Sunday, July 31, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.
The trip is over. And I feel that it is time to reflect on all that went well - right.
We spent time with my husband's 96 year-old grandmother who is still very feisty. There were many many meals filled with great food and even greater family. Gorgeous days at the sea filled with sunshine and salt water. Water the color of jewels that is just the right temperature when you have been fried by the Mediterranean sun. There were movies, sewing lessons, shopping, and cooking as well as tickle time with Gia Gia. And of course eating, eating, eating, and more eating. Oh how I miss the eating;-)))) You should only eat croissants in France and Baklava in Greece...something like that. There were tons of cousins, futball games, tag, even some goats and a pig! The borrowed DVD player that even worked in the car and the 15 new movies from Theo Marinos. SCORE! Motorcycle rides for the all the boys, and a great new book for mom.
There was the medic in London (Thanks again Mick!) that took great care in making sure my eight year-old could get on the next plane without popping two eardrums. As well as the young woman who stayed with us until daddy got back with the tickets (3 hours later) and we were safely on our way. There was the flight attendant who could see that my eight year-old was anxious and made sure he had snacks, drinks, and even found some gum. To all of the passport agents who asked the children their name, where they were from, and if they were enjoying their holiday. The pilots we meet in the hotels that answered numerous questions from two nervous children (and one nervous parent).
The countless family, friends, neighbors, shop keepers, and strangers that gave the children money or presents or both! Or got us out of a pickle because they could speak English thereby supplementing my very limited Greek. It kept us from once boarding a bus bound for Turkey and also from buying Gia Gia a vegetable when what she asked for was soap. At least I was hoping I was asking for something that wasn't either illegal or immoral.
There were many things that went well - wrong.
The flight attendant who ignored my pleas to get us off the plane quickly to get medical attention when my son was screaming and crying and holding his ears. That was the very first flight - so you could say that was all that needed to go wrong because for mom it seemed it would be all downhill from there. The missed flight, the five hour layover, not being able to notify family on the receiving end who was waiting for us at the airport. Getting in at 11:00 p.m. at night after traveling 48 hours.
The customs and passport agents in the US who were just down right rude. The operator at Holiday Inn's 800 line that would not connect nor call the hotel in Chicago to notify them we were waiting at the International terminal for the shuttle after flying 9 hours. After eating GiaGia's cooking for 30 days - airport pickings and hotel food. Yuck!
The EU. Can I claim that one? Can't say I know a whole lot about the economic crisis in Greece. But the kids got to see a protest, why is that in the things that went wrong list? Well, having seen Greece prior to the Euro, and prior to the Olympics, all I know is that something went horribly wrong.
The things that were just - well ugly.
I think my biggest problem on the trip was panic attacks. Not that I wasn't expecting them (had my first at age 5), I don't like to fly and get a little nervous when I am left alone in a foreign country where I don't speak the language. I was not however, ready for my son's panic attack. My biggest fear has always been that I will be that crazy lunatic that runs through the plane screaming right after take off clawing at the door trying to get out only to get tackled by several flight attendants all wielding needles full of horse tranquilizers. It was my eight year-old however after the ear pain disaster on the first flight that developed the biggest fear of flying. We had a short flight from Cyprus to Greece and right after take off he started sobbing yelling at me to get him off the plane. It was my worst nightmare come true only he was living it. It broke my heart into a million tiny pieces some of which I am certain are still on that plane.
We got through it. My husband's mother cried and cried, and then told everyone how amazing I was, so did my husband. I didn't want to be amazing. I wanted to cry with him. I wanted to get the hell off that plane too. I never did cry. I never did break down in all those days of struggling to get through knowing what lie ahead. Not until we got back, not until everyone was in bed, not until I was quite sure I was alone did I cry. Not because I had an awful trip, or because he had an awful trip - we didn't. I cried because I realized I merely survived. We made it home. Now what? I can not fathom getting back on a plane and doing again, and yet we will. Will I have learned my lesson for next time? Be ready for the worst? Enjoy the ride? Go with the flow? I'm not quite sure yet what the universe is trying to teach me, but I am ready to learn.
We spent time with my husband's 96 year-old grandmother who is still very feisty. There were many many meals filled with great food and even greater family. Gorgeous days at the sea filled with sunshine and salt water. Water the color of jewels that is just the right temperature when you have been fried by the Mediterranean sun. There were movies, sewing lessons, shopping, and cooking as well as tickle time with Gia Gia. And of course eating, eating, eating, and more eating. Oh how I miss the eating;-)))) You should only eat croissants in France and Baklava in Greece...something like that. There were tons of cousins, futball games, tag, even some goats and a pig! The borrowed DVD player that even worked in the car and the 15 new movies from Theo Marinos. SCORE! Motorcycle rides for the all the boys, and a great new book for mom.
There was the medic in London (Thanks again Mick!) that took great care in making sure my eight year-old could get on the next plane without popping two eardrums. As well as the young woman who stayed with us until daddy got back with the tickets (3 hours later) and we were safely on our way. There was the flight attendant who could see that my eight year-old was anxious and made sure he had snacks, drinks, and even found some gum. To all of the passport agents who asked the children their name, where they were from, and if they were enjoying their holiday. The pilots we meet in the hotels that answered numerous questions from two nervous children (and one nervous parent).
The countless family, friends, neighbors, shop keepers, and strangers that gave the children money or presents or both! Or got us out of a pickle because they could speak English thereby supplementing my very limited Greek. It kept us from once boarding a bus bound for Turkey and also from buying Gia Gia a vegetable when what she asked for was soap. At least I was hoping I was asking for something that wasn't either illegal or immoral.
There were many things that went well - wrong.
The flight attendant who ignored my pleas to get us off the plane quickly to get medical attention when my son was screaming and crying and holding his ears. That was the very first flight - so you could say that was all that needed to go wrong because for mom it seemed it would be all downhill from there. The missed flight, the five hour layover, not being able to notify family on the receiving end who was waiting for us at the airport. Getting in at 11:00 p.m. at night after traveling 48 hours.
The customs and passport agents in the US who were just down right rude. The operator at Holiday Inn's 800 line that would not connect nor call the hotel in Chicago to notify them we were waiting at the International terminal for the shuttle after flying 9 hours. After eating GiaGia's cooking for 30 days - airport pickings and hotel food. Yuck!
The EU. Can I claim that one? Can't say I know a whole lot about the economic crisis in Greece. But the kids got to see a protest, why is that in the things that went wrong list? Well, having seen Greece prior to the Euro, and prior to the Olympics, all I know is that something went horribly wrong.
The things that were just - well ugly.
I think my biggest problem on the trip was panic attacks. Not that I wasn't expecting them (had my first at age 5), I don't like to fly and get a little nervous when I am left alone in a foreign country where I don't speak the language. I was not however, ready for my son's panic attack. My biggest fear has always been that I will be that crazy lunatic that runs through the plane screaming right after take off clawing at the door trying to get out only to get tackled by several flight attendants all wielding needles full of horse tranquilizers. It was my eight year-old however after the ear pain disaster on the first flight that developed the biggest fear of flying. We had a short flight from Cyprus to Greece and right after take off he started sobbing yelling at me to get him off the plane. It was my worst nightmare come true only he was living it. It broke my heart into a million tiny pieces some of which I am certain are still on that plane.
We got through it. My husband's mother cried and cried, and then told everyone how amazing I was, so did my husband. I didn't want to be amazing. I wanted to cry with him. I wanted to get the hell off that plane too. I never did cry. I never did break down in all those days of struggling to get through knowing what lie ahead. Not until we got back, not until everyone was in bed, not until I was quite sure I was alone did I cry. Not because I had an awful trip, or because he had an awful trip - we didn't. I cried because I realized I merely survived. We made it home. Now what? I can not fathom getting back on a plane and doing again, and yet we will. Will I have learned my lesson for next time? Be ready for the worst? Enjoy the ride? Go with the flow? I'm not quite sure yet what the universe is trying to teach me, but I am ready to learn.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Broken heart
That term has taken on a whole new meaning since having children. I used to think it only applied to love lost. Now it feels like every time I turn around my is breaking sometimes just a crack and sometimes into a million tiny pieces.
My oldest son, who just turned 8, will run his first 5K today. He is so nervous - he'd be more nervous running it with me I can tell you that! He would have to be concerned with carrying his mother across the finish line. But to see him break down as they left, he came back to bury his head in my chest and cry, has left me feeling so empty. Crack, Crack, Crack.
He's also nervous about our summer trip and came down at 10:30 last Saturday night to tell us he had a bad dream. He dreamt that he had to get on the plane by himself, then the world ended while he was on the plane, and well- sum it up to say it went on. Shatter!
There is nothing more I want to do than to lean down, scoop him up, and tell him nothing bad will ever happen to him. If I could wrap him in my arms and protect him forever, would that be long enough? People warn you, that it just gets harder. Rocking away colic, kissing skinned knees, mediating temper tantrums (well that really hasn't stopped yet) seems like so long ago.
I know that he will be fine. At least I hope, and wish, and pray as I sit here typing.
Dear God, please watch over my baby today. Help him get through the nerves and the race without fighting with his dad. Let him be light as air and not be weighed down because he didn't poop this morning. Let him be agile like the gazelle and not trip and fall because his shoes are never tied properly. Let him be fortified with your spirit because he didn't eat the special oatmeal I made at 10:00 last night and there is still a bowl of apples on the table. Oh for goodness sake just let him cross the finish line!
See - this is why his mom stays home!
My oldest son, who just turned 8, will run his first 5K today. He is so nervous - he'd be more nervous running it with me I can tell you that! He would have to be concerned with carrying his mother across the finish line. But to see him break down as they left, he came back to bury his head in my chest and cry, has left me feeling so empty. Crack, Crack, Crack.
He's also nervous about our summer trip and came down at 10:30 last Saturday night to tell us he had a bad dream. He dreamt that he had to get on the plane by himself, then the world ended while he was on the plane, and well- sum it up to say it went on. Shatter!
There is nothing more I want to do than to lean down, scoop him up, and tell him nothing bad will ever happen to him. If I could wrap him in my arms and protect him forever, would that be long enough? People warn you, that it just gets harder. Rocking away colic, kissing skinned knees, mediating temper tantrums (well that really hasn't stopped yet) seems like so long ago.
I know that he will be fine. At least I hope, and wish, and pray as I sit here typing.
Dear God, please watch over my baby today. Help him get through the nerves and the race without fighting with his dad. Let him be light as air and not be weighed down because he didn't poop this morning. Let him be agile like the gazelle and not trip and fall because his shoes are never tied properly. Let him be fortified with your spirit because he didn't eat the special oatmeal I made at 10:00 last night and there is still a bowl of apples on the table. Oh for goodness sake just let him cross the finish line!
See - this is why his mom stays home!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Right O Govner!
We have started a pattern lately, that Dad walks in after I've read to the children and said prayers -to lay down with them. Well, it started as going in to lay down with them, then it was to say Greek prayers, then it was Greek prayers and five Greek words, and it has now morphed into a Greek words wrestling match giggle fest.
So much for getting to bed on time.
Tonight was no exception - we are reading book two in a series I highly recommend - The Incorrigibles: The Children of Ashton Place. (If your library has it, listen on CD, it is excellently read)
Since we listened to Book one, and it was read in a very proper British accent, I of course, have to read the book in my best Midwestern proper British accent. Thank God no one but the children are listening. However, I digress.
After reading a chapter and saying prayers with the children my husband walks in and my oldest son who has been laying very quietly the entire time I was reading announces - I think I have three boys. Of course there are three boys I say counting my husband, and two sons. No I have three BOYS, my son says.
We call their balls - their boys.
"Ah, Well", I said in my Best Midwestern proper British accent as I back out of the door, "This one is for you Ole Chap! RightO, I'll be going now - you can check for extra boys Gov'ner! Cherrio!"
So much for getting to bed on time.
Tonight was no exception - we are reading book two in a series I highly recommend - The Incorrigibles: The Children of Ashton Place. (If your library has it, listen on CD, it is excellently read)
Since we listened to Book one, and it was read in a very proper British accent, I of course, have to read the book in my best Midwestern proper British accent. Thank God no one but the children are listening. However, I digress.
After reading a chapter and saying prayers with the children my husband walks in and my oldest son who has been laying very quietly the entire time I was reading announces - I think I have three boys. Of course there are three boys I say counting my husband, and two sons. No I have three BOYS, my son says.
We call their balls - their boys.
"Ah, Well", I said in my Best Midwestern proper British accent as I back out of the door, "This one is for you Ole Chap! RightO, I'll be going now - you can check for extra boys Gov'ner! Cherrio!"
Monday, May 16, 2011
Do as I say, not as I do.....
Why do we take a dip in the gene pool, only to get mad when the result is mini-me? My husband and I were married eight years before we had children. Once when a long time family friend asked me what we were waiting for I commented, "The government won't allow us to reproduce." It became my husband's response for the next seven years.
Here we are eight years and two boys later. Both boys are a combination of both of us, but unfortunately my husband and I are a lot alike. So what did I expect? I expect them to not act like me. Really?!
At least I am not alone. I've talked with other people who have an anxiety disorder and they've said the same thing - "Please don't let them be like me!" We know it's insane, but yet hope that somehow we'll have children who are calm, cool, and collected.
I know that I have good qualities, I used to tell potential employers. But living with an anxiety disorder all my life has been like being on an emotional roller coaster. One minute life feels great and the next it feels like a total loss. I remember feeling like this as young as five. Somehow I was hoping that it wasn't genetic - or that at the least-I could fix it.
I can't fix it, I can't even fix myself. Anxiety is something I struggle with everyday on some level. Seeing my oldest son struggling right now is killing me. This is not what I wanted when I took a leap of faith straight into the gene pool, but it isn't totally unexpected. So I guess it's time to learn to swim - together.
Here we are eight years and two boys later. Both boys are a combination of both of us, but unfortunately my husband and I are a lot alike. So what did I expect? I expect them to not act like me. Really?!
At least I am not alone. I've talked with other people who have an anxiety disorder and they've said the same thing - "Please don't let them be like me!" We know it's insane, but yet hope that somehow we'll have children who are calm, cool, and collected.
I know that I have good qualities, I used to tell potential employers. But living with an anxiety disorder all my life has been like being on an emotional roller coaster. One minute life feels great and the next it feels like a total loss. I remember feeling like this as young as five. Somehow I was hoping that it wasn't genetic - or that at the least-I could fix it.
I can't fix it, I can't even fix myself. Anxiety is something I struggle with everyday on some level. Seeing my oldest son struggling right now is killing me. This is not what I wanted when I took a leap of faith straight into the gene pool, but it isn't totally unexpected. So I guess it's time to learn to swim - together.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
Happy Mother's Day
When I was younger Mother's Day meant a celebration of all that is glorious, because I went to a Catholic School named after the Virgin Mary. We celebrated Spring and rebirth and flowers and Mom! Mother's Day was construction paper cards with glitter, glue, dollies, and ribbon and a poem copied off the blackboard.
As a teenager, Mother's Day meant trying my hand at the magnificent Sunday morning breakfast my mother was famous for, but not without some help. It meant taking a trip to the Hallmark store with Grandma to find the perfect card.
In early adulthood it meant taking time out of the selfishness that filled my days, to spend a little time doing whatever Mom wanted to do, even it it was cleaning up the basement, planting flowers, or getting out the deck furniture.
Now that I am a Mom, I have a whole new respect for those that came before me, for they are the reason I am here. My Mother, Grandmothers, Great grandmothers, the stories are too many to mention, but yet essential to who I am.
They were immigrants, and pioneers, and workers, and trail blazers. They raised families in whatever circumstances they were given. They gave everything they could, asked for very little, and prayed that their children grow strong and happy.
They were immigrants, and pioneers, and workers, and trail blazers. They raised families in whatever circumstances they were given. They gave everything they could, asked for very little, and prayed that their children grow strong and happy.
I am a mother. I can bring life into the world and have an uncontrollable urge to protect it. I am a fighter and a nurturer. I am a worker and a queen. I am a survivor. I am mad as a hatter one minute and as organized as the ant before winter the next. I can sing a lullaby and scream like a banshee. I am a mother.
On this Mother's Day I smile over the handmade cards and slightly crooked potted plants. I tear up when tackled with hugs, kisses, and compliments. And I give up a silent prayer of thanks, to those who made this possible.
On this Mother's Day I smile over the handmade cards and slightly crooked potted plants. I tear up when tackled with hugs, kisses, and compliments. And I give up a silent prayer of thanks, to those who made this possible.
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