March 17th

This has always been one of my favorite holidays, I love everything about the day except for the stereotypes. People of Irish ancestry do have a penchant and unusual tolerance for alcohol, it's true. That doesn't mean we all get tossed on St. Patrick's day...quite frankly we could do that any day we chose. We also have a knack for storytelling...the Craic as it's referred to in Gaelic. Irish monks kept the written word alive during the dark ages as a matter of fact. Irish Americans can count among our ranks many distinguished contributors to American structure and culture including 6 members of the Constitutional Congress, 8 signers of the Declaration of Independence, 21 Presidents and 9 Supreme Court Justices. We claim Walt Disney, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edgar Allen Poe, Georgia O'Keefe,  Bill Murray, Dennis Leary, Judy Garland and Bing Crosby and 9 inductees to the Baseball Hall of Fame to name a few cultural icons. Countless, nameless immigrants over the last 150 years built the roads, canals, bridges and railroads we still travel on. We nannied the children, staffed the hotels and cleaned the homes of the elite of society. We became policemen (prompting the nickname coppers) and firemen and we suffered discrimination. During the 19th century there were signs posted stating "no dogs and no Irish" throughout many communities. We have a unique relationship with Death as loss is woven into the fiber of our DNA but we survive. Famine, coffin ships, indentured servitude, war and disease can't remove us from this Earth. We have as our symbol the Claddagh which signifies friendship, love and loyalty. Loyalty being one of our most outstanding traits and we are fiercely proud of where we come from because if you're lucky enough to Irish then you're lucky enough. We love our families, and protect our kin with iron clad tenacity.  I have special reason to love the holiday more because not only am I of Irish descent but it's also the day my first child, a son, was born.  Today is the day I became a mother, an Irish one no less. This means I yell, I laugh, I worry, I guard what's mine and work hard every day to give my children better than what I had. Not so different than any other group you might say. True I say...but people of Irish heritage do it with a charm and flair all our own. There's a reason the world want's to be Irish for a day and it isn't just for green beer. We invite you to celebrate with us on the 17th of March but please leave your drunken leprechauns at home.

Friday the 14Th

I grew up in a time before being politically correct was the norm. We didn't get trophies just for showing up and come Valentines day our teachers didn't require that every non-Jehovah's witness in class get a valentine. We spent a day or two elaborately decorating shoe-boxes with stickers and little lace doilies in anticipation of them being overstuffed with messages of admiration come Valentines Day. That was never my experience. One year in particular the teacher thought it would be a good idea to have each child individually pass out their cards and/or candy. Kid after kid passed me by...and the popular girl next to me with the straight hair and no freckles had so many that she asked me if she could use my box since I wasn't gonna need it. That set the tone folks, every year V-day brought knots to my stomach and being a hopeless romantic even back then, I always thought "this year will be different'. To add insult to injury, my parents didn't celebrate V-day either, they both believed that it's better to show your love EVERY day than to overspend one day a year to make up for the rest. Well yeah, of course it is but when you're 8 you want crappy cards and lots of candy! My Mimi however, loved Valentines day, any excuse to decorate and shower my brother and I with goodies, she was in!  Mimi was my Valentine every year. Without her I might have murdered Cupid years ago. Middle school brought "candy gram" HELL to my world. Just like the empty shoe box of my early years except my lack of "love" was on public display for the whole school to see. Unlike today it wasn't socially acceptable for girls to give each other Candy grams as sign of friendship or solidarity,  although some of my friends and I still did. No, in middle school your worth was measured by how many BOYS sent you Candy grams and how popular those boys were. Mean Girls were alive and well in 1985 and I got a Candy gram that year from the boy I had a crush on and I was overjoyed, validated even. Until I went up to him to say thanks and realized from the chorus of snickers behind me that it wasn't actually from him. I call those girls Satan's Triplets and the Candy gram was joke on me from them. All this being said you'll understand why I'm less than fond of this over commercialized, bullshit holiday. Flash forward 20 years or so and I closed escrow on my first home with my then fiancé on February 14th, the "holiday" was looking up. Soon I  become a mom and having toddlers around makes everything more fun. I turned into my Mimi, any excuse to decorate and spoil my kids. I decided I'd reclaim the holiday and I did. My married Valentines days were a mixed bag. Some great, and some as awful as elementary school. Today, I've been single for 4 V-Day's...but you know what? It doesn't sting like it did when I was 8, or 12 or even 22. It's the day before half price chocolate day which is a MUCH better "holiday" if you ask me. I also have the joy of seeing my son scouring Pinterest for a gift idea for his girlfriend, then making it with his own two hands just like the Valentine cards he'd make me when he was little. He does things like this often for his girl,..,.not just on the day Hallmark says he should. Ya know what that means? That all the pain I suffered was for a purpose. I was able to teach my children to be thoughtful, considerate and a little bit corny. If you find yourself single on Friday, with no cards in your shoe box, don't sweat it.....your life is no worse than it was on Thursday. Cheers to you all...single or not. And yeah..Happy Valentines Day.

Touchdowns and TBI's

Annually an estimated 136,000 to 300,000 high school athletes sustain concussions also know as TBI or traumatic brain injury. My first born son, as of approximately 5:30 last night, has become pat of this statistic. This is his third year playing football. One year of Pop Warner and one year as a Freshman behind him. This year, as a Sophomore on the Junior Varsity team he was given the honor of being asked to "double dress' which means he suits up for Varsity games as well. You can't imagine how proud I was standing next to him on the sidelines after his first game on a Friday night. We posed for pictures, he put his helmet on his little brother's head and I bragged about him on Facebook. I am an extremely proud sports mom. Now I am a scared sports mom. I knew this type of injury was possible, I was aware of the risk but there is a big difference between being aware it can happen and then watching it take place. That's what happened yesterday. My son went out for a pass, straight down the middle of the field and caught it, but not before a player from the opposing team hit him head on, helmet to helmet. As his head was jerking back from that another player hit him square in the chest taking him off his feet and he crashed to the ground. It was the last play of the game and no penalty was called. After a few seconds, he got up and walked to the sideline bench where he sat, waiting to clap hands with the opposing team as they left the field. I picked up my gear and headed for the car. Before I could put the key in the ignition I was called by his coach to come back. My son was laying in the grass under the goal post, he didn't know what day it was and his speech was slurred. He couldn't sit up on his own. His grandpa road the golf cart with him to the locker room while I brought the car around. Then he, his sister and I headed to the ER. CT scans, chest xrays and 1 IV later his results came back clear, He finally started speaking normally about 3 hours after he was hit. Diagnosis - mild concussion. I woke him up every two hours and watched him like a hawk all night per docotr's orders but not much else was said. I took him to see his pediatrician this morning and she disagreed with the severity and has placed him out for the rest of the month at least. She would prefer he stopped playing football altogether which of course he doesn't want to do. My son LOVES football. He loves football the way I love baseball and he has worked very hard to earn his spot. Countless hours of conditioning and practices, he gave up soda and most of his free time. He loves this sport, he's watching ESPN Sportscenter as I'm typing this and the next few weeks will be hell on him. Now I have to balance this one football season against the rest of his life. Do I let him go back on the field after the doctor clears him risking another injury? Do I make him hate me and run the risk of him taking a bad path without football? His dad was injured as a freshman and wasn't able to play. He chalked up his rotten high school career to not being able to play football. Who knows? What I do know is that this injury came at a time when the media, medical community and football itself are looking at TBI's way different than they have in the past. My heart is broken for my sweet, handsome, football loving boy. It would be broken more if he were to re-injure himself or sustain lifelong damage because of high school football. For today, we will follow doctors orders, pray and hope he gets to rejoin his team. Most importantly, I pray he doesn't ever re-injure his brain.

to date or not date....

Today while enjoying a relaxing BBQ with friends the subject of dating came up. I told my girlfriend's husband "You should be glad you're married because dating is a pain"....which of course prompted him to ask "So when are you going to start dating again Melisa"? It's been 3 years since my ex husband moved out, 6 months since the divorce was final. My first instinct was to say "Oh, when pigs fly " but truthfully I had no answer to that question.When AM I going to start dating? I have gone on a handful of dates but nothing more than a few good inside jokes came from all that. By some standards I should already be remarried by now. No thanks. I left all I had on the field the last time. I won't be doing THAT again. A good answer to the dating question would be "On the 10th of never". I've only met one person since I became single that has been able to hold my interest for any length of time but he isn't making himself available in the way I would like. If you've read any of my previous posts you;ll know that what I'm looking for isn't typical. And I want it in a taller than me, attractive, respectable package. Dating isn't as easy in reality as TV makes it seem. I was married for 15 years....all of my friends, with few exceptions are married people, therefore not an abundance of single men floating around. Also, I have 3 very active children and the bottom line is I'd rather hang out with them. Someday they will fly the coop and I may have to get serious about the "When am I going to start dating" question. For now I guess I'll keep hoping one of my friends will set me up with someone worth shaving my legs for.

"Being single used to mean that nobody wanted you. Now it means you're pretty, sexy and you're taking your time deciding how you want your life to be and who you want to spend it with" -

 Carrie Bradshaw.

Most days I would say I agree with this. Today isn't one of those days. I am lonely. I know that my kids, my friends, my family, my church, my career should be enough but today I'm not feeling it. Today I am feeling less than. If I'm so pretty, sexy and smart then why am I solo? My ex isn't solo. My buddy who's divorce is just now final isn't. My logical side agrees with the principle of being single while raising kids. They need a stable parent. Today my choice feels like back when I was "staying together for the kids". Not that I have so many other more attractive options but like I said, today I'm a little sour. My logical side says these folks in relationships might be just as lonely or whatever other adjective, as me. That I am better off alone for the right reasons then with someone for the wrong ones. Yeah yeah yeah. Today I say phooey. I want a man to tell me I'm pretty and not one I'm related to. I want to feel wanted and for longer than an hour or two because I have the "friend with benefits"... At this point after almost 2 years of back and forth he's more like a really reticent boyfriend but I can't call him that. Against the rules. Logic and self help books say I deserve better. Today it's all I've got. Let me be clear, I don't want an all the time, up in my business boyfriend. I only want to take care of my kids but I'd like more than I have. Attention, some affection, a date now and then. Someone to cuddle on the couch with and watch a movie. Someone who's laundry I don't have to do, someone who doesn't think I want rescuing. Someone to steal glances across a room with. For all the things my ex husband wasn't he did proudly claim me as his. Damn straight! I was a great wife and someday I may make a great girlfriend. For now I would be quite happy with a man who was only sleeping with me, who handles his own shit and leaves me to do the same.  What I want is probably akin to a unicorn. And as easy to find. Oh well. That's just how I feel today. Tomorrow will be a new day. 

Dork magnet

Standing in an impossibly long line at Starbucks trying to kill some time before a doctors appointment it occurs to me.... I am a bonafide dork magnet. I've been single now going on almost 2 years and in that time I've gone on a handful of dates, 6 to be exact. It's not easy being a 40 year old single mom and trying to meet people. Especially if you're not inclined to dancing on tables or hanging out at bars. I tried the Internet dating thing and that got me 3 people. All dorks in one way or another. The one who knew my ex husband and still lived with his mom, the one who wanted to become the Brady bunch after the first date and Spear man. Ahh.. Spear man.... Any of my close friends who read this post will remember him. At the end of our date, after telling me that while he finds me extremely attractive he won't be having sex with me until we are married, he gave me a spear. Full on authentic South American tribal spear. Most guys just bring flowers. Dork. Which brings me to today. Back at Starbucks waiting to order my non fat vanilla latte the guy behind me strikes up a conversation based on the tattoo on my foot. "So you like Seattle huh"? "Must be a big nirvana fan". Nope. It's Chicago. Can't stand Nirvana. "Cool he says, I'm getting a vanilla latte too... How about you let me buy yours and we go have a chat on the patio"? IF I hadn't been on my way to a doctors appointment and IF he hadn't been wearing a size schmedium t-shirt and sporting a hipster pseudo beard I might've considered his proposal. He looked confused when I said thanks but no thanks. Dork. My girlfriend Kim says I need to "put myself out there more". So I'm trying... But this week has been too much. Tuesday on a late night run to Von's for milk and coffee I was followed to my car by a guy with a considerable beer belly AND a case of beer under his harm who felt the need to tell me I was beautiful. Thanks for the compliment. It might've been more flattering if he didn't look like Don Johnson's bloated, older brother. Dork. I am a dork magnet. I can't say I don't get hit on or asked out. I just get DORKS.

Ra Ra ree kick em in the knee

Back in 1986 a tall, gangly girl stood waiting outside the gym doors at Sage Middle School in black Dolphin shorts and matching Tshirt holding borrowed pom poms waiting for her number to be called. This was THE day, cheer leading tryouts. For weeks she'd practiced with her Uncle Joe's girlfriend who was a skilled cheerleader. The routine was learned, the hair was done, every thing was ready except for her nerves. The door opens and she walks in facing the firing squad of judges which included 2 teachers and 3 8th grade cheerleaders. These girls were the pinnacle middle school life. She was intimidated to say the least. It was time...do the routine. Take a deep breath, hope they didn't notice how sweaty you are  "ready .. OK". Everything went well until the end. She was supposed to perform a combination of a cartwheel (Which she didn't know how to do) and a jump. The result was She fell in a pile of knees and elbows, taking out two of the three cheerleader judges at the same time. The one remaining cheerleader judge proceeded to humiliate her for making such a spectacle. "Why did you EVEN bother trying out"? As she ran out of the gym crying, she swore to herself that from that day forward all cheerleaders would be the enemy. She became the anti-cheerleader. Looking back now, it reads like a bad episode of the Afterschool Special. But it's real. She was me. I still remember the names of the three cheerleader judges. I still remember the way the hard, shiny gym floor felt like as I slammed into it. I'm having flashbacks because today my daughter tried out as a 7th grader for her 8th grade squad. She, however is amazing and talented. She's got rhythm and skill. I have no idea where that came from. It certainly wasn't me. Cattiness is still the order of the day. Cliques still rule but my daughter can rise above all that because she can actually CHEER! I've even been able to set aside some of my own emotion towards the situation and make "spirit shirts" and hair-bows which caused my kitchen floor to be covered in glitter. It's weird how God works...the anti-cheerleader becomes mother to the cheerleaderiest cheerleader ever. And I love it. Oh the irony.