonight when you're in bed at 3 a.m. and he is out on an ambulance call."

Take this weekend for example. He came home yesterday exhausted after his 24 hour shift (he gets off at 6 a.m.) and said that their shift had 14 calls and that he had slept only 3 hours the night before. Yet, knowing that we had plans to go to the water park as a family that afternoon, he took a quick catnap (about 45-minutes) then drove us to a water park 45-minutes away so we could have some fun for a few hours. Last night as we gathered to watch a family movie together, he barely got half way though and he was asleep. Then he was up  at 5 a.m. this morning to work another shift. So, I'm here at home with the kids and heading off alone to a soccer game with my 10-year-old this afternoon. I spent a little time this morning online reading blogs and Facebook pages by other wives of firefighters. Firefighters have a brotherhood. We wives kind of have this sisterhood thing going. Even if you're reading something written by a complete stranger on the other side of the country, if she's a wife of a firefighter, she understand the life like no one else can.

So, it made me think back to this column I wrote for our local paper last Christmas. It kind of sums up our life - the craziness of it, the fear, the pride, the relief, the sacrifice. It originally ran here  as my Mom Moments column in the Times.



Every day he comes home is a gift

The presents have been unwrapped and stockings emptied. Another Christmas has passed and each year the material things mean less and the really important things are cherished more - the family and friends that you get to spend precious time with.

This year my kids spent Christmas without their father because he was at work at the firehouse with the others on his shift, ready to respond to any emergency that may arise on the holiday. It's just something that comes along with the job and that we've learned to adjust to.

I couldn't be prouder of my husband's career choice as a professional firefighter and paramedic. While it's a job that carries lots of risks, a lot of days are on the routine side (if you could call it that), with no fires to put out and patients to shuttle to the hospital for only minor ailments. So, for the families of firefighters, you can put your mind at ease, knowing that the dangers are not present every moment of every day. But then again, they can occur at any moment of any day.

You watch movies like "Backdraft" and "Ladder 49" and can kind of dismiss it as Hollywood drama, but in the back of your mind, you realize that there could be a day that someone you know could be in that position, falling through a burning roof or at the bottom of the collapse.

With the bleak state of the economy, the state government has put blame on public pensions, including those for firefighters. I've been reading more on why the system is set up the way it is - how the fire service aims to retire firefighters in their fifties rather than sixties as it can be done most effectively by a young workforce; and how it takes such a physical and mental toll on them over the years; and how firefighters are ineligible for social security that the general population receives. In a disaster, they are heroes, but when they collect a pension after 20-plus years of hard work, they become villains to taxpayers.

I've also been looking at statistics that I knew existed, but were easier to ignore, like the increased risks of cancer. With certain types of cancers, a firefighter has as much as a 102 percent higher risk than the general population of being diagnosed. Firefighters are also at higher risk for cardiac issues and other respiratory diseases.

There are more dangers to a firefighter than being in a fire. There are long-term effects that often rob them of the retirement that they've worked long and hard for. Many times they don't make it until retirement or don't last very long after they do. They do their work in all kinds of weather, on busy roadways, in the homes of strangers and in myriad situations that most would not want to be in. When people don't know who to call, they call the fire department.

Then there's the whole other side to it - the scars that you don't see. It affects you emotionally when you see a child dying in front of you despite your best efforts to save them or when you have to pick up the pieces of a teenager who ended his life by stepping in front of a train. Some have more of these moments in their careers than others, but they never forget them.

Firefighting isn't a job. It's a way of life for those who choose it. It is a brotherhood. No one can fully understand it, not even those they come home to.

And following the Christmas shift - as well as every other one - when he comes safely through the door, that's the best gift of all.

First day of school: then and now

The last couple weeks have been pretty crazy. I always try to cram as much fun as I can into those last few days off. Then there's all the school shopping and preparing. Today they are off to school for their third day of school (the second full day.) And after they go off this morning, I'll finally breath a little sigh.

This year, I had four heading off to school - 8th grade, 5th grade, 4th grade and 2nd grade. My oldest, now a high school graduate started his first night at the fire academy this week and he'll continue his part time job at Subway and his other side job mowing lawns.

The other night as I was scrambling to get supplies together, I thought back on the first day of school for my first son. Although he had been in preschool for two years, it seemed so much harder dropping him off for kindergarten. Preschool, after all, is optional. Kindergarten is mandatory and permanent and every day of the week and symbolizes over a decade of the same to come.

I recall bringing him to classroom and doing a puzzle with him and exploring the classroom. I knew it was time to go when the last of the other moms disappeared and it was just me. He was in a small, private school with the kindergarten class separate from the rest of the upper grades and with a separate entrance in the preschool wing. So, out the door I went to the tiny parking lot on the quiet street. I pulled up in front of the school to take a picture for my scrapbook and I remember that I couldn't focus. I was sobbing and my eyes were filled with tears and I couldn't see through the viewfinder. I had just left my baby in the care of someone else - something that so rarely happened when he was that age - and I was so apprehensive. It was an afternoon half-day class that lasted about 2 1/2 hours. Of course, he did fine and went on to have a wonderful year with his teacher (a male kindergarten teacher!) and his classmates.

Fast forward about 13 years and I'm sending all his brothers off for their first day of school. It's not quite as hard as it used to be. In fact, I was always a mom who's heart sank when I heard others moms talk about how they couldn't wait to send their kids back to school and couldn't wait for summer to be over. To me, I cherished that time when they were all home during the summer and there were long carefree days together. The past couple years, though, I started to get it. While I still would never say I couldn't stand having them at home, like I've heard some moms say, I can understand the anticipation in getting back into a routine and after weeks of hearing them bicker over silly stuff, I have even come to enjoy that quiet time when the house is empty.

My last one going off to his first day of kindergarten two years ago was so much different. At the school he attends, parents aren't even permitted to be in the school on the first day of school. It's a policy I am still very opposed to and I'm not afraid to say so. To me, it gives a feeling of distrust and a need for control and it offends me to be shut out of an important day in my child's life -- and in some cases I think it toughens the transition for everyone. It makes it feel like an inner city school that is run like a juvenile detention center, not a suburban school. But, that's a topic for another day.

So, on his first day, I packed up his supplies and took a picture. His dad was off work that morning, so we all went to take them for the first day of school. My little guy looked so little with so many older kids wandering around. We found his line and he got in the back behind kids he had never met, going into a place that was unfamiliar. It was hard to watch him walk away from me, following the line into the building, but I held it together.

This year, he was off to second grade. I still can't wrap my head around it. It feels like I should still be walking him into his preschool class and doing finger paints and dress up with him on the first day. But, it's not that way anymore. The night before, I was scrounging up school supplies and sloppily marking names on boxes. I used to neatly print names on every pencil. The next morning, I didn't even go to school drop off. I let dad do the deed on his own. I waved to them as they got into the car and then headed off. Unlike when I sent them off to school in previous years, there was no Oprah to tune in to and I had a job outside of the home to get off to.

It all goes by so quickly and so much of their childhood is a blur, but those first days stick with me...and I'm sure they stick with them as well.