It's A Marshmallow World

Aaaaah, December. How I love thee. And not because I skate like Dorothy Hamill (does that reference date me?) or navigate a slope like...ah, who's that kid?...oh yeah, Shaun White. If I put on a pair of blades I'd be down in a nanosecond. And snowboarding? I figure if the Good Lord wanted me to race down a mountain at any sort of speed, he'd have made my feet wider and flatter. No, I love you because I'm lazy.

I'm ready to hibernate, and I'm waiting for the first snowy day to turn my world into that "marshmallow" snow globe that Sir Deano sings about on my favorite holiday album. Yes, I want to wake up to see soft flakes falling on a Saturday morning. I don't have to haul my, ah, backside anywhere early on a Saturday, so I can flop around in my slippers just that much longer.



I want to bring out any candle that goes by the name of "Holiday Cookie," "Evergreen," or "Apple Wreath," touch it lightly with a small flame, and let its scent fill up the hallways of my home.

If I venture outside, it will be in my big fuzzy boots and my warm winter jacket. My car will point in the direction of the nearest Dunkaccino, which I will pick up, pop in my cup-holder, and drive directly home lest it get cold. "Holly Jolly Christmas" and "Do You Hear What I Hear?" will play in the background throughout the afternoon while I wrap all my presents with real ribbon.

I will string sparkly silver ornaments along my mantle and roll pine cones (thank you, Kristin) in white glitter to bring all the wonder inside. Some warm, hearty stew will be simmering in the crockpot because on this perfect day, I have thought of everything.

That first snowy night, I will curl up on the sofa with a hot cup of coffee (oh, don't doubt it: I've built up such a caffeine tolerance that I can pretty much have a cup just before 8 and still be out by 9:30) and "The Shop Around the Corner," my favorite classic Christmas flick, on the tele.

Where's The Boy through all of this, you ask? Well, of course, he's out with The Husband picking out the absolute perfect, most meaningful Christmas gift for Mom. Well, let's just leave it at "they're out."

So c'mon, snow. Let's go. I'm ready for you.

That's My Joy

Have you ever noticed that life throws you curve balls whenever you announce (either to yourself or out loud) that you think you've got it all figured out? For me, it happens every time. The end of September brought some unanticipated excitement to the Colasante household, followed by a touch of unforeseen disappointment. And though in a few years, when I look back on this time, it will amount to the smallest little blip on the radar of my life, it shook my world just a bit.

I'm in a good place. Have everything I want: a wonderful husband, a precious child, a beautiful home. My health. You know, all the right stuff. And I thought that once and for all, those questions that seemed to eat at me over the years (everyone has theirs: the "what if's?", the "why not's?", the little regrets that take some time to reconcile) had been answered and laid to rest. And that's where I was wrong. A brief turn of events and I was right back at the same point and on the same shaky ground I've found myself time and time again. And when I'm on shaky ground, I stumble. Big time.

It made me wonder what it was that I wasn't learning? Why was it that THIS lesson was revisiting me over and over? Why did my life seem marked by such things (note the twinge of self-pity there...my life isn't marked by such things but when I'm down I can be very dramatic)? And then, for the first time in years, clarity came. I realized that there was no lesson to be learned from the event itself. What happened is just a part of life. The lesson is in how I react to it. When something sad or tragic happens, it has the power to consume. Heck, when any disappointment shows up on your doorstep, even if it's a molehill it can seem like a mountain if you let it. When it's truly the mountain, it can be devastating. My epiphany was that it doesn't need to take over my life and it doesn't need to define me.

What should define and consume me are the joys that happen every day; you know, the ones we usually pay little or no attention to. It's the smell of my morning coffee. It's the joke my 4-year-old tells that makes me smile (even though it's more crazy than funny). It's David Bowie's "Blue Jeans" coming on the radio and catching it from the very beginning. It's the modern-day McGarrett on this season's "Hawaii Five-O." It's a weed prevention system actually working. It's bright orange and red leaves set against a seriously blue sky. It's my husband sitting with me night after night enduring what he considers my less-than-admirable taste in prime time programming just to be with me. It's my friends making sure my son is where he needs to be (because at the time, I couldn't) and fixing me dinner to remind me that even in my darker hours, I'm not alone. It's being surrounded by good people. It's having faith that no matter where I am in life, I am where I need to be, no matter how bumpy the road behind me has been.

So I'm going to stop swimming against the tide. I'm going to stop trying to dissect the low points, the heartaches, or the tragedies of my past to uncover some sort of mystical truth of life. From here on in, I'm going to focus more on the beauty I see on a regular basis. The stuff that fills my heart, even if it's just the smell of my clean laundry or the sight of my favorite mag in today's mail. That's my joy, and I'm going to stop taking it for granted. 

The Start of A Good Thing

Here it is. My first post. I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while now, partially because my son, Matthew, comes up with such good material (which I always seem to share anyway), and partly because I thought it might serve as great therapy for me, a mom who has all her eggs—literally—in one sweet, big-green-eyed, cooky, blessed little basket.

One and done. I never thought that would be me. When I was younger, I pictured myself with at least three little nuggets running around my feet. Happily, of course. They were well-behaved, developmentally right-on-target, spick-and-span clean, and ate every healthy thing I put before them. Life, however, had another storyline in place. Pregnancy didn’t come easy. When my husband and I found out after six years of trying that “the test” was positive, we were thrilled. Over-the-moon, really. When we discovered that it was with twins, life took on a whole new dimension. We named the girls as soon as we felt them kick—Madelaine Rose and Charlotte Evelyn—and we fell in love. Sadly, Maddie and Charlie couldn’t hold out for an entire nine months, and were born on March 23, 2004—four months too soon. They did not survive. I won’t go into how devastating a blow that was on so many levels.

Matthew came into my life a little more than two years later, and is both my joy and the cause of every grey hair making its way toward the surface. He is the answer to a prayer. He is a funny, smart, crazy handful, and I adore him. In my heart, he’s one of three, but to the world, he’s my one and only. Whether I’m at the playground, the library, the supermarket (it doesn’t matter), if someone catches wind of a Matt comment, if they’re privy to one of his long-winded-yet-charming anecdotes, or they’re just making conversation, the question always comes up: “Any other children?” I’m starting this blog because of the conflicted feeling that arises every time I’m forced to answer that question. It’s not all I’m going to talk about, of course. Motherhood is so multi-faceted, it can't be reduced to the ONE core thing that drives you mad. But I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a place to air all this out without the cost of psychotherapy?” Wouldn't it be nice for all moms to have "that place"?

So now you know how it all begins. I’m hoping “That’s My Boy” will grow into a community of moms who are sometimes starry-eyed over their offspring and sometimes want to pull their hair out at the end of a trying day, or gals who like funny kid stories, or women who have—whether by choice or by fate—come to realize that the little tyke now in their midst IS their one-and-only, and not feel like they have to apologize for that. Basically I want you all to join me on this crazy, heart-wrenching, wonderful ride called mommy-hood through my stories, my thoughts, and my musings on Matt. Yup. That’s my boy.