ask why

When I was in high school, I had a boyfriend I thought was all that. After dating him for about three months, I invited him to a New Year's Eve party that my parents were taking us to. I knew there would be very few kids our age there, and really didn't want to spend the evening with just my sister to keep me company. Did I "forget" to mention to him that there would be Mass at midnight? Probably--which means, of course I did! In my own awkward and unpracticed way, I was trying to invite him into something our family did together without it being weird. Did I realize that less weird for me might be more weird for him? Did I care enough to wonder? No way. I was 15--I was concerned more about me, and how I felt.

Everything was going great--we were hanging out with my sister, maybe we watched TV or played cards. The thing I remember most about that night was Mass. The adults started filing downstairs to the basement where we had been all evening, and that was his first clue that something was going on. I tried to play it off as something I saw all the time. In truth, I was a little freaked out at them coming downstairs--Mass in a basement with no windows is weird. And there is a ridiculous amount of discomfort associated with the realization that you purposely yet unwittingly tricked someone into being trapped in a basement with no escape. I tried to ignore the daggers he shot at me, until, about halfway through, he leaned over and asked, "Why do Catholics do that? Why do they sway like that? It's weird." I turned my head and saw what he saw: everyone swaying--not side to side as one would do when holding a baby, or dancing to music--forward and back. And so was I.

I answered him honestly. "I don't know. I never really noticed before." But it was the last time I did. For months afterward, focusing on not swaying occupied all my attention. Then it became habit to stand stock still. Save for the days (years!) when I baby-swayed, I haven't moved at church. I sit, stand and kneel, but no swaying.

At the time, I had all the answers. I had all A's in school, read a lot, and felt like I knew everything. That question that stumped me was hard to take. It made me doubt myself, my gifts, even, for reasons I may never understand, my faith. Up to that point, I had thought of faith as a given, but with one question, I was thrown. For one simple reason: I didn't know who I could ask. Even then, I figured it had something to do with equilibrium and some other physiological factors, but at church was the only place I ever saw it. I was never told I was supposed to, or that people do for various reasons, nothing. It was a void, a black hole.

Black holes suck in the stuff around them, and this one sucked in quite a bit of goodness. It sucked in just about all the faith that I had. I started asking some questions, but without a clear idea of who to ask, I wasn't really looking for answers. Instead, I was asking questions to point out what I didn't like, the quirks, the stuff I didn't understand--all in such a way that I really was making fun of what I didn't know. And it got to the point that I thought asking questions was a bad thing. If I didn't know, there must be something wrong with me. Funny thing is, though, I only felt that way about questions related to faith and its practice.

Fast forward. I met a great guy. We got married. Had kids. Went to church. Got busy. Time passed. Life was crazy, but good. We were showing our kids faith. They weren't asking too many questions. Nobody had to know what I didn't know--not even me. It was good. Or so I thought.

When Dad died, I started to realize there was something missing in my faith. It wasn't a given. I did a lot of taking in the days, months and years that followed. In many ways, I was still that 15-year-old girl, at least as far as my faith is concerned. Had I considered that might be a legitimate question to ask, had I had someone to go to, high school, for me, may have been very different. All that taking and selfishness turned me more and more inward. I still went to church, I still did the things I thought faith-filled people did, and eventually I hit a wall. And I kept hitting my head against it.

Fortunately, that was mistaken for knocking, and a door was opened. I was having a miserable time, feeling like everything was falling apart, and someone I didn't even know very well told me that if I wanted or needed to, I could call. Just the invitation opened another door: the one in my heart. Soon after, I offered to take Mom to Faith Matters at church, and, lo and behold! Within a couple of weeks, I heard that questions are good. Ask them. Look for answers. And don't stop until you understand. It didn't take long for me to realize that was my nature; in my "real life," I asked questions all the time. Relentlessly, sometimes!

I still don't know about that swaying, but I have had many questions answered--most of which lead to more questions. (I'm in heaven!) And my kids have been asking questions, which makes me so proud of them, especially when they humble me by asking one I can't answer. I love telling them we'll find out together, or to direct them to someone who might know. I've gotten to know the person who offered that invitation, and although I have never called, I have emailed, texted and messaged--a LOT!

And I am forever grateful. My heart dances.

taken for granted

My niece, Danielle, is a personal trainer (a mighty good one, at that!) and writes a blog of her own (Fit It In Fitness). On Saturday morning, my Facebook status was this: "Best part about going to my kids' sporting events: contagious enthusiasm!" Danielle commented that it sounded like a great idea for a blog post -- for her, of course -- and I agreed. Tonight, she asked for my opinion on contagious enthusiasm. What follows is my response to her.....


OK. Contagious enthusiasm. For the most part, I think that as long as it is channelled, directed and controlled, it is a great thing--not only for motivation, but for appreciation, as well. The tricky thing is that it can tip over into a mob mentality (how many times can you think of soccer championships in Europe turning into crushing mobs??)

Saturday morning was our first meet with the new swim team; the first home meet of the season. This team is uber-organized when it comes to meets, I found out. They had people there to train every volunteer, and by train, I do not mean "this is a stopwatch. Now go to it." The team has also grown quite a bit with Uncle Guy there, and following the Olympics, so it would have been easy for the kids' excitement to tend toward unruly. Before warm-ups, waiting at the end of the pool, I could literally feel the love of the sport radiating from the kids. I'd never felt it so strongly before [now, there are a whole bunch of nuances to that statement. Suffice it to say, this was awe-inspiring in me]. That same kind of feeling is what carried me through my first 5k. And I'd say pretty related to the "umph" that participating in a group training/class gives.

For the first time in a very long time on Saturday, seeing the kids excited, and the coaches excited, I couldn't wait for the meet to START. All because I caught their enthusiasm. I hate to admit that for too many years, that moment had given me a very different feeling: Uncle Guy would walk onto the deck, the pool all ready for the first splashes of feet first entry, and say that was his favorite sight, and all I could think was, "When will this be over??"

Maybe because I had a different function this time, too. But I really, really think it's more related to the happy anticipation of the boys, and being with this team.

speed post

Life's been crazy, with no time to sit, and now there are cookies in the oven. The words need to get out somehow, so a stream of consciousness list is what we get. Here goes.....

This kind of cool weather has me in heaven, although it is kind of a drag when working at a pool.

Don't do something stupid because others do. It only makes you look stupid.

I'm proud when I find out my kid did not do something stupid.

A bully is a bully, no matter how popular s/he happens to be.

Don't get on the good side of the bullies just to stay out of their way. They will still feed on you.

Weren't we just pregnant together???

I can't believe it's over!/Thank God it's over!!

Oh, how I miss those days when I could do something stupid and say it was because someone else was going to do it, too. So I looked stupid once in a while.....at least it was never something STUPID!!

I am your mother.

Bullies exist in every age group. I was bullied as a kid. I was bullied in college. I have been bullied as an adult. I've stood up to bullies more as I've gotten older, but they still make me cry. (should probably go on a Post Secret postcard, but there you have it.)

I am not your mother. Leave me out of it.

My boys make me so proud. Each and every day, and I wish I could make them really understand that.

Time's up.

senior moments

Perhaps I should begin with the fact that I cry at dog food commercials. I always have. I'm just that sentimental. Remember that ad campaign that said, "This changes everything"? I have no idea what was being advertised, exactly, but I do know that every single time I saw a commercial, or even a print ad, I ended up snivelling in a corner somewhere. It's actually one of my finest traits, I think. However, when the public eye is mixed in, I'm never sure how my family will react. They know me so well that Henry, our 15-year-old, considers this reaction typical when we rent movies: (in his words) "You will watch snorfling on the couch, without saying a word, and then when it's over you'll sniff and say, 'That was a really good movie.'" This revelation by him has led to the unfortuneate result of me laughing inside while snorfling--or in the case of The Green Mile, nearly sobbing--which sets off some really strange turmoil in my emotional center!

The coming months will be filled to overflowing with public emotion. Jonathan is a senior. And a football player. And an all-around good kid. The school year is three days old, and I've already found myself wondering how many tears will be acceptable to him. The conclusion I've come to is that he will just have to deal with them, and so will I. So many reasons for "Senior Moments" to hit me right in that emotional core; the spot where all my memories come together with my life force. Pride, joy, anticipation, and the realization that my boy is well on his way to being the man I've always hoped he'd be, and his friends and classmates, too. They have always been a tight group, and seeing just how they support and play off of each other in this special time when they are top dogs amazes and impresses me so much my eyes leak.

Yesterday, there was a Pep Rally at school. For the first and only time, all four boys are in the same building for school. The fact that all Jonathan's brothers would be there made me cry. The fact that I taught dance to about a third of the cheerleaders at some point hit me in the gut. The captains of the Soccer and Football teams taking a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors "very seriously" made me melt. Seeing the tough guy Seniors from those same teams dancing in crazy costumes for a dance-off not only made me laugh until I cried, it made me so proud of how far they have come since meeting each other in Kindergarten. But the moment that nearly pushed me over the edge, the moment that took all the strength I had, was one planned by the Pep Club and Cheerleaders all on their own.

Senior football players were brought to the center of the gym by the cheerleaders, blindfolded, and told that they would get a kiss on the cheek from one of the cheerleaders. When the blindfolds were removed, they would have to guess which cheerleader had kissed them. Little did they know that their moms would be the ones passing out kisses. "Would that embarrass you too much, to kiss him in public?" I was asked when informed of the plan; "Would it bother him?" We moms sat in anticipation, all of us knowing this was a true Senior Moment; a real chance to make a lifetime memory. For me, that kiss on the cheek brought back every first day of school kiss since pre-school, and also a foreshadowing of that hug and kiss that will find us leaving him at a dormroom somewhere with strangers, feeling even more helpless than when we left him at Kindergarten. (That's us, not him, by the way; he's ready to fly, and will undoubtedly be nervous, but certainly not as scared as we will be!) What touched my heart the most, though, was how well the girls who planned this know the moms they selected. The moment was for the moms, of that I have no doubt.

My emotions about this one moment, and the many before and to come, are not related in any way to sadness. I am not upset that "this will be the last [fill in the blank]." Nor am I thrilled at that same filled in blank. I am, however, simply filled to the brim with joy and happiness that I have had this boy of mine in my life for the past 17 years. For almost half my life, I have cared for, helped, yelled at, apologized to, carted around, ridden with, cheered for, played with, questioned, answered, fed, cooked with, awakened, rocked to sleep, laughed with, cried with, stood up for, stood back from, encouraged, discouraged, taught, and learned from this person who started out so helpless and has become so amazingly independent and strong. I cry at these Senior Moments because they are one-of-a-kind moments, blindingly beautiful, and I know that I cannot possibly take in enough information about them to keep everything about them handy. Nor should I. I'm looking forward to sharing Senior Moments with each of our boys, but for now, they belong to Jonathan. And Guy. And the other senior parents that have, truly, become family in a very unique way.

what to say....

The other day, I learned that there is a website dedicated to what you would like to have said to your loved ones before they died. A question was posed: "What do you wish you'd said?" Immediately, my thoughts went to my dad, and the fact that I have never felt like I missed telling him anything. I resolved to think about it, and come up with something. I can't.

This morning, though, as I sat at the computer trying to think of a topic, I realized that I do wish I'd said something to my mother-in-law. This, actually, surprised me a great deal.

I never felt welcomed by Marie. Guy's sister, at one point, told me that Marie talked about me in glowing terms, but that never got back to me when she was alive. In fact, there was a time when she told me I was too "loud and opinionated" to fit in with the family. It made me giggle, for reasons you could probably guess. There was also the time, pregnant with Jonathan, that she told me how awful newborn heads are to deliver. Sitting broad shoulder to broad shoulder with Guy, I pointed out that I was more concerned about the baby's shoulders. "Why on earth?" she asked. "Have you noticed how we are built?" I asked. "Both of us are good, solid peasant stock." She wondered why I would put myself down so, and why I would think of Guy and myself as anything less than royalty. Again, I chuckled, because this was yet another trait I held to be a part of me.

In the twenty years I have been a Tanguay, I have grown and matured in so many ways. If I were to meet Marie for the first time now, our relationship would be very different, I'm sure. I doubt that we would ever have found enough common ground to be "close," but we probably could have understood each other a little better. When we met, I was a kid--wet behind the ears, and raring to go. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was independent, self-assured. Now I know better; there's no reason to "prove it" anymore. I am still self-assured, and fairly opinionated at times, difficult, but I am also more at ease with myself.

What do I wish I'd told her? That her son is a wonderful husband and father. That our life together has been difficult, but worth every trial. That I know that her influence on him was very important to who he is today, and that I appreciate . I would thank her for having Guy.

Thank you, Marie.