In life, some lessons are best learned, not taught

I feel like I've been on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride the last few weeks. I haven't blogged in a while and I truly do miss writing. There is a lot on my mind but first and foremost has been my son, James. James broke his wrist while playing JV baseball. He saved the team's win but suffered a buckle fracture of his radius and a fracture of his ulna.

What was unbelievable was the range of motion the kid had on his wrist. When we took him to our orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Jerry Ellstein, he basically did the same check that we did...flip the wrist forward, back and twist from side to side. It was the x-ray that had the final say. Final prognosis: cast for four weeks, one week off, physical therapy and he's good to go. Here's the beauty of youth - you heal well and fast. It's like the green sapling branches on a tree in the spring. They bend but don't break. Dr. Ellstein said if it was my husband, it would be six weeks in a cast.

By the way, if you ever need an orthopedic doctor, I highly recommend Dr. Ellstein. I met him on February 5, 2000. It had been a particularly icy winter. We had a new driveway and Jamie was reluctant to use ice melt. I was on my way into the city on a Saturday morning at 7 am, forgot my cell phone and headed back to the house to get it. I was eight weeks pregnant at the time with Joseph. I parked on the driveway, ran into the house, grabbed my cell phone, ran back to my truck and lost my footing as I got into my truck. I fell onto the ice under the truck and broke my humeral shaft on my left arm. I'm left handed. My friends have all heard this story. I'll fill you in on the details in another blog but the point here is when I went to the emergency room, Dr. Ellstein was on call. God was watching me that day. He brought Dr. Ellstein into my life and through a variety of circumstances, he has stayed in my life. This is James' second go round with Dr. Ellstein. The how and why are fodder for another blog!

Back to James...

When a fifteen year has a broken wrist and he plays baseball, it seems like the end of the world. The down side of youth: perspective cannot be taught. I understand as a woman in my forties that four weeks is doable. To a fifteen year old, four weeks is FOREVER. It's a rarity that I need to cheer lead James but that's what I've been doing the last four weeks. James LIVES for baseball. I love his enthusiasm for the sport, for the comraderie, for his teammates. It's been taken away from him for a short period of time. I marvel at his fortitude. He turned his energies to his studies. He's right handed and he broke his right wrist. I contacted each of his teachers and the school administrators that he would be facing some difficulties for the next four weeks. Can I tell you that he has not asked me for assistance in writing or typing homework since he broke his wrist? He's sucking it up and getting it done. It's the kind of kid he is.

He's got great friends. He has sought them out and they have rallied around him. They've bucked him up and made life bearable. I take him to see Dr. Ellstein on Wednesday and hopefully he'll have good news that his injury is healing well. So say a prayer for him.

I had a girls' night recently after James broke his wrist. On the way to Becky's house, I broke down. I don't know what it was. I think I knew I was headed to hang out with a bunch of moms who knew exactly how I felt and maybe I felt safe there. It was my safe place to have a cry. I pulled myself together in the car and had a great evening with the girls. Some of my girls know me better than others and knew I was upset but didn't pursue it. If they had, I would have lost it totally.  They talked to me about it after the fact, made sure I was OK and I love them for that.

There is no more helpless feeling than wanting to solve a problem for your child that is only solved with time. I am, at times, a super woman but even I cannot overcome quantum physics.

The last couple of weeks has been a struggle but we've made it through thus far. Bear with me. It's a break I could use.

Superbien

My dear friend William is turning 50. It is time to celebrate all that is William. Believe me, he is a celebration.

We met William many years ago. Jamie and I were dating at the time. That's at least five hundred years ago or twenty-five in human years (inside joke with Jamie via Tony Soprano). He was a customer of Jamie's in the wholesale food business. Do you know how sometimes you meet people in a professional capacity and the business and personal lines blur and a friendship blossoms, grows and thrives? It happens rarely. And when it does, you count your blessings.

William is that gift. He started out as Jamie's friend and as the years have passed, I have become as close a personal friend with William as Jamie is. I have become great friends with his wife, Rosa, one of the most elegant, beautiful and kind women I have ever met. Just take a look. She's GORGEOUS.

Our first born sons were born five days apart. I was thrilled when William called on April 27th to tell me his son was born. I remember when they were both so small they could sit in the base of the microwave cart in my kitchen enjoying a snack together. Rosa worked at the day care center that my kids attended and every time Miss Robin told me it was time to move Joseph up to another class, I insisted he needed more time with Miss Rosa. Our children are in different school districts now but when the boys get together, it is as though they saw each other last weekend. 

The hand will sweep twelve and William turns 50!I think there should be a ringing of bells in the cathedral to celebrate such accomplishment but William would insist on a more understated mark. He's that kind of guy. I admire him greatly. He was born in the Dominican Republic, came to United States and after a successful career in banking, chose to become part of the family business, supermarkets. They are an entrepreneurial family. Nene, Robert, William, Jimmy and an extended family have established and grown a grocery business, an extremely successful one. His businesses are based in the poorest of neighborhoods where no one else was willing to take on the risk and quite literally, the danger, of doing business in these places.  

We were out at dinner, the conversation led to work as it is wont to do. I whined about a few subjects and William gently chastised me for allowing my employer to treat me in such fashion. I burst into tears but he was so right. I allowed it. And I thank him for snapping me back to reality, to attention. I value and treasure his advice.

We have traveled all over the world together. This is the four of us having lunch in Vienna, 1999. Tres chic! I love talking about movies with him, busting Jamie's balls that it's taking too long to get to Atlantic City, comparing songs on our iPods and getting the crap scared out of me by his "dog bites." You haven't lived until you've survived the dog bite. 

Happy birthday, William! I think you may have surmised that I'm a huge fan.

William Rodriguez. One word. Superbien.

Pat and Vivian

My children have two grandmothers, my mom, Pat, and Jamie's mom, Vivian. Jamie's mom passed away before my children were born. My boys have been blessed to know my mother. She is their last living grandparent. We don't see her as much as we'd like to due to overly busy schedules on our part and an impediment in the form of the Long Island Expressway and typically horrendous traffic.

Vivian was an interesting lady. She was a mom, first and foremost. She adored her son. I still to this day tease Jamie about his mom. "My son, my son," it was her mantra. She was a chef at the Linden Tree in Huntington, New York who lived in a house with two picky eaters, aka meat and potato eaters. I feel her pain. I can't say that she was necessarily pleased when Jamie got engaged. It wasn't the idea that he was marrying me, it was that he was marrying at all. We married in 1990. She succumbed to colon cancer in 1993. When the bishop visited her to administer last rites, he asked her what was holding her on this earth as she was dying. She said I want to meet my grandchildren. That didn't happen. At least, not in the typical way.

By hook or by crook, she met her grandchildren. Before I write this next section, please understand that I am a very normal person by most standards and for the most part, relatively sane. I can tell you without a doubt, that at one point in our house, when Joe was crawling through the kitchen, the pocket door magically closed before he fell down the step and that I would go into the kids' rooms and tell Vivian that the boys needed to sleep, so please stop playing with the toys. Toys that had heretofore started making noise on their own would suddenly fall silent. 

If you think that your loved ones are gone, think again. I can tell you many stories about the presence of loved ones who have passed making their presence known in our lives. The signs are always there. We just don't recognize the signs for what they are. 

My mom is a pretty amazing woman. She hasn't won any Nobel prizes but her efforts at maintaining a civil relationship with some of the in-laws would rival the best efforts of Carter/Sadat/Begin at Camp David. Seriously. She gave her kids a work ethic. Need I say more? My sons know when Nanny is coming for a visit because I start baking Irish soda bread. They love her quiet laugh, her quiet happiness sitting by the fireplace, watching a movie with a cup of tea and a slice of Irish soda bread.

It was from her that the importance of education was impressed upon me. I have passed that goal onto my children. You will do the best you can. You will work hard. It's really the most simple of life's tenets and probably the most important life lessons you can pass onto your children.

So this Mother's Day 2011, the eighteenth anniversary of the passing of Jamie's mom, thank you to Vivian aka Grandma Vivian and thank you to Pat aka Nanny. You were and are amazing mothers and grandmothers. I strive every day to live up to your example as a mother and one day hope to experience the joy of being a grandmother, aka spoil the kids and send them home when they get cranky or I've had enough.

Call your mother! Happy Mother's Day!

A Decade to Remember

The PS3 network has been down for 18 days now. It hasn't affected James so much. He's 15, tons of homework, quizzes, tests.

Joe has hit a brick wall. I fear for my son if the US Armed Forces is tracking Call of Duty. The kid is a sharp shooter. At one point, there was a clan named "Fuck Joe Litchhult." Nuff said.

Playstation Network has been down for 18 days since it was hacked. Fortunately, I don't store my credit card information online so it hasn't really affected me. I have been enjoying the additional talking time with Joe. He's totally bored so he's spending more time with me. I'll take it anyway I can get it.

With the events of this week and the lack of PS network, we have spent time discussing the events of September 11. Joe was two, James was five and a half. When you are five, the half is uber important. At the time of the events, after attending many funerals, after watching the news coverage that week, James wisely and succinctly said at that time, "Mom, you shouldn't watch this any more. It makes you so sad." From the mouths of babes.

On Sunday night, I was weeping watching the announcement that Osama had been caught and killed. James knew the source of my sadness. Are you all right, Mom? Are you OK?

Tonight, as the news coverage continued, Joe asked me, did you know anyone who died that day? What did we do that day? I told him. I watched the announcement from the Today show by Katie Couric as I fed you your yogurt. I remembered getting the announcement that the school was in lockdown. When your first grader goes into lockdown, it scares the crap out of you. When I tried to talk about all the friends I lost that day, I burst into tears and asked him if we could talk about this at another time. He just nodded.

Can you believe it's been 10 years? I cannot. My son was in first grade. Now he's in high school.

In any event, don't kid yourselves, folks. The pain is still being worked through. For those that get impatient, chill out. Time heals all wounds. How much time is needed is determined by the person suffering, not by you. So to those who say it's time to move on, go ahead. Some of us need more time.

18 days. 10 years. The two experiences have absolutely no relation to each other in consideration of importance AT ALL. Don't misinterpret me. I am just making an allusion to how the passage of time affects people. Your 18 days is my decade.

Everything is relative.

Good bye and good riddance

Osama bin Laden is dead. It's a surreal experience to watch the news in the last 15 minutes. The bastard is dead.

Let the keening and wailing begin on the part of Al Quaeda. It's called karma, you fuckers. You can't escape her. She will give you back ten times what you put out, either good or bad. She's had some fun this weekend. Khaddafi lost his son and three grandchildren this weekend. Osama took a US missile and now his feckless followers are gnashing their teeth knowing the US has his body and can confirm that he is, in fact, dead.

He and his cohorts destroyed too many lives, too many families.

My family had a great weekend. My kids had their friends over, we had dinner with friends on Friday, Joe pitched on Saturday and pitched great today. He was cheered on by the Bleacher Creatures, led by his 15 year old brother. More friends over for dinner tonight. The giggles and laughs filled my car and my home. I got to reconnect with my baseball friends. My signature cheer, often imitated and never duplicated,  came back into full swing. I love cheering for my kids and it's my privilege to do so. It was small moments of joy all weekend but it's those moments I've come to cherish the most. It truly was an all American weekend: family, friends and baseball.

I never take for granted the freedom I enjoy as a citizen of the United States provided by our fine military service people or the gift of life I celebrate every day.

To the survivors, I hope tonight's news brings a small measure of comfort to you all. It's a psychological victory that I hope you all take a moment to savor. To my two blog readers in Iran, I don't know how you'll take this blog but we Americans have a reason to celebrate tonight. The bastard is dead.