Love on an Ordinary Day: Update

I’m sitting at Starbuck’s, trying desperately to shut out the sounds around me. I’ve left my home this morning — 15 children there, mine and those of visiting guests. I thought it would be quieter here. Instead, there is a trio sitting nearby, a man and two women. They are discussing their divorces, the marriages that preceded them and the divorces of their own parents, too. For a moment, I stop trying to write, stop trying to think. And I listen. Listen to the pain — the pain of abandonment in childhood, the pain of abandonment in middle age. And now they are talking about their children, split between two households, about broken dreams and dashed hopes....Read the rest at the Catholic Herald, please.

*fixed the link:-)

Yarn Along: Mama's Passion, Purpose, and Sanity

About a month ago, I was standing in front of the yarn aisle in my local Michael's store. A woman nearby was enthusiastically explaining to a stranger that knitting has a chemical effect on the brain. "They've done studies, you know. When you knit, you get into a zone, and your body releases endorphins that calm you. Also, your brain organizes itself. It's the most amazing thing. And it's addicting." The man taking in all this information left with enough acrylic yarn to make a man-sized sweater.

I keep meaning to go research the claims. 

I didn't knit at all last week. Early this week, I picked up Mary Beth's project because I couldn't bear to hear her whine about ribbing one minute more. I like to do 1X1 ribbing. So I ribbed the better part of 18 rows, wheezing, because for some reason, the DK weight of Belle Organic bothers me much more than the Aran weight. And of course, Aran is being discontinued.

That has been a running theme the last couple of weeks. Seems like everything I've swatched and loved is being discontinued. I just don't get it. I'd link to the yarns, but what's the use? You'll love them, too and be sad with me?

Her ribbing finished, I wanted to knit something calming. Something I was sure wasn't going to cause an allergic reaction. Something that wouldn't stress me about size or fit. Something maybe for me. To wear for the next date night?

A few weeks ago, I ambitiously bought some Misti Alpaca Tonos Pima/Silk for a sweater for me. (There's no alapaca in it.) I think it says it's DK weight. I can't get DK gauge with it to save my life. I have been obsessing over this shawl pattern. It's just so lovely and simple and beautiful. Gentle, gentle ruffles. And gentle is the theme for June. I found that I could hold the pima/silk doubled and almost get gauge for the shawl. So I forged ahead. I made it all the way through the left front, just absolutely loving the genius of the pattern and the way the yarn was coming alive as it was knit into gentleness. 

I have found that the rhythm and the yarn and the experience of knitting is everything the Michael's saleswoman promised. Knitting this shawl restored my sanity with a passion:-)

This morning, I got up and listened to my current read while knitting. And I missed a K2tog. It's a wonderful book by Dr. Meg Meeker, who wrote such excellent books as Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters and Boys will be Boys. The book is everything the title promises: The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.  She writes from the shared experience of motherhood with common sense and wisdom. I've been thinking (as I'm knitting) about this musing of Kate Wicker's. I know from where Kate writes. Been there, lived that. would have done some things differently had I known. Meg Meeker knows. This book is for Kate.

And for me. It was during the chapter on friendship that I totally messed up my knitting. I didn't notice the mistake until several rows later and I went back and tried to unknit. But those short rows and my inexperience were my unravelling. I'm going to have to take it all out and begin again. I remind myself that all was not lost in the process.  I did genuinely enjoy the knitting for knitting's sake.

Back to the book: this book is the handbook. It's the wise friend, the good idea, the common sense advice we all need at some point or many points in our mothering journeys. I plan to write more on it when I finish. For now, go buy this book. Actually buy two. Keep one and give one away to a mom you know. Any mom. We all need it. 

I did receive my hard copy as a review copy, but in the end, I bought it anyway, to listen to the audio version on Kindle. I will continue to listen and to knit, paying closer attention to both the book and the yarn the second time around.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Go visit Ginny for more knitting and readling tales. I've settled into a Wednesday afternoon tradition: a big cup of tea and enough time to myself to click through a big bunch of the links at Ginny's. I am enriched by the yarns shared there.

It was Perfect

He whisked in on a chariot, swept me off my feet, and took me away from all of this.

And it was perfect.

Remember? It had been one of those weeks. For several weeks, actually. And at the end of that particular week, he knew. He just knew. He knew better than I did that we needed to re-focus. On each other. Somehow, he understood that if we could just spend several hours, just the two of us, all would be right with the world.

I told him the other day that heretofore the most romantic thing he's ever done was to renew my driver's license without me even knowing it was in danger of expiring. Lest you think that's a small deal, I will divulge that five years prior, I had neglected to renew my license in a timely manner, so--nine months pregnant with my fourth baby--I had to go to DMV and take the test again. The written test. And I failed it. Which made a very pregnant woman cry. So, when it came up for renewal the next time and I was very pregnant with our sixth child,  he snagged it from the mail, filled out the forms, paid the fee, and presented me with a shiny new license a couple of weeks later. And I cried. With relief.

But I digress.

Last Friday, he outdid himself in the romace department. We went out to dinner. When we arrived at the white tablecloth restaurant where they have adults who wait on the tables instead of teenagers (good thing, too, because I'd had my fill of teenagers), they took us to a table set back in an alcove. With a curtain. Our own private little room, just as he'd requested. It was quiet and I could hear every word he said. I could watch his face in the soft light and hang on every detail. The dearest face in all the world looked back at me.

The food was truly delicious. I kept reminding myself to slow down, lest it all be over too soon. The food, the quiet, the light, the privacy, even the white tablecloth. Back to every word he said: I wondered a little about the words. It was a date night, after all. Was I allowed to talk about our children? I mean, it was a date. Just us. Turns out it was fine to talk about the kids, good even. And all the other things I wanted to say? He already knew them, without my even saying a word. He knew them and he spoke the words I so wanted to hear in reply. Spoke them with heart. That dear face leaning close to mine so that I wouldn't miss even the slightest whisper.

We left the restaurant and walked around the Town Center, holding hands and taking in the sights. I reminded him that we'd had two other dates there: one the day Clinton admitted he lied about "that woman." And one when we went to pick out birth announcements before Stephen was born (he's twelve now). We don't get out much. 

On this night, though, we got out. He'd arranged for us to stay the night at a nearby hotel. A beautiful hotel. With crisp sheets and room-darkening shades and air conditioning. Just us. Tangled together all night long without any chance that we'd hear the thundering approaching steps that people so often refer to as "the pitter-patter of little feet." It was just us. And us was more than enough. After 23-plus years of sharing time and space with the people we helped to create, I was a little worried about what would happen when it was just us. We are a team and we work together exceptionally well; we give 110% towards raising these children. It's almost always about them. And rarely about us. So, what would happen when the "them" was taken from the equation?

What happened was magical. Truly magical. 

Perfect.

 I slept so well, so soundly, so peacefully--until 9:15 the next morning when room service rapped on the door to announce the arrival of the lightest, most savory fritatta and the plumpest, most beautiful berries in maple glaze. We breakfasted in bed and laughed at texts from various children left at home. We lingered in the glow of perfect, magical us. 

I returned home relaxed and happy and very much in love.

Still.

Disclaimer: No toddlers were weaned for the making of this perfect date. Sarah Annie survived just fine. 

I'm going to blog;

I am.

I have a dozen or more posts in my head, things I really do want to share here. But. 

But last week was whirl of company, crisis, and chaos--the likes of which I've never experienced in nearly 23 years of parenting. And.

And I went into that week after  solid week of battling--and losing to--a particularly nasty respiratory bug. It lasts forever. I'm still wheezing. And it's still slowly making its way through the family. And it lasts forever. Did I already say that?

Did I mention that our air conditioner died last week and it was 102 degrees outside? It did. I had a fever. And it was 98 in my bedroom at 11:00 PM.

My house looks like I was sick and then I had company, crisis, and chaos.

I never can really sit to write when my environment isn't in order. Even if I leave my environment and go to Panera to write. {Panera, where I have of late received crisis and chaos telephone calls.} Anybody notice that I only posted once last week? And since then, it's only been guests posts? Yep. 

No order. No blogging.

Ducking out now, to think and think and think.

While I vacuum.

And mop.

And fold laundry.

Maybe tonight I'll write. 

Or maybe not?

Just wanted you to know I have been thinking about you.

Hope your summer is off to a calm, peaceful, orderly beginning. :-)

Patrick Reflects on Soccer So Far

About a week ago, my mom was asked by one of her readers if I would write guest post on her blog about how to achieve the success that I have in soccer. My first thought was, “why me?”  Then I thought about the year I’ve had and I realized that I’ve become a role model to young players. That’s a very cool, very scary feeling. So here it is: the keys to my success in soccer so far.

I’ve played soccer since I could walk, kicked anything and everything I came across that resembles a ball and I’ve watched countless games. I don’t remember choosing soccer, but rather it seems to have always been part of me. To this day, about twice a year, my dad asks me flat out, “Do you want to play soccer anymore?” My response has always been "yes" and I can’t see myself not playing any time soon. That brings me to my first key to success: I love to play. 

When I started my soccer career at age 4, playing for the under-6 “Blue Devils,” I couldn’t wait for Saturdays because it was another chance to “make the other team cry.”  Yes you read that right, I loved to make other kids cry. Today as I sit here I have (almost) the same thoughts going through my head. Only a few more days until I get the chance to win. The phrase that comes out of the mouth of youth sports coaches that annoys me most is, “It’s not about winning.” For me, its a little bit about winning; winning on the soccer field, winning in basement hockey, winning in backyard soccer, and even this past year, winning in the classroom. Now I realize that is not the perfect attitude for youth sports and I probably shouldn’t have that mentality; but I do and that is the second key to my success: I’m a competitor.

The third key is something that has always been totally out of my control. I was born with a tremendous amount of God-given talent. Raw talent can take you a long way; I’ve seen it. However, you will most definitely hit a brick wall if you rely on talent alone.  In my very first years of travel soccer, I played with a kid who had even more talent than I did (although I would have never admitted it). We were the ultimate duo-- we won every tournament there is the win in the Washington, D.C. area. It wasn’t so much the winning though; it was how we were winning- nobody could play with our team and we won almost every game by 5 goals or more. That was from U-9 to about U-12. Right now he is a high-school dropout and doesn’t play soccer anymore. So what was the difference between the two of us? I had a huge support system behind me. He didn’t. That may be the most important part of my success. I have parents, siblings, coaches, friends, and one special priest who have pushed me to my limits and told me that if I worked hard I could achieve my dreams.  This was the most important part of my success. Without people who have your back you have no chance at being successful. 

My dream has always been to play in a World Cup and I had a chance to do that this year. I left my family and moved to Bradenton, Florida to train with the under-17 National Team all year in preparation for the U-17 World Cup in Mexico this summer. Last week, they cut the preliminary roster of 28 players down to the 21, who will represent the United States in Mexico in a few weeks. That’s where I was let go. I trained hard all year and in the end, I was told I wasn’t good enough. Bummer. I sat in Bradenton and thought about what to do. I didn’t sit there very long. Reason one: I love to play. Reason two: I am a competitor.