Extra Effort

Bobby is an all-sport athlete. Meaning, whatever sport his friends are playing, he plays too. While he is naturally athletic, built like a little line backer, and very fast. The rationale for his love of sport (if I'm to psycho analyze my kid) is not so much the joy and mastery of skill of whatever sport he is playing. Instead, it's for the love of any activity that allows him to a) run not walk, b) play with his friends, c) use an outside voice, and d) take off his mask.     

In the spring, he plays baseball and soccer. 

In the summer, he plays tennis and he will be on the swim team this year. 

In the fall, he plays soccer again. 

And currently, in the dead of winter, he plays basketball. There is a league in town, and his friend's dad, a former Notre Dame basketball player, is the coach, so I figured it was a must to sign him up.

He plays two times a week: one practice, one game. And looks forward to both. 

The one thing about the basketball program that makes it unique from the other sports Bobby plays, is that the league organizer gives out an 'Extra Effort' award every week. The award is a pack of Extra branded bubble gum. And each week, the kids listen intently to see if they have been deemed as someone who gave a little more oomph than the rest. Qualifiers for this tasty trophy are things like, 'sweating harder than the other kids on the court.' 'Listening the whole time.' 'Consistently doing a lay up with perfect form.' 

Basically, it's an award for discipline, and if you reflect on the reasons why Bobby loves sports right now, it's not for the mechanics, mastery and discipline of the game. 

So, in the weeks that he has played basketball in the fall and winter, he has yet to receive an Extra Effort award. Wun wun. 

Last Thursday, as I waited to pick him up, I listened as the latest award winners were rattled off, breath bated for if Bobby would be called. Literally, the stage mom in me, was making my heart race. A couple names and descriptions of A+ students later, Bobby walked away disappointed again. 

As we left the building, he told me his one friend had gotten the Extra Effort award four times. 'Four time! I can't believe it!' 

Seeking to understand if he could pinpoint the theme, I asked, 'why do you think he got it that many times?' 

'I don't know ... this time the coach said it was because he sweat a lot ... and that wasn't even real sweat. He poured water on himself at the end of practice!' 

I tried not to laugh. I asked, 'did you listen well, did you work as hard as you could?' 

'Yeah, I did, I did, I did.' 

But I can tell when he knows I've made a point. We walked the rest of the way to the car, breaking into a run about halfway there to keep from freezing. We got in, I started up the car and heat, and then opened up my glove compartment where I had a pack of Orbitz gum. I gave him a piece and some encouragement. 'Maybe next time buddy. Just keep working hard.' 

And as I reflected on that moment, I wrote my own participation award for Bobby. 

- For a kid (and parent), who finds a way to show up to practice every week. That first and foremost is an extra amount of effort in our household. 

- For a kid that brings out a critical component of being on a team: comradery, friendship, and a desire to bring people together 

- For a kid who always has a positive attitude and smile on the court  

- Who has endless energy. 

- Who will always stick up for his teammates if the other team is getting a little rough.  

- Who has the best dance moves, jokes and stories - aka distractions to the discipline they are likely coaching on the court 

- Who is sweet, thoughtful, and kind - if he got that pack of gum, I bet the first thing he would do is share it with the team. 

- Who loves the game - just as he loves all games that enable him to play with a group of kids his age. 

So with that, I give him the Orbitz Oward - for being an out of this world kind of kid. Ta da! Problem solved. One stick of gum and Mommy's 'Oward' should make him feel like the king of the court. 

The thing is, he was never not okay. Life went on for Bobby every time another name was called out. It was me, thinking he needed the nod from the coach as motivation, recognition, or another superlative in his life. But that's not Bobby. He's a team player at home, at school, and on the court. He values his connections and relationships with people over everything else. His award is just time out of the house with his pals. 

There will be a day when you get the icing on the cake though, Bobby. An Extra Effort or even an All Star award is bound to come your way. But for now, just know how much your Mom values the unique, awesome, and inspiring little boy that you are. 

Happy #7 birthday, Bobby - and what a snow, bowling, Lego building, new basketball hoop playing, partying kind of birthday it was.   

Love, 

Mommy 

Christmas Present

This Christmas, as I lovingly and exhaustedly smiled on my kids opening their treasures from Santa, I wondered how long it had been since I ran down the stairs on Christmas Day to open my own presents. I wondered how long it had been since there was a pile under the tree, just for me. Since there was a strategy of opening and cataloguing and plotting playtime. That last Christmas was later than college graduation, earlier than Mary's first Christmas. But I can't recall with precision. Regardless, it seemed far away. 

I hate when I can't place a memory. Especially when the memory was a last in life. I don't remember cherishing the effortlessness and bliss of that morning - the cozy comforts of it all - the gratitude I should have felt for all that others had done for me. I didn't comprehend that there would be a vast divide between my lack of responsibility in a Christmas outcome back then and my current role as the ultimate orchestrator and conductor of Christmas today. As my Mom would say, 'it all goes too fast.'    

*** 

This year, in contrast to the feeling of a coddled childhood Christmas, I felt like I was hobbling out of the holiday and of 2021, in totality. Perhaps because I was literally limping around the house on New Year's Eve. 

See, I had racked up a couple injuries in the days that followed our festivities. Boo boo #1: a fist size bulging bruise on my thigh from a slip and fall in my kids' bathroom. Boo boo #2: a sore back from carrying big babies around town. And boo boo #3: a bloody and bruised left knee and a pummeled right foot from a ridiculous scurry to and from the garage in bare feet, which resulted in a crash landing on the stairs leading up to our back door. 

My body ached, but with a couple Motrin and two glasses of good Champagne, the pain faded away. This vision of minor injuries, a quick patching up, and a stringent focus on rapid recovery to exceed full speed again, is what characterized a lot of this year. To get everything done - it's a hustle (never a hassle) and typically, despite a set back and bandage here and there, I'm pretty good at keeping a lightening pace. 

This holiday season, I was able to decorate, shop, set tables, fill them with good food, bake, wrap, yada, yada, yada, all of it at warp speed. And despite the more frantic moments, I loved it. 

But doing that all year long ... all. year. long. translates to why I fell twice in one week. I've been on turbo speed since January and I think my mind and body are trying to tell me to slow down, putter along perhaps, or maybe just stop entirely for a minute or two.

We did a lot last year and if I were to reflect on a top ten list, I might call out our trips to Martha's Vineyard and Sea Island, Peter and I celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary in Sonoma, playing tennis at our Country Club all summer long, seeing Mary learn to swim so well and then compete in meets, my job that afforded me some successes and recognition that exceeded expectations, our new kitchen, the twins turning one and all the milestones they've accomplished this year, Bobby playing a different sport every season - soccer, basketball, baseball, and now skiing so well, Margaret dancing, playing make believe in her room, lighting up a room with her smile, and snuggling with me as I work in bed every night, and getting vaccinated and boosted, giving me more comfort in being together with family and friends in a more normal way. 

But there was no stopping. Even our vacations weren't really moments to relax and reset. It was a year of go, go, go, of hard work, of crashing into my pillow every night, of waking up and going again. And as I reflect on falling, perhaps there is an opportunity to think about 2022 a little differently. That is, could I manage life at a little slower pace? Could I be a little smarter in my approach? 

So in that spirit, there are a couple things I'm holding myself to in this new year.

1. Communication. I want to be better at it: More direct, but also more patient. Clearer, but kinder in my approach. 

2. Carved out time: There should be blanks in my calendar - personally and professionally. And the three things I will prioritize placing there are quality playtime with my kids, a good book, and a weekday Mass. 

3. Being more of a leader, less of a doer: While I have always been a busy bee, I need to build my competency of coaching and building those that can help.  

4. Walk more, run less: This applies to getting from point A to point B, not running as exercise. The goal here is to crash less. To get through 2022 with more bravado, less boo boos.

To 2022.  

Lo. 

Enough

We go to 9:00 AM Mass on Sunday. It's ritualized in our household. Partly because I like to start the week this way, and partly, because it's the most convenient time of the choices available. For the majority of the year, Father Rich has been the celebrant at this Mass. He was new to the Parish a couple years ago, and in my opinion, a wonderful, welcome addition. 

As far as homilists go, he's one of the best. Ever a storyteller, he included props to illustrate his main points as a way to bring the message to the children in the audience. It has an effect on me as well. He always captures my ears and helps direct my actions. 

A couple weeks ago at Mass, he talked about 'having enough'. The countdown to Christmas had reached two-ish weeks away, so I nudged Bobby and Mary, and made Margaret sit up straight - I told them to pay attention - it was important to listen. They probably caught every other word, but I got all of them.

He started with a modern day parable. There was a little boy who was shopping with his Mom and he asked for a toy. The Mom said, 'No. You can't have that toy - you have enough!' 

(For the record. I have been that Mom. Countless times. Except I think I have used the work, 'plenty'. And my tone of voice wasn't as nice as the priest recalled in his version.'  

The little Boy turned to her, and said 'what does enough mean?' And the Mom said, 'enough means enough.' Or something to that effect. 

The Boy wasn't satisfied, so he went to the richest woman in town, and asked her what enough meant? She said, 'when I have enough money to ensure that all my family has wealth - that will be enough.' 

Then the Boy went to the most powerful man in town, and asked what enough meant? The mayor said, 'maybe when I reach Governor, or Senator. That will be enough.' 

Then the Boy went to the holiest man in town, and asked what enough meant? The man said, 'maybe when there isn't as much noise everywhere - when there's peace and quiet - that will be enough.' 

Finally, the Boy went to the poorest family in town, and asked did they have enough? They said, 'yes. We have a family. A roof over our heads. And love. That is all we need. That is enough.' 

I've been thinking about enough for the past two weeks. With guilt. With trepidation. With prayer. 

From a material side of life, I am absolutely certain we have plenty, as I've preached to my kids before. Over the past month, I've been tossing things or giving them to Goodwill right and left, wondering how we accumulated all of it. Trying to figure out, how I can give away more? 

From a mental side of life, I have found myself yelling at my kids at times, shouting 'I've had enough'. Enough of the fighting, enough of the selfishness, enough of the 'me, me, me' coming before the other Enough laundry, enough dishes, enough stuff to do around the house. Enough waking up in the middle of the night. Enough schlepping here and there. Enough of all the responsibility that comes from being a mom. 

After another year working my butt off at work, another trip, another three day on-site meeting, another work dinner, fire drill, and people calibration, I said goodbye to it for the remainder of the year. I have clearly had enough of that for 2021.  

So in my world, where I've reached a material and mental boundary to enough, is there something that I'm missing outside of those realms? It hit me as I asked Bobby if he wanted to play football in the yard as the Gingerbread Men men cooled last weekend. I had taught him how to play the punt game the day before - a game my brother and I made up years ago. The rules are simple. One person stands at one end of the yard, the second person stands at the other. One person punts the ball to the other player, and that other player tries to return it into the end zone without being two-hand touched. (Note: if for some reason, the game gets out of hand due to two overly competitive players, call it quits.)

Bobby loves the game - so we played to 35. He won of course. The gingerbread men cooled, and with Mary and Margaret, we iced them. Bobby asked me to play after school on Monday and Tuesday as well, and I happily obliged. 

Which is where my, 'I don't have enough comes in.' And came in again and again over the past week. 

On Monday afternoon, after many weekends, trying to get Margaret to ride her peddle bike, she did it. A couple pushes, some coaching, and cheering from me, and she was off. Proud, a little older than she was the day before, smiling from ear to ear.  

On Tuesday morning, Mary asked me to paint her nails red and green for their holiday spirit day, I said yes, no problem - I wasn't working - there was plenty of time to do it neatly, nicely, and talk to her as they dried.   

On Wednesday, I got to volunteer at Bobby's classroom Christmas party. The best volunteer opportunity. And after their early dismissal, I took the kids out to lunch to celebrate their last day of the semester. 

During the day, I've sat and played with the babies on the nursery floor. I've made them laugh and laugh. I've done more than the essentials, and they love that time with me. 

This is what I don't have enough of. Time with my kids. Stress-free, unhinged, dedicated play time with them. I could rationalize - it's why they have siblings. There are neighbors on the block to play with. They need to learn independent play. Or for me, I have to work as hard as I do to afford their comforts in life. But what they want more than those comforts is their mom. Me playing with them. 1 on 1, or even 5 on 1 at times. They want to come first all the time. They want a mom with a little less corporate ambition perhaps. For the last two weeks of the year, the weeks that I always take off as vacation, this is who I am. And if I'm to be honest, they are probably some of the happiest days of the year. 

So I guess, between my understanding of enough, comes my family's understanding of what's enough of me. It's probably an unrealistic equation to solve - one where I will never set myself up for success. But in their body language, smiles, and attitude - I can see that I am doing enough right now. The question is, how do I continue to keep that in check as I go back to work in January. 

For now, it's a reflection and a goal. To be more of vacation mom or holiday mom every day of the year. How I do that remains not a mystery, but a prayer. 

Lo. 

Going Home Again

As I was doing rounds with my team, making sure everyone was in a good place before I turned my out of office message on, I noticed that someone had an irregular response to my 'have any plans for the holidays' question that seemed generic and harmless. There was a wistfulness in her eye, an assured nod that wasn't fully authentic. And I thought perhaps I asked the wrong question, at a wrong time. In front of a lopsided smile, she said, she did have plans. She would be with her family. But it wouldn't be the same. Her parents had downsized recently, sold her childhood home, bought a place in the city. So instead, they were going to celebrate at her brother's house. It wouldn't be the same. But it'll be fine she insisted.  

Maybe I was being over cautious, but I felt like I was about to draw a tear, so I interjected and shared my empathy. It was part of growing up I suppose - I'd been there - I'd experienced the change in traditions, the shifting definition of what home means, the feeling that it will never be the same. I quoted what my Dad sometimes does, 'you can never go home again.' For some reason literary adages help me feel justification in my emotions while staying hopeful for the future.

I told her about my Thanksgiving last year, at the height of the second Covid outbreak. I had cooked my Dad's, by way of my Grandma's, whole turkey dinner. There were three kids under the age of 7 running around and two infants in their carriers patiently holding it together as I stuffed the bird and put it in the oven. Miraculously, the meal turned out perfectly. It was a delicious beauty of a dinner, and I was proud. Probably too proud. Taxed from trying to make a Pandemic holiday something other than it was, I sat down to enjoy it, but was only afforded about five minutes of gravy laden glory before being interrupted by bad behavior. I nearly lost it, but I carried the resilient smile of a mom. This is life. Standing up, babies in my arms, I toasted to health. To togetherness. And to our household's ability to withstand chaos. 

But this year, I was going home. For the first time in 18 months. And I felt a little bad letting my coworker know that. After sheltering in place, Pandemic paranoia, twins, an inability to travel out of state in order to keep our kids in school, and the opportunity to get vaccinated and boostered, we were traveling to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - the city and state that I still define as home, despite the many years I've been removed from it. 

Yes, it's changed - there are new buildings in the East End, particularly in East Liberty, new additions and restorations on some of my favorite homes in Shadyside and Squirrel Hill, new shops and restaurants, new people who have migrated and adopted a characteristic Pittsburgh pride, new members at the Golf Club, less stuff in my old bedroom, new paintings on my parents walls, more books lining the already full bookshelves in their house, and a few more lines on my reflection in the same mirror that has carried it for decades. But it's still very much my home. And thinking about my teammate, I felt a lot of gratitude that it's still there.   

While only in Pittsburgh for about six days, I tried to soak up as much of it as possible. We had take out from Mad Mex, we went to the Phipps holiday show, we played tennis and squash at the Pittsburgh Golf Club, we took a trip to Little's and to see Terry, Anne, hairdresser to Pittsburgh's glitterati, came over and cut everyone's hair, I ran all through the East End, I walked down Walnut Street, I made a stop at the Giant Eagle, I saw some of my best friends from Ellis, I visited St. Edmund's Academy, and I spent lots of time with my family, which during the Pandemic hasn't always been possible. 

Coming and going, we saw the lights of the city, the iconic skyline nestled between three rivers, the inclines going up and down the hill, the stadiums, the South Side apartment that I called home, and the bridges connecting all parts and people of the city - a symbol of a place perhaps working a little harder to build unity in an increasingly fractured world.   

As we crossed the Veteran's Bridge, leaving the City on Saturday, I felt my own tears coming. And as I examined the feeling, it wasn't just about departing a place I call home, it was about leaving the comfort of what home means to me. It was saying goodbye to those moments when my mom helped me with laundry, when my Dad was playing Chess with Mary and air hockey with Bobby, when they helped change diapers, when someone was cooking for me and cleaning up afterward. It was my brother and sister-in-law hosting Margaret for a playdate and Mary for a sleepover, my sister and brother-in-law helping take care of the kids while I finished up my work and hosting a beautiful dinner for us, the sneaky present from Aunt Dee Dee now growing in our window sill, and the spontaneous hugs of family that will be there for you no matter what. With the majority of my days spent caring for others - the feeling of being tangibly cared for is powerful. And driving away from that is hard.

So maybe, my advice is that if you want to go home again, despite the physical location shifting, embrace the role you played in that childhood home. For me, it's about being a daughter and a sister - not the mom, the boss, the homemaker, and the caregiver. By allowing myself to play those roles again - and accepting the help and care that comes with them - I felt more at home than ever. And I can't wait to return again. 

Lauren

Growing Up

Over the past year, the babies have grown from teeny preemies into toddlers itching for the next size up. I've been through bin after bin of hand me down clothes and shoes at an accelerated pace. 

In the past twelve months, they learned to roll, then sit up, crawl, walk and run on schedule. Or if I'm to brag, a little ahead of the doctor's chart. They learned how to hold their own bottles, then eat rice cereal. They finally got some teeth, Caroline has three and half, Jacqueline still only two. And started using them, graduating from pouches to more solid food. 

They are saying Mama and Dada. They also say something for Eva. And I swear Caroline says, 'love you', but that might be wishful thinking. Speaking our language doesn't slow them down though, they have their own way of communicating with each other. And when you put them in a crib together, they will babble and babble, and then laugh and laugh, side by side.   

They are good sleepers, and even better at waiting in their cribs until someone comes to get them in the morning. Which is one of my favorite moments of the day. 

They are an identical pair, yet so unique. One with fly away hair, the other with hairs that lay flat. One uses a binky, the other sucks her finger. One eats everything on her plate, the other brushes the rest of her food away when she's had enough. (Leading to a 3 pound difference in their weights.) One is a little shier, a little faster on her feet, a little sneakier. And if you turn your back, she will be halfway up the stairs, shaking her head that she's not going to stop. And one has a lot of Bobby in her. She is loud, animated, a total ham, and naturally, best friends with Bobby.  

They are both loveable and squeezable and if life called me to nothing else, I would scoop them up and hug them all day. But given my daily hustle, I tend to scoop them up and put them down again all too quickly. 

This year with them flew by. And I feel bad that I'm just getting around to writing them a birthday post of sorts, that I didn't spend the year sitting and reflecting on each milestone enough, that I didn't take the photos and videos that I should have, that I was a mom spread too thin, focused on the whole instead of the individuals.  

But I guess that's how life is with five kids. You see the family grow up as a group, as a lump sum versus the day to day contribution of each part. Over the past month, as an example, there were glimpses of everyone getting a little older.   

We said goodbye to our wonderful neighbor Marie. Well not goodbye, just see you in San Diego sometime soon. It was the end an era for all of us.   Mary practiced the piano day and night leading up to her recital. On the day of, she asked to have her hair curled a bit and her makeup done. She confidently walked on stage and performed with a level of melodic emotion that I didn't think she had. We went out to dinner to celebrate afterward, which showed a glimpse of family maturity in and of itself.   

Margaret and Bobby finished their fall soccer seasons. Bobby with a couple goals and a lot of progress. Margaret with some new friends and a better grasp of what to do with a soccer ball. 

The big kids didn't let the weather bother them during our visit to the pumpkin patch and apple farm this year. It was chilly (no cold) and rainy, and the farm wasn't running their hay ride. So wagon in hand, umbrellas in tow, we walked the distance to the picking fields and loaded four pumpkins and several apples into the hold, hands getting icier by the minute.   

At our Cider Press party last weekend, the kids took their years of experience and coached their friends. They showed them each step, lined up under the spout to get the first sip, and then helped me bottle fresh cider for the guests to take home. There was a growing pride in the heritage that comes from cider. And I think Double G was smiling down at this next generation handling the wheel so mightily. 

And after many months of dinner table arguments and negotiations over what we would be for Halloween, the settlement of the Wizard of Oz won out. It enabled Margaret to be a princess, Mary to be a witch, Bobby to be a tin man with the hat on, and an astronaut with it off, and the babies to be warm ... which was a win, win, win, win. Seeing them scooter from house to house, filling their bags with candy was so much more advanced than our early days of trick or treating. 

    These were the bigger moments of the past month, the ones that got the photos. But it's the little ones that tend to make each day so special. The hugs I get when I come in the door after a work trip. The way Margaret whispers a secret in your ear. How Bobby describes his drawings and careful printing from his school work. When Mary helps me make dinner in the evening, and practices piano afterward. The babies hanging on the rail of their crib in the morning, so ready to be picked up and to start their day. All these faces around the dinner table, and the stories they share - the contributions they make to defining us, as a family. 

Lo.