And that's the whole point, I'd say.  Remember this, and happiness reigns supreme.  

Delaney is 11

My little girl is growing up.  Her shell is a conflict of emotions all at once surrounding a sweet and thoughtful being.  Pre-adolesence is in full swing, and she's working to adjust to the world around her (and we are trying to keep up with the moment to moment shifts!).

She is dance and music and colors and sports and boys and friends and constantly changing in all of these and more.  She is a flurry of energy and, at the same time, a sleepy child.  I love her with all I've got.  And when she's in one of her tweeny moods that confuse and frighten her, I will do my best to love her through it.

Happy Birthday, to my beautiful girl!  May you see the beauty and light that shines from you that the rest of us enjoy in you.  You are truly a special gift.  I love you!

Ah, baseball

This post was to be published the summer of 2012, I think.  Somehow, it was skipped over.  I add it now with some additions to welcome Baseball 2014.  

There are few things that stir me as much as the game of baseball.  Well, not in the same way at least.  I love many things, but baseball is a thing of beauty.  Its history is meaningful to our country.  A well-executed play can be appreciated, even it doesn't favor the home team.  I love baseball and always have.  It is also something that I share with my father.  That makes it even more special to me.  I remember watching Brewer games on tv late at night when the house was too warm to sleep.  Once a year, our familly went to watch a game at the old County Stadium in Milwaukee.  Those were some special times, and I will never forget them.

As a grown up, my love for the game continues.  My husband also enjoys the game, which is fortunate.  This year, a new tradition was born.  Rather, an old tradition was tweaked and reborn.  Now, I've added the once a year game with my dad to include Delaney and Aidan.  The memories live on and grow richer.
...........................................fast forward a couple of years........

Now, a couple of years later, both kids are playing the sport.  Aidan is in Little League.  His swing is a thing of beauty, and he's got natural hands on defense.  Delaney plays fastpitch softball.  She's lightening fast, and her grace turns her game into poetry.  How lucky am I, to have the opportunity to enjoy so much of the game I love?  Very.

And soon, we head out to our second spring training.  Since we watched the Brewers last year, Delaney and I are allowing ourselves to take in the Cubs this year for the sakes of Aidan and Rob.  As long as I'm watching baseball in the sun, I'm good.

On The Eve

There is something in the air this morning.  It's not so much something to look at, though.  More of a feel.  And a smell.  On the way to the bus stop today, Delaney took in a deep breath and said, "Oh, Mom.  It smells like spring."  She also noticed that when Aidan stomped through a puddle it looked beautiful, "like little sparks" coming off his feet.  She does have a way with words, that girl.

But back to the weather.  Today is grey, rainy, foggy, and only about 39 degrees F, but it feels like spring is almost here and that winter is finally leaving.  It feels hopeful.  I feel hopeful and motivated and like a cloud is lifting.

Spring really might happen this year.  It really might.

I think Riley agrees.

"Beware the Ides of March"

This famous quote from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar is on my mind.  In the play, a soothsayer utters it to warn Julius Caesar of his coming death.   It was on the ides of March seven years ago, March 15, 2007, that my mom's diagnosis was confirmed.  I remember the irony of it hitting me immediately, in fact.

Although not an indicator of immediate death, FTLD carries a death sentence.  Dementia originating in the frontal and temporal lobes changes everything.  It robs family and friends of a loved one.  Little by little, it steals a life.  

death by a million paper cuts 

My mom is sometimes painfully aware of what is happening to her, I think.  I see it in her eyes when she sees me as I walk in the door to visit her.  It is painful for me too.  Her caregivers tell me that her day is going well until she falls to tears when I arrive.  That hurts.  I think seeing me is a reminder of who she was and of the future she planned to have.  Maybe I'm wrong.  It's possible that she can't know these things anymore.  It's impossible to know for sure, since she can no longer communicate with me and often seems to forget that I am there.

Tomorrow, I will smile at my mom and hide from the sorrow, but I allow myself to succumb to the crushing sadness on this anniversary.  She is worthy of this day of mourning, and that will never change.

I will remember to be grateful that we made time to be together and that my kids were and are given ample chances to see her.  I'm glad we went to the bookstores, baked cookies, trick or treated,  and took picnics when she still could.  At the time, it was difficult to do and gave me a mess of unhappy emotions.  Now I am so very glad that I took the pains to make as many memories as possible, like the one pictured above.