Don't Give Up

On Friday, I took Margaret to her four month doctor appointment. A feverish Mary tagged along. Margaret left with a 15.5 pound entry in her baby book; Mary left with a prescription for Zithromax, adding to a nice little line up of meds on my kitchen window sill, ready and waiting for morning battles, chased and soothed by a couple Tic Tacs.

Later in the day, I decided to climb up to our attic, gather strands of lights, and string them around the bushes out front because we were expecting company all weekend. I had thirty minutes before my next conference call. Ready, set, go. I plugged in one. Out. I plugged in another. Also out. I plugged in a third. The rogue LED lights I bought a couple years ago. Pitch. Finally I got a live wire, threw it around the line up of Boxwoods and called it a day.

A couple hours later, Peter walked in the door and smelled something burning. Ugh. The beans and greens were getting a nice coating of char. I wanted to throw everything away and then throw in the towel. Too late to order a pizza? Yes. I just spent way too much on scallops. 

The next morning, I woke up with an eye that was glued shut from some kind of weird snotty eye booger. I pried it open and took some allergy medicine. Time to give up yet? Nope. Bobby wants 'milky.' Mary wants a 'showy.' Can't I get a coffee first?

I got the kids dressed for my annual corporate Christmas party. When we arrived, they ran all the way from the parking lot to Santa Land. Bobby's over exertion led to a coughing fit, which made him puke in the middle of the line. Embarrassed (and disgusted), I turned to my co-workers behind and in front of me, apologized and cleaned up the mess. Give up now? No way. Five minutes later, Bobby was on Santa's lap, telling him he wanted a hot rod for Christmas. Mom of the year even let him jump in the Minion bouncy house after that, which was followed by more coughing, and me reaching in to yank him out.

Twenty rides on the train and several popped balloons later, everyone was happy as can be.   
That afternoon, as I was rapidly rolling up beef birds and peeling potatoes, I asked myself why I didn't just cater. Or call the aforementioned pizza.

I tried yet again to get everyone to smile for our Christmas card, but Margaret refused.

That evening, as Margaret fussed for her dinner, just as I was plating everyone else's dinner, I told myself to stay calm while my inner berserk said just go there!'
The next morning, as I vigorously stirred the custard, hoping it would thicken in the nick of time, I questioned why I hadn't just picked something up from a bakery. Miraculously the egg and milk mixture set, the layers came together, and I had myself a burnt almond torte.

With no time to spare, I slapped on some lip gloss, threw up my hair, and got everyone ready for Margaret's baptism. Peter said we were going to be late. I said not a chance. We walked out the door with three mismatched kids; one with a wet head, one with a bed head, and one with a bonnet on her head. But we were on time.

During the service, as Bobby made a loud plea for 'milky' and Mary did arabesques down the aisle, I realized that Margaret had undone the button on my wrap dress and that it was slowly coming apart. I was close, so close, to accepting a final straw. But something held it all together.



***

Margaret, my sweet little baby. There are days, when I just want to give up. When I realize I have a dozen balls in the air, (typically) your brother throws me one more, and I just want to drop them all and be done with it. But something, someone, helps me keep juggling and with it keeps the cycle of the day, the week, and the year moving. To all those people who help, thank you. 


      



Margaret, your Baptism is a beautiful reflection of the support system you can rely on in your life. It includes:

Your parents.

Your Godparents.

Your grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. Your friends, extended family and community at large.

Most importantly though, God.

Talk to him, listen to him, be with him. And he will be there for you, every day of your life.

***

This week, as I step on and curse another stray burnt almond that fell to the ground during my haphazard coating of the cake, I'll remember the words I wrote above, and the reason I keep pushing myself to 'do it all' in service of my family. Because I know, with God by side, I'll be able to keep the balls in the air and the almonds on the cake. 
    Lo.

The Blades of a Leaf

As we flew back from Pittsburgh Sunday morning, I felt like I had the magic touch. Babies were crying in front of me and behind me, and I had lulled mine to sleep. Bobby was in a deep slumber on my left leg; Margaret nestled peacefully down the center of my chest, and Mary snuggled under my right arm so she could doze off as well. I looked at Peter and caught him looking back at me. We didn't say anything to each other. (He had his ear phones in, so he wouldn't have heard me anyway.) But we were clearly thinking the same thing. How sweet. How blessed. How thankful.

If I was counting, that would be four things, right off the bat: Mary, Bobby, Margaret, and my one of a kind husband.

But at Mass on Thanksgiving Day, Father Grecco suggested that we each had more than our families to be thankful for. He instructed that a fallen leaf could be your guide. Find one, he said, count its blades and then give thanks for that many things in your life.

With that, you can remove your gratitude from the realm of the grandiose; our health, our loved ones, our faith. And into what might seem mundane; say the coffee in my cup, the book that I'm reading, or the ten hour sleep I got last night.

I loved his homily and wanted to take action; to collect leaves and place one on every plate around the beautifully set Thanksgiving table. I wanted everyone to share their blades of thanks.

My Dad had the yard cleaned up by professional leaf blowers though, and I got caught up in the Macy's Day parade, so never achieved my goal. Besides it would have taken all night; twenty people, hundreds of blades, not enough time in the day. So I settled for an impromptu inquisition; one thing, round the table. ready go. Stories, emotion, laughs unfolded, making my list of appreciation even longer.

A couple days later I was walking home from Mellon Park with Mary and I found a particularly pretty golden brown leaf. I picked it up and had Mary count its blades; 18 in total. We spent the rest of the walk home, trading items we were thankful for.

You first, Mary.
Hmmm ... let's see ... Nana, Mimi and both Opas.

Then me ... Baby Margaret and Baby Emmie.

Ellie and Joe
Lyla and Will.


Those really, really big cookies you brought us from the party you went to (gesturing with her hands.)

That really, really good Manhattan Uncle Adam made the other day.

Those buttons you get to press around the train.

Patience ... when you guys press too many of my buttons.

Swings.

Playgrounds within walking distance. And strollers. 
All of my friends. 
The people who host parties that get friends together.


The people that keep us safe from bad guys.

All the good guys.


Stories.
Getting a chance to tell them.

All my toys.
The house that's quickly being engulfed by them.     

When you hold me.
When other people offer to help.

Dessert time.
Dinner time. And cocktail hour.      
Movies.
How quiet you are during a movie.

When my hair is up in a beautiful braid.
When you're done crying about me braiding your hair.

Hugs.
Margaret's kisses.

Christmas lights.
The way you light up when I walk through the door at the end of the day.

So that's more like 30. And we could have kept going.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, and with each passing year, I love it a little more. The trip home to Pittsburgh; dinner at the Golf Club; the extended family gathered around Lou's famous turkey dinner, passed down to my Dad to execute years ago; seeing the Phipps winter flower show; doing a little Black Friday shopping on Walnut Street and Forbes Avenue; trying some of the city's newest restaurants (Or, the Whale and Eddie V's were excellent!), walks through Mellon Park, spending a night out with my high school friends, and just watching my kids play with all the old toys at my childhood home.

Like everything though, it goes too fast. But with a whole lot of leaves to rake in our yard, and with Father Grecco's message fresh in my mind, I will carry the spirit of thanksgiving into the Christmas season and throughout the new year. 

Lo. 

Two Letters

Margaret -

You came three days before your due date. You ate, you slept, you filled diaper pail after diaper pail. You gained a pound, then a couple more, then moved from one size to the next. You ate some more, you slept a little longer, you pooped all over Daddy and spit up all over Mommy. You smiled. You cooed. You melted my heart every day.

Mary went back to school. Bobby learned how to use the potty. You took a bottle and packed on the rolls.

The pool closed and we put away the Peggy O. I picked Mary up from school and played in 'the yard' with her friends. I went running with Bobby and we raced from one playground to the next. I grocery shopped and made dinner. I walked you around the neighborhood and snuggled you in the sun room.

I held you on the stoop as Mary and Bobby rode their bikes up and down the street. I held you close as I read book after book. I held you and rocked you in the Adirondack chairs in the backyard. I held you and nursed you in the middle of the night. And each time I put you down, I got a little sad that I was letting you go. 

Emmie was born. Aunt Erin got married. Notre Dame beat USC. We pressed cider, carved pumpkins, dressed up like super heroes, trick or treated and then warmed up by the fire. 

The leaves fell, the temperatures dropped, and the summer clothes were replaced with sweaters and coats.  

I've completed my to do list over the past three months, and that can only mean one thing; it's time to go back to work. 

Today, I'll attempt to look like a professional, walk out the door, and pretend that I'm not thinking about you every second of the day.

While I believe I'm ready to return to the rigor of corporate America, it doesn't mean that I'm ready to leave you. My lap will feel empty, my pump will be cold, my heartbeat will miss yours echoing off of it. I will cherish and long for the three short months I got to spend at home with you, Mary and Bobby. They went far too fast.

Know that you'll be in my thoughts all day. Know that I'll be home as soon as possible, chilled milk in tow. And know that when I return, my arms will belong to you.

Love,
Mommy

***

Corporate America -

I return to work today thirty five pounds lighter, thousands of dollars poorer, hours less rested, a little bit wiser, and ready to go.

I've now taken three maternity leaves from my company, each seven weeks paid. I've extended them non-paid for about seven more, backed by FMLA and my own cash. And after three leaves, I can safely say seven weeks isn't enough.

With that, I would like to applaud my company who just 'modernized their benefits' for future moms. They will now offer 12 weeks paid starting in January 2018. (I'm just lamenting that I didn't get to take advantage of it.) 

So in my opinion, why twelve (or more for that matter) instead of six?  

It doesn't take six weeks to lose baby weight. So unless a company is funding an entirely new wardrobe, six week postpartum moms are likely to show up to work in ill fitting and uncomfortable clothes, which doesn't set them up for success.  

At six weeks, a mom is likely still feeding her baby every two hours, which means back in the office, pump breaks happen every other hour ... less she leaks in the middle of a meeting, which certainly does not set a woman up for success. 

At six weeks, the insurance issues and medical bills are still a mess (thanks to the high performing benefits team and their new health management company), so many back to work hours will be dedicated to long calls with the service center, which doesn't set anyone up for success. 

At six weeks, the baby is probably only sleeping three, maybe four hour stretches at night, so the mother will look and act like a zombie all day. Which, you guessed it, doesn't set a mom up for success. 

At six weeks, you are still trying to figure out infant care let alone hire someone you don't even know to take care of your baby. Someone who could have less of a clue than you. So you spend all day worrying, which inevitably doesn't set a mother up for success. 

But here's the thing, working moms can be some of the best employees in companies; they know how to multitask, work quickly and efficiently, delegate, think creatively, persuade and influence, and above all do their jobs with passion and compassion. But in order to get the most out of them, they need to be set up for success.

An extended maternity leave can help do that. And more companies should start offering them. 

Now once we're back in the door, there are other things that can help. But that's an entirely different letter which will be centered around a mom's commute to work (and I'll save that for later.)

To my company - thank you for this time, three times over. And thank you for listening and getting a little smarter with your benefits.

Lo.