It's almost a week again since I've written.  The job is challenging, and I enjoy it, but I come home and collapse on the nights when I don't have to be at my mother-in-law's to get her to bed.  Still, I am getting in more of a walk than I have in a while.  The walk from the subway to the office is pleasant.  It's only about a quarter of a mile, but in the process I walk over the bridge which is near the Tea Party Ship Museum.  From the moment my foot touches the bridge I can hear the sounds of fife and drum wafting on the breeze.  Every so often they will throw in a fiddle for atmosphere.  I know it's all recorded and tourist-phony, but it's a rather charming way to start the day.  I watch the ducks in the channel as they find their breakfast.  Most fascinating are the other commuters.  Most are plugged into something or other...an iPhone, an e-book, an iPod....and are completely oblivious to what's going on around them.  They rush past me up the escalator to get to where they are bound.  Many mornings I will take the stairs from deep underground all the way to the sunshine on the sidewalk, but this week I've been so tired that I chose quite consciously to ride. 

I've learned to leave enough time so that I have the option of strolling to get to the office.  The days of cutting it close are far behind me.  There is enough stress in the world without my adding more.  On the way in I get a seat on the train usually, and I read my book, a treat for me.  There are still a few tiny piles of soot-encrusted snow here and there where the plows piled it high on the street corners, but for the most part it is certainly spring.

Baskets were mailed to my college boys, and for the first time I won't have to stay up late to help the Bunny hide plastic eggs filled with money or chocolates.  All in all, I would say I'm ready for an "Alleluia" after a long, sad fall and winter.  I'll read at the Vigil tonight.  I'll sing at a Mass tomorrow, and then it's off to the in-laws' for a non-traditional Easter feast of Chinese food.  Usually it's a ham dinner, carefully and lovingly cooked by my sister-in-law at her beautiful home, but this year we will gather where Mom is and keep Papa company.  She won't know the difference.  But we'll be teaching my nephews the value of faithfulness and flexibility, and that's no small achievement.

It's been a week since I've sat here to catch up, a week of getting children back to schools, of juggling two jobs, visiting my in-laws, filling out forms for financial aid, and getting ready for Easter.  After fourteen years of being a stay-at-home Mom, I find it strange to be ironing my clothes for the office, packing two lunches instead of one, and riding the subway every day again, but I find I'm liking it.  How important it is to have a reason to get dressed and out of the house in the morning!  Spring is finally sneaking up through the melting snow, and I get to see the progress it's making first-hand.  The subway is crammed with fascinating people whom I either get to observe in great detail, or sometimes talk to, despite years of warnings about talking to strangers.  I even get to catch up on some reading during the commute, although I confess to library books rather than beginning to figure out how to download anything to my electronic book (which you won't be surprised to learn was a present, and not something I bought for myself).

The house is far too quiet with the boys back at school, and of course it's trashed from their presence.  I'm getting that itch to wash and put away the winter clothes and see what from last summer survived its stay in the attic.  It's time to string the silk forsythia down the stairs and put the wreath of iris and jonquils on the front door.  The stuffed snowmen are relieved of sentry duty and about to take a spin with the spiders upstairs.  Spring is here.  Bring it!

There is a French expression about "sleeping on one ear", which refers (among other situations) to that semi-conscious state of alertness moms have when their children are sick during the night.  Since Son #2 is flying back to Cleveland this afternoon and since there is no snowstorm forecast, we were up from 3 to 6AM with me holding his head as he voted on last night's dinner.  He voted no.  Six times so far.  Before the sun rose I was at the 7-Eleven buying ginger-ale, both warm and cold, and saltine crackers, which I remembered helped somewhat before his arrival.

When he could speak, which wasn't often, he apologized for disturbing my sleep.  I tried to explain that these are the moments that mothers live for.  I haven't felt this needed in years.  Son #1 has the same bug, but his week at home is just beginning, and he had the sense to get ill several times between 9 and 11, and then sleep through the night.  The difference in patterns was established when they were both still in diapers.

So once again, there is something to worry about as I send my baby much too far away for my taste.  We are hoping to stabilize and re-hydrate him before two or so, and then I'll tuck zip-lock bags and paper towels into the outside pocket of his carry-on,  just in case.  Around 4 this morning we were trying to look at the bright side of all this.  He came up with, "It's better this happened at home because I sleep on the upper bunk at school," whereas I thought silently to myself, "Some mothers do this too many nights with their children because of chemo therapy."  I'm tired, but I'm not unaware.  Or ungrateful.

Last night both boys' rooms were occupied with tired heads on pillows. They both stayed up later than I did, in spite of the fact that Son #1 had traveled from Seattle without  benefit of going to bed at all the night before, but for last night my house and my heart were full.  I get this special blessing again tonight, then tomorrow Son #2 heads back to Cleveland, so there must be snow in the forecast somewhere. 
As we did last week when my younger one came in, last night we went straight from the airport to our favorite little pizza place, where the oil swims on top of the pie and the crust crunches exactly enough but not too much.  As I sat and listened to my sons talking about politics, the latest movies, and the new pope, I was amazed at the transformation.  These are two intelligent, charming young men who have it all before them.  I consider myself an intelligent woman, but several of the topics were quite beyond me so I sat and listened, which is something I should probably do more often anyway.  Full of confidence and overflowing with the rush that knowledge brings, they had opinions on everything, and when they differed they calmly backed up their points and debated like the gentlemen they are.
Proud as I am of my Renaissance men, my eyes kept darting to the table next to us where a Mom and Dad were dealing with an impeccably dressed and absolutely adorable toddler.  His chubby legs were visible above his little pale blue socks when Dad hoisted him up on one arm as they put on his navy blue double-breasted jacket with the matching hat.  I don't know how we got from that place to this, and I actually tried to pay attention during the whole process, but it's still alchemy to me.  I could wish to be back in that time of our life, but that wouldn't be fair to them or to me.  That's not what life is about.  If I were that selfish (and had the power) then they would never know the joy of having two college boys coming home for Spring Break at the same time and listening to them talking in their sleep.  And I wouldn't deprive them of that joy for the world.

My, it has been a while!  The  "new" new job started on Monday, and it involves getting up early, packing my lunch (as well as Himself's), finding a parking space at the T, and commuting into downtown for the first time in 14 years.  As usual, I'm being too hard on myself and expecting to know everything on the first day.  I don't.  But the people are pleasant, and the work is not terribly taxing, and I'll get the hang of the three computer systems eventually. 

The return trip gets me home around 4, in time to spend some time with Son #2 who is on break until Sunday.  Son #1 arrives tomorrow evening for a week, so they will wave at each other and only share the house for one full day before going their separate ways again.  May cannot come fast enough for me.  Having my "baby" home reminds me of how much I miss the energy they bring to this house.

All this and a new Pope and my first crocuses on the same day.  More on that tomorrow.

The need to "parent" never ends.  After the usual snowstorm/airport fiasco which I've come to expect when Son #2 comes home, and having received the 3AM phone call from Son #1 who had safely landed in Seattle, I toddled downstairs and woke Son #2 from the couch and made him go upstairs to brush his teeth, wash his face, put his precious head on a newly laundered pillowcase and go to sleep.  I was feeling a little silly about this until the phone rang at 6:45 this morning and my 82 year-old father-in-law called to warn me (age 60) that I should be careful of the ice on the front stairs.

We all need to feel that our children need us.  Or that somebody needs us.  Otherwise all the mani-pedis and massages and book clubs become pointless.  Of course, it's important to take good care of and to occasionally pamper ourselves.  We deserve that, and it's good for the ego and the body and the nerves.  But I feel so much better after I've called a mourning friend and been able to make her laugh just for a moment, or shot an e-mail to a friend battling cancer to remind her that I'm praying and that she's not facing the day-to-day battle alone.  I don't think it's ego.  I think it's an awareness that we've got a job to do while we're here.  We all fall down at different points of our lives.  Our friends (and sometimes wonderful angel strangers) are usually there to pick us up.  When they fall we pick them up.  Eventually we help one another get to the other side.
As long as we don't all have our breakdowns on the same day, the system usually works, and I find it satisfying to be reminded once in a while that even though my babies are not babies any more, someone is still glad that I'm there to reach out a hand.  And I'm glad I have someone to remind me to hold the railing when the stairs are icy, even if I might have figured it out on my own.

Winter has turned into an immortal monster.  Just when you think he has gasped his last and the crocuses start to timidly peek above ground, back he comes with his arms flailing and his icy breath blowing the birds out of the trees.  It's like the dinner guest who refuses to leave three hours after the dessert has been served.  I, for one, am pretty sick of his company.

Of course the benefit of a March storm is that it never stays on the ground very long, although it will probably stay long enough to mess up Son Number Two's flight home tomorrow, something which I've started to expect from my charming snow magnet.  Spring Break, which appears to be a real misnomer this year, starts tomorrow.  Son Number One is also flying tomorrow, but he is headed to Seattle with his friend and won't be back here until next week, by which time the flowers may actually be here for real.  I'm looking forward to deep voices in the house, empty milk cartons, and the traffic of friends coming and going at all hours.  I watch in amazement as these young men float in and out of my area of vision.  Trying to retract my "mommy claws" is difficult.  They don't sleep enough, either of them.  I have no idea how they manage to do so well at school.  Nagging is pointless, but expected, so I do it but half-heartedly.  I know it will have absolutely no effect.  But what a joy it will be to have them home to nag! 
It will be the first time I've seen them in person since "Uncle Jim" passed away a few weeks ago.  They had a hard enough time when my dear Flanagan died in September, and then in November when my mother slipped away, but "Uncle Jim" had a special place in all their growing up years and they both adored him.  We need to cry together, remember together, pray together, and then celebrate.  Ritual is crucial at times like this, and then we will learn to live with the memories as a quiet companion in the background, and get on with the business of spring.

A week from today I embark on an adventure.  While I'll keep on at the boutique part-time, I've also found a part-time job in town, which will involve dressing like a grownup, commuting on the subway, and finding a place to park my car.  It's only from ten in the morning to three in the afternoon five days a week, but it's working for a company that sends out staff to people who might otherwise have to be institutionalized, and this company enables them to stay either in their own home or in group homes.  I'll be behind the desk at reception, and doing projects on the computer, but I feel good about contributing to a worthwhile organization and getting back into the swing of things after almost fourteen years on the sidelines. 

The flexibility to go out to lunch with friends or take care of my mother in the middle of the day was important, but now that mother is gone, and the boys are away for much of the year, and I have too much time to brood over friends lost, I think it's a good thing to get busy.  The hope is that, like most busy people, I'll wind up accomplishing more at home than I did when I was here full-time.  Some days the inertia feels like a swimming pool filled with maple syrup trying to pull me to the bottom.  The phone calls from people I love which used to brighten my days are now few and far between and the silence is deafening.  It's time to reinvent what my life is, because whether I like it or not, it has changed dramatically in the last few months.  I can sit and weep or I can move forward.  And forward looks more interesting.