*I read this at DC’s Listen to Your Mother Show, Sunday, April 28. Thought I’d post it here for friends and family who couldn’t come. Since I wrote it for the performance, it may not translate as well on the (virtual) page…but the videos will be online later this summer!

My mother once told me that when she was a new driver, my grandmother plotted out directions for everywhere her daughter could possibly need to go. The purpose of this was to ensure that the recently licensed teenager NEVER had to make a left turn.

Probably not the most realistic of long term plans.

When I was learning to drive in my Capitol Hill neighborhood, right turn only routes were a near impossibility. But I doubt Mom would have repeated this same tactic anyway. While she did her best to shelter us from the harsher realities of life, my brother and I were also given a great deal of freedom to make our own decisions. At the very least, we were allowed to turn left.

At the time, I didn’t acknowledge this leniency. Instead, I rolled my eyes as I caught the peripheral movement of her foot pushing down on the passenger side brake that all mothers have. I huffed in exasperation each time I stopped just a liiiittle bit short, and she flung her arm across my body like a back-up seat belt. I stared at her with incredulity when she instructed me to put on my left turn signal as we waited in a left turn lane.

“Mom, don’t you think people know I’m turning left? I mean, the big arrows painted on the road kind of give it away.”

“Well,” she said, “use the signal anyway. Just in case.”

My mother knew we needed to chart our own course in life, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry about us.

Over the past 15 years, Mom has had several recurrences of cancer. And it was our turn to worry about her. Each time, she said she would be FINE. She just knew it. And she was. We’ve been very lucky in that. But nothing is ever simple, and she’s had her fair share of left turns to navigate.

One summer, when my children were still toddlers and preschool age, things got a little weird. It seemed like Mom worried about EVERYTHING.

At the time, she was on a round chemo that was particularly rough and was taking various medications to help with the pain. Through previous treatments, she maintained a positive attitude and was relentless in her insistence that we share it. But now, she was filled with anxiety.

“Kate. I want you to make sure that your new stove is anchored to the wall. Is it anchored to the wall?”

“I don’t think so Mom. They just slid it in…but it’s pretty solid. I can’t imagine how it would tip over.”

“Can you check? Just in case. I’m worried about the children pulling down. You know how they like to climb.”

I looked at my very heavy, very square stove; and the teenager I once was rolllled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“Okay Mom. I’ll check.”

I tugged on the edges where it seemed my monkeys might find a hand hold.

“Yeah…I just don’t see how they could tip this thing. It’s pretty wide…”

“What about the top? If they climbed on top of it, could they pull it over that way?”

As my mother waited in anticipation of my answer, I wondered how it had come to this. Exactly how many wrong turns had we made to end up in Crazy Town. Well, I thought, since we’re already here…

I put the phone down.

“Mom. I’m putting you on speaker.”

I then reached over the top of the stove and pulled on the far edge of it. Nothing happened. I bent my knees and really leaned into the pull. Again, nothing. I braced my feet against the bottom of the stove, bowed my back and gritted my teeth, willing that behemoth to fall on top of me!

I broke a sweat, trying to severely injure myself with a kitchen appliance.

And as I held that ridiculous pose I called over to the phone on the counter, “Mom. I am trying to pull this thing down with every scrap of strength I have and it is NOT HAPPENING.”

“Well okay. I guess it’s safe. Thanks for checking.”

As it turned out, there was a reason for my mother’s extreme anxiety that summer. With all of her different medications and dosages, things were a bit confused. And her doctors inadvertently got her addicted to Oxycontin.

So she wasn’t just acting a little crazy. She WAS a little crazy.

Thankfully, this was something that could be fixed, and as my brother so eloquently put it, “we got Mom off the junk.” She went back to being her normal, power-of-positive-thinking self.

But we can’t blame drugs for all of our worries, can we?

I myself, once spent months living with the fear that I might accidentally drop my infant son down our apartment building’s trash chute.

I was too afraid to leave him alone while I walked five doors down to take out the garbage. So I’d bring him with me, and clutch him tightly to my chest the entire time. And yes – I do realize now that there were other options…like putting him the stroller. Or – I don’t know – telling MY HUSBAND to take out the trash!

All mothers visit Crazy Town every once in a while.

But in the end it all comes from the same place – this worry.

We just want to know that it’s going to be okay. And it’s so hard, not knowing.

We all live uncertain lives full of risk. Full of left turns.

So we make maps. And try to pull heavy appliances on top of ourselves. We tell our children that everything will be FINE, even though we know full well that there are no guarantees.  We tell cautionary tales, and laugh and cry and learn. And just live. Live for the moment and assume that all will be well.

But no matter what, we’ll always send our children those exasperating – often ridiculous – sometimes CRAZY signals of our love and hopes for them.

Just in case.

The post Turn Signals appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

Well – it doesn’t look like I’ll have time  to post anything new before the Listen to Your Mother – DC show on April 28th (and speaking of that – have you bought your tickets yet?). So here is another installment of my “this could have been a blog post” series. If you haven’t seen the last two (which would be the last two posts over the past two months…sigh), these are my Facebook updates that…well, could have been blog posts. For further explanation, click HERE.

And now – MARCH!

10:20 a.m.

Scene: George is inconsolable because Oliver ate the second half of his glazed doughnut (left on the table while he took a break to watch TV).

Me: George, there is a whole box of doughnuts right there. Pick another one. Besides, you told me that you wanted me to get you a sugar doughnut, not a glazed doughnut. There it is – right there in the box. EAT THAT ONE.

George: wail/fume/wail/fume

Me: Look – there it is – exactly what you wanted. RIGHT THERE. You should focus on what you DO have – not what you DON’T have.

Chris: Gives me an “are you kidding me?” look.

Me: (indignant) Well, it’s TRUE.

Chris: Hey George – stop crying and get the sugar doughnut. You should eat it now because if you don’t, Oliver will.

Me: Gives Chris a reluctant look of approval.

Chris: (much too smug for my liking) Well, it’s true.

2:18 p.m.

My friend just gave me this cook tweedy coat that belonged to her grandmother (something about it being too long on her…whatever, I’ll take the free coat). I think the label is my favorite thing about it.

March 3

1:10 p.m.

My lazy parenting just caught up with me…

I think I’ve been letting the kids watch too many Disney tween shows. While getting ice cream cones today, Oliver said “I LOVE you,” instead of the usual “thank you” when the teenage girl handed him his cone. Uh….

And then – THEN – as he rode his bike past a bunch of girl scouts selling cookies, he said “hi girls!” and winked at them.

What?!

March 4

4:51 p.m.

“Never pick up garbage! Never put garbage IN YOUR MOUTH! And NEVER put garbage on ME!”

Within 60 minutes Oliver and George did all three

6:00 p.m

“JUST ANNOUNCED: The Mindy Project has been picked up for a second season on FOX! SHARE this to spread the word!

Details: http://fox.tv/ZiyziJ

I am inordinately excited about this…

6:04 p.m.

Should I be concerned that people are posting links to thought provoking articles on feminism and sexism and other issues that impact my life as a woman in Western culture…I’m just here all, “Yay! The Mindy Project was picked up for a second season!”??

March 5

3:00 p.m.

Sometimes it seems like all I ever say to Oliver is, “no.” This is the source of much guilt and chagrin on my part. But when I walked into the living room to find him wielding a massive bread knife as part of whatever imaginary game he was playing… Well, I felt fairly justified in my negative reaction.

March 9

9:19 a.m.

Me: (seeing Eleanor try to sit on Oliver’s legs which were propped up on a coffee table) That doesn’t look like a good idea.

Eleanor: What? He lets me do it all the time. Besides, it’s practically pretty safe.

Oh – well if it’s PRACTICALLY pretty safe, then I guess it’s okay.

10:20 a.m.

Yet another message from the universe that my children watch too much television:

In the car running errands with the kids. A police siren wails in the distance.

Oliver: Sounds like the police. Someone must have robbed a jewelry store!

March 10

11:04 a.m.

Representing (with messy hair) today #LTYM #DC

7:34 p.m.

I love how Dina McQueen calls Eleanor “E the B” (as in “Eleanor the Brave”). WE call her “E the B” all the time. Just for different reasons…

7:40 p.m.

Hey! I just realized that it has been SO LONG since I added my cover photo that it will actually become seasonally relevant again in less than a month!

March 11

5:40 p.m.

Eleanor: Once upon a time, there was a trophy. And his name…was Sparkle.

10:13 p.m.

Just now on Fox 5 News at 10: “The Cardinals are cut off from their Twitter accounts.” Brutal. Still pinning though, I bet.

March 12

2:16 p.m.

Do I like Justin Timberlake’s new sound? Have you SEEN my Earth Wind and Fire CD collection? Pretty much…

Never could resist a horn section.

March 13

8:00 p.m.

I mean – I know Caillou is only four…but he doesn’t know what a TURTLE is? Really? Contrived plot lines sure do start early.

March 14

9:21 a.m.

Three weeks ago, Eleanor switched out her hot pink cast for this. Today she’ll have another x-ray on her foot to see if the crack is healed. It’s now been SEVEN weeks. Fingers crossed that she leaves the appointment wearing TWO shoes today…

11:00 a.m.

Today’s footwear: one dirty shoe, one clean shoe and ZERO walking boots!

3:26 p.m.

If I said that I just used Oliver’s light saber to clean under my couch, would you think I sounded crazy? Then you are not a mom.

7:40 p.m.

Hey! I wrote that!

6:28 p.m.

George’s drawings all look like cave paintings.

March 24

1:15 p.m.

Eleanor: I think I want to be in the Olympics.

Me: That would be great!

Eleanor: Because kids can be whatever they want when they grow up. Right?

Me: Yes!

Eleanor: OR they can just have a bunch of kids like you did.

I think it’s time to start talking up some of my other accomplishments…

March 25

10:40 a.m.

SPRINGBREAKYEAH!!!

March 28

7:01 p.m.

Exhausted after an epic journey (planes, trains and automobiles…minus the planes) from Reston to the National Zoo today. Hard to believe that we could just WALK there when I was a little girl! Would have far preferred that commute today. But just like old times, the Pandas were hiding. We moved to DC when I was eight, and I think I’ve actually SEEN a Panda approximately three times in my life.

March 29

6:35 p.m.

Every day with 2 little boys is like that end segment of The Benny Hill Show. Including the nudity.

March 31

11:36 a.m.

Eleanor got a digital watch in her Easter basket. If you ever find yourself wondering what time it is – just ask me. She’s giving me minute to minute updates.

***

Since I don’t document ALL of our comings and goings on Facebook… Here are a few highlights:

Eleanor lost a tooth:

…Oliver turned eight…

…and a bad hair stylist massacred George’s bangs:

OH YEAH – and we celebrated the holy day of Easter with brunch and several pounds of Cadbury Mini Eggs (okay that second part was just me). Happy spring!

The post What’s Your Status? March 2013 appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

I have a few half written posts that I swear I will finish one of these days (except for the Christmas one – that shelf life has long since expired…) But I don’t seem to have time for more than the odd Facebook update here and there. So I guess I’ll just continue with my “this could have been a blog post” series on Facebook updates that…well, could have been blog posts. For an explanation of this foolishness, click HERE. Otherwise, heeeeeeere’s FEBRUARY!

February 3

9:30 a.m.

Our poor black dog, Alice looks like she has dandruff on her head. Oliver decided to give her a toothpaste shampoo. Obviously.

February 4

6:30 p.m.

Arrived in a box amidst a jumble of memorabilia from Chris’ parents’ house (they are moving: i.e. unloading boxes of crap on their kids). I’m calling it The Ring of Power.

February 4

9:30 p.m.

Some people may call eating dinner at 9:30 not being able to get your act together…I like to call if “being European.”

February 5

4:35 p.m.

I don’t think I will ever in my life spell ocassion correctly the FIRST time. I mean occassion. Occasion?

7:20 p.m.

If George takes 2 hours to eat four chicken nuggets AGAIN, I may lose my mind… I mean, seriously. How many issues with breading can one person have?!

February 6

9:00 p.m.

If I end up dying young, it will undoubtedly be the result of our dog, Alice tripping me on the stairs. She LIVES directly under my feet!

February 7

5:35 p.m.

“No! Toothpaste is not soap. It is for teeth. Not washing hands…or dogs.”

I actually say these things.

February 10

7:50 p.m.

Major quandary about Downton Abbey and The Walking Dead being on at the same time… What does this say about me?

Though in my defense, my husband does figure in. I would prefer watch Downton and catch TWD later… Marriage is all about compromise!

February 11

8:10 p.m.

“NOT UNTIL YOU STAY IN YOUR OWN SQUARE AND STOP TOUCHING OTHER PEOPLE!”

Only people with kids will think this statement sounds remotely normal.

9:30 p.m.

I always know that my dog Alice’s water bowl is empty when I hear her drinking out of the toilet. One would think that this would make me more vigilant about checking her supply. One would be wrong.

Related: my children are inconsistent flushers.

We’re all about the class.

February 12

7:5o p.m.

“We never throw our underwear at someone’s face!”

So many teachable moments…

February 13

6:30 p.m.

One of my children to another one of my children: “Stop playing with my nails!”

Me: “The fact that he had to ask that is weird enough. Please stop doing it.”

February 14

2:30 p.m.

Sometimes I open my e-mail and think, “why did I subscribe to Goop.com?” I mean – when do I ever actually open those e-mails? So instead of unsubscribing, I just delete the message and reenact this scene again the following day…

February 17

9:30 a.m.

Me (to our dog): Alice – why do you always want to play with ME? You know I’m not fun!

Eleanor: Well…sometimes you are.

Gee thanks.

February 19

8:05 a.m.

He returned from his business trip over 3 weeks ago…But on the upside, someone is finally using that hideous dog bed.

February 19

7:00 p.m.

No idea what this is all about – but I’m IN.

February 21

5:00 p.m.

Trying to get something rather time sensitive done on the computer and the kids won’t leave me alone. Hello! I’ve given you all snacks, drinks, suggestions for entertainment, TELEVISION… Giving serious thought to tossing a bag of unopened candy downstairs and telling them that they’re not allowed to eat it. That should keep them busy (and quiet) for a good hour…

8:20 p.m.

Me: Hey – now that Eleanor’s cast is off, you can all start taking the bus again.

George: Yay! I love the bus. You can find candy under the seats.

Me: Why are you telling me this?

George: It’s like a scavenger hunt!

February 26

2:10 p.m.

Holding this in mine today…

5:20 p.m.

They put one on EVERY DOOR in the house. And on a couple of chairs. And a lamp.

February 28

6:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Isn’t it weird how babies are always born on their birthday?

Uh….

*****

That’s it! Check back in a few weeks for March updates (spoiler: I throw a party because The Mindy Project is renewed by Fox for another season).

The post What’s Your Status? February 2013 Facebook Upates appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

Remember when we used to write regularly in our blogs and people would even READ what we wrote and possibly COMMENT? And we would read other blogs and comment and stuff too. And there would be this whole communication thing going on…what did we call it back then? OH YEAH – blogging.

Now we do this on Facebook and Twitter.

Recently, it occurred to me that half (if not most) of what I post on Facebook constitutes the beginnings of a blog post. Back in the good ol’ days I mean. Each of these little one liners or bits of dialogue could have been worked into an entire story on my blog. They could have been whole posts. They coulda’ been great! Not to mention the fact that only 10% of my family is actually on Facebook. That’s right, Chris, Mom, etc. are missing ALL of this stuff.

So I’m starting a new monthly feature: “What’s Your Status?” I will do somewhat of a round up of all of my original Facebook posts (original meaning no link shares or the ever prolific someecards).

So here they are – all of the late-to-the-gamers. They could have been something. They coulda’ been a contender!

I think that covers it. Feel free to join in on this. Here is my January “could have been’s”:

January 1

6:00 p.m.

George: MOM! There are three steps to reading. FIRST! You open the book. SECOND! You look at the letters….oh yeah, there are TWO steps to reading.

11:15 p.m.

Just looked in the mirror, and I have to say – there is NOTHING sexier than a woman wearing a men’s t-shirt, voluminous fleece pajama bottoms and a Breathe Right strip. And MY husband gets to climb into bed with that EV-RY NIGHT. That lucky devil.

January 5

4:20 p.m.

Just got back from the ER. My ankle swelled up for no apparent reason and I decided that it must be a blood clot. Such an alarmist…of course I was wrong, but the doctors are just as clueless as I am. Nothing showed up in x-rays – so they are going to treat for infection. My diagnosis is “cellulitis.” Sadly, unlike the well known appendicitis scenario, treatment for cellulitis will not involve the removal of my cellulite. BUT I did get a prescription for Vicodin and orders to stay off my feet for a couple of days so I’LL TAKE IT.

January 6

5:30 p.m.

It’s Alice’s birthday! She’s really excited about this…

6:45 p.m.

“Okay – I don’t know who started it, but I want you both to STOP.” (If you ever doubted that you would turn into your parents…)

9:45 p.m.

If I have to get old, I want to be just like the Downton matriarchs. Can’t decide which one…

January 8

10:40 p.m.

Should I be embarrassed that when I looked an actor up online to see why he looked SO familiar to me, it was because he was in Hot Tub Time Machine? Related: Hot Tub Time Machine was HILARIOUS.

January 9

3:15 p.m.

Volunteered in my daughter’s K-1 art class today and found out that there actually IS a teenage boy lurking inside me. It happened when the teacher said (without ANY hint of irony), “now remember to be careful with those black markers…because once you use black, it’s hard to go back.”

I’m not kidding.

January 12

3:15 p.m.

Just drove somewhere with Oliver – and when I looked in the rear view mirror, I saw him sitting there with a lollipop.

Me: Oliver – where do you get that lollipop?

Oliver: from the car.

Me: [not really wanting to hear the answer] Was it wrapped?

Oliver: No.

Of course not…

January 15

10:30 a.m.

For some reason I am freezing today. Actually changed back into my fleece pajama bottoms! But then again, isn’t wearing fleece pajama bottoms one of the primary incentives for working from home?

January 16

5:15 p.m.

Never ceases to amaze me how quickly I can clear a room by asking, “hey – who wants to do homework?” Useful.

January 17

8:05 a.m.

Everyone knows that Martin Luther King received a Nobel Peace Prize. BUT did you also know that he once modeled Maybelline’s new Spring line of lipsticks?

January 18

9:30 a.m.

I just identified a new milestone in the gradual submission to suburban life. When you realize you have both indoor AND outdoor slippers. Deadly when combined with “still wearing your fleece pajama bottoms when you walk the dog at 7 a.m.”

January 20

2:30 p.m.

This morning Oliver and I were chatting, and he (obviously quoting something he heard on TV) said in a cartoon voice, “listen jerk!” I gasped and asked, “WHO said that?”

His response? “I did.”

Of course, so silly of me…

January 21

8:30 p.m.

Should I be embarrassed that I’m watching The Carrie Diaries? Probably…right?

January 22

12:15 p.m.

You know when it’s SO COLD outside that your house feels like an icebox and there aren’t enough sweaters in THE WORLD…so you decide to take a hot shower, but then you have to get out (because – you know, you ran out of hot water) and then it’s a bajillion times worse because now you are cold AND wet? All I have to say is thank the blessed mother of Thomas Edison for hair dryers. And heating pads! Off to look for our heating pad…

6:45 p.m.

You know the evening has degenerated when you have to yell “no touching butts!” more than once.

January 23

11:10 a.m.

Time to call animal control…full story on The Big Piece of Cake today.

2:30 p.m.

Bat update: Animal control feels no connection to my bat – said I should call an exterminator. Exterminators are not concerned about the bat devouring us in our sleep – will come tomorrow to “see if they can do anything for us.” Will report back on whether the bat makes its move and we join the Cullen Family. Please pray for us, as I am emphatically Team Jacob.

January 26

1:45 p.m.

In case you were wondering – I’m getting used to the bat in my window. Not that I’ll cry if the promised 60 degree weather inspires him to leave us…

6:05 p.m.

Eleanor just said, “Mom guess what animal I love even MORE than horses now? Dolphins!”

She is such a girl…bracing myself for puffy letter writing and unicorn pictures.

January 27

10:45 a.m.

One of these days, those “be a secret shopper” people are going to wear me down with their incessant e-mails…

1:05 p.m.

So this morning on Sid the Science Kid, the preschool has a day off and Sid is bummed that he won’t see his friends. But SURPRISE – his mom invited all of his friends over for the day (as if!). Then all of the kids lament how much they miss their teacher. But SURPRISE – Sid’s Mom ALSO invited their teacher! Because that’s exactly what teachers want to do on their day off – hang out with their students.

7:45 p.m.

George: Ahhh! Ahhh!
Me: What?! What’s wrong?!
George: My eye! My eye!
Me: What’s wrong with your eye?!
George: Towel! I need a [wet] towel!
Me: [running from kitchen with wet paper towel] Here! What happened?!
George: Wait…it doesn’t hurt anymore.
Me: Oh.
George: Wait…Ahhh! Ahhh! My eye!
Me: [handing him the wet paper towel] HERE!
George: Okay – that’s better….[then looks at the towel and sees a pink splotch – part of the print on the cheap Viva I buy) Ahhh! Ahhh! Blood!
Me: That’s not blood! It’s just the pattern on the paper towel.
George: Oh. Heh.

Someone seems to have inherited his father’s flair for the drama…and his ability to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Though it really does take something as indisputable as “the pattern on the paper towel”…

January 28

8:25 a.m.

E: Bats are like people. They have 5 fingers. Me: How do you know that? E: Because I counted. #science Also? That’s his tail. #eeewww!

January 31

10:55 a.m.

So – we lost our bat yesterday. If you’ve been following along, you can read the final installment here (scroll to the bottom).
********

Okay – I cheated.  I did write about the bat here… It just felt like such a BIG part of my January Facebook chit chat… But everything else is 100% wasted time on social media!

I’ll put February up in a couple of weeks. But in the meantime – what’s YOUR status?

The post What’s Your Status? (Alternatively Titled: They Coulda’ Been Great) – January 2013 Facebook Upates appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

And I’ve been thinking a lot about it over the past week. About all funerals, really.

What is it that they say about funerals? That they’re for the living? It makes sense. Only the living would really need a funeral. Because it offers a means of saying goodbye.

This public acknowledgement of – this bearing witness to – an ending is sometimes the only thing that allows us to move on. Forward. Possibly, to even see that as an option. A funeral honors this ending/beginning, and gives us permission to grieve, hope and continue to live.

At age 40, I’ve been to many funerals. And as far as religious rituals and rites go, I wouldn’t say that I personally need them. I don’t need a ceremony to say goodbye. I don’t need to commune with black garbed strangers I’ll probably never see again. I don’t need a gathering.

But I could never say that I don’t need people.

Which is an ironic statement coming from me since I love having time to myself. I actually like being alone. I could spend an entire week without seeing another person and never feel lonely. But this is exactly why I need people. Because for me, being alone is easy. And there is nothing to be learned from an easy life.

I need to feel the press of humanity around me. To bump into their sharp edges and feel a little uncomfortable. I need to be jostled and forced to participate. To stay awake. And alive.

Funerals are taxing for an introvert. All of those people…

And ultimately – I think that’s all a funeral is. Just people bumping into each other. Taking what they need and giving what they can. From family and friends supporting each other to strangers sharing a moment of companionship. It’s just a bunch of people standing around, feeling.

We are surrounded by people every day. On the bus…standing in line at the grocery store…sitting in a movie theater. So many experiences we remember are actually moments in time shared with strangers. But how often do we acknowledge that? That indirect togetherness?

Ceremony aside, a funeral is an ideal occasion to recognize how connected we all are. Saying goodbye is a terrible thing to have in common – but it makes us actually look at each other.

The blond woman who puts her head on the shoulder of the man next to her. So tender. They must be close. I wonder if they are part of the family…maybe work friends.

The two women walking down the aisle. Mother and daughter? The older one looks very sad. The younger one holds her elbow. The small smiles they give me as they pass don’t reach their eyes.

A toddler in the front row wails and is quickly whisked to the back of the church. Her boots are spangled with sequins. A granddaughter?

As far as people watching goes, it’s not all that different from an afternoon at Whole Foods. Everyone has a story. Most of us are here alone. Alone in a crowd that’s only different in its singular purpose of saying goodbye.

But the goodbyes that truly bring us all together come from the people in the front row. Especially those who stand up to tell stories about the loved one who died. They are not just sharing anecdotes that we may or may not already know – they’re handing us pieces of themselves.

What a rare and extraordinary experience. To be alone yet together in a crowd of friends and strangers, seeing a unique individual through the eyes the people who love them.

The first time I ever witnessed something like this was in high school. A new classmate (who would later in life become a dear friend) stood in front of hundreds of people to tell us about her twelve year old brother. She did this by reading a letter his friends wrote about him.

In college, I listened to my mother’s sister and cousin tell stories about their “Nana” who never married or had children, but instead poured all of her love into four little nieces. She let them try on her jewelry and made an event of watching the Miss America pageant.

When a good friend’s father died, I listened to her sister tell a hilarious story about his dedication to snapping great photos at the many weddings he attended. His scrappy hustle and willingness to elbow any professional photographer out of the way inspired his six children to call him, “Matty Kane, cub reporter.”

A few years later, I listened to that same sister’s husband talk about her valiant battle with breast cancer. When she received this diagnosis, her immediate response was, “thank god it’s not one of my babies.”

And in the fall of 2011, I sat in complete awe as one of my closest friends described the too short but incredibly full life of her twelve year old son. He had a sweet nature and a talent for making people feel special.

I think that two funerals for twelve year old boys has been entirely enough for me. I can only hope that there will never be a third.

But the funeral last week was not for a boy. It was for a man with thirteen grandchildren. A man who lived both a long and full life. One full of stories.

Some of these stories were told by his children who each took a turn to talk about the father they knew. It was especially moving for me to witness this since I practically lived in their house when I was a little girl.

Madeline was like the sister I never had, which made her siblings my extended network of big sisters and younger brothers. So the stories they told about what a character their father was…his irreverence…his tendency to bring home random “new friends” as if they were long lost family members…his constant supply of Lucky Strikes…they all brought back so many memories of that big family with their larger than life patriarch. But I was especially touched by their more serious, poignant insights.

Marjorie spoke first, explaining that she and her sister Gigi were tiny girls when their father came into their life. He fell in love with their mother and without hesitation, claimed them as his own. It takes quite a man to do something like that.

Oldest sister was followed by youngest brother, Reilly. Who is inexplicably no longer a ten year old boy. When did he become this man with SIX children of his own? But man he is, and so much like his father. He talked about the man who taught him how to be a man, starting with the value of a strong handshake. A lesson he’s passed down to his own sons.

My Madeline (I always think of her as “My Madeline”) went next. She was a Daddy’s Girl and never one to wear her heart anywhere BUT on her sleeve for the world to see (dry eyes beware). She shared her earliest memory of being at the beach, where her father would carry her out into the waves. She thought it was scary…and also exciting. But she always felt safe.

Gigi was the last to speak, and she said that she found herself at a loss for words. She has endured what could only be described as a mother’s nightmare over the past year. And the presence of supportive parents has contributed largely to her survival. She didn’t share memories, as no story or quote was required to express the depth of her love and grief. Instead she told us how much this support meant to her – just the simple act of “spending time with him.” Knowing that he was there.

One brother was not able to talk about the father he knew, but his presence filled the room. John died young, just barely a man himself. His Down Syndrome was never perceived as a disability in their house, but the health complications that so often accompany the condition were a constant worry. The loss of this much loved son and brother was a terrible blow to the family. And while this wasn’t John’s funeral, it did feel like a continuation of grief and gratitude for the time they all had together.

While I do not have a son with Down Syndrome, I do have one with special needs. And I think that I owe much to my friend and her family for my perception of him as being just perfect the way he is. This isn’t an easy thing to do. No one finds out they’re pregnant and wishes for a child with special needs. No one wants their son to struggle with the things that come so easily to others. But I grew up watching a family find the exceptional in a boy with special needs because of his differences. And I am so incredibly grateful for that.

I didn’t go to John’s funeral. I was in college, in another state and young enough to believe that my presence wouldn’t have been important. But 20 years later, I know this is far from true. There are no extraneous people when it comes to saying goodbye.

Whether we are there alone or in the front row, we are all part of something bigger than a rite or ritual. A funeral isn’t just a miscellaneous assortment of people in pews. It’s a shared moment of grief in loss, gratitude for life and the acknowledgement that that everyone – even an introvert like me – needs people.

Alone in a crowd or together around a family table, we are just people bumping into each other’s sharp edges, reminding each other to participate in life – to actually look at each other. We take what we need and give what we can. And we tell stories to help us remember.

And as long as there are stories, then we never really have to say goodbye.

The post The Good in Goodbye appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

So even though I have two posts partially finished to, you know – FINISH (one of which is about my Christmas), I have GOT to talk about what happened last night.

At about 11:00 I was channel surfing (we still call it that right? I’m so ’90s about electronics, I’m never sure – I mean, I still listen to CDs forgodssake). And after two hours of complete engrossment in The Carrie Diaries and The Following (try THAT juxtaposition on for size), I was beginning to think that going to bed might be a good idea. But first I had to make sure there wasn’t something super awesome on Lifetime (or at least something starring Jo from The Facts of Life).

So I know it was sometime before midnight when I heard Eleanor crying. She said her foot hurt where the splint covered her heel. Oh – did I mention that she broke her foot this weekend? It’s a long story involving children picking up free weights when they know it’s not allowed and Eleanor’s foot being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Well maybe it’s a short story… But yeah – Eleanor broke her foot. Anyway – it hurt, she cried and I had to give up on 1990′s made for Lifetime movie entertainment.

I gave her some Tylenol and said she could sleep in my room. Then I tucked her into bed with George, who had already found his way there. Wait – did you know that Chris is away on a week-long business trip? Wow – we have A LOT of catching up to do… Well, moving on, I looked at my six year old “book ends” and resigned myself to a cramped night of elbow jabs and pillow stealing.

I suffered for a while, but when our dog, Alice crawled under the covers to make herself comfortable in the area where I would typically choose to place my legs, I decided that one of my bed mates had to go. And because Eleanor was playing the “wounded” card and I have never once won a battle for bed space with Alice, the choice was obvious. I got up and moved George back to his own bed. This was easy enough as George sleeps so deeply you could probably arrange him on a coat hanger, and he wouldn’t notice.

It was the moment when I finally relaxed back into the luxury of being able to move at least one of my limbs, that the scratching noise started. Then continued, persistent and loud.

I had woken Eleanor up with my moving around, so she heard it too. And sensing my newly alert state, she said, “I think it’s just Alice.” Since I was at that very moment straddling my sleeping, 60 lb. dog, I knew for a fact that it was not Alice.

And speaking of that, please take a moment to give it up for Alice, the WORST guard dog EVER. She will bark her head off at a cat sitting on the sidewalk outside of our house – but an unknown creature makes menacing noises IN MY BEDROOM and….nothing.

As the mysterious scuffling (and Alice’s snoring) continued, it became increasingly clear, that I was going to have to get up and “check it out.” I was so tired, I would have preferred to just pretend it wasn’t happening so I could sleep. But the noise was coming from the corner where Chris’ closet was partially open, and I figured that if there was a raccoon in there eating his dress shirts, I’d probably better deal with it sooner as opposed to later. Oh who am I kidding!? I’ve already admitted that I’d be the first to meet my grisly end in a horror movie. I ALWAYS “check it out.”

I tried to make it as “not scary” as possible for Eleanor by saying that the boys might be awake and making noise downstairs. But as I went through the motions of listening for signs of my naughty sons, I was fully focused on that corner, trying to identify the the true source of the commotion

Was it the closet? Or was it the window next to the closet…? It was definitely the window. So all I had to do was open the drapes and take a look.

Oh Christ. I really didn’t want to open the drapes… But hey – it could be an ax murderer or something…so I figured I pretty much had to do it. And with Eleanor’s encouragement, I peeked in the side and saw a small fluttering shape.

My first thought was that it could be a bird since I did once have an experience with a sparrow flying in the window and getting trapped in my room (and let me tell you – you haven’t lived until a bird has crapped all over your room). But in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t a bird. It was the middle of the night. What birds fly around in the middle of the night? I looked a little more closely. And sure enough…it was a bat.

Oh sweet Jesus. I had a bat trapped in my storm window.

I immediately started fuming, “OF COURSE Chris isn’t here, leaving ME to deal with this.” But then I quickly remembered that Chris would have been of no use, as I was fairly certain that “bat removal” was not listed under “Skills” on his marriage resume.

And truly, I didn’t know what I could do at that point. The only way to get the bat out was to open the window. And if I opened the window it would most definitely make a beeline for my nice warm bedroom. No – there was nothing for it. I had to leave it where it was until the following day when I could find “someone else“ to handle the situation.

I have to admit, I felt conflicted… On the one hand, I thought “aw! poor little thing…” and on the other hand, I thought “OHMYGODGROSS! KILL IT! KILL IT!” But either way – it would have to be dealt with in the morning.

And that was another thought. What would happen in the morning? Would the sun burn it to ash? Or was that just vampires? It was late. I was was confused…

Then I realized that Eleanor wanted to know what I saw. So in keeping with the whole “not scary” thing, I told her it was a bug. A really big bug. But it was trapped outside the window and couldn’t get in.

Unfortunately, she insisted on seeing it. Since I obviously wasn’t going to be able to pull off the “it’s just a bug” ruse, I said, “you know…I THINK it might be a BABY bat.”

This did not elicit quite the electrifying response that a six-year-old Kate have displayed at the notion of a thin sheet of glass separating a BAT’S sharp teeth from our tender flesh. Obviously, my daughter is not growing up with a dial’s worth of television channels, one of which undoubtedly airs the odd “Mid-Day Monster Movie Marathon.” No – she hails from the era of closely monitored cable shows and Twilight. She just thought it was sad and kind of icky.

I convinced her to try to go back to sleep, in spite of the futile scrabbling going on behind the closed drapes. But it was difficult for either of us to manage with Alice’s stalking and growling. OH HI ALICE! Thanks for joining us. Yes – there is a bat stuck in the window. Get it girl – GET IT!

Needless to say, there was another hour or two of growling and stalking and giggling and wondering HOW I could possibly function tomorrow on just a few hours of sleep.

And then we woke up.

And there were no scratching and scrabbling noises. And I really hoped this meant that the bat found its way out of the storm window while we were sleeping.

But alas. There it was – a tiny fur ball wedged in the corner. It was so cold outside that the poor little guy must have frozen to death.

On the upside, I no longer had to take immediate action.

So I spent the rest of my busy day ignoring the fact that the there was a dead bat in my window.

Then earlier this evening, I was summoned upstairs by Oliver who sounded quite agitated. He said that he was “afraid of the bat,” so I explained that the poor little thing was dead and no longer a threat to the good, bat-fearing people that lived in this house. My son then continued to inform me that it wasn’t THAT bat that was scaring him. It was another one he could hear in his room.

The chittering (yes – chittering) noises outside of the boys’ bedroom window clearly indicated that our nice warm(ish) house must be a beacon for all uninvited guests of the furry, winged variety.

Crap.

So this is what we’re up to tonight:

But WAIT – it gets BETTER! Shortly after everyone fell asleep, Alice became very interested in my bedroom window. Her (better late than never) warning directed my attention to the original scene of the crime. Scuffling noises again.

This time I wasn’t afraid to look – been there, done that – and was only slightly taken aback to find ANOTHER BAT trapped in the storm window.

If tonight’s bat doesn’t make his move and turn us into new Cullen family members (pray for me, as I am emphatically Team Jacob), I’ll have to address this issue tomorrow morning. So basically, I’ll let you know how the move went once we’re settled in the new house. ‘Night all!

EPILOGUE: January 23, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

It has come to light that our second visitor was actually our FIRST visitor. Apparently, he reanimated last night and is no longer a tiny ball of fur cowering in the corner. Now he is hanging from the window pane, BOLD AS BRASS.

Someone pass me the smelling salts. And the number of a good exterminator. And a blunt object I can use to kill my husband when he returns for his business trip next week, long after I have figured out how to evict unwanted bats from storm windows. Never a dull moment around here…

EPILOGUE II: January 24, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

After a day of talking to Animal Control (who didn’t feel a connection to my bat and suggested that I contact an exterminator), exterminators (who weren’t overly concerned about the bat devouring us in our sleep and offered to come by in day or two to see “if there was anything they could do for us”), and finally a bat expert/rescuer lady who worked somewhere called “Bats Alive”), we seem to have found resolution.

Here is the deal. The bat cannot get into our house – he really is just hanging out in the storm window. So there is no danger to the people (and vicious guard dog) who live here. And the bat expert lady confirmed that our bat isn’t in danger of freezing to death (THANK GOD). No – he’s just snug as a bug in a rug – happily hibernating in a warm (for him), safe place. She said that as long as he is able to climb out of the window (he is), then he will eventually leave on his own (when he’s damn well ready).

SO, it seems that we will be one big happy family as long as he’ll have us. Or at least until Spring when I’ve had enough, and make Chris get up a ladder to forcibly evict him. In the meantime, friends and neighbors are welcome to drop by and wave hello. He’s dangling in the the window above our front door.

And they all lived happily ever after… THE END

…until… EPILOGUE III (the FINAL installment in the Hood Family Bat saga): January 30, 2013, 6:30 p.m.

We’ve had some very warm, spring-ish weather for the past couple of days. So each morning, I’ve checked the window to see if our little friend had left us. My roller coaster ride of SYMPATHY-REVULSION-SYMPATHY-REVULSION finally leveled out on a steady plateau of cautious fondness. And while I’ve hoped that our bat would make his way back into the wilds where he belongs, I’d by lying if I said there wasn’t a (very) small part of me that would be sad to see him go.

I mean, we’ve had some great learning opportunities over the past week. For example…

Eleanor: Mom, bats are like people. They have five fingers.

Me: How do you know that?

Eleanor: I counted.

Yay Science! Also? That’s his tail. Eeeeewwww!

As the slush melted and we switched from coats to jackets, I knew that our time with the bat would be coming to an end. And sure enough, when I checked the window this morning, he was gone.

Oh no…. He wasn’t gone. He just wasn’t comfortably dangling anymore. He was a furry, crumpled heap. I feared the worst.

So I called the bat expert lady.

She agreed that things sounded dire. And even though she planned to be in my area later that evening for a bat release, she decided that she’d better come assess the situation pronto.

I hustled the kids off to school, telling them that someone was coming to help our bat out of the window and “no – no time to say goodbye – he’s sleeping anyway – I’ll send him your regards!” Then I waited for the bat expert lady.

I won’t string you along. Our bat was alive! But he couldn’t climb out, and definitely wouldn’t have lasted much longer without help.

And since I know you’ve just been DYING to see the little guy’s face…

Yes – her shirt says, “I love bats!” The bat expert lady is awesome.

She noted that he is a “Big Brown Bat.” Which I could have told you… But seriously, that’s the real name. In fact, the “Big Brown Bat is one of the most common bats in Northern Virginia, as well as the largest. Their bodies are about five inches long, not counting the tail, and they have a wingspan of up to 13 inches.” Just so you know.

AND it was confirmed that my use of the masculine pronoun was in fact, correct. Congratulations Hood family, “it’s a boy!” We will remember HIM fondly.

So we are now batless. It’s weird. But ultimately a good thing. I’m glad to know that we were able to provide shelter to a tiny soul in the bitter cold. And that we were able to help send him safely on his way when he no longer needed us. But I’m most grateful for the fact that we now know that bats will nest in open storm windows sometimes, so we can make sure that moving forward, ours always stay firmly shut.

The post About Last Night… (Alternatively Titled: Bats Alive!) appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

You know when you buy a sweater because it’s on sale, and it looks so cute on the hanger, and it’s SO cheap, but you don’t have the time or energy to try it on first? And then you get home and find out that the sweater was designed for supermodels and not suburban moms who don’t get to the gym enough, and it makes you look two sizes larger than you already are? Then it sits in your closet for years because you have this hope that one day you will turn into a supermodel and the sweater will look as stunning on you as it was meant to be? And then there is this afternoon when you are really cold and the sweater looks really warm, and even though you have to volunteer at school, you wear it anyway because elementary school kids don’t care about how bad you look in your sweater? And after volunteering you remember that you have to go to the store and people out in the world WITH EYES will see you in the unflattering sweater? But you don’t really care, because when you walk into Safeway you encounter one of the cashiers draped in a white sheet wearing nothing but black socks on his feet (and WHAT was THAT all about by the way?) And you think that in the context of Safeway that afternoon, your ill-fitting sweater really isn’t all that bad… And THEN you realize that the strange ringing in your ears is actually your 23-year-old self screaming herself hoarse, and now that she has your attention she’s begging, “why? Why would you do that? Why would you wear that hideous sweater out in public? Why? WHY? What has become of us?” And you know that you’re going to have to make it up to her by wearing lip gloss and earrings tomorrow. Then you buy a pint of ice cream and eat the whole thing with Cake Decor sprinkles because for some reason, it seemed like a good idea at the time…kind of like buying the sweater did.

So THAT happened today… How are you?

Sorry for the radio silence. The holidays were rough. I have a half written post about that, as well as two others that I meant to do something with in December. So hopefully I can finish those by the end of this month.

In the meantime, Listen to Your Mother – DC audition dates have been set. Visit the show page for full details. Hope to see you there!

The post Suburban Mom Stream of Consciousness appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

Chris and I are total dorks. But we thought this was funny. Introducing the song stylings of CHARLIE, our elf on the shelf (who knew he was such a lounge lizard?) and ME.

The post Baby It’s Cold Outside appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

Well of course, we all remember! But it’s hard to imagine going back there – to have no knowledge of how it feels to live several lives simultaneously. Primarily, we’re living our own life. But at the same time we are experiencing the world through at least one other set of smaller, yet much wider eyes.

I have always loved decorating for Christmas. And the post-children Christmas tree is a source of much angst that I’ll discuss later. But while outside looking at our house today, I was struck by how much it reflects the integration of family.

This is what you would see before we had kids:

And this is most definitely after:

Together, it makes for a slightly confusing blend of just right and just a little too much. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Everyone who has children thinks about “before and after.” But some parents have a terrible before and after: before, when the family was together, and after, when one is missing.

On Friday, a new set of parents was initiated into the nightmare of before and after a child was lost. They are just a few among many, but they represent the reality of our uncertain future.

My heart breaks for EVERY parent who has ever lost a child. But instead of indulging in despair for all that is terrible in this world, I am reminded to appreciate the present. To revel in the ordinary. To delight in the day-to-day tedium and frustration of raising children. Today was okay. It was fine. And in that I see extraordinary joy.

This afternoon, I hung my simple wreaths with the pale blue satin ribbons. Then I stepped back to see the juxtaposition of restrained elegance next to garish holiday ornaments and a brown extension cord dangling from our newly exposed front light bulb.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that my house looks a little crazy. I’m ecstatic that my perfectly decorated tree seems to be sprouting new ornaments made of paper cut by tiny, inexperienced hands. The screaming match going on in the basement playroom is music to my ears.

This is life as I know it now. For now, everything is fine.

It’s hard to not feel sad in the face of such terrible grief. Especially knowing that in a split second, I could be one of the grieving.

But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you just have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

My heart goes out to everyone missing a much-loved child today – both friends and strangers. And in honor of their treasured before, I’m going to appreciate every second of my now.

Whenever I feel overwhelmed by life or mired down in petty concerns, I will try to remember what is truly important. To appreciate the exquisite pleasure of a mostly good day with the people I love.

In the face of an uncertain future, I am putting all of my energy into cherishing my own children who are so very HERE right now. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs. And I’ll decorate my heart with their chaos and garish enthusiasm for everything that is good.

The post Before and Now appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.

Remember how fun it was to be a pre-teen with braces? Yeah – I have no recollection of that either. Though I do remember being a pre-teen, that the awkward period of time that we now call “tween.” And BOY was I awkward. Shy, generally unsure of myself and several inches taller than the other girls in my class (and some of the boys) – adding braces to the equation just gave me one more tiny cross to bear: I never liked smiling.

And that’s just sad. Buddy the Elf wouldn’t understand (“I love smiling, it’s my favorite!”) Sorry – with Christmas fast-approaching, the Elf quotes are flying fast and furious around here. But back to braces – I did have them. And I was not best pleased about it.

We saw the writing on the wall when my grownup teeth started coming in, big gappy spaces and some “twisting.” So it was no surprise when I was sent to the orthodontist.

Here is a fairly decent representation:

Why the duck? I have no idea. We must have been at a lake. But within a couple of years when my teeth had fully grown in, those smiles would become few and far between.

I remember sitting in that chair for an hour as they cemented each tiny piece of metal to my teeth. And then the tightening of the wire (ouch!) Not to mention the fact that this was the ’80s and no one in the dental profession wore face masks, so I got to breathe in the aroma of everyone’s afternoon coffee.

I think this picture best expresses my feeling on the matter:

There are braces behind those unsmiling lips. And no, I have NO pictures where you can see my braces. I either refused to show teeth or I disposed of the incriminating photos when I was teenager. Vain much? Oh – and please don’t judge the caked on makeup. My mother let me experiment to my heart’s content and was rewarded with a teenager who wore little more than dab of lip gloss.

Those terrible brace face years were all worth it in the end. By the time I was in high school, the braces were gone and I could smile to my heart’s content:

Just look at those beautiful pearly whites! But avert your eyes from the bushy brows (what? I did say it was the ’80s).

Pre-teen Kate definitely would have preferred to use Invisalign and been part of the “2 Million Smilestone” (as mentioned above, they’ve straightened two million smiles and counting). Not having a mouth full of silver would have been a good reason to smile. I’ve known about this “new alternative to braces” for a while now – and if I ever need to fix dental issues again, I’m going wireless!

(If you’re curious, check out the Invisalign Cost Calculator: http://clvr.li/QUpqO3)

For more information, please visit Invisalign. I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective, and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

The post Brace Face appeared first on The Big Piece of Cake.