Just Rugged Enough

We have a dear friend, who will remain nameless, whose wife would often tease is “just gay enough”. I can tell you, it is a most sincere compliment. He is one of those guys that loves setting a beautiful table, using place mats and buying accent pillows (for his bachelor pad at the time), but is still a sports loving, beer loving, all around guy.

Before I started having babies, John thought I was pretty tough, mostly due to my constant TKD training. I had reached apprentice black belt before stopping because I was pregnant with Loretta. Back then I would practice my self defense and sparring techniques on John and he once said to me, “that’s great, but you couldn’t really take me down if I didn’t want you to.” Let’s just say, not only did I take him down, I nearly dislocated his shoulder. I never went back to TKD however, due to the expense, distance and truthfully bad hips from all of those round house and tornado kicks (tornado kicks were the best). And while I remained active and lost the baby weight running and swimming, I have never felt as strong as I did then. Probably never will again, but I was regularly hearing my husband call me “cupcake” and I knew he was right and I’d had enough.

I signed up for the Southwick 5k Rugged Maniac and somehow convinced John and our friend Becky to do it with me. We had an amazing time. The event took place at a motor cross racing track, completely hosed down for maximum mud effect. There were 16 obstacles including 3, 5, 7, and 15 foot walls to scale, mud pits, running through tires, mud slides, water obstacles, and my favorite – the super hero jump. It was a steep hill you ran down and at the bottom a wooden platform that you had to launch yourself off of and try to clear a mud pit below. I’ve heard there were at least 2 broken bones from that one and they closed the jump down for a portion of the race due to injuries. It was closed when John went through about 15 minutes before Becky and I, but open for us and HELL YEAH, we took that jump.

John completed the race in 36:20. He was amazing, which was no surprise to me, but I think he might have surprised himself a bit. John is naturally athletic, but he also works very hard to stay in shape and that hard work paid off, because he didn’t actually train for this race specifically. Next year he hopes to shave 2 minutes off his time.

I completed the race in 52:09 and I’m good with that. I did train, push ups and running the trail runs around the office building. Jumping up on benches and running along the curbs. My coworkers thought I was crazy, but it helped. I did every obstacle on my own with only 2 small pushes from friends to get up on the taller walls. I ran the entire race, except for when the terrain didn’t allow it. And, I finished strong. Always finish strong.

Becky finished the race at 52:10. We ran the entire race together and even took the slides together. It was so great having her there so we could motivate one another, but yes, I might have pushed a little harder at the end to beat her, I can’t help it, I’m competitive that way.

My mom, dad and little brother Paul were there to cheer us on. Because of them we were able to bring the kids along too. Paul made up these awesome shirts for everyone to wear.  They were so excited for us and cheered and yelled. It was amazing seeing them all on the sidelines, having the kids watch their mom and dad get muddier than they have ever been and not being afraid of doing something tough, and having fun doing it. My dad almost ran impromptu, but it didn’t work out. I’m hoping he’ll join us next year.

I’ve shown pictures to coworkers of us at the race. I get two reactions, one is along the lines of – that’s amazing! Good for you! The second is pure confusion as to why anyone would ever want to put themselves through it. All I can say is that it took John a few days of recovery before he decided he would run again next year. Becky too, I think. But I had decided before I even crossed the finish line, smiling with a huge goofy grin. I may not have my black belt and I may not run iron man triathlons or the Boston Marathon, but I am a Rugged Maniac, and for me, that’s just rugged enough.

Happy Anniversary My Love

Eight years ago today, I married mio amore.  We had an absolutely gorgeous day, surrounded by family and friends (and complete strangers) as we exchanged our vows in Boston's historic Public Gardens.  I will cherish every single moment, always.

 

"I Annie take you John to be my husband, from this moment on.

I vow to give and to receive, to speak and to listen,

to inspire and to respond, to respect and to cherish,

and to work with you to achieve the goals and

dreams of our lives."

My love, how are we doing so far?

10 years later

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.” - Love Actually

I took this picture a few months ago while in NYC for a conference.  I had time to spare so I decided to walk the 15 or so city blocks back to the train station b/c even though I live so close I never seem to get there and I wanted to experience the city.  The noise, the hustle, the people, the spirit that is uniquely NY.  I happened by a makeshift memorial to the victims of 911 at a construction site that had been fenced off.  It was a random location, nowhere near where the towers fell, but a full half block of wire fence was packed full of hundreds of colorful handmade tiles expressing love and peace.

Today, it's been 10 years since that terrible day.  I remember.  I remember everything about it.  The disbelief, the horrific tragedy of it.  I was at work and I was looking for a coworker when I walked by one of the offices.  It was a tiny office (converted closet) and it was big enough for 2 people, but there were about a dozen of us squeezed in there b/c there was an old black and white TV with rabbit ears.  I walked in (not knowing what had happened) and the image on the TV was the North Tower smoking.  Before I had a chance to ask the people around me what happened I watched in complete disbelief as an airplane flew directly into the South Tower.  People were gasping and I whispered, "was that pilot error?".  A coworker said no, that it was deliberate.  Deliberate?  I couldn't fathom it.

The days and weeks following that terrible day were spent heavy hearted but also in admiration.  Story after story came out of the ashes of those towers and in that Pennsylvania field.  Stories of courage and heroism, sadness and loss.  I think the messages and last phone calls touched me the most and hardest.  Our world was forever changed on that morning and I've never been more proud to be an American.  Proud that when faced with the most horrendus conditions we rise above, we refuse to cower in fear, insist on celebrating love, teaching tolerance and respecting diversity.

First Days

I know in this picture with my big brother I look pretty sour.  I was jealous because Chris was heading off to his first day of school and he was getting all of the attention, but oh how I loved the first day of school each year when it was finally my turn.  Seeing old friends and meeting new.  Wondering who I would be sitting next to and where my locker would be.  Everything was brand new and shinny with outrageous potential.  Anything is possible with freshly sharpened #2 pencils and pristine folders in every color of the rainbow.  Your cool factor could substantially increase or decrease based on your choice of backpack and brand of jeans. 

I love seeing my girls getting excited over their classrooms, friends and teachers.  New beginnings can be scary, if you let them, but I'm so glad Loretta and Caroline choose to think of it as a great adventure.

Happy first days girls!

Happy Birthday Sam!

Our little man is 2 years old. TWO YEARS OLD! It’s so wonderful to watch him grow into this big boy with his own personality and sense of humor shining through. Sam has a way about him that is so endearing and there are so many things I love about him and this stage he is at. So, please forgive me and allow me this totally selfish mommy moment to list out a few of the many things I love about our little guy:


1) I love how, when I get him out of his crib in the morning, he squeezes his little arms around my neck and says “mommy!” and then lets out a huge sigh…and then yells “Breakfast!”

2) I love how he roars at total strangers with a huge grin on his face

3) I love how he calls out “motorcycle!” every single time we pass one on the street and how he says “motorcycle” and “cracker” exactly the same way

4) I love that he pushes the pretend baby stroller around the house, but not with a baby inside, with cars and trucks in the little seat

5) I love how he insists on trying and doing everything his big sisters can do – zero fear

6) I love that he sings with us, whatever we are singing, from “Dream a little Dream”, to “Mean” to “Price Tag”

7) I love that he’ll still sleep in my arms occasionally

8) I love that he doesn't laugh so much as he chuckles deep in his belly

9) I love that he wants me to kiss his boo boos

10) I love how his face lights up when someone he loves comes into the room and, as far as I can tell, he has yet to meet someone he doesn’t love instantly

The kids call him Bam Bam or Bammers, sometimes just Bam, and it’s such a perfect fit for him. The kid is all about running and jumping and crashing and destroying. He is all boy, through and through and I must be completely charmed by him because this weekend I was helping him put back on his shoe he’d kicked off for the 10th time and I took one look at his filthy, yard worn foot and was still tempted to kiss it!

Happy Birthday Sam!  We love you like crazy!

Time for a Little Morbidity

                                           Arlington National Cemetery

I have told John many times that when I die I want to be cremated and to have my ashes scattered somewhere beautiful and timeless. Beautiful, for obvious reasons; timeless, in hopes of not having a CVS or Dunkin Donuts built on top of me in the future. I have no strong religious beliefs that direct my wishes in any one way or another. Our wedding ceremony is testament to that.

I realize now that what I’ve told John I want is not entirely accurate. I do want to be cremated, not sure why I feel so strongly about that, but I don’t believe I really care where my remains are laid to rest. What I want most is for my loved ones to understand that if they ever need to feel close to me, to share their hopes or dreams or sorrows, they don’t have to visit my final resting place. They only need to look into their hearts, close their eyes and know I’m there. They need to understand that my love for them could not be contained by a single lifespan. That my joy and love for them will live forever and a day.

I recently stumbled upon this poem written by Mary Elizabeth Frye in 1932. She was inspired by a Jewish woman she knew, living with her and her husband in Chicago, whose ailing mother was back in Germany. She was unable to visit her mother due to increasing anti-semitic unrest and later when her mother passed away she was unable to visit her grave site, which caused her a great deal of pain. Like so many others, this poem struck a chord with me and described what I was unable to express myself.


Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

So, to clarify my wishes, if it soothes my loved ones to bury me in the ground, then I will lay happily with my worm friends, and I do have many worm friends. If it brings them comfort to scatter me to the winds, then scatter away and I’ll fly with the birds and dragonflies. Drop me into the ocean or from a hot air balloon or off a cliff. It does not matter to me. Just so they know that I’ll always be in their hearts, injecting unconditional love and encouragement, waiting with undying patience until we are together once again.

The Stigma of Contentment

I’ve been feeling so many emotions lately, happiness, relief, security, pride (the good kind). Some of the feelings I haven’t had recently are, fear, concern, bitterness, helplessness. When I examine this closer I realize that what I’m feeling is contentment. Wonderful right? I love my career and the work I’m doing now is challenging and rewarding. My children are healthy and happy and growing like weeds both physically and mentally. John has found a role that excites and energizes him and with a great commute. I’m so very happy with where things are right now and I want to hit the pause button and simply enjoy.

I realize I’m not the first person to come up with the suggestion to live in the moment. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “We are always getting ready to live but never living”. Except, it’s more than that. There seems to be a negative connotation associated with the word contentment.  Sadly, people often equate contentment to unmotivated, uninspired, indifferent, or worse...lazy. If you aren’t striving for something, newer, bigger, better, then you are not ambitious and thus not deserving of what you do have.  I don't know if it's a US sentiment or more specifically for those of us living in NE, where people actually honk at you to start driving in anticipation of a green light, but I can tell you that Southerners only honk in combination with a nice head nod hello and I've never met anyone who could appreciate the present like an Italian.

I believe that contentment is highly underrated. I have goals that I hope to attain in the future, but for right now, I’m pleasantly satisfied with my life and my career. I don’t have a nagging sense that I’m inadequate or that what we have is deficient in some way. I’m proud of our achievements and while I’m enjoying the here and now I’m looking forward to the next chapter. I can stop to smell the roses, without sneezing. I’m the cat that ate the canary. I am uncompromisingly content.