The following is an excerpt from a book I'm working on...

The book is loosely based on my life and this is part of something I've been working on. Interested in hearing what you think of it....

 As a child, I have been told, I had a horrible way of registering pain and suffering. Whenever I got hurt or was disappointed or just plain didn't get my way, I would cry. Not just cry...I would let out one long wailing cry that lasted until every ounce of breath was out of my lungs. Then I would turn blue and pass out. Of course, this would scare my poor mother out of her wits. They tell me I would do this almost anywhere but the worst times were when I was in some precarious situation where my passing out would just cause me further injury and trauma. My mom told me that one time I was at the top of our hallway stairs. Again, we lived above my Dad's bar and those stairs were steep! I started crying over a paper cut, or small bruise, or hurt feelings at the top and launch into my long wail without breathing which then would make me pass out and launch myself head first down that creaky flight of stairs. All the while my mother was horrified, standing at the top, thinking for sure that this time I had, indeed, killed myself. Another time was at my oldest sister's wedding. I naturally don't remember this, this was all told to me by my parents, but apparently I bumped into something and started wailing and was launched down a hard set of stairs in front of everyone at the reception. I always knew how to make a dramatic entrance. My Dad said that “a cold compress and several Shirley Temples later, I was just fine”.

 It's funny how some memories are taken in as you live them but some are given to you by the people who were around at the time. I clearly don't recall my strange way of crying and passing out but everyone in my family does. There are other memories like this in my life. For instance, we have an old photograph of my standing on a dock up in northern Wisconsin at a cottage we used to go to every year. My sister Patsy is standing next to me. I'm holding an enormous stringer of fish as though I caught them. I'm about two at the time. Patsy is holding the fishing pole. It's more likely that she caught the fish herself but the only way you can even tell it's her is because she had boney legs and knocked knees when she was a kid. Her head is completely cut out the picture. I think that one picture kind of sums up my early relationship with my sister Patsy. She was the “baby” for seven years before I was born. Sure, I was a big surprise but once I was here I was lavished with loads of love and attention. Not just from my parents either. My other older siblings treated me like baby royalty and, unfortunately, that was the end of Patsy's reign. She spent most of my formative years thinking of ways to ditch me in the neighborhood or stuff me behind a bed without getting caught. Hey, I don't blame her! If I was her and I came along, I'd hate me too! My mother didn't help the situation much. She would insist that Patsy take me everywhere with her. Whenever she went outside to play, mom would insist she strap me into the stroller and take me along. Now remember, Patsy is only seven years older than me. I was about two when this was happening so my mom was entrusting my safety and well-being to a nine year old. A nine year old who hated me! Patsy would stroll me over to the Fox's house. The Fox family – George, Bernice and their kids – lived a couple of houses away. Patsy would leave me sitting in their back yard, still strapped into the stroller and then she would go around the corner to play with her best friend Kris. She would come back and get me on her way home and my mom was unaware of the entire escapade. I was so little that I just sat there, looking around and enjoying the sunshine. Mr. Fox worked so he was gone all day. Mrs. Fox was usually home but she never came out of the house. But one day Mr. Fox came home early and found me! He called my mother and asked why I was just “parked” in his backyard. My mom came and got me and waited for Patsy to come home. Of course, Patsy was frantic because she had “lost” the baby and, though relieved to see I was okay, she faced the wrath of my mother. My mother, as it happens, was not worried about me at all. She knew I was safe the entire time. No, she was embarrassed that Mr. Fox had called because that didn't “look right” and that was always the most important thing to my mom. Throughout our lives she always worried that we were doing something, saying something, wearing something or associating with someone that would make other people think it didn't “look right”. My mother was no snob. That's not what she meant at all. It was not the social economic standing of people we hung out with or the need for designer clothes. No, to my mother it was all about deportment, how you carried yourself, how good your manners were and if you took pride in your appearance. To her, these were the outward signs of a good character and it mattered to her what “Mrs. Kelleher's daughters” did, said and looked like when they were out and about. After all, we were the physical reflection of our parents.

 To some it might sound horrid that a mother would allow (read that force) a nine year old to take her two year old sister outside and expect that she would monitor that horrible toddler all day. I suppose now in this times it is a risk and likely cause for someone to call in Social Services. But back then, in that neighborhood, there was no way I was ever going to be hurt or kidnapped. In our neighborhood everyone knew everyone else's business. Every mom and dad had free reign to dole out punishment as they saw fit. If you were caught acting a fool at someone else's house they'd give you a swat, yell at you and send you home and, before you even had a chance to make up a good excuse, they would have already called your mom so she was well informed of your shenanigans even before you set foot in the door. Then you'd get another swat, some more yelling, sent to your room and, probably grounded for a while. Back then, before TV's and personal computers and Playstations were in every kid's bedroom, being grounded was like death. We never wanted to have to stay indoors and taking away our wandering rights was like tying us up and leaving us for dead! Yes, it was that dramatic. The funny thing is, just as each parent had full approval to punish as needed, they also would feed you and doctor you if you got hurt. If you happened to be over at a friend's house at noon, you'd get fed. They never sent you home at lunch time, only at dinner. If you fell and scraped your knee, they'd clean it off, put on some Mercurochrome, and give you a band-aid and send you back out to play. All mom's back then thought alike. If you got in trouble, or if someone said you did something wrong and called your mom, your mom would believe them, no questions asked. There were times when I got in trouble for crap I didn't even do but when I got home I still got it! My mom's philosophy was that if I was there at the time it happened, even if I wasn't directly involved, I probably at least thought about doing it so that deserved a punishment!

Family...

In the holding pattern called life..

My mom's not doing so well. She hasn't progressed as the docs and therapists had hoped so they are now saying she will need a nursing home. On the one hand, that means she will be coming closer to home. On the other hand, it means she will be forever altered.

I guess I should have been ready for this. I mean, after all, she is 93 years old and I've had plenty of time to get ready for the inevitable. But I am not ready and I am angry that life throws these damned curve balls at us and we're just expected to deal.

But, I do find comfort in thinking about the things my mother accomplished in her life.
1. She taught elementary school for over 25 years and never had a sick day unless she was in labor.

2. She gave birth to 6 healthy children and raised us all to be good decent caring people.

3. While raising us and teaching, she was the cook in my dad's restaurant. This meant she taught Monday through Friday, cooked Thursday, Friday and Saturday and then spent all day Sunday preparing her lessons for the following week. Yet we never felt she wasn't present in our lives from working too much because she made sure we had great family times - picnics, trips to the zoo, swimming at the lake, etc.

4. She made sure that we all got great educations and encouraged us in whatever we wanted to try. And she was always there to hold us up when we failed. And she never said, "I told you so."

5. She had and has so many people who love her, whose lives she's touched, whose hearts have been shared with her. I know once she's back in Kenosha she will have a never ending stream of visitors.

6. She taught me shame. She taught me to recognize that there is some behavior, some ways that I could choose to act, that would bring shame to myself...and to her. And that's the one thing I would never want to do.

7. She knows that laughing and having a sense of humor about yourself is more important than being the smartest, the prettiest or the richest. If you can laugh, no matter what your circumstances, you will be happy.

8. She taught me that inner strength can take me through the toughest times.

9. She told me she loved me every single day of my life. And she meant it. Even now, not a day goes by, when me and my siblings or my husband don't say "I love you". We end every phone conversation with that. When we leave each other's homes we say it. And we mean it.

10. She taught me that being happy...truly happy...doesn't come with wealth or power or prestige. It is simply knowing there are people I love, who love me back, and always will. I wish everyone could feel that in their lives.

My mother is a remarkable woman. She has been the pillar of our family forever. And, even now, she still is. We are all just a little lost while she is in this condition. We're all still looking to her at the moment to know how to deal with this. It's slowly dawning on us that her time to lead us may be coming to an end and we will have to remember those things she taught us, those gifts she gave us, and carry on together, taking care of her now as she took such good care of us all.

I love you Mom. Always have. Always will.

Incredible Shrinking Women!

This week, my Auntie Mayme and Cousin Mickey are here for a short visit from their homes in North Dakota. Auntie Mayme is my mom's sister. She's the second oldest, my mom being the oldest. Now, over the years, and especially this past year I have noticed that my mom has grown increasingly shorter. She used to be about 5'9" for most of her life. At 92 she is about 5'2" right now.

Last night I went to my sister's house for dinner to see my Auntie and Cousin. When my Auntie stepped out of her room I noticed that she too is about 5'2" right now! The funny part was that they had just come back from seeing their other sister in the Chicago area earlier that day. When I asked how that visit was and how sister was they said, with some surprise, "She got SO SHORT!" Hahaha!! It must be a famiy trait. I can only imagine that at some point in my life my now 5'11" frame will shrink down to about 5'2"!

Another very telling thing happened last night as well. You see, my mom has always been the kind of mom that would tell us to do something - say, set the table or make a salad, whatever - and then she would stand there and "supervise" us letting us know we were "doing it wrong". "Doing it wrong" meant that we were doing it in a way that she would never do it whether our way was equally effective or not. Last night my Cousing Mickey was told by my Auntie to cut up some onions for a dish she was making. Then she proceeded to stand there "supervising" her telling her she was cutting them "wrong" and not "cutting enough onions". It was comical to see that even now at our age these women do this. No matter how old we, the children get, mom's will always "know best" even if we are completely capable of doing whatever it is they are asking us to do. It was also funny to see this dynamic happening to my Cousin because that was a sure sign that this "supervising" thing was something my Grandma must have done to them all their lives too.

So it goes....mothers and daughters...tall and short and telling each other what to do.

Happy Birthday Mom!

My mom's birthday was yesterday but tonight we'll get together for cake and some cards to celebrate her 93rd birthday! 93 years! My mom has been the strongest woman role model I've had in my life and I can honestly say that I have learned all of life's best lessons.

My mom was a teacher. She taught 2nd grade at a parochial school for almost 30 years and other than a maternity break here and there she never took a day off or called in sick.

My mom was a volunteer. Up until a year ago my mom volunteered her time at our local soup kitchen, making sandwiches and offering smiles to the local homeless people here.

My mom is very spiritual and WHOLLY Catholic. To this day, she goes to church every day. Until last year she also kept a vigil on Saturday's at a chapel in a local nursing home. She volunteered her time to help the church count the weekly donations and make deposits. She was on the church council and was a reader at the Masses on Sunday. My mom's religion is very important to her.

My mom wore the pants in our family and still does. My dad was a pacifist who hated when there was a ruckus or argument. His solution was to try not to make waves. My mom on the other hand could stop any foolishness with just "the look" which let us know we were perilously close to some kind of doom. We never let it get beyond "the look" so I have no idea what doom that may have been! To this day, all of us grown, know that there are things we do that will bring that "look" and, even as adults, we try to avoid it at all costs.

I haven't always done what I know my mom would have me do. For example, I am not religious at all. I don't happen to believe in a god though I've had 12 years of Catholic school. I know that disappoints her and, because of what she believes, makes her afraid for my afterlife. I know that some choices I've made in life haven't always been what she would have chosen for me. For example, she really wanted me to be a teacher but I chose another course of study at college and an entirely different career path.

But I also know that what my mom wants for me, and for all my siblings, is that we are happy and healthy and loved. And I know that deep down she is proud of me.

My best image of my mother is this -
Back when she was a mere 75 years old, I went over to her house to see her. I walked in and heard some god-awful pounding and the "blam blam" of something being knocked with a large object. I went upstairs and found her in her room knocking out a wall with a sledge hammer. When my parents bought her house, there was only a master bedroom and one small bedroom. They turned the master into two smaller bedroom to accommodate us kids. At 75, with her kids moved out and her husband gone, my mom decided she wanted her master bedroom back and rather than hire someone to do it for her she borrowed a sledge hammer and went at it herself. Then, she finished off the dry wall and painted it too. Yup, that's my mom. A pillar of strength and boat load of tenacity.

At 93, she still lives in her own home on her own. Still drive a car too albeit only to a nearby grocery store and to church once a day. Her mind is sharp as a tack and she lives to play cards with her children twice each week.

She's a helluva a strong woman and I hope that I have some of that when I grow up!

My mom...

My mom totally rocks. She just does.