What Makes A Dad?

It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.  ~Johann Schiller

I'm not sure how old I was when my mom started dating Terry.  I was probably in 2nd or 3rd grade.  They got married the summer before I started 5th grade, and we've been a full-fledged family ever since.  I always said that until my mom met Terry, I didn't really have a good father figure.  My grandfather was in my daily life, and he did lots of grandfatherly things with us, but he was always a grandfather, not a dad to me.  When Terry came along, that role was filled.

When I talk about my dad, I am talking about Terry.  The man who fathered me was no dad.     A dad goes to all your school functions.  He takes interest in your interests.  He knows which cereal is your favorite, and who your friends are.  He hears your dreams and helps you achieve them.  What Tom lacked, Terry made up for in multiples.  Terry repaired the damage done by a man who was selfish and unkind, and made it possible for me to believe that men can be good.  

When I think of Terry many terms come to mind - integrity, dedication, fairness, diligence.  I can remember many arguments with my sisters where my mom would say something like, "just knock it off," and my dad would want to hear all three sides of the story before giving a well-contemplated final verdict on the the matter.  He taught us that honesty was most important, above all else.  When you are wrong, admit it, apologize for it, accept responsibility for it, and learn from it.   This has undoubtedly proven to be one of the most important life lessons he has passed along. 

He taught us not to take the easy way out.  The man is a walking dictionary, so whenever we needed to know the definition of a word, we always asked him first (and we still do).  He could never just tell us the meaning, but rather lugged out his 6000 page, 25 pound monster dictionary and advised us to find the answers ourselves.  The point, he would argue, was not that he didn't want to divulge the information, but that if we worked for it, we would be more likely to remember it later.  He was right.  There are many words I now know because of him.  I'd like to say that I always go to the dictionary first, but hey, it's human nature to take the path of least resistance, and in the case of vocabulary, he's the master! 

He has always been very cerebral in decision making, leaning on reason and rationale over emotions.  He's a doctor, and there have been many when we have asked him for medical advice.  He will give it, but if the ailment is serious, or has the potential to be serious, he won't treat family.  He believes that emotions could cloud his judgement causing him to either over or under react.  One time, when Jacob was around 1, I got pink eye.  It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.  I woke up and my eye was bright red and covered in a revolting yellow crust.  I recall standing in our upstairs hallway asking him what he thought was wrong with me.  He said, "I think it's pink eye, but you need to see a doctor to confirm it."  "I'm looking at a doctor," I said.  An hour later, I was sitting in Dr. Centar's office, diagnosis confirmed, holding a script for antibiotic eye drops.  

One of his favorite sayings is, "Judge not lest ye be judged." If you know him, you can picture him raising his eyebrow and looking over the rim of his glasses as he says it.  The body language truly accentuates the authority in his words!  (Not really - I'm being sarcastic) Now, he's not a particularly religious man.  He's not trying to put the fear of God in us.  He most often says this when my mom and my sister and I are in one of our gossip sessions, complaining, criticizing and well, judging, whichever poor soul happened to cross our paths that day.  We generally shrug him off, but in all fairness, he is right.  It's easy to sit around and talk about what someone else is doing wrong, and what someone else should do, when we are not in that same situation.  I have a lot of opinions, but I would like to think that because of my dad, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt before cementing those opinions. 

Before my dad retired, he worked like none other.  He came to all of our concerts and school events, but with a briefcase in hand.  He brought his briefcase on vacation.  He left the house at 630 in the morning and didn't come home before 10 p.m. most nights.  He worked weekends too.  I actually think that his work life was terribly unbalanced with his personal life, but I admire the drive behind his dedication.  He would never, ever do something if he couldn't give 100% of himself to the task.  I have met many of his former patients, and I have never heard a bad commentary.  In fact, what I heard from them were things like this: "He always took his time with me."  "He listened to me and never rushed me out of the office."  "I always felt like I was in good hands with Dr. Andrew.  I knew he would chose the best options."  Yes, I believe that he was a diligent physician.   He never took the easy road, not in life and I'm sure not in his career.  

When Jacob was born, Terry became the best Pap the world had to offer.  When I would leave Jacob in Terry's care, I would come home to a notebook full of entries regarding Jake's day.  It wasn't just a synopsis of the day's events, it was a full course play-by-play!  Jacob drank 3.7 ounces at 10:31 a.m.  Diaper, urine only, at 11:56 a.m.  Napped from 12:06 p.m - 1:42 p.m.  Afternoon snack, 1/8 jar of pureed peaches, 3 pieces of puffed rice and 4.2 ounces of milk, and on it went. 

But it wasn't the note-keeping that made him a great grandfather, it was his compassion, his dedication, and his genuine fascination with Jake.  Jacob's dad is nothing compared to my biological father.  He's a good man, but he lives in another state.  He's consistent with Jake, but he's here only once a month for a few hours.  The time Jacob has with his dad is great, but it's not enough.  Where my grandfather took a more removed role, Terry jumped right in, hands on from the moment Jake was born.  He carted Jake all over the place with him, taught him to feed the birds and the fish, and to go crabbing at the beach.   He used to bounce Jacob on his knee and sing a song called "Pony Boy" when Jake was just a little guy. When Jacob was a little older, they would sit together on the steps and sing "You are my sunshine."  He helps him put together ridiculously complicated Lego sets, and watches all the Disney and Harry Potter movies right along with Jacob.  Jacob never lacked a good male role model.  He had one wrapped around his finger right from birth.  

My niece Ella and Andrew are extensions of that love and devotion.  He puts much thought into every gift he gives, and when he spends time with the kids, he gives of himself the most.  When my mom met Terry, we were all blessed.  He is a sincere and kind-hearted man, and I am grateful to call him my dad. 

Pap and Jacob take a break from a hectic day.

Every baby needs a hand-knit wool hat!

You're never too young to learn how to properly stake the tomatoes.  

As Andrew said, this is "Pap and a Princess" on her very special day.

Pap helps Jacob perfect his tonsil-checking technique.

Jelly Bellies and a good book, what could make better birthday gifts?  Tequila for his famous margaritas would be a nice addition!

Carrying on the crabbing legacy.

Pap's cameo beach appearance - first time without long pants...but he did wear his wool socks, you just can't see them here!

My parents at my grandfather's 80th birthday party.

Intermission

Well, my friends, I'm on a mission today.  Christmas preparation has been sorely neglected in this home, and I woke up this morning feeling more than a little anxious about all of the holiday hoopla in our very near future.  My personal goal over the last few months has been to be more present, not to rush things, not to worry so much about planning, preparing and cleaning and to simply enjoy the moments with the people I love.  I have to give myself some credit, because I have seen a great improvement in myself.  I'm not nearly as anxious about the little things, although some people may argue that I'm still bordering on crazy.  But everything is relative, right?  My personality is my personality, and while I can work on the improvements I wish to see, there are some things I will simply never change.  I'm a cleaner, I'm a planner, and above all else, I'm a list maker!  I can only let things go for so long, before those old instincts kick in and I feel the need to work double to make up for lost time.  It's a give and take. I'm working on balance.  Yes, that old nemesis of mine, balance.  Someday I swear I will find it.  But for now, I'll take a little relaxation followed by minor bouts of mania!

That said, you aren't going to get a full fledged blog entry on gratitude today.  I have work to do!  I will leave you with a quote, some food for thought.  I'll be back shortly with my infinite words of wisdom meant to thrill and inspire!  Haha!

Enjoy your Sunday, and be grateful for whatever it is that makes you happy!

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.

-- Epictetus

Home Sweet Home

Where we love is home,

Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr

Home. There aren't many words that convey such an immediate sense of comfort and contentment as the word home.

This morning, I was lucky enough to sleep until 7.  Greg got up with Andrew and then kept him for me while I ran.  Running gives me time to sort through my thoughts, to make sense of what's going on in my life and to solve my problems.  Right now, though, I don't really have any problems to sort through.  Life is good, so to be consistent with my intent to dedicate November to gratitude, I decided to spend my run reflecting on the things I am grateful for.  I devoted that time to truly absorbing the beauty around me. And boy, I found beauty everywhere! (And no, it wasn't a runner's high.  That doesn't exist, at least not that I have experienced.)

I live in a valley, surrounded by rolling mountains.  Sure, they're not the Grand Tetons, but they are the  perfect fit for this small town girl.  In the fall, they are a spectacular color splash of red a gold against a striking blue background.  In the winter, their snow covered trees impart a subtle feeling of hushed peace. In the spring and summer, their lush greens give testimony to the simple richness of life.  They give us shelter from extreme weather, not to mention great hills to run!

As I ran the local roads, I was struck by the elegance of the sunlight glistening over frost covered fields.  I saw a doe standing guardedly among the trees, sweetly flicking her ears in recognition of me.  I watched the fog lift off of the pond at a golf course, with a family of ducks swimming contentedly in their own little retreat.  It was fantastic to see so many wonderful things, just stringing together, one after the other.   I am always amazed by the background in this little town too.  I love it's grand historic buildings and homes with meaningful architecture that simply cannot be replicated today.   It's impossible to look around here without finding appreciation in your surroundings.

I have been all around the country and visited half of the world.  I've seen some magnificent places, but none of them can hold a candle to the splendor right here in central Pennsylvania.  Vermont is gorgeous, but it gets too cold.  Sedona boasts breath taking landscapes, but it's too dry.  The Caribbean is tranquil, but a little too laid back for long term living.  Germany...ah, Germany...Germany is a lot like Pennsylvania, and it is a country I hold near and dear to my heart, but it's an ocean away from my family.

Family.  That's the catch, right?  I love this town.  I love its landscape and its ambiance, but what anchors my heart to this area has less to do with the scenery than the love and memories which are cemented in my surroundings.    I grew up here.  I ran these streets as a young child.  I spent hours with friends exploring the wooded areas behind the high school.  I learned to drive a stick shift on these hills.  I moved away for a little while, but family brought me back.  Now, I am raising my children amidst my own history, with same woods, the same hills, the same small-town main street with little shops and restaurants.  Sure, things have changed.  Some things have changed quite a bit, but the sentiment remains the same.  We still walk down the street and meet at least 5 people we know on any given day.  Our neighbors are our friends, and our family are our neighbors.  Who could ask for more?

I didn't intend to write a blog entry in my head while I was running today.  The benefits to living in small-town central Pennsylvania wasn't even on my list of gratitude blogs (Yes, I made a list for the gratitude blogs.  I told you I have OCD!) But in counting my blessings, I couldn't help but be thankful just for being here, in this location, on such a fantastic, crisp fall day.  Isn't that the point of the gratitude blogs, after all?  In concentrating on the simple goodness of life, and highlighting the positives, we open our hearts and minds to the beauty that we don't always see, to the blessings that we take for granted.  It's working for me, because today there is nothing I am more grateful for than simply being home.

Play It Again, Sam

There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat.  ~Tay Hohoff

I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling a little tapped by the last three entries.  Let's lighten things up a little, eh?

I grew up with cats... and dogs, and fish, a couple of guinea pigs, a squirrel, several wild rabbits and a domestic rabbit with no ears, a few salamanders and a handful of turtles.  We (my sisters and I) loved all animals with a passion.  My poor mom wasn't so fond of the creatures, but she put up with them for our sake.  Of all the animals we had, however, the cats were always my favorite.  

When I was in college, I found a kitten at a local park.  She was so tiny that she fit into the palm of my hand.  I scooped her up and brought her home, only to have my mother shriek, "Oh no!  No way!  Take it back where you got it!"  I refused to take her back to where I found her.  I kept her.  I carted her back and forth to college with me.  She stayed in my dorm room at night, and in my friend's house during the day.  I used to tuck her into my coat, leaving just enough room for her head to peek out over the zipper, and carry her all over campus.  Of all the cats I had, Zielia was my most beloved.  

After college, she moved into an apartment in Pittsburgh with me and a few of my friends.  She moved along with me when Peyton and I got married.  When I moved home after Jacob was born, I brought her along too.  There was never a question of what to do with her.  She was as much a part of me as my own skin.  

The problem with Ziel was that she was truly my cat.  She didn't like anyone else.  Ever.  When I was around, she was around, but if I was gone, she would hide.  If I had to sleep somewhere else,  she would howl all night long.  One night, during a bad snowstorm, I stayed in Indiana with my aunt and uncle so that I wouldn't have to drive to class in bad conditions the next day.  Mom mistook Ziel's midnight howls for the baby, and got up to get a bottle for Jacob.  Unfortunately, she didn't see Ziel in the darkness and tripped over the cat, falling down two flights of hard wood stairs.  My poor mother looked like she had been in a car accident, with intense bruising along her entire body! Needless to say, mom didn't have as much affection for Ziel as I did.  In fact, she often referred to her in not-so-nice terminology.

Ziel died shortly after Greg and I got married.  My heart broke.  I still have photos of her all over the house, on the fridge, on the walls.  We didn't replace her for many reasons.  I felt loyalty to Ziel, but to be frank, I also like things to be clean and I didn't want to deal with the hair and the litter again.  No one minded being petless, until this summer, when Jacob started asking if he could get a pet.  We got him hermit crabs, but they didn't live long, and really, who wants a hermit crab?  He kept asking for something that he could cuddle.  I told Jake that if Greg agreed, we could get a kitten.  Greg did not agree.

We kept asking, though.  We kept asking and asking and asking, but Greg maintained his position - no cat.  Then one evening at the end of the summer, a friend of mine from work posted a picture of kittens that she was trying to give away on her Facebook page.  Greg was on a fishing trip with his dad, so I sent him a text.  Actually, I think I sent him about 15 texts begging for the cat, explaining why we needed a cat in the house, promising never to complain about the messes the cat made and never to ask him to care for the cat.  He didn't respond to any of the messages, so I sent more. I think he finally replied with something short and sweet, like, "Just get the damn thing."

Hey, all I needed was an affirmative answer.  I didn't mind the sass! We called Julie immediately and went out within an hour to get the kitten.  I didn't want to give Greg time to change his mind!  Jake was actually giddy about getting the kitten.  Greg got home shortly after we got home and he looked at the cat, but he had fishing gear to unpack and "stuff" to do, so he didn't pay much attention to our new little one.  That night I put the boys both to bed.  When I came into the living room, I found Greg on the floor, giggling and playing with the cat.  "Don't want a cat?"  I said.  "No." He laughed.  "I hate him."

Greg and I spend probably just as much time talking about this little guy as we do talking about the kids!  It has been over 15 years since I had a kitten, and I forgot just how funny, wild and demanding they are.  But Sammy is a perfect fit for us.  He doesn't mind the constant flow of visitors,  he's not afraid of Andrew, and he's very affectionate (and sometimes a little mean, but he is still a baby).  Sure, he has shredded my upstairs shower curtain, and my dining room table cloth.  He needs his canned food by 530 every morning or he has a little nervous breakdown.  He has scatters the fake moss from a potted plant all over my floor repeatedly, and he has nearly broken my neck too many times to count by weaving around my legs in the wee hours of the morning.  All that aside, he's truly a joyful addition to our household.  I am comfortable speaking for all of us when I say that we are thankful for this little fur covered blessing.  Meow!

You Always Need Your Mother

Mother's love is peace.  It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. 

 ~Erich Fromm

Bet you thought I was going write about Greg next, didn't you?  While I am grateful for him, he gets enough air time.  He'll get his own entry later.  For now, I'm going to write about my mom.  

Given that this is my blog, and it was her life, I'll keep the details to a minimum.  The most important thing I want to say is that while my mom has many wonderful qualities, what I admire most is her unmatched, beautiful strength, one that I could only dream to approximate in my own life.  She gave up her young adulthood for me.  She married a man who was selfish and mean, a very ungrateful soul.  Many women would have found themselves trapped in a bad marriage, stuck living a life full of stress and heartache, giving their daughters nothing but bad examples to follow.  Not my mom.  She rose above it all and kept right on going.

At only 19 years old, with an infant, and in a marriage with an unsupportive (that's putting it mildly) husband, she started nursing school.  She started working immediately after graduating, and maintained a home with two small children while working long hours of shift work.  She left an abusive marriage and eventually found a man who was not only a wonderful husband, but also the best father my sister and I could ask for.  When I was in high school, she went back to college and got her bachelor's degree while she continued working and raising two girls.  She made sure that my sister and I knew that we were worth more than what any man made of us.  She raised us to be independent and self-reliant.  She was always open and honest with us about sex and drugs and anything else that might come our way, and she passed along the ability to find humor in even the worst situation, a quality that has carried me through many tough moments.  

My mother was never an overly affectionate person.  I never crawled into bed with her to snuggle, and I don't recall profuse hugs and kisses, but maybe that wasn't her as much as me.  She didn't dole out empty praise, but we always knew when we had done something she was proud of.  She has always been brutally honest about anything she disagrees with.  I always hated (and still do) to be on the opposite side of an argument with her, but I have always known that if I need anything, whether she agrees or not, my mother is the one to turn to.   

I didn't understand her much as I was growing up.  I wanted a mom who was more of a friend than a mother.  What teenager doesn't?  It upset me that she didn't coddle my moods or excuse my lack of motivation at times.  I thought she was too hard on me, and expected too much.  I didn't understand any of her rationale until I became a mother myself.  Over the last 8 years, I have found myself many times thinking, "I get it now."  She saw my potential and it upset her when I wasn't living up to it.  At times, she wanted more for me than I wanted for myself.  I look in wonder and awe at my own children and I find it almost unimaginable that someone felt the same way about me.  But I know, as a mother, that she did.    

I hear stories about how people have lost contact with their mothers, or how their mothers don't help them, or are uninvolved in their grandchildren's lives.  I just can't imagine how that feels.  My mom is the most motivated person I know.  If she wants something, she's going to get it come hell or high water.  She has more energy than anyone else I know.  She works and works and works, and she rarely complains.  She graciously accepts my sick children into her home, and doesn't worry about Lysol or messes or exhaustion.  She sees my kids every day and showers them (sometimes too much) with love and attention.  She's the first person I call when I need help, or when the kids are sick or hurt, or even when I just have a juicy story to tell.  She put up with a lot of bullshit from me as a teenager, and she held my life together while I was in breakdown mode after Jake was born.  There were many times that I hurt her with my carelessness and selfishness - too many times to count.  There were many times when I absolutely did not deserve her love, but she gave it nonetheless.  Where would I be without her?  I'm glad I don't have to know the answer to that question.

By the time my mom was my age, her own mother had already been dead 4 years.  I think about that all the time.  I think about it because my grandmother meant so much to me, but also because I know that my mother inherited her strength from Gram.  When things were rough for my mom, my grandmother took the wheel.  She held it together for my mom, my sister and me.  She gave my mother the strength and the push she needed to get on her feet and be the woman she became, and she also did it with tough(ish) love coupled with just a touch of good humor. 

I think often about the time from my grandmother's diagnosis until her death.  I clearly remember when my mom told us that Gram had cancer.  I remember her working ridiculous hours, still shift work, then picking us up from school, carting us to my grandparents' house and nursing her own ailing mother day after day, month after month.  What goes through your mind when the roles have been reversed, when the caregiver is now the one needing care?  How do you keep your heart from breaking while you watch the strongest person you know shrink away?  How do you maintain normalcy for your children in the face of such turmoil?  It was no small feat, of that I am certain.  

On the day my grandmother died, one day before my mother's birthday, Mom brought us home and made chicken for dinner.  Just another day.  Just another day, except the most important woman in her life was now gone.  I imagine losing her mother was probably harder for her than the lump sum of all of the other hurdles she faced.  Still, she stayed strong, never letting us see her falter.  She had kids who needed her.  She is nothing short of amazing.

I am grateful every day for being born to this woman.  I am grateful for the life she made for us, and for the example she set.  I am grateful for the support she continues to give, and for the bond she has with my boys.  I am grateful for her humor, generosity, and dedication.  I pray for years upon years of opportunities to make more memories together, but for now, and for the times gone by, all I can really say is,  "Thanks, Mom." 

Bouncing Baby Boy

"A baby fills a place in your heart you never knew was empty."

Author: Unknown

I found this quote on a plaque when I was pregnant with Andrew.  I liked it, so I bought it and put it in his nursery.  At that time, I had no idea how true it would prove to be, and how often I would think about these words.  

When Greg and I started getting serious about our relationship, I clearly remember saying to him, "I hope you don't want any more children, because I do not."  He had a daughter from his previous marriage, and I had Jake.  A girl and a boy.  Perfect.  Besides, I couldn't imagine going through anything even remotely similar to what I experienced when Jacob was born.  I couldn't stomach the thought of the possible post-partum depression again, and honestly, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to care for an infant on my own with a husband.  I didn't feel like I had done such a great job with the first try, and I really didn't think it was wise to give it another go.  We were talking about a person, after all, not a plant.  It was just too much responsibility.  So we decided not to have another child together.  This was probably sometime around the fall of 2004.  I gave away all of my baby clothes and anything else that was baby related.  I'm a cleaner.  It felt good to get rid of stuff.

Sometime before we decided to get married, I started having second thoughts about never having another child.  Greg and I both come from big families.  Even though he had a daughter, she lived with her mother and didn't have a lot of contact with us.  She wasn't really like a sister for Jake, even though Jacob did refer to her as his sister.  I wanted Jacob to have the bond that exists only between siblings.  I wanted him to have someone to share stories with, to grow up with, and to share the burden of caring for aging parents when the time comes.  Greg didn't need too much persuasion.  He's a family man, and was happy to talk about having a child together.  But for the time being, it was just talk.

Shortly after we got married, and life was settled, we decided to start trying to get pregnant.  I was 30. Jacob was already 3 1/2 years old.  I didn't want too much time between the children, and let's face it,  my clock was ticking.  My eggs were getting old.  I was surprised that it took as long as it did for us to get pregnant with Andrew.  We tried for about 6 months before we had even a hint of life.  And when Andrew let us know he was coming, it wasn't with a hint, it was with an all out punch.

Even though my life was falling apart when I was pregnant with Jacob, my body felt great.  I wasn't sick at all.  In fact, I felt better pregnant with Jacob than I did before I conceived him.  Not true with Andrew.  Life was great, but my body was giving out!  I was terribly sick.  All day, every day for 5 months.  Then I had about 6 weeks of reprieve, which thankfully fell over the holidays.  By the new year, I started having awful back spasms.  On top of it all, I gained 50 pounds!  How on earth I could have gained that much weight when I was that sick was beyond my comprehension, but I did.  I was disgustingly fat and miserable and well, a total bitch.  I think Greg was just as happy to be done with the pregnancy as I was, but for different reasons!

The pregnancy was so different, that I was certain that this baby was a girl.  I got all of my niece's clothes from my sister and washed and sorted them before we even had the sonogram!  I didn't even bother discussing boy names with Greg, because I was having my little girl.  You can imagine my surprise when they said he was a boy.  Surprise is actually an understatement.  I sobbed.  And sobbed.  And sobbed.  And then I sobbed more because I felt like an ass for sobbing about having a healthy baby boy.  Failure number one with baby number two.  Actually, in retrospect, I am glad that I got it out of my system before he was born, because by the time I delivered Andrew, I felt nothing but joy over his arrival.  This baby boy was wonderful.  On April 24, 2008 at 1:31p.m,  we were elated to have him in our arms, all 8 pounds, 1 ounce and 19.5 inches of him!

Because I had a prior C Section, I had the option to choose to have another surgery or to deliver the baby.  Let me say this:  to all of you who have pushed a baby out, God bless you.  It wasn't a difficult decision for me at all.  I had absolutely no desire to deliver that kid!  I saw what my sister went through with my niece and that completely sealed the deal in my mind.  No delivery for me.  We scheduled his C Section for April 24th.  I prayed and prayed to go into labor early, but he showed no signs of arriving ahead of schedule.  I think he would have stayed nicely tucked inside me forever, if he had the choice!  Thankfully, the choice was not his to make.

What I remember most about the delivery were these three things:

1.  I was beside myself sobbing off and on.  I was panicked about the surgery and the potential complications.  I even sent my ex-husband a text message making him promise me not to try to take Jacob from Greg and my family if I died on the table!  He promised, then asked if I was OK!  I also couldn't imagine what it would be like to have another child.  All I knew was that this tremendous space in my heart was fully occupied by Jacob.  How could I possibly love another child like that?  I was sure I couldn't.  I was afraid I would be short changing this new baby, and putting extra stress on Jake by making him take second fiddle to another person.  I was wracked with guilt.  Eventually the anesthesiologist came and when he saw how nuts I was, he gave me something super awesome in my my IV.  I don't know what it was, but I should have asked for a prescription for it, because I instantly felt like everything in the world was right.  Ah, relief!

2.  Because the surgery was not an emergency, the doctor pulled down the blue sheet and let me watch while they pulled Andrew out of me.  Even though I was drugged beyond belief, I will always remember his squished up body, all bloody, screaming mad as he entered the world.  That was awesome.  Truly awesome.

3.  The third thing is a little odd, and has nothing to do with Andrew, but I'll tell you anyway, since I'm recounting that day.  When you have a section, you feel pressure in your chest as they pull the baby out.  I remembered that feeling from when I had Jacob, so I was not worried when I felt it with Andrew.  At some point, after Andrew was already delivered, one of the nurses asked me how I felt.  I told him that I felt good, but that I still had a lot of pressure on my chest.  He put his hand on my shoulder and said,  "That's because she's still tying your tubes and your uterus is on your chest right now."  

"Oh," I said very calmly, "Are they just going to rinse it off and then tuck it back when they're done?"

"Yep." He said, "Pretty much."  Nice. 

The rest of the day was a really happy, mumbled, contented blur.  My parents were there, as were my in-laws, and of course Greg, Jacob and SaraBeth.  There was a whole line up of family eagerly awaiting his arrival, greeting him with nothing but joy and gratitude.  

Andrew is my wild man.  Where Jacob is cautious, Andrew throws caution to the wind.  When Jacob is serious, Andrew is laughing.  He's my love bug, my snuggler, and my Mr. Adventure all in one.  He was my second chance at proving to myself that I could indeed be a mother on my own.  I still need help.  Heck, who doesn't?  But I know that I can do it.  While the help is great, I am not dependent on someone else to take care of my child.  He is in many ways, my redemption. 

Andrew and I are tight.  Jacob spends a lot of time with my parents, and Greg works a lot.  Most days, it's just me and Andrew.  Where I go, he goes.  He's my little sidekick, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  When he is with someone else, I don't feel right.  It's as if a part of me is missing.  And as for my heart opening up, well, anyone who has more than one child already knows the answer to that.  You love your children differently.  You see their different qualities, strengths and needs, and acknowledge the individuals that they are, but the amount of love is absolutely equal and absolutely bottomless.  I am grateful every day that we decided to bring this child into our lives.  He has indeed filled a space that we never knew was empty.  He has filled it with love, laughter, hope and promise.  What a gift, indeed!

 Welcome, baby Andrew!

 Snug as a bug!

 Daddy always makes Andrew smile!

 Merry First Christmas! 

 What's not to love about cake?!

 Look out world, he's got a stick!

 Little drummer boy.

 Ho! Ho! Ho!  Santa, are your toenails pink?

The best place in the world is at home with my dad.

My First Love

God sends children to enlarge our hearts, and make us unselfish and full of kindly sympathies and affections. -- Mary Howit

I would like to start off my “thankful” entries by telling you about the first man who ever stole my heart, my first born son, Jacob.  

Many of you already know the story of his birth, but let me tell it again, just for background.  When I was 5 months pregnant, my (soon to be ex) husband decided to move to Florida to pursue a better paying job.  I disagreed with his decision, and refused to go.  Despite my refusal to accompany him and my pleading for him to stay here, he left.  I firmly believe that he thought I would change my mind and follow him.  That goes to show how little he knew me.  I dug in my heels, and took off my wedding rings the day he left.  In retrospect, it was all for the good.  We were not meant to spend our lives together.  We make better friends than spouses.  Peyton is consistent in  his interactions with Jake, and always reasonable with me.  That’s a heck of a lot more than I can say for many divorced couples.  I suppose I should actually add having a good divorce to my list of things I am grateful for! 

That’s how I feel now, 8 years later, but’s certainly not how I felt at the time it was happening.  I was almost 5 months pregnant and left living alone during one of the worst winters in 15 years.  I knew that I could not support myself, and that I would have to move home with my parents.  I worked until June, when I delivered Jake, to keep my health insurance.  During those remaining 5 months, I systematically packed up my life as I knew it and moved it into a storage unit in Hollidaysburg.  All of the dreams I had for this life inside me were crushed.  There would be no happy little nuclear family, no decorating of the nursery, none of the normalcy that comes with bringing home a new baby.  On top of that, I had truly grown to love my life in Pittsburgh.  I had a great job that didn’t pay well, but was so much fun and so rewarding.  I had great friends from work and from college who lived all around me.  It was the perfect place for us, but that was about to come to an end.  

I started to feel Jacob moving around the same time that Peyton left.  As he (and I) grew, I would often sit alone in the evenings, watching TV, just feeling him flip flop around inside of me, taking comfort in this little miracle I was carrying.  It was just me and the cats, amidst dwindling belongings, whittling away the evenings, talking to my unborn baby.  There were times when I felt incredibly lonely, but often times I felt OK.  Jacob was my motivation to stay strong and move forward.  Even when I wanted to give up, I couldn't.  I had a little one counting on me to make things right. 

Around 30 weeks, at a routine doctor appointment, the OB told me that he thought Jacob was breech.  Most babies have already turned at 30 weeks, but some wait until later.  As the weeks passed, the chances of him turning became less and less likely, and soon we decided to schedule a C-Section because of his positioning.  Honestly, I was quite relieved to be having a C-Section.  I know many women worry about the surgery and the recovery, but I was more worried about going into labor all alone, getting myself to the hospital and having to call family who lived 2 hours away.  Jacob’s refusal to turn was a huge blessing for me.  I was able to schedule his birth, schedule my family to be present, and to forget about the worries of going through labor and delivery by myself.  Jake was due on June 10, but I decided to schedule his birth for June 5^th, so that he could have the same birthday as my dad. 

While I was pregnant I read anything and everything I could on pregnancy.  One article I came across was a Native American tale about breech babies.  It said that a breech baby stays breech when the mother is troubled, so that it can keep its head next to the mother’s heart to comfort her.  I don’t know that I believe the tale, but the story hit home for me.  Jacob's position did indeed give me comfort.  My life, in many ways, was crumbling around me.  I had hope for better days, but I had no way knowing what I was in store for.  Uncertainty is the Achilles heel for someone who needs order to thrive. I felt weak and unsure about pretty much everything, but Jacob's positioning gave me just the right amount of leverage to keep me sane.  I was able to plan and keep an order at least in regards to his birth, something that even the best planners have no control over.  And that plan got me through the last few weeks of pregnancy.

Peyton knew about the surgery and came home on June 4^th for Jake’s birth.  Even though we were about to go through a divorce, I still wanted him to have the opportunity to see his son be born. His arrival was also a blessing, because even though I was scheduled to go into surgery at 6 a.m. on June 5^th, I went into labor around midnight on June 4^th.  My perfect plan didn't go through quite like I foresaw it, but it worked out fine nonetheless.  My parents and my sister were spending the night in Cranberry and made it to the hospital in plenty of time.  Jake was born via emergency C-section, about 3 hours ahead of time at 3:04 a.m. on June 5, 2003.  He weighed 7 pounds 1 ounce and was 19.25 inches long.  He was screaming as he entered the world, and he’s been screaming ever since!  There in our arms was the most perfect little being we had ever seen.  

When people tell you that you can never understand the love of a mother for a child until you have your own, they really aren’t kidding.  What amazes me even more, however, is how much that love grows over the years.  I loved Jacob when I was pregnant.  I loved him more the moment I first saw him, but I love him even more now than I did that day 8 ½ years ago.  I know that as the years go on, I will continue to love him more and more. The human heart's capacity for love is a true wonder.  It never reaches capacity; it just continues to expand. 

I'd like to say that it was all bright sunshine and happiness from that point on, but that's not how things turned out.  During the first year of his life, I was in a very dark place.  I’m sure hormones played a role in the depression, but I think even more significant were the facts that I had to leave my home, my job, my friends.  I lost my independence and gained a world of stress – sleepless nights, going back to school, commuting close to 600 miles a week, starting a new job.  I was completely wrapped up in simply coping.  It was raining so hard for me that I just couldn’t see the silver lining in the clouds.  I couldn’t enjoy anything.  I did the best I could do to make it look like I was holding it together.  I never missed work or school.  I got great grades.  I ate nothing and exercised like mad.  These were the things I could control.  


But inside I was a mess.  I took care of Jacob.  He never missed doctor appointments, was always well fed and clean, but really, my parents took better care of him than I did.  They were the ones who took sick days and stayed home with him. They watched him during the long hours that I was gone at school or work. I got up in the middle of the night with Jake, but my mom got up with him more and my mom got up with patience and kindness.  When I got up in the middle of the night, I was agitated and task oriented.  When I couldn’t console him, my mom took him.  I was a good enough mother, but not a good mother.  In fact, during that first year, I didn't really feel like his mother.  I felt like an aunt or a cousin, or maybe just someone who lived in the house with him.  I loved him intensely.  When I wasn't with him, I was thinking about him, but I felt like a true failure as a mother.  He deserved so much better than what I gave.  He deserved a real mother, not the whack job that I had become.  These thoughts ate and ate and ate at me until I came up with a plan for resolution.  I fully intended to commit suicide as soon as my will was in order and plans were laid out for Jacob.  I felt that he would be better off with my parents as his parents than to carry me around as a dysfunctional embarrassment all his life. 

God had other plans.  I wasn’t the lawyer’s priority.  He didn’t get my will in order in a timely manner, and I refused to leave Jacob without legal documents.  So I hung on for Jacob, and by the time the will was in order, nearly a year later, the cloud had begun to lift.  I was feeling better.  I kept my plan tucked away in the back of my mind, just in case, but somehow it didn’t feel so pressing any more.  Amazingly, I made it through the storm relatively unscathed.  That little 20 pound butterball saved my life.  He gave me a purpose, and he didn’t have to do a darn thing besides just simply exist.  

I still joke that I feel like Jacob's aunt, because he spends so much time with my parents.  In reality, though, I know I am his mother, and I am grateful not only for Jacob, but also for both of my parents, for their love and support of me through some seriously hard times, and for their continued support through the good times.  I am glad that they are so involved in our lives, and I’m eternally grateful for the intense bond that they have with Jake. 

As for Jake, he continues to be fuel for my life, even now when life is good and filled with contentment.  He has so much of me in him that I find it truly frightening at times.  He’s stubborn as a mule, short tempered, and hates anything that causes him even the slightest amount of undue effort.  Conversely, he’s smart as a whip, has a memory like an elephant and can rival Michael Winslow for sound effects! When he wants to be, he can be a wonderful role model and play mate for his little brother, and he can be a very loving and thoughtful little man, especially when it comes to my mother and our kitten! He wakes up talking and continues talking until he goes to bed!  Sometimes my head spins just from the words he uses.  When I look at him, his bright blue eyes sparkling, I am nothing short of amazed at the little man he has become.  

Despite the pain we went through that first year, I wouldn’t change a moment of it.  Who knows how things would have been had Peyton stayed and we had raised Jake in Pittsburgh?  I can guarantee that none of us would be the same person that we are today.  It was probably one of the most influential times in my life. I had been through darkness before, but nothing quite that bad.  I now know what I am capable of.  If I made it through that year, I can make it through anything. When I feel down, when things are stressful, I remind myself of the guts it took for me not to pull the trigger, for me to reach out and ask for help, to just keep going forward, sometimes taking it not day by day, but rather minute by minute.  It wasn’t a motivation that came from within. Inside I had already given up.  The motivation came from motherhood.  It came from that little boy with the bright blue eyes and beautiful blond curls.  It came from Jacob, my first true love.  And for that, I must say thank you.  

 Nap time.  My favorite!

 Peek-a-boo!

 Jake's first Christmas.  My dad made him laugh and laugh while I took these photos for Christmas cards.

 The most serious dinosaur on the block.

 First hair cut - age 3 1/2

 He loves satin.  What other 4 year old gets satin sheets for Christmas?

 Baby?  What baby?  I thought this was a toy rack!

 Hold on, Andrew!  She's got the camera out again!

Jake and Tony...such big kids now!