Entries Tagged 'Mothers' ↓

I had no idea. But I guess I shouldn’t blame myself for being so naive. It seems that many parents don’t have any idea either. We generally assume that the drugs we need to worry about our children abusing are such party favorites as alcohol, ecstasy, pot, cocaine or even heroin. I never thought a popular drug of choice these days was dextromethorphan – a key component in cough medicine.

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by a firm representing the CHPA (Consumer Healthcare Products Association) and asked to attend a two day event in Washington DC covering the Five Moms. (Three of the Five Moms are pictured to the right.)

This Monday, I arrived at the lovely, historic Hotel Lombardy curious about what the next two days would bring me. While I settled down in my room over-looking Pennsylvania Avenue, I reviewed the materials that were left for me.

The Problem

A study from the Partnership for a Drug Free America has shown that about one in ten teens (roughly 2.4 million kids) ages 12-17  have reported to have intentionally abused over the counter cough medicine. And about 28% of teens know someone who has abused it. But only 4% of parents believe their children would actually abuse cough medicine. The Partnership for Drug Free America also reports that “41 percent of teens mistakenly believe that abuse of medicines is less dangerous than abuse of illegal street drugs.” And when teens do abuse dextromethorphan, it has been found that they take 20 – 50 times the recommended dosage which equates to consuming multiple bottles of cough medicine at one time.

The Five Moms

On behalf of StopMedicineAbuse.org, five dynamic mothers have currently become the faces of cough medicine abuse. And this week they arrived in Washington DC with the CHPA to meet with Congress people on Capitol Hill to lobby for their support. They had three goals:

1. Urge the importance of parental education about cough medicine abuse by promoting the StopMedicineAbuse.org site. The Five Moms believe education about the abuse of this common place medication will do more to curb it’s use rather than simply restricting purchase since these medications are found in every home. As one of the Five Moms noted during our meetings on Capitol Hill, “You can’t protect your family from something you don’t know about.”
2. Gain support for the dextromethorphan Abuse Prevention Act of 2009 (s. 1383) which would amend the Controlled Substances Act and prevent the sale of cough medicine (or any products with dextromethorphan) to those under 18 years of age.
3. Gain support for the dextromethorphan Distribution Act of 2009 (H.R. 1259) which if enacted would limit who may purchase bulk amounts of raw dextromethorphan. There are no current limits at this time.

During our time in DC, I got to know four of these mothers (the fifth wasn’t able to come due to an illness in the family) and was truly touched by their stories. Misty Fetko shares a powerful and upsetting story about her son Carl who passed away due to a lethal mix and overdose of drugs including dextromethorphan.  Blaise Brooks, a strong mother, speaker and mentor, educates her community about over the counter medication abuse. Hilda Morales-Roybal took on this cause after becoming informed about the abuse of over the counter medication in her own community. And finally Cristy Crandell currently has a son serving a 13 year prison sentence for crimes he committed while under the influence of dextromethorphan. Each amazing, each examples, each changing lives in their communities and now each delivering their message to Capitol Hill.

Dr. Drew

And so now you’re probably wondering how Dr. Drew fit in to all of this. Well, the night before we all went to Capitol Hill, we sat down to a lovely dinner with the Five Moms, the CHPA, the PR firm who organized all of our comings and goings, and we bloggers: Jenn, Janice and myself. While chatting with the mothers and considering our menus, an announcement was made that we would have another guest. Dr. Drew Pinsky was able to come to DC also to support this entire initiative and he would be joining us for dinner in a few minutes as well as coming to Capitol Hill with us the following day. After a few blogger (ahem) gasps (to put it subtly), Dr. Drew arrived soon there after and ate a delicious meal with us.

(And in case you’ve been living under a rock, here is where you might find Dr. Drew.)

Let me add a quick sidebar here to share something about Dr. Drew. He sat down at our table and graciously, patiently, wonderfully took question after question about addiction, abuse and even discussed our own personal stories. He didn’t have to do that. But he did. He truly cares about the work he is doing and obviously goes above and beyond to help others on a daily basis. I would like to extend a very heartfelt thank you to Dr. Drew for a fascinating dinner discussion.

CHPA

I have mentioned the CHPA before but should do so again now. Who are they? The Consumer Healthcare Products Association is a non for profit group representing the makers of over the counter medications. And yes, they brought me to this event because they wanted their message heard here. But during my brief time with the CHPA folks, I was impressed by and truly connected with this very committed group of people. And then we were lucky enough to have Alan, a CHPA representative and our valiant leader on the Hill, as part of our group too. With two children of his own and a clear dedication to this message, he fearlessly guided us through our day with humor and tact.

Moms Storm Capitol Hill

On Tuesday morning, the Five Moms, the bloggers, the CHPA folks, and PR peeps piled into cabs and found ourselves on Capitol Hill. Where was was Dr. Drew? He and Misty had already been up taping 39 segments for local television that morning to support this cause and we would meet up with them later. Check one of the segments out here:

However for the rest of us, our first stop that morning was the Rayburn building, home to Representative offices located directly across from the Capitol building. As we filed out of the cab, we stared up at this building’s grandeur considering what our day had in store for us. But we only took a moment and then continued up the steps. There was work to be done.

We met a lot of people that day. A lot. We criss-crossed Capitol Hill, tromped up and down the steps into and out of both the Rayburn Building and the Hart Building (where most Senator offices are located). While our fancy shoes silently tortured us with every step we hardly noticed because we were lucky enough to have appointments with:

Sen. Pat Roberts (R-KS)
Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-IA)
Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-CA)
Rep. Tom McClintock (R-CA)
Rep. Ciro Rodriguez (D-TX)
Rep. Emanuel Cleaver (D-MO)
Rep. Fred Upton (R-MI)
Sen. Sherrod Brown (D-OH)

We didn’t meet every congress person. In fact, my group usually met with Legislative Assistants. But Dr. Drew and Misty, along with the President and CEO of the Partnership for a Drug Free America, arrived in time for our face to face meetings with both Rep. Fred Upton and Sen. Chuck Grassley.

Every office was welcoming and wholeheartedly interested in the Five Mom’s message. They listened, they gave us time, and they promised further consideration. And as Hilda Morales-Roybal so correctly put forward to each member of her audience: “we are simply asking for you to support common sense”.

Common sense. Yep, that is exactly it. So it would seem these bills are obvious shoe-ins, something every member of congress could get behind – wouldn’t you think? Not so fast. I came to realize that while open to the Five Moms’ message, even the most straight forward, bi-partisan issues won’t be immediately resolved without some behind the scenes work. Call it horse-trading, call it prioritizing, call it plain old politics but these bills have run into a couple brick walls in the Senate. I know, I don’t get it either, but they have.

What Can You Do?

First of all, every parent should educate themselves. Go to StopMedicineAbuse.org to learn more about the risks, the facts, how dextromethorphan is abused and what signs to look for.

Secondly (and probably MOST importantly) you need to discuss this drug and its risks with your teens. Don’t find yourself assuming your sweet innocent child would never do this. Don’t find yourself dealing with a future overdose just like Misty Fetko did.

Thirdly, read medicine labels, look for the educational icon (see at right) and keep careful tabs on what you have in your medicine cabinets. If you see this icon on a medicine label, you should be aware that it has the potential to be abused and may contain dextromethorphan.

Finally, email or write your Representatives and Senators about this issue. Because you know what? They asked me to tell you that. In fact, Senator Grassley had statistics right at his fingertips about how many letters or emails his office receives and how many they respond to. And then after our meeting, his assistant came up to the bloggers and urged us to tell our readers the same. WRITE YOUR REPRESENTATIVES AND SENATORS. Because they are listening and they will support what you feel strongly about. No really, they will.

My Afterglow

And so, readers of mine, I will wrap up this lengthy post to say that I was officially blown away by my Capitol Hill experience. You see, I got to experience first hand the influence that moms have on their communities and country at large. And it has left me awed and inspired. Because I often flashback a few years to when my children were very young, when I thought I had no affect on very much any longer apart from raising my boys. I was simply a mom not doing too much of consequence apart from wiping bums, washing bottles and watching Ellen from time to time. No no. Actually, we have a voice. An important one. One that is heard on Capitol Hill – whether it be in face to face meetings or via letters and blog posts. We can make an important difference if we get busy, get talking, get writing and get organizing. Don’t forget what we have the potential to accomplish. Thanks to my time with the Five Moms, I know I never will.

Disclosure note: While my trip and hotel expenses were covered by the CHPA, the opinions expressed in this post are entirely my own. This is an extremely important initiative and I was proud to be there to offer my support.

My mother was a stubborn woman. When she wanted something and she felt strongly about it, she gleefully dug right in. Logic often played a part in her decision making. But sometimes it did not. Sometimes she dug in simply to boldly stamp herself on a debatable issue – and she often did it in spite of herself. You think this idea is silly? Well, guess what. I’m doing it no matter what you think. Sometimes this tendency of hers made us crazy. But most times, it could be downright endearing – in a maddening sort of way.

And that’s what happened with my mother’s Disney car antenna decorative Mickey balls.

Let me back up a bit here.

When my mom passed, I got her car. And I don’t care what you think about such a thing, I felt really weird about it. Yes, I know we needed a new car desperately. And yes, her car had very few miles on it. And yes, I know, she would have wanted this but still. It felt plain weird.

Like throwing away her toothbrush, like tossing her favorite breakfast drinks, like rummaging through her personal things in the days following her death – taking her car seemed like one more thing I was taking away from her previously organized life. It was another way to officially proclaim her time using these things was over.

This car that she loved so much. This car, a practical shade of red so that she could spot it easily in the parking lot, would never be driven by her in that kind of jerky way that I tried not to hassle her about. This car of hers, that I’m now driving through the car line at school pick up, that I am now playing my music in, that now has two car-seats strapped into the back – this car, I don’t care what that title says now, it is still hers.

Before we drove her car to Florida a couple weeks following her memorial service, I grabbed a bag of hers that I knew came with this car’s ownership. I could not leave with out it. It was a bag of seasonally appropriate Disney car antenna decorative Mickey balls.

Yes, there is obviously a story about those decorative Mickey balls. And here it goes.

A few years ago, my mother was in Downtown Disney with all of us and bought one lone Christmas themed Mickey ball. When she got home to her car, she plonked it right on her antenna. And my Dad hated it. He was NOT a fan. Not that it was his car, but he was happy to announce he thought that seasonal Mickey ball was silly nevertheless.

Well. That simply fueled her fire. During her next visit down to Florida, my mother bought an entire kit of decorative Mickey balls for her antenna. She proudly owned Christmas, Valentine’s day, Easter, 4th of July, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Except that she lost Halloween in a car wash. My father was over-joyed, until she stomped right out and plonked Thanksgiving onto her antenna. So there. It became a running joke between both of them. He shook his head at her while she religiously changed those damn Mickey balls as the seasons went by. Plus, much like her own mother (who used to tie gaudy, plastic flowers to her antenna), it was yet one more practical identification aid used while searching for her car in a parking lot. Oh yes, the red car with the Santa Mickey decorative antenna ball, that’s my mother’s car. My father would laugh and grumble under his breath and she would tromp ahead in the parking lot. She had dug in and that was that.

So today we put up our fall decorations. I hauled out the ghost lights and plug-in pumpkins and the favorite “trick or treat, smell my feet” sign that now hangs in our family room. The seasons are changing (in spite of the heat in Florida) and it was time to decorate appropriately. And once everything was out of its boxes and set up just so, I went into my room and found the bag of those dreaded Mickey Mouse balls. I rummaged around, knew I wouldn’t find the pumpkin, but pulled out the pilgrim Mickey ball instead. Then, I marched out to the garage, pulled off the 4th of July Mickey she had put on there months ago, and plonked that pilgrim right on.

Sure, I live in Florida and kind of cringe at that seasonal Mickey antenna ball. I mean I heart Disney for sure, but I try to be cool about it. Real Floridians wouldn’t sport Disney all over their car, right? But this isn’t a Floridian’s car. This is my mother’s car. And it is my very small, very silly but fully meaningful tribute to her.

Mom, I know you love that it’s on there. Happy Halloween. We miss you with the changing of every season.

If you’re a mother, busy with kids and work and married and have very little time for making new friends, you might have a good idea of what I am talking about when I refer to “Mom Dating”. And this weekend, as I was moving out one of my dearest friends and neighbors down the street – entirely too aware of the enormous void she would leave in my life – I knew it was time for me to get back in the game. I need to wipe the grape jelly off my kids faces, put something not so wrinkled on, buck up and start “Mom Dating” again.

As an overly eager college grad years ago, finding new friends was never hard to do. School and then work handed over heaps of new friends to sort through and bond with. But as I became (er… I guess it’s categorized as) a “grown-up”, those school and work friends and I have all dispersed, married and created lives of our own. Sure we call, we facebook, we skype. But we don’t have each other right here. For the spontaneous “bring the kids over for movie night, don’t forget the wine” kind of thing. For the “can you watch my kids so I can have the minimum number of eyes on my parts during my annual” times. For even the “if you let me borrow a stick of butter, I’ll share this raw cookie dough with you” moments.

So, to fill this particular empty void in our lives, we “grown ups” have to on-purpose, fully on the prowl, get out and start Mom Dating. It’s actually no different than regular dating except that it’s done on playgrounds and there is no fretting over how long you hold each other afterwards.

Ugh, but I cringe at the idea. Why? Like real dating, there are always some hurdles we must leap before finding “the one”. Like real dating, we have to put ourselves out there and risk rejection. Certainly trial and error has to be a part of the process but, when it comes to Mom Dating, I know what I am up against.

Finding Moms

When I’m scoping for moms, I keep my eyes open all the time for thirty something-ish mothers that kind of seem a little bit like me, trailing a pack of kids who seem no more or less wild than my own. I often find them in bookstores, grocery stores, Target. But really the best places to troll for moms are: playgrounds (it is the ultimate common ground), school or playgroup (your kids know each other, you see each other regularly, its kind of perfect), kid’s extracurriculars (didn’t you know Little League and karate were really all about YOU?), and libraries. One time I totally exchanged digits with a very cool mom at the library. Before she moved away (grumble grumble, Florida can be so transient sometimes) we were even kind of BFFs for awhile.

Giving the Right Impression

So now you’ve spotted a mom. But before she might allow her children to be anywhere near yours, you really need to give the right impression.  Firstly, always have your kids with you. A hassle (I know) but really, like the chick magnet cute dog my husband had in college, its the perfect ice breaker and establishes you as a 100%, genuine mom – just like her. You want to immediately portray that “Hi there! I’m a normal, regular mom too. See all of my screaming monsters that I’m trying reeeally hard not to yell too much at so I don’t scare to you off?”

Don’t Come on Too Strong

So I can usually break the ice and get this far ok. I’ll have my kids with me (check) and am usually not afraid to say something to another mom (er… check.) But, I’m warning you, be very careful at this very initial stage of friendship. When you first talk to another mom, (please, whatever you do) don’t come on too strong. While I’m not afraid to say hi, I am often too quick to try to relate, get comfortable and then (*cringe*) overshare. And that probably comes off kind of stalkerish and weird when I’m all “Hey, howya doin’, I sooo have cramps today, don’t they suck? I think my kid just pooped his pants, I gave him too many raisins, do raisins make your kids poop too much? My name is Caroline by the way, here’s my blogger business card, wanna email me?…” Shocking, isn’t it, when they don’t respond and then quickly shoo their kids away. Don’t come on too strong, ladies. Eeeeasy does it.

Find Something (Anything) Other than Kids in Common

This is the tough part. You’ve found that you’re both past the initial niceties and have launched into the next level of chat about where your children go to school, where you live, what your partners do. But then the real stuff starts to creep in, as it should. And the real stuff is what makes your friendship something… well, real. Where you’re from, how you raise your kids, what kind of values you have and then (*red lights flashing* warning, warning) in come your politics, religion, status stuff (if you even care) and the rest of it. This is about when you’ll learn whether the other mom is a just a ” ‘Hi, how are you?’ when you pass in Target” kind of mom, or a “regular playdates and lets friend each other on facebook” kind of mom, or a for real “pour your heart out late night over bottles of wine, BFF” kind of mom.

Please take note however. You don’t have to have absolutely everything in common. My dear friend who I just packed out of her house was not of the same political “persuasion” as me. And that’s a big one. While we had a couple rocky conversations, our friendship truly superseded that and it was, to the core, at the BFF level. Diversity and difference can make a friendship go round if you’re honest and accepting of one another.

You’re Friends but What About the Rest of the Family?

And now for one final and very important hurdle. While you and this mom chat regularly and truly seem to be connecting – do your children? Do THEY have anything in common with each other? And even if they do, what about your husbands or partners? Can your significant others hang out and enjoy each other’s company on a regular basis too? Because THAT’S the golden ticket friendship right there. If your family and your new friend’s family connect and enjoy watching the game on Sunday over a couple beers and a few burgers on the grill, hold on and don’t let go. That is a rare and important treasure to be sure.

So. Here I go. If you are a mom that happened to get my blogger business card (*smacking head* why can’t I just write my number on a Publix receipt with a crayon like every other mom), please know I mean no harm. I swear, I’m not a weird stalker chick. I’m just a regular mom who is sick of herding cats kids all day, looking for other moms who get it.

Maybe I need to put an ad in the paper. Maybe there is an online mom dating service. Maybe there is speed mom dating up at the local neighborhood clubhouse. If I can, I’ll try it – because taking the risk and finding a one of a kind kindered spirit is always ALWAYS worth the hassles of Mom Dating. Wish me luck.

So I should be blogging about something funny about my kids. Or some political issue that’s got my panties in a bunch. Or whatever new beastie has been spotted in my backyard.

But. I don’t feel like it.

I’m having a bad day. Yep. ANOTHER one.

It’s a strange thing, this grieving business. I used to think that when you lost someone in your life, it was like some horrible sickness. And in the beginning its very bad, and you need to tend to it and care for yourself and heal. But – given enough time – you get over it and come out well again, on the other side.

I was very wrong. Grief, who I’ve come to know very well, apparently sticks around. In fact, while it may stay out of the way more and more often, it never ever leaves. So I am working on making room for this very unwelcome newcomer in my life. The “new normal” I hear it’s called.

And still, grief springs from the shadows daily, like some over-served, sweaty, far too grabby guy in a bar forcing himself on me, grabbing my wrists and spinning me through some sorrowful dance when I least expect it. I am overwhelmed, I hold back tears – and then push it back and storm away. I don’t want to dance. I don’t have time for that. Cripes. Leave me alone already.

I know I should expect to be sad. I know I know, my mom died only a month ago. A month ago today exactly in fact.

(One entire month, impossible to believe, I wish it hadn’t been so long since she passed, I wish her life was more recent, I wish so much hadn’t happened since that I want to tell her about. And thus the explanation for my bad day.)

But I am sick of thinking about it. I’m sick of being so bummed out all the time, I am sick of being broken hearted, I am sick of making people sad around me, I am sick of not being myself and forgetful and not as functional. And unmotivated, and so damn tired, and guilty.

Did I mention the guilt by the way? Guilt is grief’s BFF. They hang in the corner together and cackle away about how miserable they make me. But guilt is a little smoother than grief I think. She saunters up innocently, leans into my ear and whispers questions. “So. Your mother drove you a little crazy didn’t she? What kind of daughter were you anyway to her? You could have come and visited her more often, right? She was alone when she died, wasn’t she? Do you even remember the last time you saw her?”

But if I ask these questions out loud, my loved ones balk and huff back at me that I was a wonderful daughter and I should not be feeling that way and insist that my mother would want me at peace right now.

I know I know. Guilt never makes any sense. But its very very real. She has made herself at home, carefully putting ideas in my head and slipping away while I crumple to floor. I hate her.

So yeah. Here I am. On a bad day. Missing my mother who I lost a month ago today. Wishing I could call her. Wishing her remains weren’t neatly sealed in some wooden box back in her bedroom – doing nothing, saying nothing, being nothing.

Yeah, oh this blog is AWESOME now. Woo hoo! So fun to read! I am so depressing I bet I make depressed people run screaming in the other direction. That’s me. A regular Debbie Downer blogger. (Insert trumpet sound effect: wah, waaaahhh….)

My new name? Mourningside Mom. Heh.

At least I have my sense of humor, right? And I have my family. And my wonderful boys who force the square peg of normalcy into my round hole of a day. And my husband who lets me put my ear to his chest to hear his heart beat and affirm that he is alive and loving and here.

All will be well. All will be well. All will be well.

My three year old is asleep. My six year old is tossing a baseball to himself in my parent’s living room, side stepping baskets of dying flowers. My father is away, following up with the tasks of an executor. And I am sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by recently printed off pictures of my mother.

But there is one new addition to our family here too. It has slipped suddenly into our lives while the reality of my mother’s passing sinks in. This new member is grief.

When I first stepped back into my parent’s house, only a day after my mother was found here, grief was looming and effusive, filling every space. While I sat on her bed, it wrapped itself around me and held on tightly. Breathing seemed impossible.

But then the tasks of death pushed grief into the shadows for a time. Tasks almost as horrendous as grasping the concept that my mother is gone. Grief waited though and wound itself back around my heart during the most unexpected moments until I was able to beat it back again. We all had so much to do.

I was asked how I found the strength to speak at my mother’s funeral. Well. All of it, everything we’ve had to do has been horrifying and equally difficult to do. Finding an appropriate funeral home. Picking out an urn. Picking out a cremation casket. Discussing the process of embalming. Picking out her last outfit. Slipping on her wedding ring. Doing her last load of laundry, washing away her scent from her clothes. Cleaning her last dishes in the sink. Searching through her pictures, looking for her face before I forget any of it. Writing her obituary. Informing her friends and neighbors. And speaking besides her open casket at her funeral.

All of it. Equally horrifying. And equally impossible – however absolutely necessary – to do.

Grief slinks back into the corner more often as the days go by. But it is always there. Waiting for a peaceful moment. Waiting for me to find some trinket of hers or for some memory to come rushing back. Waiting for me to drive her car and see her hands – my hands – on the steering wheel. Grief finds its opening. It slips back over my shoulders, holding me close, muffling out the world, overwhelming my senses, until sadness flows through my soul, oozes back out of my body and ebbs again.

I’m getting used to it being there. As I am getting used to her death.  I have become familiar with the cycle grief assumes in my day to day life. It must process through. I can’t do much else other than brace myself, wait for it make it’s mark and move along. It always does.

However we are desperately grateful for our best booster against grief – my mother’s greatest acheivement: her grandchildren. Their laughter, their games, their wonder, their constant expectation of regularity push grief further away and into a very small place where we can all watch it from the corner of our eyes. Children allow us to cope and move forward. Children officially prove to us that the world keeps spinning and her love lives on through them.

While my three year old continues to nap, I am off to start the process of clean up. We certainly don’t want to scour this place of my mother’s presense (we will never be ready for that), but its time to throw away her toothbrush, her recently purchased make-up, pack her hair brushes, toss out that last cigarette butt of hers and wash her ashtray, put away her bedside items, discard her overly worn slippers and store her clothes. All of it is equally horrifying, with grief nipping at my heels and my son tossing his ball in the air amoungst the flowers and pictures in the living room. Onward.

These are the words I wrote and spoke at my mother’s funeral today. May she rest in peace.

Children never fully appreciate their mothers. We arrive on the scene squawking and hungry, we toddle about expecting arms to catch us, we throw bears from moving cars and scream until our mothers turn around the car, we whine about talking dolls until they magically appear under Christmas trees, we want our own phones, our own identities, our own jobs. But our mothers better have our backs when we don’t know how to apply to college or open a checking account. We expect it all from this unwavering constant in our lives – our mothers.

I suppose that is how nature intends it. I suppose that is the essence of parenting: a selfless, unconditional, buffer – there through it all, no matter how much a growing child demands otherwise, rarely looking back over their shoulders.

But here’s where Mother Nature – yes, clearly a mother also – chuckles to herself with great satisfaction. These selflessly raised children become parents too. That daughter in the backseat who demanded her ejected bear – becomes a mother also. And it is not until THEY hold a squawking child of their own in their arms that they ever conceive of just how much their own mothers have done for them. Without fanfare, without ticker tape parades, without sky writers and accolades and acknowledgment.

My mother was certainly far from the ticker tape parade type. While she had her opinions and was unapologetic about any of them, she quietly gave. All the time. And while her thoughts on most topics were to the point and plainly apparent, she never ever drew much attention to her selfless, heartfelt, generous nature.

There is so much about my mother that I don’t think I ever truly recognized or appreciated enough. I loved her, I understood her, but I saw her as a constant. Even once my children were born, and I was able to find real understanding and empathy from my mother (and for my mother), I still just thought she would always just be there. If I couldn’t get anyone else on the phone, she’d be there. If I needed child care for an important event, she’d fly down. If I couldn’t find the right frame for my pictures, she would write it on her list and search endlessly, 5 or 6 stores in one afternoon, and then research it on her computer until that certain frame was found. I knew she would though. She always had before. She was my mother. She was always there.

It has been 5 days since my mother has passed. And now I am finally looking back over my shoulder to say thank you. But my constant – my mom – is gone. She’s not in her garden planting a zillion bulbs. She’s not lost down the aisle of a store tracking down some random item on her list (while we search for her). She’s not upstairs napping in her bed with the television on and a book resting on her stomach. She’s not holed up in her computer room, playing endless games of solitaire. I keep looking for her, expecting her to be there, but she’s not.

But. She is here today. And right now, this is my moment to finally truly say it. To say thank you for everything. For teaching me to drive on first encounter beach. For dropping me off in front of First National with my first pay check and telling me to go open a checking account. For buying me a huge sundae from sonic the night before my three year old was born. For the tough love and the soft love and the quirky awkward love and the most heartfelt, determined love. Mom. I thank you for it all. Thank you.

I found out this morning that my mother has passed away.

It was not expected. She was far too young. Writing these words seem shocking. The world around me has just came to a screeching, violent, shuddering halt.

We were supposed to drive up to see her today in fact. And when I got the call from the house, I expected her voice on the line, asking if we were on the road yet.

It wasn’t her. It was someone else. My mother was gone.

And all day I have hidden myself in a hotel room, making calls, sharing news, calming people, trying to calm myself, at times shaking too much to dial the phone, at times numb - my fingers only vaguely tingling, at times laboring to breathe, at times gripped throughout with such unexpected surprising pain, I cry out.

Grief.

It’s odd. I feel like I am watching myself from the outside in. Watching the shadows of this loss pass over me again and again. I mean, how are people supposed to act when they find out their mothers have died? Whats the norm for this sort of thing? I look around, wondering what emotions come next, what guilt, what anger, what wonder.

And then the “what ifs”. They come a lot too.

My mother. I pray for her peace. For her inner joy to beam through where ever she is. Who knows. Maybe she’s actually just sitting here on the bed next to me. Or maybe she’s swimming in some heavenly ocean, the way she used to, with her enormous glasses still on, hair somehow still dry, floating, belly up and toes up, rocking and bobbing away, free, happy, peaceful.

Honestly? I really hope she’s there and not here. This bed covered in kleenex and haphazard notes about funeral details and phone numbers is really not such a party.

This is really no place to spend your first day in heaven.

My mother. Rest, feel peace, enjoy your ocean. I miss you. I love you. I am without you.

So I had a moms night out a week ago. We were all getting gifted pedicures – a special occasion indeed. Anyhoo. The folks at the salon said we could bring wine if we’d like – but nothing could be in glass containers. So what to do? Somehow, impossibly, I retrieved a fuzzy memory from the depths of my brain, probably in a box at the back labeled “cool idea, don’t forget this one”. Maybe I read about them in a magazine or heard of them on Twitter, or something. No idea how I knew about them – but I knew. And after some hunting around, we found them at our local Publix. The most brilliant mommy invention ever. What are they?

Mommy “juice” boxes.

No, they don’t come with straws but each box offers a mom at her wits end a healthy glass and a half worth of wine. And no it’s nothing high end but its in my budget. And it can slip right into any cooler bag along side the Capri Suns. Because nothing spells responsible parenting on the go like wine in a juice box.

Love it. Sign me up. I’ll get the Sam’s Club value pack. For real. Viva the Mommy “Juice” Box.

I get an adult night out tonight. That’s right. Stop the presses. Morningside Mom is actually going to be child free for an evening. And its going to be all about fun and games. What game specifically? Well, my bad ass sister (in law technically, but shes my girl, my sister) has hooked us up with some tickets to game five of Magic – Lakers finals game!

Lets all take a moment and do the running man. Oh yeah. And now the cabbage patch. Ok, bust out the sprinkler.

I am fired up!

Ok, I’ll fess up. I am no massive, crazy basketball fan. It was my brother who had all the Jordan and Pipen posters on his wall growing up. It’s my brother who seems near weeping when he calls me with reports of seeing Magic Johnson at a Magic game or getting a picture with Rashard Lewis.

But now, with my sister working for the Magic and both she and my brother going to every game, and us finally watching from home – our family is officially a Magic family.

And now we get to go to the game.

BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU, I need this night out. My three year old has driven me to the edge of insanity this weekend. We’re talking 1 1/2 hour screaming rages and time outs. Stubborn refusals to share. Blatant toy taking and train track smashing. Hitting. Screeeaming. Flipping the frock out.

Even sitting at the edge of my seat during a nail biting finals game (which, if it ends badly, could mean the Lakers winning the finals) is nothing compared to the frustration of corralling my three year old. Nothing I tell you.

So in a couple hours, my Magic Superman Dwight Howard shirt is getting slipped on and I’ll wave giddily to the sitter as we peel out of here for a parents night out. At game five of the Magic Laker’s. Not too shabby.

Oh and I almost forgot. While my sister and I were out buying our Magic gear, we ran into a rock star mom. And who would that be? None other than Dwight Howard’s mother walking through the Magic store checking out the gear. I spoke to her briefly, she was so nice, a lovely woman. A very cool moment indeed.

But I also took it as a sign. I mean, this mother didn’t have Superman as her son always. I am thinking Dwight was once three years old too and I bet Dwight had his fair share of time outs. And now here she is, walking through a store displaying racks of shirts with her son’s name on them, beaming with pride. I take it as a sign that my son will get through three someday too. Whether his name is on the back of a t-shirt or not, I think I will find myself beaming with pride at his accomplishments – and these groundhog days of timeouts and tantrums will be long forgotten.

I take seeing her as another sign too. That mother’s need nights out with the Magic too. Moms can rock Magic pride. So. I am.

Go Magic.

I have this amazing group of friends. There are about twenty of us. We live all over, our backgrounds are varied, but from the beginning our hopes were the same. We all wanted to be mothers. And while we all began trying to conceive our children, we found one another online on a message board. That was almost 4 years ago. In that time, we have shared some of our most intimate details, we have been in touch with one another daily, we have become a sisterhood of sorts. We seek each other out whenever we’re near, some go on vacation together, some talk on the phone everyday. We’ve celebrated the births of many babies, we’ve stood by fertility heartbreaks, we’ve shared the routine and mundane.

Yesterday I found out one of my dear friends from this group tragically lost her 9 month old baby daughter. At this point, they suspect something related to SIDS took her life. She passed away during her nap. And so my dear wonderful friend is currently living her worst nightmare. Tomorrow, she buries her baby girl.

Since hearing this news, my life initially halted. I broke down repeatedly. But it seemed in a vaccuum, with no one around me feeling the depth of such a loss. And then, because her death doesn’t directly affect my daily life here, I was forced to continue hiccuping along. Her daughter is gone but I still have to get milk for tomorrow, my 5 year old still needs to be picked up from school and we are still actually having people over for dinner.

But really, I have wanted to hop on the next plane out of here. My heart isn’t here right now. It’s in a million pieces surrounding my friend in Iowa. While she sits in her home, staring at an empty crib.

This little girl leaves such beautiful memories behind. She gave my friend 9 amazing months of sweet smiles and happy blue eyes. She always said she was the best baby in the world. And I agreed with her. She slept so well. She never fussed. She adored her older sister. She laughed, she smiled, she carried on gladly. My friend’s daily updates on facebook would read something like this: “I’m watching my girl naw on a carrot in her high chair and laugh. She is just so cute!” That baby girl was simply a happy, happy child. And I know that happiness had everything to do with her very wonderful mother.

Thank God for the rest of my friends, however. Some of them are able to fly to Iowa for the funeral. Some of us will be there for her. I am forever grateful. Because we should be there. We have shared ovulating, seven week old heartbeats, ultrasound pictures, and finally, joyfully we’ve ushered so many babies into this world. When my two year old was born, they were told immediately – and they posted his picture and celebrated in their respective corners of the world. They were the first to call or send things. These women love their babies.

And now one of these babies has died. Its unbearable. And so part of our group is flying into Iowa from New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Maryland, they are driving from far corners of the Midwest, they are leaving their babies with husbands to group together in a potentially sketchy Comfort Inn they found on priceline. These women, my friends, will be there to surround my dear friend and hold on to her grief as she buries her girl. One of the babies has died.

Oh my heart is broken. I wish I could be there. I am so sorry I can not be. My friend. Her loss. Its horrible.

But the sun keeps coming up and my kids need me to help me with their homework. Life goes on. And it should. And it will for my friend too. She is strong and will move through this pain. One day it won’t hurt as much to breathe. I hope I can help her enough from where I sit here, so far away, in Florida.

Usually I have a point to my posts. Some sort of bottom line or moral to the story. But I don’t have one today. This post is simply my public profession that I am mourning the life of a beautiful 9 month old girl. So no words of wisdom today. There is simply no point to the death of a child. None.