More Than a Mom

Thoughts, rants, and more from a mom who is more. Kate Torok is a working, married, mother of two, who has a passion for writing, reading, reality TV, baking, and Kathy Griffin.

[ktorok]

All There Is

My best friend recently introduced me to Anderson Cooper’s now three-year-old podcast titled “All There Is.” It’s about grief, and the taboo topic that it is in our society. Anderson shares candid, raw, and oftentimes very, very personal details of his lifelong grief after losing his father when he was 10, his brother in their early 20s to suicide, and most recently, his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, at the well-lived age of 95.

He welcomes celebrities, doctors, experts, and regular listeners on the pod to talk about their stories of grief. Each one is unique, different, and includes a new lesson for people who have experienced or are experiencing grief.

I listened to Stephen Colbert, the youngest of 11 kids, talk about the day one of his older brothers picked him up unexpectedly from school. He got home, walked in the house, and saw his mom lying across her bed. “There’s been an accident,” she said. His father and two of his brothers were killed in a plane crash on September 11 in the mid-70s. Imagine the repeat grief he felt on the September 11 we now have etched in our memories?

Molly Shannon talked about the loss of her mother when she was just four years old. She died in a car crash with her younger sister, killed by a drunk driver. Except the drunk driver was Molly’s father. Tragic.

Today, while walking the dog, I listened to his conversation with Ashley Judd, who found her mother shortly before she died by suicide. That one was tough to hear, but included one of the most profound lessons to date.

In it, she said, “I think we all deserve to be remembered for how we lived, and how we died is simply part of a bigger story.”

Wow.

We all deserve to be remembered for how we lived, and how we died is simply part of a bigger story.

This struck me this week, and on this day, the eve of the 33rd anniversary of my sister’s death to cancer. I have written blogs about her before. About my own grief, about her death, and about how my anger has come and gone through these last three decades and through my own life milestones. She missed it, I would think. How could she miss this, I would wonder. Can she see me, I would ask.

And when I think of her, I think of her illness, her bald head, her hospital stays, and her pain – it’s mostly what I can remember from those years, I unfortunately have blurry memories BC (before cancer).

But hearing that line in today’s podcast made my brain switch – and pull up memories of just that, how she lived. How she was always getting in trouble for her smart mouth and comebacks. How she desperately wanted a leather jacket for Christmas when “everyone at school” was getting one. How she played flute. How she played soccer. How she played with us, her younger sisters. How she was adventurous, daring, and a risk-taker. How one summer on Tully Lake, my parents told her absolutely no boats; they left to pick up dinner and she immediately got on someone's boat. How sneaky she was. How she folded her passed notes perfectly. How she was a true, great friend. And how she lived – conquered most days – and rose above her cancer.

She lived loud and she lived proud, if only for 15 short years. My goodness, how…she…lived.

So, I thought, the way she died was simply part of a bigger story. For her, that story is the impact she made on those she knew and how we all work to keep her story alive today.

Ironically, or maybe it was serendipity, I was invited to speak about her just this week to a group that raises money for Camp Good Days and Special Times, a place that serves kids and families dealing with cancer. A place where we grew up. I speak to the group every year if asked, but usually a little closer to the date of the event in February. So to be asked to come just two days before her anniversary, I thought was pretty special. A sign, maybe?

I’ve been often enough, that I have also shared with them the story of the summer of 1997 or 1998 (the 90s are blurry, too) when the Camp dedicated a road named in her memory – Laura’s Way. To my surprise, I was presented with a framed photo of the road sign by the group. It’s a picture I have taken in many different ways, from many different angles, but this one is one I will cherish differently.

It’s part of her bigger story. Her legacy. The story that I will tell every year and to anyone who wants to hear it. She was my big sister, and I miss her.

This year, on her anniversary, I am choosing to remember her for how she lived. That is all there is. Laura's way...

[ktorok]

Sweet 16

They tell you not to blink, or you will miss it. You begrudgingly smile while you’re washing the poop off your hand, getting a band-aid ready for a bloody knee, and feverishly head planning what’s for dinner.

You’re in it – the thick of it. You kept her alive, fed, and healthy for her first year - good on you! She changed, got bigger, made new noises, and started new movements. She made friends in daycare, began the first of many moving up ceremonies, danced, soccered, and theatered.

Kindergarten was a milestone indeed – new social settings, new routine, that big yellow bus. Elementary school whizzed by – each summer, the anticipation of receiving the teacher letter grew and each year, the content and learning got a little bit harder.

Middle school hit her (and you) like a ton of bricks, and then BAM – a pandemic cut it short. You watched her with awe and pride as she gracefully navigated the oddness of being a pre-teen along with the missed social opportunities and cavernous virtual classroom setting.

Her freshman year arrived and she was all of a sudden...bigger. She shed her glasses and braces, the shirts got a little shorter, and her mascara was thicker. She made the high school musical and started hanging out with the older crowd. Then came AP courses and the tennis team. The prom, a year early. The nights out and the waiting up. And then…16.

Our conversations now are about scheduling that DMV appointment and sending that job application. We poke around the internet dabbling in the beginning stage of planning college visits. I find myself watching her – staring, even – and getting lost in the space of time and then feeling my tear ducts fill with the reminder that in two short years, she will be moving out and moving on.

You blinked.

And it’s true. You feel like you missed some of it because you were in the thick of the busyness of it.

No one prepares you for the milestones – big and small. And this one hits different.

To our Amazing Grace, happy sweet 16. Thank you for all the things that you are, all the things that you do, and all the ways that you show us what it means to be a good human. You have no idea how loved you are. Today, we celebrate you.

[ktorok]

Making Headlines

I love a good headline.

I have a job where I seek out headlines, write copy to create headlines, and read headlines. Headlines tease a story; give insight into whether it is a good, bad, uplifting, or sad story; and allow the audience to get a sense of what they are about to delve into. They hook us – pique our curiosity, make us want to learn more.

As 2023 winds down, and we stare at the clock to ring in 2024, we are likely all thinking of our accomplishments this year and what we might achieve in the year to come. It’s what we do this week each and every year; judge ourselves based on what we were able to fit in – both literally and figuratively. Some of us checked off everything on our resolution list, some were able to conquer a handful of those goals, and others simply survived the chaos of a busy personal and professional life in 2023. No matter the category you fell in – you did something this year. Trust the universe when it tells you that it was enough.

Life moves along, days and weeks happen to us, and situations arise and change things for us. Those situations may have also reshaped what we set out to do. I believe that while it is important to have goals with some level of specificity, they should be built with some flexibility as well. For me, they are more realistic that way.

On this New Year’s Eve, rather than develop a list of hard and fast resolutions, I am choosing to write predictive headlines. That’s right; I am going to predict – based on what I know of my goals and aspirations – what kind of headlines I might make this year.

“Travel Takes Hold”

“She Did It”

“Woman Learns New Love Language”

“Practicing Spontaneity: Infusing Joy When the Moment Arises”

“Books Galore – How One Woman Read Through 2024”

“Can Walls Come Down While Boundaries Go Up?”

“A Laptop and an Idea”

“She Became Better”

“Faith Fulfilled”

“Health, Happiness, Hustle, and a Hobby”

On this day in 2024, I vow to report back on how these stories shaped up.

Ask yourself – what will your headlines be? I can’t wait to read about them.

HNY.

[ktorok]

What's in the Sauce?

Her name was Faye. She stood about 4’7” and she was around 80 years old. She had a small bungalow in Kenmore, NY, and ran an ad for a “quaint” apartment that sat atop hers. I answered the ad upon taking a job in Buffalo shortly after college. My parents and I made the trek to go see it a few days before I was scheduled to begin.

We pulled into the narrow driveway and she was waiting for us at the door. She was gleeful, and I think even more so when she saw that I was a young woman with normal parents. A perfect tenant for her. She gave us the grand tour which took no more than 1 minute. It was a tiny place – hardly one bedroom, a sort of bathroom, an odd kitchen, and a living room with the only closets in the place that was smaller than my childhood bedroom. It had an old stove, wood paneling, and a claw foot tub. Faye didn’t drive any more, so the driveway would be mine and there was a garage door opener. Rent was $425 and included heat. I signed within 10 minutes and moved in two days later.

Faye quickly got to know my schedule and my comings and goings. I worried that she might be nosy; that she might check in with me more than my 23-year-old self might want her to. But she was a dream landlord. She was quiet, clean, and stayed out of the way. So, I tried to return the favor as her tenant. But what I didn’t know is that she would become a little slice of home.

As I got settled, life took hold. I would have stressful work days, relationship issues, adulting scenarios that seemed like the end of my world. And each and every time those days, issues, and scenarios happened, Faye somehow knew. It was those times when I would come home and find her sauce in a Tupperware with a note that read, “Kate – enjoy!” taped to the top. And immediately, I would smile.

It didn’t matter what season we were in. Summer, fall, winter, spring, Faye’s sauce would show up at all the right times. It was delicious. I grew up eating jar sauce right off the shelf. But, this was something else. It was hearty, with a taste of comfort. She once told me that this was her family's secret recipe and that she made batches and batches for her son’s restaurant in South Buffalo. But she never told me what was actually in the sauce.

Time marched on, and eventually, Faye’s family moved her to an assisted living facility and a new tenant moved in beneath me. They were loud, we had to share the driveway, and they didn’t know when I needed sauce. Naturally, it was time for me to move on as well. And in my few visits with Faye at her new home in Amherst, we enjoyed her sauce together and caught up on each other’s comings and goings in our new environments. She was settled, happy, and still made time to make the sauce.

This week, many of us are returning to our normal routines, back-to-school craziness, morning drop-off stress, and after-school Uber assignments. We’re back to the “I have nothing to wear,” “We have no food in this house,” and “I hate Mr./Mrs. so-and-so and their homework is impossible” comments. It’s always a stressful week – both for those in charge and the kiddos who experience much change year after year as they get older. It is times like these when I am reminded of Faye, her ease, her realness, and her way of providing a calm and comfort through her secret sauce.

So this week, whether your kiddos already started, or your day is coming soon, I ask you: what’s in your sauce? What are the ingredients that you need to keep you grounded, calm, and comfortable? Find those and find the time to make the sauce. The rest will be gravy, I promise.

(A very old picture of the girls on their first day(s) of school. I'm not (still) crying, you're crying.)

[ktorok]

End of an Element-era

I have had a frog in my throat on a pretty regular basis for the last few months, dreading these final days of all we have known since 2013. I have found myself caught in my own thoughts and core memories in the middle of doing something entirely different, and can feel the tears slowly welling up in the bottom of my lower eyelids. All of the cliched (and, in the moment, entirely frustrating) sayings including, “They are only this little once,” and “It goes by so quickly,” or “Before you know it,” have been ringing in my ears as these days have approached, and I have been working hard not to regret but to work to be more present in these moments; for they have all been true. They were only that little once. It did go by so quickly. And before I know it, it is here. We’re at the end of elementary school in our household.

(wailing)

I have often talked (and written) about the hamster wheel of life, and in particular, parenthood. The days turn into a rinse and repeat approach, especially in those younger years when daycare, school, before and/or after school care, and work is involved. The artful coordination of keeping a job so you can provide all the things and keeping tiny humans alive is no easy feat, and when in it – when truly in the thick of it – it feels like if you can take it day by day (sometimes hour by hour), then you can make it.

Then inevitably, they get a year older. Their tiny voice changes, they can suddenly pronounce their “Rs” and begin to call their older sister “Grace” instead of “Gwace.” Their once round face with remnants of baby cheeks begins to thin out and become more defined. They go from training wheels to big wheels. They no longer like the less expensive t-shirts with inspirational sayings like “Spread Kindness” from Target and much prefer the cropped tanks. Their feet get bigger. They want to change from play dates to mall meetings. And it’s all downhill from there.

I remember vividly the day we looked at our now home for the second time and heard the name of the elementary school our kids would attend – Cobbles Elementary. Cobbles. What an adorable name for a school, I thought. Fast forward to my older daughter’s kindergarten screening when I pulled into this adorable Cobbles’ parking lot and was struck by the way this one-floor school was enveloped in fall colored trees on a very quiet street tucked away in our town. What a storybook school, I thought. Fast forward to the first PTA meeting I attended on a brisk October evening with a slew of very friendly moms of kids from all grade levels, welcoming me into the club. How did we get so lucky to find this place, I thought.

The rest is now history. Ten years after walking into this storybook, we are walking out of the place that has taught my girls the academic essentials to get them started but has also taught them that kindness, respect, caring, integrity, responsibility, and self-discipline may just matter more.

I will miss the room parent responsibilities and the sign-up sheets for the holiday party items. I will miss the parent-teacher meetings where I walk away with some of their most prized work and even more pride due to their teachers’ raving reviews of the kids they are. I will miss the Cobbles 500 where I never learned my lesson to stretch before running, err, walking, all of those laps in that tiny little gymnasium. I will miss the band, orchestra, and chorus concerts – especially the early ones, where half of the kids are waving to their parents and the other half are committed to concentrating and hitting-ish the notes. I will miss the Halloween costume mornings, rushing to get a picture before the bus comes and making sure that any part of the costume that isn’t allowed at school is in fact left at home (i.e. sharp things). I will miss the bus stop, the corner at the end of our street that makes me smile each time I drive by it. I will miss those tiny halls, where the ceilings are low and the lost and found area is overflowing with sweatshirts, t-shirts, jackets, winter hats, and one glove from many pairs of gloves by April.

So, thank you especially to Dr. Kenny, Mrs. Usselman, Mrs. Hodge, Mrs. Knapp, Mr. Young, Dr. Lighthouse, Mrs. Brassachio, Mr. Dreschler, Mrs. Merriman, Mrs. Kaufman, and Mrs. Kennedy. My girls learned so much from and love each of you, and we never doubted that they have been loved and protected when they were in your guiding care through these years.

To Cobbles, our storybook school and second home. Thank you for opening your doors all those years ago and for the magic that has happened for our children once inside. You are a special place, full of special people. We will never forget the lessons learned or the memories made.

To my girls – one who is closer to high school graduation than I care to admit and one who is bringing us to the end of our family’s elementary story – you have done beautifully in all you’ve accomplished and set out to do so far and we could not be prouder. Thank you for your commitment to learning, to striving, and to your friendships. You’ve got so much more ahead of you! Here’s to the place we have been, and my oh my, the places you will go.

And finally, to my husband, here’s to the end of our element-era. We did it, love! Let’s do what comes next.

[ktorok]

An Open Letter to 2020

Dear 2020,

There are a lot of people who cannot wait to say “good riddance” to you. Their internal countdown to the new year likely began pretty early in your tenure. They have been waiting for the months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds to pass for the moment when we can say goodbye to you and hello to 2021.

You have been a real pill. There have been bad moments, long days, and a lot of empty bottles of pinot. You have made me cry tears of helplessness, loneliness, and fear. You impacted our household, forcing months of unemployment and a career change. You have upended our daughters’ lives – taking everything they love away from them including their friends, teachers, and hobbies. Your cloak of isolation has done a real number on me personally; I miss people, interactions, laughing, being together, and hugs.

We’ve been some of the lucky ones, though. For hundreds of thousands of others, you have taken their loved ones, their paychecks, their homes, and their livelihoods. You have exhausted our frontline workers, namely, our health care professionals who never knew they would be signing up for a pandemic of epic proportions. We all had big hopes for you, 2020.

However, as with any failure or mistake, I believe strongly that many lessons have been learned. For some—including me—you have been a teacher, a coach, and a mentor.

You reintroduced us to the people under our own roof, some of whom have been in daycare since they were three months old. This time has been a gift, sometimes a messy gift, but a beautiful one overall.

You reminded us of the importance of handwashing, a healthy habit we learned during the early stages of our lives that has clearly been overcome with complacency, a slightly embarrassing lesson for us humans.

You encouraged us (with force) to slow down, to take one day at a time. We had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, and we learned to breathe and hold our breath all at the same time.

You invented birthday parades. Thanks for that.

You inspired creativity among us all. Curbside, livestream, virtual, and contactless have become regularly used words on websites and have changed the way so many do business.

You championed the outdoors and pushed us to take long walks, to discover longer hikes, and to enjoy bonfires for hours.

You revealed who shows up for us and who others really are, allowing us to take inventory and determine those who will venture into this next decade alongside us and others whom we have perhaps outgrown.

You flexed our “do” muscles, pushing us out of our comfort zones and leading us to new ways of thinking, producing, and simply doing.

You supported us all and our digital literacy. From Zoom to Microsoft Teams and everything in between, you helped us learn new ways to connect, communicate, work, and learn.

You gave us Disney+. And Hamilton. Thanks for those, too.

You shined a bright light on the racism that remains in this country and the many disparities that exist for black and brown people who are our neighbors, our friends, and our family, opening eyes and hearts and sparking calls for change along the way.

You verified that science is real and that we have brilliant people in all corners of our universe who will work around the clock to save us.

You mobilized our democracy and gave us time to educate all on not only their right to vote but the importance of that vote, and you helped us turn the torrential tide that has been drowning us for four years.

You instilled in many of us the practice of gratitude, and clarified for us what it means to take things for granted.

You’ve confirmed that hindsight is in fact 2020, and we can see clearly now that you are soon to be gone.

You’ve led us to this moment in time – where we reflect, recollect, and realize all that we have, all that we’ve lost, and all that we can still hope for. Thanks to your yearlong efforts of showing us how things could be, I now see only brighter days ahead.

Thanks for the lessons and the unexpected memories,

Kate

[ktorok]

Pop Goes the Bubble

It was Friday the 13th. Schools will close for two weeks, they said. We’re monitoring the situation, they said.

Work shuts its doors. Work remotely for two weeks, I said. We’ll be back in no time, I said.

213 days later, the bubble we have built, the protections we have installed, the security blanket that was quarantine is about to pop. It’s hard to believe we are here.

We have more sanitizer, soap, and masks than I ever thought possible. Still fresh out of Clorox wipes though, for all 213 days.

We have spent more time together as a family than we have since they were three months, when they both went to daycare and life went on.

In the beginning, there was a bit of whimsy about this thing called quarantine. It was March, dark, cold, and we were together – hunkered down in our cozy house with a roaring fire watching CNN and the Governor’s daily press conferences. Then we turned to Zoom dance parties with friends. And with each passing day, it became clear that we were in this for the long haul.

It took a pandemic to get us to stop, slow the grind, and hunker down and in the end, what we got in return were nearly six months of togetherness, rekindled relationships, reintroduced quirks, and newly discovered traits. We made memories, experienced history, and forged new paths.

Our Grace. Our Amazing Grace. She has always been quiet, humble, and inquisitive – very curious, and sometimes worried, about the world around her. She asked the most questions; I wish I kept count. They were hard questions, some for which we had no answers. “When will this end?” “Why aren’t they stopping it?” “Are we always going to be locked down?” “Will masks be a thing forever?” “When can I see my friends again?” “What about a vaccine?” “Will Christmas feel different?”

But, she also blossomed. She buried her head in books, Broadway shows, and theater scripts. She painted, and painted, and painted, and painted showing us her amazing talent and mind. She made lists – there were a LOT of lists. And she conquered.

Our Paige. Our Sassy Paige. She was taken by the sudden slew of snow-day-feelings. Did she Zoom? Not really. But she excelled in math, got her reading done, and once it was warm enough to go outside and the snow melted, she put more miles on her bike in a few short months than she has in her lifetime.

She made her First Communion – mask and all. No questions, just walked in with confidence. She got her ears pierced. She kept Irish dancing, albeit virtually. She got into my make-up…a lot. She painted, and painted, and painted. She produced at least seven pounds of slime. She grew 47 new freckles; I counted. And she conquered.

They kept us going. They reminded us to wash our hands endlessly. They ran one of my team meetings. A few days, as I sat in my corner of the house trying to manage my to-do’s without my office resources and team with me, I felt little hands come behind me and rub my shoulders to calm me down. They rose to the challenge and challenged us to do the same.

Now, we will send them back out into the world, armed with markers, sharpened #2 pencils, five pocket folders (blue, red, yellow, orange, purple), a water bottle, tissues, sanitizer, and masks.

We must rely on others to keep them out of harm’s way, be sure they are following the new rules, washing their hands, and keeping those hands to themselves.

To all the parents out there – they have GOT this. They are resilient. They came through this with us, and they’ll continue to plow through this without us. You’ve instilled in them these new life lessons that have become habits. Am I terrified? Yes. But are they excited? Yes.

We’ve taught them to be brave. We’ve taught them to be strong. We’ve taught them to be courageous. We’ve told them time and time again…every little thing is gonna be alright.

Pop goes the bubble.

But trust your wisdom. It’s worth every wrinkle.

[ktorok]

8 Minutes, 46 Seconds

We walked there with our friends, masks and signs in hand. It was really close to the house, so that made it easy. It had been a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. But as we got closer to our post, we felt a few small raindrops and looked up – one big dark cloud took over. Fitting for the occasion.

I was pleased to see so many people in our community show up. And we could only see some, as people were to line up and down both sides of the street for the 4-mile stretch. We arranged ourselves on the grass, sidewalks, and close to the street. We saw some we knew, it was so hard not to hug them, but…COVID.

Because we arrived early, we had a few minutes to take it in and to watch the kids do the same. As more people gathered, drivers started to put the pieces together. Cars beeped, passengers clapped, some rolled the windows down to hold up a fist in solidarity or to say “thank you” as they whizzed by. I think that made the kids smile, tough to see under their mask.

One truck carrying a large, intimidating looking white man raced by while he yelled, “LOSERS! WHAT A BUNCH OF LOSERS!” as he drove down the thoroughfare of our gathering. No one engaged, no one responded. That shook the kids, but we let it happen and let them take that in too.

Just before 6 p.m., a van carrying a black family pulled up to the light. The female driver rolled her window down, she looked our way as did one of the kids in the backseat, and she started to weep. She said, “Thank you all so much. We love you all. This is just wonderful. Thank you for doing this. We love you!” Her hands left the steering wheel and went over her heart, and her sobbing continued. It triggered tears in me that I have been holding in all week, not knowing when or how to let them out. We locked eyes, it took everything in me not to run into the street and grab her hand. The light seemed to stay red longer than usual. She wiped her eyes periodically, took another deep breath, looked back at the crowd and told us she loved us all again. I heard myself and others yell back, “We love you too.” The light turned green and she beeped as she drove away.

One woman near us, wearing a white shirt and khaki shorts, walked a bit closer to the edge of the road and took out her phone. I thought she was perhaps taking a photo of the people lined across the street, but then it was clear that she started the timer on her phone. She took a knee, and we and the 200 or so people around us did the same. I imagined the thousands down the 4-mile stretch on their knees, too.

Silence took over, with the exception of a very light breeze and the supportive beeps of cars. I looked around, read the signs, and watched people watch each other. Some looked to the ground, praying, perhaps. Others looked up to the sky, praying, perhaps. I looked at my daughter’s half-covered face and watched her eyes understand the importance of this moment – the weight of it. She’s had a lot of questions this week and I knew after tonight that she’d have more.

I looked at my watch. 6:02. It had only been 2 minutes. We were only 2 minutes into the pain inflicted upon George Floyd. It felt so much longer.

I kept thinking about him, his cries for help, his limp body, and the weight and sharpness of the knee on his neck. Then my mind went back to the family in the van we met just a few minutes before. “We love you all,” she said. “Thank you,” she said. My eyes filled up some more.

6:04.

Black lives matter.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

“The time is always right to do what is right.”

Beep, Beep.

“We love you all. Thank you all!”

6:06.

The small pile of rubble where my knee landed when we went down started to irritate my knee. I wanted to shift, maybe change knees. George Floyd probably wanted to shift, too. I stayed put.

6:07.

Silence, still. The dark cloud remained, but there was blue sky slowly returning.

More joined the crowd. Both sides of the street were lined. We showed up. So many showed up.

6:08.

“Our Father, Who Art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name…”

Enough is enough.

6:08:46.

Everyone stood up and applause erupted. It was simple, it was powerful, and we hope George was looking down.

On the walk back, the kids asked about why the one man called us losers. That bothered them. We asked them if they recalled what people did when he said it. “Nothing, ignored him,” they replied. Exactly. He was the outlier, I told them. Of all of those people, and all who beeped or said thank you or put their fists up driving by in solidarity, he was the only one who went against what we were trying to do. Lesson learned – there are so many more good people in the world than there are bad people. There is power in numbers. And when there is a groundswell of love and peace, maybe – just maybe – we can make small change.

Black lives matter. Enough is enough.

“You must be the change you want to see in the world.”

[ktorok]

A Decade of Change

It wasn’t until about a week before Christmas when I heard a colleague reference the new decade that it even dawned on me that one was upon us. Another 10 years – over? How could that be? Ever since, I have been reflecting on all of the change that has happened throughout this last decade, which is exactly why it flew past us at the speed of light.

By mid-2010, our family was in mid-change at lightning speed. I took a new position in a new city, our house went on the market, and our baby girl turned 2. I commuted for a bit until my husband was transferred (the stars aligned!) and then we left the house on the market and became renters again for 9 months while said house sat on said market. It was grueling on our wallets and on us, but I kept saying to myself and out loud that it was a short-term investment in our long-term happiness. And how true that was.

(ABOVE: Us, at the National Museum of Play in February 2010, never dreaming that we’d live 10 minutes away from it by August of that same year.)

By 2011, the house was gone, as was the apartment, and we were settled in our new house with a now 3-year-old. That winter, we learned that we’d soon have more change. And her name would be Paige.

The entire year of 2012 is a blur. A baby, a toddler, lots of diapers, lots of daycare, and then, another new year.

From 2013-2015, another blur ensued, and included kindergarten, first steps, a new car, the relocation of one of my best childhood friends to LESS THAN ONE MILE AWAY (!), soccer games, youth theatre, and so much more.

In 2015, I was promoted to the position that I set my sights on when I took the original job five years prior. My oldest was in 2nd grade, my baby was already 3 and in pre-school, and we had yet another new car. And we lost our first baby, our forever favorite black lab, Hershey.

I, along with many I know, felt sucker punched in 2016 when the world seemed to fall around us and politics stopped making sense. Although, have they ever started? That year, I remember saying often, “2020 can’t get here soon enough.”

And here. We. Are.

Over the past four years, we’ve experienced more youth theatre, Irish dance competitions from Syracuse to Buffalo, dance recitals, band and chorus concerts (my favorite!), state tests, birthday parties, family parties, parental retirements, family vacations, godparenting, work stresses, and the newest addition to our brood, our favorite yellow lab/beagle mix, Harley. Oh, and we turned 40. And then 41.

So what have been my decade of resolutions? SURVIVE. Stay afloat, make life happy and full of magical memories for our beautiful daughters, and smile while doing it. I think I’ve done that, even though I’ve made some mistakes along the way. Many, actually.

So for my lifetime’s “roaring 20s,” I resolve to read more of what I want to read, write more of what I want to write, and continue to stay afloat. Here’s to all of your resolutions, may they make you happy, strong, and fulfilled.

[ktorok]

Moving On Up

Pinch me.

It’s over.

Tomorrow, she will participate in the 5th grade Moving Up Ceremony -  a rite of passage that is sure to throw me into ugly cry and a time warp where I’m forced to say things like, “Time goes so fast,” and “They grow up so quickly!”

Pinch me.

The year 2008 seems so long ago and yet it seems like yesterday. This little girl of mine, whose bad case of jaundice and colic still both feel so raw, is not so little anymore. She has conquered kindergarten through fifth grade, learned to ride her bike, mastered reading, tackled the braces phase, and grown in theater and music. She has had great days and tough days, has learned about friendships and how they sometimes change, and has (I think) experienced her first crush. And she’s ready—more than us—to move up and to move on.

I often find myself daydreaming and thinking of the swift seasons of change we’ve been through since we met Grace. We’ve changed jobs, we’ve changed cities, we’ve changed houses, and we’ve changed our family. Luck had us settle in Penfield and at Cobbles Elementary – a school whose name is so damn cute it feels straight out of a Hallmark holiday movie.

Through these swift seasons of change, people come and people go. And you find your people. You find the village that helps you day to day, with carpool rides and grab-them-from-the-bus-days, to wine nights and book clubs.  Luck had me find my people - the mothers of her friends – who all happen to be people I know I would have definitely found in college had we been at the same one.

Life is funny that way. It leads you down so many roads and paths ultimately leading you to your people. The “I knew I was supposed to meet you” kind of people. People who are on your same page, striving for the same goals, and who – at the end of the day – don’t know they are superwoman to all who know them.

You see, I’m not worried about Grace. She’s got this. Cobbles has been a beautiful home for her these last six years. Her teachers have molded her, helped her to shape her opinions, and taught her so many things. They are angels, every single one of them. And they’ve handled me well during our parent/teacher conferences when I would tear up at their very mention of her name.

It’s us I’m worried about. My superwomen. This time thing had us fooled. We thought we had so much of it with them that we let the early days when we were doused in spit-up and poop send us into an exhausted tirade. We let the daycare days become our hamster wheel routine and, as much as we hated them, something we just had...to...get...through. We let their year of kindergarten fly right past, ultimately covered under piles of pieces of paper made up of artwork, homework, and other creations. And then 1st-5th grade is a total blur, full of state tests, the Cobbles 500, PTA meetings, ice cream socials, band concerts, chorus concerts, art shows, Hemisfairs, and snow days.

To my superwomen from Cobbles, tomorrow, we move on up with them. We have the privilege to watch our ladies walk tall, smile, and move up confidently and calmly. Their teachers were a force for them, but so were we. Congratulations to my superwomen. And thanks for being super for me, too.

(Disclaimer: I’ll be in the middle section with the tissues tomorrow if you need me. I love you all.)

[ktorok]

Wonder Woman

I don’t think our mom slept for the majority of our upbringing.

If she wasn’t getting us ready for school, lining us up for the braid assembly line, feeding us, bathing us, reading to us, playing with us, or putting us to bed, she was doing laundry, dishes, or cleaning.

When she wasn’t doing those things, she was spending her weekends working at Wegmans to bring in some extra money for the family (or, let’s face it, to find some sanity after being with four little girls,  who were two years apart in age, all week long).

When she stopped doing that, she went back to school to become a nurse, when her “free” time was then taken over by studying alone, studying in groups, going to class, going to clinical, meeting classmates for coffee, and studying some more.

In between all of her schooling, she was carpool mom for swim, soccer, and dance practices; room mother for at least one of us, sometimes two; PTA president; and the mom all of our friends loved.

Once she became a nurse, she continued to get us ready for school, line us up for the braid assembly line, feed us, bathe us, read to us, play with us, put us to bed, do laundry, wash dishes,and clean. But then, in her free time, she worked all of the odd shifts nurses work – especially in hospitals.

There were countless mornings when she would just be getting home from work and it was as if she ripped her scrubs off, did a fancy spin, and was suddenly wearing a wonder woman cape; back in “mom” mode and poised to start moving us through our morning to-do’s before getting us on the bus - on time! I always wondered how quickly she crashed once the bus pulled away, but usually, I think it was just enough to make her safe to go back to work that very same night.

And her hamster wheel continued.

We were so lucky to have her home for so many of our younger years. The stay-at-home mom title—the one she coveted the most—was one of her hardest jobs. And one she never took for granted.

I have so many memories of seeing her in the halls of our elementary school. Stopping in for meetings, volunteering for a class, or setting up for event. The annual PTA-run "Santa’s Workshop" kept her busy for weeks hot gluing googly eyes and a puffy red nose on a hundreds of clothespins that she also expertly painted so our classmates could go shopping for their family Christmas gifts. She was the go-to mom, the front and center mom, the mom people could count on. Lucky us.

She spent 16 years as a nurse at St. Joseph’s Hospital doing really tough work. She has spent the last part of her career at Syracuse Orthopedic Specialists continuing to share her nursing knowledge, but also, her nursing care; the care that patients look for, hope for, and deserve. There is no doubt she made the nursing world a better place.

Today will be her last official day in her scrubs, the last day she will pack a lunch, the last day she will touch a patient's chart, and the last day she will leave the office. Her hard work has paid off, and she's ready for her next gig.

So, at some point today, please raise your glass to toast to Anne Lewis, who will retire today from her work life, and update her résumé to reflect what’s most important to her; mom, grandma, wife, friend, sister, boater, lake lover, casino-goer, reader, board gamer, and card player. Congratulations to you on a career well spent and a difference made. We’re so happy to have you back - full-time!

[ktorok]

I Blinked

My twenties were amazing.

I was 20 when I went to Australia to study abroad for the semester. I turned 21 while in Australia, which meant I’d be everyone’s friend back at St. Bonaventure until they, too, turned 21. I was one of the “older” ones.

I had an incredible college experience and education. I met friends who are now family, earned a degree that I have later learned gave me a fantastic and fruitful career, and have memories that only a Bonnie can understand.

I bought “Bonnie” when I was 23. She was a silver, 2-door, Honda Civic. She brought me many places safely and we enjoyed over 100,000 miles together. I paid her off in my twenties, too.

I had three jobs in my twenties – the third being the one that I credit for really helping me secure my passion and lay the foundation for my lifelong career.

I moved out for the first time at 24; shuffling off to Buffalo. Rent was $425 a month and included heat. I lived above a tiny Italian woman who used to leave homemade sauce in a Tupperware container on the stairs for me. I moved three more times after that place – all in Buffalo – leading me to my first house.

I fell in love with my husband at 20. He would propose seven years later, and we’d be married at 28. It was an amazing wedding and I remember every detail. Including the fact that my bouquet came wrong, but who cared?

We found our first puppy at 29. Her name would be Hershey, and her sloppy, spastic, black lab self made us a family of three. She was the best.

Our first baby was born four months before I turned 30.

And then, I blinked.

Here I am, on my 40th birthday eve, a day which forever felt like a lifetime away, and I’m not real sure where my thirties went.

I know they have been busy. I know I’ve been mom, spouse, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, colleague, and boss. But, where did they go?

They went to baby #2, and a toddler, and diaper changes, and first birthdays, and second birthdays, and first steps, and doctor appointments, and first steps, and first words, and first days of kindergarten, and first lost teeth, and sleepovers, and soccer, and dance, and gymnastics, and theater rehearsals, and theater performances, and viola lessons, and band concerts, and Disney.

They went to packing, and moving, and unpacking, and selling houses, and buying houses, and buying more cars.

They went to changing jobs, and relocating, and title changes, and work stresses, and work triumphs.

And here…we…are.

In looking back, I can also say they went to figuring things out. They went to self discovery. They went to building confidence, building friendships, building my marriage, building family traditions, and continuing to build what I know will always be my network of support.  

While it’s tough to believe that this day is upon me, I can look back with gratitude, memories, and the knowledge that I have lived my best life so far. Thankfully, I can also look ahead with gratitude, a look-ahead at more memories, and the knowledge that perhaps, the best is yet to come.  

They say life begins at 40, right?  Well then, let’s get to it.

[ktorok]

Last Day

Today, my dad will experience many “lasts.”

He’ll wake up to his last necessary alarm.

He’ll gather his deadlines, thoughts, and tasks for the day in his head for the last time.

He’ll close the door of the house and open the door of his office building for the last time.

He’ll give the Dunkin’ team on Route 57 in Liverpool his morning coffee order for the last time….on his way to work (but likely not the last time ever).

Today, after over four decades, my dad is retiring. And I could not be more ecstatic.

When we were kids – and for nearly 25 years - dad worked for USAir, most of his tenure spent as manager of reservation sales. And he worked hard. He left bright and early every morning, and made it home for dinner every night. As a wound up child, I never noticed dad’s fatigue or stress after a long day of work (even though as I grew older, I could sense what a stressful job he had). Instead, we welcomed home a happy-to-see-us dad who we all raced to share our day’s stories with once he dropped his briefcase by the door. Often times, my sisters and I spent the days (or after-school hours) practicing our own renditions of music videos for Paula Abdul and Bangles classics counting down the minutes until dad got home so we could strong arm him into videotaping us with his enormous camcorder, the kind that weighed at least 15 pounds on your shoulder and had a huge microphone sticking out of the front (it was the 80s).

Airline employees and their immediate family members could fly free (maybe they still do), but had to fly standby (worth it for a family of six). The year the Holocaust Museum opened in Washington, DC, I had just learned about the Holocaust in school and really wanted to go see it. My dad flew me to DC for a day trip to check it out – a moving and emotional experience for a kid that has stuck with me very vividly as an adult. Though a somber experience, it was one of the coolest days of my life that I will forever cherish.

After finally convincing my parents that I could/should fly alone in tenth grade to visit a friend in New York City, and then sustaining an injury within hours of landing (a story for another blog), dad was the one who hopped on a plane to come pick me up.

We thought dad would retire from USAir. But then, 9/11 happened. After confirming that he was not in the air that morning (he often flew to Pittsburgh for meetings), I breathed the deepest sigh of relief of my lifetime. I remember talking to him that morning – he was very short on the phone, simply saying, “I’m okay. We’re busy trying to find out what happened. I’ll see you tonight.” Then, he hung up. His voice was calm but he was on edge, I could sense it. While we were so fortunate that he was not in the air that morning, we knew the ending to the story of his career was about to be rewritten.

After he and nearly 500 of his employees were laid off, dad took some time to figure things out. We were actually both in a job search at the same time. Soon, he found his next home with Main Street America Group, where he has been since 2002. He transitioned seamlessly from one long career into another one, and didn’t show any of us how hard it must have been.

He is that kind of dad. The poor man raised four daughters, which alone qualifies him for canonization. And he stopped at nothing to make sure we were all good kids who experienced a variety of things with a variety of people. All four years of college, I received a weekly letter from him – handwritten (email was still in its infancy) – and the return address simply read, “The Dad.” I still have them all.

He is an honest man. A great leader. Someone people look up to.

He is a fantastic public speaker, very thoughtful with his sentiments and timely with his jokes. He is often called upon to speak at retirement dinners, or roasts, of colleagues – a sign of his way with words.

He taught us many lessons, but the one that really shines to me has always been his work ethic.

Throughout his entire work life, I never once heard him complain about going to work (mom may beg to differ with me on that one). I think he could count on both hands alone how many times he called in sick over the past 40 plus years. He always went the extra mile (airline pun intended), both with his workload and with his hours in the office. He was the kind of boss who rolled up his sleeves, and never asked his employees to do a job that he himself wouldn’t do. While at USAir, one of his perks was a parking spot close to the front of his building. He used to park in the very last spot at the far corner of the lot, in turn making himself accessible and real to those who reported to him.

None of these things are going to be surprising to those who know him, but they are things that make me proud to publicize about him.

I don’t know anyone more deserving of down time. I hope he puts his feet up with a good book, a few more cups of Dunkin’ a day, and never looks at the clock. I hope deadline to him will now mean “when does the boat need to be out of storage” and “when is the final sign-up for my next open mic night.” Reports? Let them be notebooks full of his song lyrics and poems. And performance appraisals can now become how he rates the plumbers and electricians that he may need to call out to camp on Cross Lake.

To you dad, thank you for working so hard for so long to give us our amazing childhood home, our valued education, and our life experiences. If I can be a leader like you one day, I will know I’ve made it.

Enjoy your last day on the job, make sure you take a lunch hour, and smile into your next adventure. You’ve earned it.

[ktorok]

Daycare Daze

This is it.  I can hardly believe the moment is here.  For the last nine years, we’ve written a weekly check to daycare.  This week, we’re writing the last one.

We’ve interacted with dozens of teachers called Miss (insert name here), at four different daycares, in two towns. 

Gone will be the days of bringing home plastic bags full of the morning’s clothes.  No more stacks of artwork, some of which consisted of a single sheet of paper with a single marker doodle on it.  Water days will be a thing of the past.  No more multiple drop-offs and pick-ups.

They say time flies when you’re having fun.  And our girls sure had fun.

Since they were three months old, they’ve been on the go every morning.  This mommy loved her career and knew she needed a balance and wasn’t quite cut out to be a full-time mommy at home.  We’ve been blessed along the way to find loving and fun caretakers, inside two of the centers that happened to also be at my work (score!), who have been just as much a part of our family as our actual family.

They learned.  They socialized.  They were challenged.  They carved a little place for their little selves in this big world.  And they built confidence.  Thanks, in part, to all the Misses.

While our bank accounts are doing a happy dance, our hearts are torn.  How can it be that this part of our lives is ending?

All of the Misses we were so lucky to have as our girls’ caretakers have each made an individual impact on them.  Miss Tatiana was the first to spoil Grace like crazy.  Miss Linda was our first hello in the morning.  Miss Becky became Grace’s favorite.  Miss Shannon was the best cuddler to Paige.  And Miss Liz saved us for two summers in a row, becoming the coolest lady on the planet to them both.  Little do they all know, they impacted me, too.

There were many mornings when I’d fly in clearly disheveled and traumatized from whatever took place in the hour before our arrival.  My eyes would be on auto-tear-fill when they’d cling to my legs screaming their tiny lungs out, begging me in their own way to stay with them for the day.  The guilt was – and continues to be – real.

Those were the mornings when Miss Shannon would text me a photo of Paige playing and smiling, as if the tears never happened.  Those were the mornings when Miss Becky would send me a quick update on what Grace was doing.  They were the days when I’d get an extra-long note from Miss Liz explaining how the day went, what they did, and basically, all that I missed.

For those days, and all of the days in between, no amount of money could be enough to thank them for loving our girls as if they were their own.  When we had no family near, they became family.  Even though leaving them in someone else’s care each and every day was hard, we never worried when they were with the Misses.  As I always say, you get what you pay for, and in this case, we got the Taj Mahal of caring Misses and helpful angels.

To kindergarten we go!!!!

[ktorok]

Carpe Diem

A lot has happened over the last 25 years.

I turned into a teenager, and experienced high school and all that comes with it. Proms, boyfriends, friends, parties I shouldn’t have attended, parties I shouldn’t have thrown, getting my license, getting a job, and so much more.

College came and went like a blur. I studied, I partied, I made mistakes, I suffered a broken heart, I experienced a healed heart, I traveled, I went skydiving, and I graduated.

My early 20’s were amazing. I moved out on my own, started my career, created a life in a new town, found success, landed a true love, got engaged, got married, got a dog, bought a house, and had my first daughter.

This 30’s thing isn’t so bad either. I found a new job, moved to a new town with my little family in tow, bought another house, had another daughter, got a promotion, joined the PTA, became room mom, and have made so many wonderful memories with my little family that I cherish.

The world outside of my little world has seen a lot over the last 25 years, too.

The SMART Board was invented, we have entered into wars, New York City found itself under attack, Google became a reality. Facebook was born. We experienced the housing bubble. Texting became the preferred way of communicating. We had our first African American president, and have since had our first female presidential candidate. Snowden became a household name. Climate change became something we talked about. Common Core became something many families fought about during homework time.  The list goes on.

But on this day, 25 years ago, the world lost one of the best; my big sister, Laura. 

Stupid cancer.

She has been the one thing missing for all of these milestones, and with each passing day, I wish I could talk with her, ask her opinion, laugh with her, cry with her, just be with her. She would have been the best maid of honor. I would have loved to have seen her with my daughters. I could have used her advice over the last two decades. I miss her.

She lived a short 15 years, but left a lifetime of lessons.

So, on this day, 25 years later, I will share her life mantra with anyone who reads this: Carpe Diem. Seize this day, and the next. Just as Laura did.

[ktorok]

The Back to School Blues

Gallon size baggies, check. Two composition notebooks, wide-ruled, check.  A total of 36 sharpened pencils, check. Five plastic folders in different colors, check.  One 1” binder, check.  Three highlighters, check.  Three glue sticks, check.  Our summer back, fail.

How is it back to school time, already?

I’m not ready for the rat race that is the morning with two girls who go to two schools via two different modes of transportation.  I’m not ready to fight over brushing teeth and crusts or no crusts.  And frankly, I’m all out of bribes when it comes to convincing them to just…get…dressed.

I want summer for eternity. Please?

I know we’re not the only ones who are out of our routines, loving every late second of lounging in jammies and having breakfast even later.  I know I’m not alone when I say I’d pack and unpack for hours on end if we could only have that week at camp again.  We’re all out there, and tonight, we will be forcing early dinners, bath times, and packing lunches.  Sigh.

I feel like one of the lucky ones, actually.  My kids had an awesome summer with a wonderful babysitter who fell in our laps.  Miss Meghan took them to the parks, fed the ducks on the canal, made bucket lists, played in their fairy garden, swam, held dance parties, and took them for ice cream.  The days were long for me at work, but I knew they were loving every long second of every day with Miss Meghan.  They could be kids – no rushing from place to place, nowhere to be, and the only care in the world until noon was whether they wanted syrup with their pancakes or not.  That is what summer should be, and luckily, that’s what summer was.

To all the parents who run on the hamster wheel – remember: we must work to live, not live to work.  Swim lessons, theatre rehearsals, gymnastics, tennis lessons, and viola will make good memories for them, but won’t make or break them.  They are little, and they want us.  And after a long day of them dealing with kid stuff, and a long day of us adulting, we would do each other a big favor to just be a family.  Put our phones away, have a meal together, talk about our days, and love on each other.  That’s my goal as we start another hectic year of school and routines.  Because before we know it (only 10 more years!), they will be in college, adulting themselves, and we’ll be longing for these good ol’ crazy days.

Here’s to all of us this first week of school. Stay strong, stay sane, and keep the mac and cheese stocked.

[ktorok]

Bonas, Old St. Bonas

There is a magical place south of where I live, cozily tucked away in beautiful mountains with contagious energy lurking around every corner.  The buildings all look the same, clearly crafted with care.  The people who live there are amazing, thoughtful, smart, fun, witty, and holy, and they keep going back year after year...even after 15 years. This place is called St. Bonaventure University, and unless you've been immersed in the Bona experience, it's not so easy to understand.

Having just returned from my 15 year reunion, I was struck once again at the beauty of the place where I was lucky enough to pursue an education and solidify lifelong friendships.

While the physical campus has changed so much since we walked across the stage in the Reilly Center, the Bonas we know and love has not changed. And as I observed the dozens of us who returned to rekindle our Bona sparks, I couldn't help but think of all the changes we have experienced as individuals; yet how we, too, have stayed the same in so many ways. How lucky were we, Class of 2001, to find Bonas and find each other?

Some of us are teachers, journalists, salespeople, doctors, accountants, and marketers. Others are entrepreneurs, nurses, engineers, technology gurus, physical therapists, bankers, and lawyers.  Everyone has met success in one way or another.

Many of us are spouses and parents. We've attended each other's weddings, posing for the obligatory Bonas group photo, often with a piece of Bonas paraphernalia taking center stage. And thanks to social media, we get to keep up with each other's beautiful little beings - ranging in age from newborns to just about the teenage years.

We've loved and lost in these last 15 years, too. And we've been there for each other during those times as well. No need to call or ask, we just appear. It's what we do. This weekend, we picked up where we left off some 15 years ago.  And it was epic. I felt as if we never left the Skeller. Ever. The townhouses still felt like home. The library had the same musty and familiar smells. The School of Journalism/Mass Communication, where I spent so much of my time, felt vibrant and full of smarts even when completely empty. Our ability to conquer lawn games in the blazing sun remained impressive. Our ability to conquer hundreds of beers as a group in less than 12 hours remained strong. The Burton burger still tastes like hangover heaven. Our dance moves for hours made me believe we really are still 22. The Bona bus rides were as entertaining as I remember them. And, then, there was Bruce. Perhaps most important of all, to me, were the conversations that I had and those that I heard while we all relaxed and reminisced.  These familiar voices and friendly faces who helped me become the person I am today were all around me for two days, and some of my most favorite moments were when I caught myself smiling while looking at all of you and feeling my heart burst with Bona pride. Ya done good, kids. A lot changes in one year, and much can change in 15 years.  But one thing that will always keep me grounded and feeling safe is that none of you have or will. Once a Bonnie, always a Bonnie. Much love, Class of 2001. See you in five.