The Boys of Fall

If you know me, like really know me, you know that I don't like football. I'd rather put away laundry and clean the bathroom than watch a game. I don't understand the plays and I have no desire to figure it out. I don't participate in fantasy football although my husband is constantly in my ear about his team. Paradoxically I love football. I love sitting on the bleachers in the crisp fall air, hearing the thud of helmets hitting helmets, the whistle blowing, the crowd yelling Go D! I love it. I love the team work, the huddles, the spirit, the drive.

I grew up in a football family. My father played for St. Mary's as did my brother until the school closed which found him playing his senior year at Glens Falls and then playing center for Norwich University. My dad (and my mom too) was always there for my brother, holding the yard markers, helping the coaches, supportive as best he could but never in the overbearing kind of way. He was the gentle giant that stood quietly by but when necessary made his voice known. I vividly remember a picture of my dad clad in stonewashed jeans (it was 1989!) standing on the field at Norwich with my brother. The smiles and pride, the dreams and goals, the support and love are ever present in this moment frozen in time.

The torch has now been passed to my nephew who has played for the past 4 years. He's growing by leaps and bounds and that little guy running around with a huge helmet has been replaced with a tall and slender young man.

We went to Jacob's game today and at the end we went down on the field for high-fives. Luke extended his hand in awe of these real, live players. His mouth hung open as his eyes scanned them from helmet to cleat. And then he saw Jacob, it was as if he saw a star.

I wanted my father there. I could hear him laughing, I heard the pride bursting through the intense sunset, I saw his hand on Jake's shoulder, passing on the torch. I felt the loss as we remembered when Jacob first saw our cousin play at Union when he was merely Ellie's age.

I am so proud of this family. I want my nephew to see my father's yearbook, to see the lineage.

I want you to watch this. I know it's long, but take the time. And yes I'm going to say it, I am going to go all the way and get all cheesy and cliche on you:It's not just about football, it's about the way of life. Go build your team, get psyched and tackle your dreams whatever they may be.

Grand Mother Memories

Tonight I found an old journal of mine, one that I used to write in on my trips back and forth to Manhattan from Glens Falls. I must have come home for a Mother's Day weekend as there was no date of this entry but I listed out all of my favorite childhood memories of both of my grandmother's and my mom. I laughed and cried as I read through them. These lists have jogged my memory for the better and it reminds me that the things we treasure the most are moments in time rather than material possessions.

We all met at my Grandma LaSarso's house today to pick and choose our favorite things as her house is on the market. The boys divided up all of Papa LaSarso's treasured car collection, we all took utensils and cookware in hopes that her spirit will work some magic in the cooking process. I am blessed to have her bedroom furniture and the buffet that matches the dining room table she had already gifted me. As I looked through some old family photos I noticed that the table my family shares meals around is the same table that my mother grew up sitting at. I am so blessed to have these heirlooms and a lifetime of memories.

Gram Center, aka, Gracie
The distinct smell of stale cigarette smoke, coffee, butter and a gas stove
The sound of Star Trek playing in the background of the kitchen
A loaf of Villa bread always on the counter
Having to walk to Price Chopper to buy Lard for her spaghetti sauce
Big tins of olive oil
Bingo chips
Mint green paint
The pathway of slate steps in the backyard
Rose bushes
Flowery house coats
Red fingernails
Cool lemon Sunshine brand cookies
Spending afternoons on her porch
Sitting on "The Wall" in the backyard
Visiting Mrs. Tucker
The sound of the washer and dryer in the bathroom off of the kitchen
Her rhaspy, throaty voice
The way she sat in a chair. Hunched over with her hands between her knees. Not lady like at all:)
How excited she got when she won bingo.
Her cane
The cupboard in the den
Soap Operas

Gram LaSarso aka Barb aka Betty aka Duma (because she was always doing too much)
The clean bleachy smell from under her kitchen sink.
How she always gave us OJ and milk in their respective glasses with our breakfast.
The time Sarah and I slept over and all I packed in my suitcase was my tea set and Barbie clothes so I had to wear one of her nightgowns to bed.
Christmas Eve with the TV screen covered in wrapping paper.
Tommy and I discussing in a hushed whisper what restaurant we wanted to go to after church on Saturday nights.
Sleeping upstairs but being very afraid of the framed picture of Jesus and the closet with the accordion-fold door.
Getting to sleep on the cot with the flowery padding from a summer lounge chair as the mattress.
Taking walks through the dirt path and around the block.
When Papa FINALLY unearthed the wagon from under the porch after a long winter.
The kitchen wallpaper: giant flowery turquoise blue and green pattern.
The basement ceiling covered in old postcards and newspaper clippings.
When Papa would make us a snow hill in the backyard to sled down.
Listerine.
The purple cup she used to make gravy in.
Her jewelry box.
The entire wardrobe she handmade for my Cabbage Patch Kids.
The Little Drummer Boy record, mostly just for the cover art.
Spending hours looking at photo albums.
Her banana cake with chocolate frosting, lemon meringue pie, knuckla soup, knadel, potato salad, rice pudding, chicken rice soup, cheese sauce and scalloped potatoes.
Richard's bowl of peas at Thanksgiving.
Papa's injured bent finger and how it felt on your back when he hugged you.
How she and Papa saved all of their proofs of purchase to get s the cardboard house with shutters, the Snap doll (of Crackle and Pop), and my Tickle Me Pink t-shirt.
All of the glass jars of nails, screws, and things that were under the stairs in the basement.
Taking me to her AARP and 60+ dinners with Margaret and Walt Wall.
Hearing people call her Betty.

My Mom
The pots and pans that hung on the wall in our 3rd Street house.
The room that Tommy and I shared at 3rd Street that overlooked the backyard.
Summers spent at Nancy Bryants and when I fell down the hill through the raspberry bushes.
The belt that I wore with the change purse attached which held my milk money.
Reading me Christmas stories from the back of her McCall's magazine.
The small blue overnight suitcase that I used for my dance recitals.
Crying with me when we lost Kit the cat.
Doing yoga to the Suzanne Somers record.
Making me Play-Doh from scratch.
Bringing home diapers from Rite Aid for my Cabbage Patch Kids.
Begging me not to give into the mean kids.
Looking through her high school scrapbook and realizing that she wasn't always just my mom.
Letting Sarah Barlow and I stay in our PJs and watch movies the entire day.
Getting excited over Tetris.
The doomed family trip to Vermont where we ended up eating at Wendy's and basically having it not meet anyone's expectations.
Giving me my own junk drawer in the kitchen.
Taking me to the Joy Store to buy new Girl Scout badges.
The Chapman Museum at Christmas
Crazy flea circus stories.
Going to see the premiere of The Muppets Take Manhattan with Tam, Jer and Diane.
Warning me not to cry at Benji, that it would turn out okay. I cried hysterically anyway.
When she bought me the Madonna inspired wooden circle belt and funky earrings at a bazaar with Aunt Wanda to cheer me up when I had the chicken pox.
Letting me make believe with Andy and the fact that I was certain I was invisible when I hid under the dining room table.
Picking out wallpaper
Hand-drawing my visuals for elementary school projects.

Never Gonna Be Alone

So I am not a Nickelback fan, their music is just not really my thing, but they have a song that if it weren't for the video I wouldn't even give it a second glance. We recently gave up cable because we just weren't watching television all that much and Luke has been getting DVDs from the library and watching them more than anything. However, a few weeks ago before we cancelled the luxury of HGTV and Comedy Central there were mornings where John would turn the channel to MTV or VH1 to get me out of bed. Normally it was some annoying rap or rock song that had my ears bleeding as I straggled about, not ready to face the immediate needs of everyone else. This certain morning though his little trick had us both just laying there, curious to find out who the man was in the video and by the end we were both in tears.

Tears for each other. Tears for the hope that Luke and Ellie never feel the loss that we feel. Tears for what would have been.

I want the two of us to be the ones standing behind our children for every milestone for at least the next 50 years. Please God make that happen.

Moving forward but looking back

Luke turned 1 year old yesterday and we celebrated with family, friends, good food and my first entirely homemade cake. I have realized I am no Martha or Ina, oh well, the cake tasted wonderful but was a tad sad in the "looks" department as you can see in the pic!

Aside from all of the party preparations, cooking, baking and cleaning, I have felt like I've been mourning all week, living my life in the past. Every day I would say to John, "Last year we were doing this or that", waiting for Luke to arrive, hoping to not be induced, laying in bed dreaming of what it would be like to have a little one lying between us kicking, cooing and growing. On the 25th I reminisced all day about how at 7am we left for the hospital, 12 days overdue, excited and defeated by the fact that we were heading in to be induced. Leaving the house just a couple, knowing that the next time we walked through the door we would be carrying a new life, our baby, over that threshold. I thought about that day and how we just watched tv and listened to his heartbeat on the monitor, talked to the nurses, walked the halls and just waited for something to happen.

That night they switched up the induction drugs and I went from no pain to discomfort and contractions throughout the night. At 9am the next day, Dr. Finkowski broke my water and hooked me up to more wires and contraptions than I knew existed, by 12noon I was screaming for an epidural. I started pushing at 3pm and kept pushing and pushing and the epidural ran out and the pain, oh my God. The pain. Thankfully they were able to refill it but then I couldn't feel to push, it was frustrating and the words c-section were whispered to me by the nurse. She didn't want me to be alarmed but thought that it was a very clear possibility and I should be aware. I didn't care, just get it out I thought. The drugs wore off again and when they checked me again and had me push there was all of a sudden a flurry of activity. The fluid was infected, I heard the word meconium. On top of that the baby still was not entirely engaged and was stuck, the heartrate was dropping, I wanted more drugs (the wanting of the drugs surprised me as I was all about natural all the way and working through the contractions. However Pitocin and Cervidil and Cytotec or more powerful and synthetic than I had anticipated), my mom was told to pack up my things and move our stuff to another room. Distractions, pain, confusion. I was left alone in the room for what seemed to be 5 minutes of hell when the anesethiaologist came in and I got out the words "c-section", and "drugs now" somehow between contractions. He told me he couldn't do anything without a doctor's orders. I told him to get the hell out of the room then, don't stand there and not help me asshole. Ouch. But hey I was in survival mode, half of my body was on the bed, half of it was off trying to bet my bearings and control myself, but clearly I wasn't able to do so. Confusion resumed, doctors and nurses, "we're taking you to the OR sweetie, you'll be fine".. the walls whooshed by, the medicine tingled down my back in the most amazing rush of pain relief I have ever felt. John was there in the room wearing scrubs, and I was shaking from head to toe. Shaking, uncontrollable shaking. Unaware that they had begun, I then heard the cries, the yelps of new life. I was so weak I asked if he had hair, all I wanted to know was did he have black hair? Something was wrong . Something about a knot, and how things could have been so much worse if it weren't for the c-section. They told John to follow them with the baby to the special care nursery. I was alone with just the nurses and doctors. No baby, no husband. Just the shakes. Was he okay, what's wrong? He had a true knot in his cord and it was wrapped around his neck, his head had been severely impacted in the birth canal and his blood sugar was low, they had to get him on an IV, but it's okay, he's fine. He's a big healthy boy they said. This kind of "complication" as normal for babies born through traumatic deliveries. I remember thinking but aren't all births traumatic! I digress

It was after 8pm now and I was sent to "recovery" which was essentially a hallway by a desk where Dr. F dictated the labor and delivery. My blood pressure was monitored as it was wacky and all over the place. A young nursing student came to clean me up and I kept apologizing to her that she had to see such a sight. A nurse from the special care nursery came rushing in with digital pictures of Luke to show me, it was the sweetest thing. She was so happy and excited as if he was part of her family, she told me all of the details, how he looked, that he was fine but had an IV in and promised me that on my way back to my room I would get to hold him. She cried with me both tears of happiness and tears of understanding that after all this waiting I still couldn't see him. She had to get back to him though so I let her go. John arrived next. He was so full of pride and joy and love. All I could do was lay there and shake. The shakes are apparently a side-effect of the drugs and I think nerves played a huge part as well. At about 11pm I was finally wheeled to the nursery to see my baby but alas they weren't able to bring him to me, I would have to wait a few more minutes. So we headed to our room where my mom was keeping watch and as I was wheeled through the door all she could say through tearful eyes is, "he's so beautiful, oh my God is he beautiful". The relief that it was over, that we were all okay was about to take its toll. A few moments later he was brought into the room, this beautiful boy with his arm in a splint and an IV bag was finally laid in my arms. I melted. I cried. I breathed and I stopped shaking.

My mom finally left after sitting with us from 9am. John held my head to his chest and the three of us became a family. We had a wonderful experience in the hospital those next three days. I felt special and that Luke wasn't just another baby but was so special too.

I thought about all of these moments non-stop. I was completely distracted at work, unable to concentrate or focus on anything but the fact that all of that anticipation and longing, the wonderment of parenthood is now just old hat (well, semi-old hat, we're still new at this whole thing!). My baby weighs 28lbs, he stands up and says "tickle, tickle, tickle", he doesn't want to drink from a bottle anymore (which is good, he's such a master at self-weaning), and he's loosing some of his babyfat. I am completely saddened by all of this, even though it's all amazing and wonderful and we're entering the next phase of watching him grow and learn which is nothing short of fun and awe-inspiring. I still can't shake this feeling of mourning for his baby-ness. For those nights when he needed me, for that night-time cuddly bottle of warm mom and Luke time, those first smiles and all that came after that. My emotions are hovering at the surface with a new baby on the way and how this new one will change what we are. For the better of course. I hug Luke longer before he goes to bed now, clinging to him and him to me as if he knows we don't have much time left to be so selfish with him. I want to go back to those early days even though they were hard, they were so, so amazingly special. The reality is that I can't go back. I have work to do, meals to cook, games to play on the living room floor, books to read, laundry to fold, and thankfully a few more nights to rock my baby to sleep.

I often seem to think back to the past. About how great life was with my mom and dad, how romantic our honeymoon was, the excitement of painting our house and fixing it just so before we moved in...all of those moments are ingrained in me as I'm sure they are to everyone. These moments, so fleeting, so wonderful, so life-changing are just that. Fleeting. Enjoy them, relish every minute of them, learn from them and remember them. I hope that by getting this all out I won't feel so stuck in the past because right now, this entire week I have felt that way. I want to go back, but I have to go forward.

Memorial Day Memories

Today we remembered our Papa's with a visit to the Gerald B. H. Solomon Saratoga National Cemetery for their annual Memorial Day ceremony. Grandma Center, Grandma LaSarso and "Grandma" Joyce came with Will and in the hot sun and loud rip-roaring wind we honored the bravest, those that have given selflessly to their country. I shed some tears, laughed some laughs and answered Will's questions about death and confirmed to him that yes Papa was in the ground. I know it's confusing and hard for him to grasp, I was blessed with knowing both of my grandfather's, hearing their stories, and sharing holidays.

We left the cemetery and headed to visit Grandpa Jack's grave too, to honor him and say a prayer. Then it was off to Uncle Dick's house for a cookout. I noticed the wagon pretty quickly, the wagon was our magic carpet growing up. It lived in the crawl space under my grandparent's back porch and every Memorial Day it was unearthed, we (the 5 proud grandchildren) would watch with twinkles in our eyes as Papa LaSarso would dust it off, oil it up and line us up for rides around the block. It was as if Christmas was happening again in May, this wagon so simple brought us so much joy. We would try to cram as many little ones in at once, sometimes we'd get blankies and cuddle up for our chariot ride around their Hudson Falls neighborhood. It was truly magical for all of us. There it was, in my Uncle's backyard, the metal wheels, and handle, the AAA sticker on the rear. Will hopped in and we had to get Luke in there too, John tooled them around the backyard and we commented on how Luke looked like a little Tommy in the wagon. Memories of grandpa's so special, gone too soon, but loved forever.

You were men of honor. Thank you for your service and for doing us proud.

Can you hear me smiling?

Call me a virgin blogger. I've never done this before, my fingers hesitate as I decide to bare all. The thoughts, emotions, silly-ramblings-on of my simple life. I decided today that I need to blog. I need to share and I don't know why. I'm a first time mom of a now 4 month old son (decidedly the most amazing baby to have been born thus far) a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a graphic designer, and well you get the idea.

I lost my father almost 5 years ago. It happened in an instant. He called me at 5pm out of the blue like always, "just calling to say hi, and tell you I love you Acey-cakes (one of many nicknames)." At 7pm he was dead. Brain anurysm? Massive heart attack? We'll never know. My world was so turned upside down. I had just met the man who would become my husband, and in the same month lost the man that for my entire 26 years had meant the world to me. How could it be that these two men who I had and would come to share so much of life with never meet?

It's been 5 years and the emotions are still so raw. When does it fade? When my nephews were born I had a whole new realization that my parents were once regular people with dreams and lives before my brother and I entered with the hostile take-over. I appreciated them so much when I watched as we all fawned over my nephew as if he were the king of kings, realizing that they once fawned over me and Tom in the same teary-eyed joyful way. And now here I am gleefully saddled with my own child and the feelings are even deeper than I imagined. I want Luke to know that I love him with wild abandon, that his dreams are my dreams, that life is an adventure and you need to go live it to figure it out. Support, trust, freedom, rules, respect, integrity and passion are the words that my father instilled in me. I feel honored to have been raised in that way and honored to pass the morals on.

Dad, can you hear me smiling? Life is sweet, you are ever-present and I am so thankful that you were mine.