This is not about Elsa. I promise.

“Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.”

–Anonymous

I came across this quote today and immediately found a story, a memory, I needed to tell.  As many of my pieces and words unravel I will take you down the yellow brick road of a moment; always bits of flying monkeys and poppies finding you face to face with a wizard at the end. Stick with me, and as my students sometimes say, “I gotchu.”

The day my father passed away all three of my kids had appointments to get the flu shot. That afternoon my husband got a ride to the Rockford airport to pick up my car where I had left it the week before and I sat at the kitchen table staring at a lone banana; tiny brown spots beginning to design the peel – splatter paint – polka dots – freckles. I memorized that banana in all its speckled, rotten glory.

When I decided to raise my head I saw the clock, stood up and yelled, “Kids! It is time to get your flu shots. Let’s go.” I remember them frozen in a sibling triangle staring at each other silently daring the other to ask me if I was joking; just an hour prior all of us were locked in a huddle missing Zayde, missing my father. I must have gotten in the car, turned it on and put it into drive because we were heading to 20 South Park. I began to cry hard loud sobs at the red lights, pools of tears at the stop signs, fountains of salty streams at the green lights. I cried at the registration desk; I cried in the waiting room and I cried in the arm of our nurse who delicately held 3 syringes in one hand and me in the other. I blubbered my way home and into a nap that lasted, well, a long time.

For a few years after this moment, every time the flu shot appointments hit the calendar, my kids would become hesitant to pile in my sweet ride of a blue minivan; not because of the potential pain from a needle poke, but for the fear that mom was going to lose it. I would watch them look at one another with quiet darting eyeballs and console, “I won’t cry today you guys,” and then we would all crack up.

The laughing is the Wizard my friends; now I take you behind the curtain. I think it is okay to be real with our children; to be human and show them truth; to thank them; to apologize to them; to cry in front of them.

Showing our kids we can overcome sadness and pain may give them the courage to not hold their own emotions captive; or it will make them fear flu shots for the rest of their life but I say, take the risk!    

 

     This week I took our daughter to see Waitress at the Overture Center here in Madison. What a  tender, full, hilarious, humble and sweet story; the voices a see-saw, back and forth from audience to performer. As the story blossomed and exploded like a bag of flour from the stage, so did all of us playgoers with competing laughter, tears and roars of applause.

     Oh Harry, I’ve missed you so!!

Remember this adorable dog?  So sensitive and adventurous is he that within the bindings of these tales harry always seems to start off misunderstood and then with gratitude and appreciation finds his way back home.

I came across this gem recently while cleaning the classroom in which I had the pleasure of working this past quarter. I dusted plastic breech baby in uterus and put her safely next to opposing partner, plastic “engaged” or “head down” baby in uterus. Posters and posters of female everythings found appropriate homes as well as diapers, wipes, pacifiers, laptops, files, more files and cribs. Yes this classroom was a busy one, not a dull moment I guarantee.

Then came the time to organize the books; to stay or to go, those were my questions.  I should have known from the start that this task would send me back hours not forward. Soon I was surrounded by books and the only hope for a clean escape would be wishing I could communicate with the Justice league and be whisked away by the Flash or Wonder Woman (who, by the way, would be a great guest speaker for one of my units next semester on female empowerment).

After a bit of a  panic and becoming sure I was going to be trapped forever in piles of children’s literature for the rest of my days I was reunited with Harry; not Meghan Markle’s redhead, the furry hero of my childhood!

As per usual I was pulled through the portal of time and found myself in the arms of my Grandma Mickey gently crushed in between my three toe-headed cousins; hilarious and adorable in all their blonde glory. Getting into position was never easy mind you; we all needed to have the perfect snuggle position as well as a direct view of the story. We all had very different personalities and we were lucky to start storytime before midnight!  Cousin number one always had to make the perfect design of toothpaste on her brush (which took many tries), and once she got the paste all swirly and beautiful down the drain in bubbles went the masterpiece . Rinse and repeat! Cousin number two was very busy organizing how cousin number three was going to get down from the tree in which she was somehow very stuck;  after thorough analysis of all branches and safe pathways flashlights and direct orders saved the adventurous one from sleeping with the squirrels.  Me? I was the oldest and felt entitled to front row seats; I had the armit nook, in my opinion always the best. Once we all got settled and my grandpa left the room after shaking his head in disbelief at our ridiculousness the story began.

     Harry by the Sea was a favorite. Was it a coincidence, maybe, that all four of us were overlapping shoulders mixing brunette locks with soft silvery yellow learning the lesson of making our world bigger and more inviting so we can share it with the ones we love? I know for a fact that I would not love or care about this book as much if I didn’t have a mouthful of cousin hair and squished limbs while reading it! Harry’s family learned that being without him made them incomplete and sad, so they got a bigger umbrella for everyone to share and enjoy as a family.

As a teacher and healthcare provider it is part of my job to help my students and clients open their metaphorical arms wide and teach the importance of support and community so they are open to and can access help if needed. As parents we have a strong focus on our immediate family unit and home and need to prioritize and organize and sometimes even say no as a means of rest, refocus and survival. I do believe that finding a healthy balance of reaching out AND finding solace and privacy within is important.

When I found this book a few weeks ago I simply felt the timing could not have been more coincidental. We all share this one world together; we need to all work on finding a bigger umbrella.

What good is Shelter and Shade without sharing?

 

The gap between our pasts and present

As expansive as a canyon

The North Rim a journey away

From partner.

North and South

Each side having its own story

Their own

Loss,

Love,

Pain,

Resilience.

Your hands are smooth with youth – not yet eighteen

Mine

Weathered, calloused from age

Knuckles thick –

You see me

I am not your equal

I see you

 My partner

When we hear our children laugh

We are the same

When we feel our child’s touch

We are the same

When we see our child looking back at us

We are the same.

By the end of the day

We looked at one another

An understanding bonding us together

Like the magnetic field between the Poles,

Tucked deep within each Rim

A Mother’s eye sees the world

Through

For

Because of

 Child.

 

                Many Sunday nights can bring on the feeling and literal reality of unfinished business. Sometimes the end of a weekend greets us like an evil mocking clock; as if in a cartoon the clock has eyes, sinister brows, hands that spin and spin out of control while cackling at our naïve attempt to utilize the two days wisely.

As this particular Sunday came to an end laundry continued to rain down upon us like never-ending tropical dew, dishes and crumbs sprinkled themselves all over the kitchen with the help of lazy children and homework woes rang loudly from the dining room table like an off key chorus,

“Help me!”

“I can’t do this!”

“I don’t get it”

“Home school me!” (As if I wouldn’t give them homework!)

My husband and I looked at each other in silence, eye ball to eye ball; our visual standoff ending in a simple unified nod. I called in a “to go” order from our newly discovered and now one of our favorite restaurants, Café La Bellitalia. Time was not on my side that day anyway so I left very early to go pick up our dinner. When I got out of my car the gorgeous smell wafted through their doors like spiraling steam from a chicken soup pot straight to my nose, my head; I followed half afloat like Bugs Bunny trailing his carrots without wings.

As I opened the door to this charming, sweet place I was instantly transported to my past, like in a scene from The Christmas Carol. In the corner I saw a small cozy table for two. I was sitting with my father for dinner in our old, weekly stomping ground, Albanese’s. This place was hilarious, magical, a bit sketchy and adorable. The tiny place was located in a shady part of downtown Milwaukee. When we walked in the Owner, Tom, would always make a B line straight to my father, say “Hi Doc, your room temp Chianti is on its way” and then he would swiftly disappear down into what I assumed was the basement. We would sit at the bar and wait for our table. When I got bored I pretended to play the video game machines without using quarters of course. My dad would say, “Drek! Jessie those things are just Drek.” NO amount of convincing would work so I used the best of what my imagination could muddle up. Soon the most friendly, 4 “11” waitress would come get us and sit us at the same small table for two. Then another waitress, who seemed to be her tiny twin sister, would bring us garlic bread that made me feel as if I was sucked into the belly of the bulb itself. While the bread melted instantly in my mouth, I believed we were having dinner in heaven. There were about six of these tiny waitresses (Though believe you me they would beat anyone if challenged to a brawl) who served the meal as if it was a choreographed number – no water glass ever empty, Chianti glass always half full and room temp and the food – perfect. My father always ended his meal (homemade angel hair pasta with sausage marinara) with a slice of garlic bread absorbing the last drop of crimson liquid gold.

“Ready Jess?”

I was never ready; but I knew we’d be back in exactly a week.

As the ghost of Sunday night present brought me back to reality I made my way to the hostess station and watched as the energetic, youthful and lovely staff worked together like a well-oiled machine. It was like stepping into a scene of the movie Mystic Pizza – the hostess, waitress and bus staff all lifted their heads to say hi to me. The hostess checked my order, immediately remembered me and asked me how my kids were and if my son was still willing to tolerate Spumoni (long story short -our picky middle child refused to like it, but he did!!)

She then told me the order was not quite ready, but would I enjoy a small glass of room temperature Chianti while I waited?

A single tear spilled from one of my eyes and I said yes, please. She pulled out a chair for me to sit and then brought me a half glass of room temperature Chianti. She asked if I was ok. I laughed, told her she was “my Tom” and said someday when I had more time I would tell her the whole story.