Somtimes love means having to say you’re sorry.

Gracie and Bee,

I know you’ve never heard of it, but there was this silly tagline to an even sillier movie that went something like, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” I think that’s a bunch of baloney. I think love means you do have to apologize, that you should want to apologize over and over again, even if the other person already knows how you feel.

I’m sorry that Cooper died. I’m even sorrier about how you found out. It was crummy of your dad to tell you just before he sent you off to school that your bestest friend in the whole wide world had died. (How exactly did he expect you to process that on your own?) And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you on Monday night because I was playing Ex-games. I thought your dad was partly responsible for what happened to Cooper, and so I thought he should be the one to have to break the devastating news. Girls, if I had any idea of how badly he would bungle the job, I would have taken care of it myself, no matter how it would have killed me to say those words.

That’s it. I wanted to open my heart and let those two words – I’m sorry – escape from my lips to your ears. Usually on Love Thursday, moms and dads and ladies and men and all kinds of people write about random acts of kindness or messages of love they find all around them in their bloggy lives. Today I wanted to let my love take the form of this apology. Sometimes I’m going to bungle things, too. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you or that I’m not going to get it right one of these times. I always love you, and I will always keep trying, because with love comes faith. Right?

Happy Love Thursday, Gracie and Bee. If you wake up during the night, don’t worry. That’s just me checking on you again, tracing hearts on the outside of your pajamas and kissing your sleepy, dimpled cheeks.

Love, Mommy

Back in a bit…

‘ello, folks! I am away from my usual routine right now, helping a friend get through a minor outpatient procedure. I’ll be back tomorrow with more funny stories about why it sucks (or not) to be me.

Or, possibly tonight, because I just found out that The Idiot Ex told the girlies about their beloved dog dying right before he sent them to school. Yeah.

This didn’t earn her any points.

I have this little trick where, sometimes, I will write my blog post last thing before I go to bed and set it to post first thing in the morning. That way there’s no mad dash in the morning to write and publish before the work bell goes dingy-dingy. Tonight I was all set to write about what a craptastic time I had at Gracie’s birthday party on Saturday because the Ex’s girlfriend kept scooping up MY children and giving them hugs and whispering inside jokes, and basically marking her territory.

Instead, I’m blogging about my poor dog. My ex-dog. My beautiful black lab named Cooper. Because she died last night.

The stupid Ex, whom I really, really dislike right now, texted me at work in the middle of the day asking me to please call when I had a moment: he had some bad news. My mind immediately went into a tail spin and I called, completely panicked that he had lost his job and couldn’t make any child support payments, or that he was dying of cancer. Instead he told me, through tears, that Cooper was gone. That he didn’t know how to tell me. He kept starting and stopping and taking deep breaths until I was about to reach through the phone and shake it out of him. Or that’s what I would have thought if I had been capable of thinking anything. I thought maybe Cooper had a seizure or died suddenly of cancer (she had some cysts recently, but the tests came back benign). The Ex finally said Cooper was playing with Anna (the Girlfriend’s dog) last night – last night! – and that Anna’s “jaw somehow got caught under Cooper’s collar.”

The stupid Ex paused here, trying to figure out how to finish telling me that my dog was murdered and I finally found my voice. “She killed my dog?!!!” I asked. If a person can be breathless and strident at the same time, then that’s what I was. I was so sure he was going to tell me that Anna had “accidentally” ripped open Cooper’s throat. And then I was going to reach through the phone and kill him for letting it happen.

When he continued, he said Anna got freaked out and spun around and got twisted. Anna suffocated Cooper to death. When Cooper began making weird noises, the Ex realized something was wrong and got a knife, but by the time he cut the dogs free, Cooper was gone. She was just gone.

For the life of me, all I can picture is Cooper panicking, looking to the Ex, and not getting help. I couldn’t imagine why the Ex decided telling me while I was at work! was a good idea. I just mumbled that I had to go and fled to Crisanna’s office where I scared her into thinking any number of horrible scenarios. I know it was an accident, but I can’t believe he couldn’t act in time to fix it. How could he act quickly enough if it was one of my kids? Could he save one of them? And how could the jaws really get caught so tightly, anyway? Cooper’s collar wasn’t tight nor was it really loose.

I’m just in shock. And I don’t care if it’s irrational or not: first the Girlfriend tries to steal the affections of my children and then she kills my dog. I’ll go back to being normal, rational, oh-whatever Katie tomorrow. Right now, tonight? It’s game on. And by the way: Cooper’s so totally on my side now.

Mmmm…Steak.

I think maybe the cows in the pasture near my house need a refresher on storm safety. They were all huddled under the trees – in the middle of a huge field! – to stay out of the massive thunderstorm.

‘a course, all I could think about was how silly they’d all look when lightning struck the tree and about 30 good-sized cows came exploding out. But maybe that’s just me.

This time you don’t need tissues.

I meant for Gracie’s birthday letter to be a little bit more about who she is at five instead of how gosh-darn much I love her…and then it went even beyond that and dissolved into a puddle of goo. So today I simply bring you 10 things Gracie loves and 10 things she really, really hates.

Things Gracie loves:

1. Rock n’ Roll. If I had to pick her favorite band, I’d say it was The Eagles. Or Tom Petty. Recently, she said to me (out of the clear blue, by the way), “Mommy, I heard rock n’ roll and it was beautiful.”
2. Food. The quickest way to get the girl to shape up is threaten to take away her dessert privilege. She loves cheese, corn, chocolate, gum, lemon pepper chicken, salmon, and macaroni with sauce (and “pepper”, which is really parmesan cheese).
3. Reading. After we opened up her presents yesterday – which included a new summer wardrobe, the flip flops she’s been begging for, Barbie furniture, and a basketball hoop – she immediately asked me to read her one of the books she got. Like, Oh, thank goodness the presents are out of the way. Now I can see what else happens to Laura from Little House on the Prairie.
4. Shoes. Seriously. She loves shoe shopping. She wants cowgirl boots. Flip flops. Two kinds of sneakers. She can spot a bogo sale faster than any ten people I know.
5. Following the rules. I mentioned yesterday how she takes getting in trouble very much to heart. She hates disappointing her teacher, me, Daddy, or anyone in charge. Her manners are spectacular when we’re in public and when we read? She raises her hand to ask a question. Please, please let that rub off on Bee some day.
6. Little Einsteins. It doens’t matter how many times she’s watched the same episodes – it will keep her riveted every time. Last night she said she didn’t want that particular episode, but then she changed her mind. “Never mind,” she said, “I thought it was the one with Shubert.” Oh. Yeah. That one. Sheesh.
7. Talking. My mom used to ask my sister and I if our tongues were tired. Now I know why. Who knew listening to little people could be so. darn. exhausting! I love the kid to death, but a little quiet every now and then would NOT kill her.
8. Driving me crazy. She can do it like no one else can. Except maybe Bee. And don’t tell me those listening skills gets turned off accidentally.
9. Being bossy. She likes to tell me what’s for dinner. She thinks she is Bee’s second parent. She likes to “suggest” my orders with a cheerful, “I know! Let’s do blah blah instead!” Unfortunately for her, I already called dibs on bossy.
10. Sharing. This one is just to confuse me. She shares being Line Leader in the morning (yes, we do that here, too). She shares her dinner. Her snacks. Even her chocolate! I told you she was amazing.

Things Gracie Really, Really, REALLY hates:

1. Green beans. They make her gag and throw up. No, it’s not her superb actressing skills – it’s a genuine retch.
2. Letting anyone chose a song on the radio besides herself. (How did I miss Being In Control on her list of things she loves?)
3. Not getting her way. Ooooh, the whine never comes out faster. Most of the time Gracie acts much older than she is. But when I tell her no? Instantaneously, terribly two.
4. Cheeseheads. Any team we’re rooting against, she calls the Cheeseheads. God bless her.
5. Having assigned seating in the car. Usually she loves order and predictability. Lately, she’s been jonesing to sit in Bee’s seat in the car. I tell her no. See #3.
6. Getting up early. She ignores me. Then whines. Then screams and cries and tries to go all spaghetti limbs on me. I threaten to take away a privilege and everything but the crying magically disappears.
7. Sleeping late. You’d think this would be a contradiction. Maddeningly, it’s not. She only sleeps a whopping twenty minutes later on the weekends. It’s enough to drive a momma to the brink of insanity.
8. Thunderstorms. It’s enough to make her scale her way up my side without any help whatsoever. I kinda hate them myself, so I don’t really mind.
9. When the plug-ins don’t work on my computer and she can’t play Elmo or Playhouse Disney. Tell me about it, kid.
10. When she can’t get something right. She’ll give it a few tries, but then the frustration sinks in and she yells and slams her fist on the table, or yells, “I can’t DO IT, Mom!” She gets an A for effort (and for letting out the feelings), but I hope this is something we can work on. It hits too close to home.

So there you go! I’d like to add Youtube and Football as runners-up for Things Gracie Loves, because I just now thought of them. This is just some of what I was trying to write about yesterday before I went all She’sJustAwesomeBecauseOhMyGodSheIS! I can’t wait to see how many different ways she’s awesome next year, because you just know she’s going to mix it up just to keep me on my toes.

To my Gracie, who is five today.

Dear Gracie,

I’m writing this letter to you today because I always want you to know how much you mean to me. The problem is, you mean so much to me that it makes it hard to find the right words. There could never be enough words for me to explain how much love inside this heart exists only for you. All that love, it puts the pressure on a poor mama, exhausted from spending a spectacular birthday with you. So please excuse me if I don’t do you justice.

You are simply one of the most fantastic people I know, Gracie-girl (and I’m not grading on a curve just because you’re a kid). For one, you are scary smart. You’re book smart. You’re reading easy words and sounding out more complicated ones. You’re so good, in fact, that I can’t even spell out things I don’t want you to know. Talk about neutralizing your mom’s superpowers, kiddo. Your daycare teacher often has to send you into the next room just so the other kids can have a chance. You love science (you schooled me on metamorphosis), politics (you love you some Barack Obama, but you could name the other candidates too), geography (thank you, spread out family), and sports (although you still confuse basketball and soccer). Your memory is outstanding. In fact, if I didn’t know how early my memory started, I’d think you were making it up. When we traveled 30 minutes across the city to a place you’d only been once before, you remembered when you had been there and what streets we had taken (skyrocketing you past Auntie Kim on the Navigator Depth Chart, by the way). You remember – accurately – events that happened when you were two. You are amazing, love.

You’re not always hard at work, though. You love to play and complain about having to go to daycare. “Is it the weekend?” you ask optimistically every single morning. You want to stay home and play pretend or invent some drama for your Barbie dolls or play house or puppy with your sister. You want to swing on the swings or count to “Twenty-twenty!” – the highest number in your limitless little mind.

Yes, you are playful when you’re playful – but when you’re not, you’re not! Gracie you are certainly my emotional extremist! (Grandma is laughing, by the way, at how my dramatic nature has returned to bite me in my booty. Yes, I said “booty” – your favorite forbidden word.) You can wail and cry like the best two-year-old I know. You can be angry and yell “Oh my GOD, Mom!” like any teenager. You get frustrated very easily some days. And even though you hardly ever get into trouble, when you do you feel it in your heart like the world’s heaviest burden. It hurts my heart to see that particular pout of yours, because I know I have to talk to you about what you’ve done, but I know my words will make you feel the hurt so much more than you already do. It’s a hard place for a mom to be. Thank goodness you are so generous with your I love you’s and the way you kiss a thousand air kisses into your hand and place your hand on my throat (my heart) so I can keep them forever.

Yes, you’re a pretty good kid, Gracie-boo. I thank God every day that I got you to raise. Certainly, you were meant for me. You challenge every weakness I have and perfectly match every strength. Thanks for putting up with me for five long years. Let’s see what in the world we can concoct for the next five. I love you, Gracie. Twenty-twenty, plus one.

Love,
Mom

I have frosting in my hair.

Those of you who know me know one of my golden rules is Thou Shalt Bake Thy Children’s Birthday Cakes Thou-self. (Or is it Thyself?) It’s kind of my thing. I should have known to pick a different thing after the first year when it took four cake mixes, two different tries, and over eight cans of frosting to get it right. And I’m an excellent baker! It’s just that my expectations are set so high, I’m throwing open the door for any cake curses that happen to be walking by to just come right in.

I should have know last night when Gracie’s butterfly cake popped right out of the mold without cracking, crumbling or losing the definition of the cake design that it was too good to be true.

But I was fooled! Because it wasn’t really perfect. I mean, the cake did come out perfectly, but the edges of the cake mix had baked up and burnt a little. I cut them off to level the cake, but still…I was a little worried (and still am) about how the edges would taste. So since I had to de-burntify my cake, I thought I had caught and corrected this year’s cake curse. I was in the clear. Then I started decorating and remembered why I hate birthday cakes.

My first mistake was using the tiny star tip to make tiny little frosting stars all around the cake. I should have just lathered the sides with white frosting, but noooooo, I couldn’t do that; that’s inviting the cake to dissolved into a layer of crumbs which will then infest your frosting! I couldn’t have crumby frosting – the Ex’s family and his girlfriend are going to be at the party. I have to show off. So I covered the sides with white frosting stars and only wished to kill myself with a sharp pointy object about six million times. But I pushed through it, and just as I rounded the last darn curve on the butterfly I was beginning to hate…the bag of frosting exploded. The tip of the decorator shot right off the end of the bag and about three cups of warm, gooey frosting spilled out onto the bottom of my butterfly.

Being a veteran of cake curses, I didn’t even cry. I believe I calmly said, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” and wished that I had upgraded my blog so I could show off a picture. (I took some pics anyway. Just because I’m wacko like that.) Then I calmly got a paper towel, lifted up the tray, scooped the icing off the table, and set the edge of the tray onto the paper towel. I scraped the extra frosting off the cake, and started that whole side over again. THEN I wanted to kill myself again, since the crisis was over and all.

But finally I finished the white sides and was able to move onto the top of the cake. Do you think I came up with a better plan than tiny frosting stars? Of course not! I mixed up some pink frosting and started to outline the details so I would know where not to frosten. Then I started to fill in the wings. And wouldn’t you know, the new frosting bag sprung a leak. Lemme tell ya – at this point, I was rethinking my genius (and hithertofore, tried-and-true) method of snipping off a corner of a Ziplock quart-bag and using it as a decorator bag. I was 0-2. I was able to carry on for about half-a-bag by using my other thumb to cover the small hole. It got a little messy when my thumb slipped, but meh. Eventually I had to cut the bag open, salvage what frosting I could and switch to a new bag – but only because it was 10 p.m. and I wanted to finish the cake before midnight. I know, I’m such a wimp.

Finally, by the grace of God, I finished the stupid pink wings after only 3 hours another 45 minutes. It wouldn’t have taken me so long, except I had to lay down the bag because THERE WAS A GIANT SPIDER running on the kitchen floor! We won’t even think about how I thought I felt something tickling my toes, because my brain will seriously gray out, guys. Anyway. Time was moving along and that’s when I switched tactics. Instead of blue and purple details, I was using chocolate. It actually looked really nice next to all the bright pink. Then, instead of using spring-colored M&Ms for the accents, I used them to cover the pink spots (all the better to cover up the melting frosting, my dears).

You know what? It turned out really well. Green upper wings, blue lower wings, and a purple stripe between chocolate accents. I had pink icing along my jaw, white polka-dots on my glasses, and food coloring in more places than I care to admit. But for all my crises, the cake looks SPECTACULAR! (Just like it always does.) All the same, Gracie better think I am the best mom ever. And if Mother Nature knows what’s best for her, those rain clouds will Stay! Away! until we get the cake to the Ex’s. Hear me?

The If Question with all the experience.

With my first little baby turning a whopping Five! Years! Old! on Sunday, I have been a lot more introspective this week than I usually am. Okay, okay, I am always this pensive, but this week I’m admitting it! I thought it was fitting to choose an If Question that went with the theme and came up with this:

If your child had to experience something you’ve been through – exactly as it happened to you – what would you choose?

I learned how to read when I was three years old, so you can imagine how far ahead of everyone else I was in elementary school. Instead of participating in most of the half-day kindergarten curriculum, I was sent in to read with the first graders (and was still bored). But none of my friends noticed and I didn’t think much of it. In first grade, I visited the third grade…but all of my classmates started to become jealous because I was doing “big kid” work. And by fourth grade, I was sitting in for the school secretary when she was absent and most of the girls in my class (all six of them) alternated between liking me (I’m pretty cool) and hating me for being singled out as The Smart One.

I don’t exactly paint such a rosy picture, but I learned a lot from all of that. I learned that being the smart girl in school buys you a lot of leeway for when you do get in trouble. That when all of the teachers know your name, you have a lot of advocates. I learned that knowing things impresses people (and for a girl with validation issues, that is a magical thing to have figured out). It also made me learn to get along with those who might not “get” me, but to value those who do. And when I did finally run into the right crowd in my later school years, I learned to really grow into who I was as a person and to love and accept myself. I’m smart. I’m witty. I’m funny as hell. (Oh, and sneaky and beautiful – let’s not forget those.) It took a lot of years to really down-deep-in-my-toes know that about myself. It wasn’t always an easy or a fun lesson, but it’s one I’ve always appreciated.

That is what I want for my girls. To be smart. To know it. To accept themselves. And to appreciate the journey.

Love is out there (despite our skepticism).

One of the things I really love about the blogosphere is that it has restored a lot of my faith in my fellow peoples. Sure there are the downsides: spammers lurk around every corner, and there are commenters who simply must flame even the most benign posts (thankfully I’ve been spared that, for the most part). But mostly, I’ve found a lot of good people. Advice is there for the asking. Support pours in when I need it. And there are a lot of good people who are always willing to lend a hand, a shoulder, and a comforting sentence or two.

Know what else they do? Send me pictures of home and floor me with their awesomeness. (Yes, Se’Lah, dear – I’m calling you out!)

Last week Se’Lah mentioned she was going to my hometown, good ol’ Worcester, Mass, for a work assignment. I told her if she had a chance to stop at my favorite pizza joint for some Fish & Chips – a food so delectable I just might trade one of my children for a taste right now. I shot her the directions on the off chance that she might get over there some time, but not really expecting her to squeeze it in. Know what? That beautiful, kind-hearted woman sent me picture after picture after picture and with each one my smile grew and grew and grew until I had tears of homesickness in my eyes. She sent pictures of the courthouse, the Worcester Aud, and City Hall. She sent pictures of street signs, bakeries near my mom’s house, and Niko’s Pizza. Then she sent me pictures of her lunch, people! her fish & chips! And I didn’t know whether to laugh or be jealous (but really, I couldn’t stop salivating long enough to decide). She sent more pictures than you guys have patience to hear about, but I have to tell you, in the background of one of those pictures was the corner of my mom’s street. We’re the first house down, so you can imagine how many times I’ve stepped across that corner (a million gazillion) and how dear it is to me.

Se’Lah: Thank you. Thank you for helping out a girl you barely know. Thank you for being so wicked awesome that we all pale next to you. Happy Love Thursday, everyone! I hope you meet someone in your travels today who proves to you that kind, loving people still exist, the kind who would do anything for anyone just because they can.

To heck with Spring. To heck, I say!

Forget Spring, I’m through with Spring. I’ve got Summer Fever, baby. The weather is nice (85 degrees today, thank you), I’ve been lunching in my happy place with the windows rolled down, the sunshine streaming in, and a good book pouring into my imagination. It’s the time of year for sitting on patios, drinking a nice cold beer, and singing along to some good tunes. Singing: that’s what it’s really all about. Because it feels good.

It just feels good, man.

It doesn’t matter where you are or what you were doing. The right song comes on, the kinda feel-good song that can jumpstart your morning and make your day go right, you just gotta sing along.

You sing in the car, and under your breath while you’re walking places. You sing during musicals, and especially during movies you’ve watched a zillion times before. You sing during commercials and then later while you’re doing housework because you can’t get the song out of your head. You sing in your room when you’re supposed to be cleaning, and sitting around doing nothing but entertaining the kids because it’s just so damn fun to remember every single Girl Scout song you ever sang. You sing to figure out what llamas say, and to pass the time away, and because he’s shakin’ your confidence daily. You sing to remember and sing to forget and sing because that’s just what you do, it’s who you are. You sing because it’s in you and you never realized before how deep it went.

You sing because it binds you, and that’s good, it’s great. You sing because it feels good, like sunshine.

It feels so damn good.