Speak No Evil

He raised his hand in class, something he’s not likely to do.  He hates being the center of attention. It makes him nervous.  He might tic. That makes him feel embarrassed. Which makes him more nervous.  Which makes him tic more.  Viscous cycle.  Best to keep his hand down.  He raised it this time. She called on him.  He began to answer the question. He started answering it wrong.  She cut him off to tell him that.  He got annoyed.

“If you’re going tell me that I’m wrong, can you at least let me finish my sentence first?” He said.

“Well, that was disrespectful,” she replied.  He shut up.  She moved on for a moment…called on him later when his hand wasn’t raised to ask him a question that she knew he wouldn’t know the answer to, then paused for a long time, putting him on the spot…  his friend saved him, blurting out the answer.

Hear No Evil. See No Evil. Speak No Evil.  The three wise monkeys.  There is a statue in Japan that depicts three monkeys holding their hands over their ears, eyes and mouth, which has become an iconic piece of artwork, as it became symbol in Buddhist teachings. It seems to have two interpretations when doing a bit of research online…proof that interpretation is a funny thing, as some things we are sure of, we are also wrong about. But with either interpretation, there’s a lesson, and I think that’s the important part at the moment. See No Evil. Hear No Evil. Speak No Evil. Many feel this means to turn a blind eye to wrong doing. Don’t participate in the act, or the gossip. Simply stay out of it, let others say and do what they want – don’t speak up, put your ear buds in, walkaway. Mind your own business.

 However, the original Buddhist teaching was…if you simply don’t surround yourself with evil doing, you, yourself will be spared suffering in this life.  So, approach things with kindness.  Be generous with your thoughts and words, don’t go seeking out trouble and you will face less trouble.  – There’s definitely some overlap. 

But it leaves a space where you’re not seeking trouble, but confrontation finds you anyways.  Where you can choose to be a doormat or stand up for yourself, and there’s isn’t much in-between. That place  where you need to find the line and method between self-assertion and being a jerk.  Conflict-avoidance isn’t always the answer, and rarely leads to a resolution. 

I’m not known for keeping my mouth shut. I’m not an overly confrontational person, but I typically have a few quick words and rarely are they filtered. Some of them have 4 letters. But when I use those, they are less likely to be during anger and more likely to be in standard conversation. Keeps things colorful. My mother loves it. I will say that I tend to be quick to anger – comes with the territory of a mood-disorder and well, just being me. Its certainly not my best quality.  However, having a quick wit when angry is a benefit in arguments, as most people shut down when angry, and I definitely don’t. Because of this, learning to be a lot more careful than most has been a requirement, and learning when to stop and when to control my tongue is something that I had to do the hard way. I’m glad Sawyer knew to stop in his ‘back n’ forth’ with his teacher.  If I had been sitting in his seat that day, I wouldn’t have. 

I asked a lot of people their opinions on that interaction, and I got several different viewpoints.  The boomer generation –  all appalled he’d “talk back” to his teacher in the first place.  The millennial generation was proud of him for calling his teacher out on interrupting as that’s something they (children) are constantly told not to do to. They thought it was great that he had the courage to set a boundary with her, because that will serve him well as a skill in the future, even if it was a fruitless gesture in the moment. They did not see his request as disrespectful at all.   I tend to agree with the latter.  Everyone agreed that it was good he chose not to retort after, and everyone agreed that her calling on him later was her simply being petty.  She was clearly having a bad day.  Gen X had mixed reviews. Typical.

As a child, I never would have had the courage to stand up to anyone, let alone anyone in authority.  Even today, I need to have an established relationship with someone where I know how they will respond so I can prepare my approach.  I was raised by parents of the boomer generation and taught to respect elders at all costs.  I was taught to be non-confrontational.  I was taught to follow direction.  I was also taught to be independent and stand on my own two feet and handle my own thoughts and feelings and do my best to not make them everyone else’s problems.  Those are the daily goals.  Sometimes those goals are highly contradictory.

 I didn’t ask ‘why’ as a kid. Sawyer does.  To annoyance.  To the point that it often feels disrespectful. To the point that the phrase “because I said so” comes out of my mouth, and I cringe, every time.  It feels like he’s questioning me and my decision-making abilities vs the action itself, and that likely speaks a whole lot more to my confidence level as a decision maker than it does to whether or not he’s being disrespectful in the moment.  He quite possibly, and most likely, is literally just asking ‘why’ to get a better understanding of the reasoning behind the action, because that’s how people learn things, not because he doesn’t trust my judgement.  So why am I so quick so assume otherwise?

I knew parenting wouldn’t be easy, and honestly, I think the nine-million resources at our fingertips now almost makes it harder, as everything is contradictory, and to parent perfectly is completely impossible, but the internet will make you feel like the worst person on the planet for not being able to do it all. His left brain and my right brain don’t think alike most of the time, and he doesn’t understand why I do things the way I do, and I don’t understand why he cares so much why I do things the way I do them…but he does. He cares a LOT. 

He’s a logical deep feeler who’s been through a lot of ‘adult’ grief, and when you go through grief and trauma you develop a different sense of self.  There’s a sense of confidence gained through that because you attach yourself to mortality in ways others may not have… just yet.  In other words, there’s an aura of ‘fuck it’ that surrounds you.   Before turning 11, he went to 4 funerals. All were inside the same 12 months.  All while his dad was still fighting for his life.  They don’t make a parenting book that tells you the exact right thing to say to a deep feeling, logical child, with his own physical and mental health issues, that’s seeing just how fragile life is for the first time, in quantity, and in detail. His dad is much better now, so he is doing much better now, most days.  It’s amazing how quick we all are to simply pick up and carry on, even children.  But please don’t mistake that for resiliency. Its coping, Its survival. It’s slowly healing and finding a new sense of self.  A new way of viewing life with a keener eye, more sensitive ear and a sharper tongue. 

Sawyer,

As your waded through the thick of it all, you found your voice.  My wish for you this year, is you learn to harness it.

As I got older, and I learned who I was in my own skin, as I spoke to professionals over the years, as I spoke to friends, mentors, myself, I found my voice.  It took time. I was never a quiet person, but I’m not the same person I was 30 years ago.  At 10, I never would have “talked back” or “set a boundary” with a teacher, especially in front of the entire class the way you did.  I would have rather died on the spot than speak up like that.  And even today, I’m unlikely to say it directly, and more likely to phrase it in some sort of a witty commentary and hope they read between the lines.  What you did takes a confidence I don’t think I’ve ever had.  It takes a level of knowing you deserve to be treated in a certain way and you won’t settle for less, no matter the circumstances or repercussions, that I have never once granted myself.  And while I know that there may have been better ways for you to handle that moment, I will confidently stand behind the fact that you were not the disrespectful one in that exchange, just because you were the younger of the two. 

Authority is a funny thing.  We need to respect it, as it’s a position we need to assume was earned.  And I will always stand behind that.  But it also must not be abused. And while everyone has a bad day, and I’m not putting this teacher on trial for one comment on a bad day, as I couldn’t do her job without a million bad comments on every day, I guess it’s just comforting to know that my kid might just stand up for himself if the time ever comes and someone that does truly abuse a position of authority or is truly disrespectful.  We want better for our kids, and that gives me just a little bit of hope that after everything we’ve been through, maybe you’ll get it. 

Learn to speak your truth, set the boundary, respectfully say what needs to be said, but say it in a way that garners respect back.  Quick wit will help soften the blow when something needs to be discussed that may sting but be careful and cognizant of when and how you use it. Humor isn’t funny if you’re the only one laughing. 

Use your words for good.  Being the smartest in the room is often best shown by speaking your peace once and then being quiet and letting the others sort it out to come back to the conclusion you gave to begin with.  For arguing with idiots if fruitless.  They will “…drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience.” (-Mark Twain).

Lastly, use your voice for positivity.  Being right is important only until it hurts someone.  Saying something nice for no reason can sometimes change their entire day, and people are more motivated by encouragement and positive feedback than by money or reward.   In the end, the more you use words that show respect and kindness, the more you will demonstrate respect and kindness, and the more you will feel at peace, for you will receive respect and kindness in return. 

When in doubt, behave like a monkey.  Hear No Evil.  See No Evil. Speak No Evil.

Happy (Belated) 11th Birthday, Peanut. 

Love, Mom

His name is Murphy, and he’s a little bitch.

“The chance of the bread falling with the buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.” – Murphy’s Law

I’m late. Sawyer’s birthday was yesterday. I had promised myself that I would always get their birthday blogs posted on, or before their birthday, and for 9 years, I made that happen. Seems like a silly rule, especially because they won’t read these for almost another decade, but I know my kid. He will notice, he will say something. I WILL get called out, someday. But today, I’m practicing a little grace for myself. I tried to stay up the last few nights to write this, but exhaustion got the better of me, and I decided quality was better than timing. So, I’m late, and that’s just… life. Murphey and his law have set up camp and seem to have pre-paid for an extended stay. So, as we wait out his stint of pure chaos and stand by as he sets off random bombs at random times, we live on alert, with back up plans to our back up plans and take life day by day. We’ve learned to forgive tantrums, from the children and adults, as well realize that what gets done, gets done, and if that means rooms are messy, dishes are left, lessons and deadlines get missed, it is what it is. Only the most important things get handled, and what’s considered important today is very different to what was considered important 12 months ago.

The other night, the house was finally quiet. I was alone in my room around 11pm and the day had been a blur. Honestly, the last 2 months have been a blur. I’ve barely stopped moving, thinking, planning, doing in almost 18 months now, but the last 2 have been particularly stressful. I sat down, I closed my eyes and I exhaled and realized that I couldn’t. My chest was tight, it hurt to breath, exhaling fully wasn’t an option. Neither was inhaling. My vision narrowed and things got a bit hazy as I felt my heart rate escalate and I start to shake just a little from the inside out. I was starting to have a panic attack. The day was over, I was alone in a quiet room and the panic set in because I’m not supposed to fully exhale. ever. I’m no stranger to panic attacks, they don’t send me spiraling or create some onset of concern. They just are. They are a physical response to stress, fear, exhaustion, or excess adrenaline. Once they are over, I feel like I ran a marathon, and I’m tired. Sometimes for days. My chest feels the discomfort that you get when you inhale on a cold day, and the icy air fills your lungs, and you can feel that strain. That feeling will sit with me. It travels through to my back and I can breath, but it will stay there to remind me not to fully exhale. It’s my body telling me that it doesn’t know what to do if I stop holding my breath, if you relax completely, Murphy could leave his rented room, and decide to take a hammer to the pipes, or set the curtains on fire, and you could get caught off guard, because you’re too busy breathing. Stand at attention, be alert, be ready for action. Like a wild dog half sleeping outside it’s den, one eye slightly open, always ready. Just in case.

When I was younger, I would have these attacks while in the moment of the stressful event. During the test, while running late for your first day at a new job, in the middle of an argument with someone. They would come on as the adrenaline in my brain would spike. These days, its less common to have them in the moment of crisis. They tend to happen after, when I take a moment to be OK, which is better. It gives me the ability to handle them. Allows me to not make a crisis moment worse than it already is. Maybe it shifted with maturity, maybe I just learned to use the heightened chemicals to power through instead of panic, but that excess hormone needs to be used up eventually. It needs somewhere to go. I’m not clear on the science behind it all, but what I do know is that they are easier today than they were at 20. They don’t suck less, they are just easier. I don’t panic because of the panic. I consider that a win.

I suppose that’s a sign of adaptability, in it’s own way. Fact is, my brain over produces certain chemicals and daily medications sometimes just aren’t enough, and coping mechanisms sometimes are needed, or Xanex. Coping is healthier. Adapting is something humans do. Not because we want to, we most certainly don’t want to. But, we do evolve, sometimes individually within our lifetime based on experiences, and sometimes over generations, but it does happen to all living things at some point. It’s inevitable. I think the key is to accept that fact and try to practice some sembelance of grace with ourselves and others and their current abilities, because adaption will happen and it’s not always at the pace we want or need it to be. “This too shall pass” always seemed like a futile statment to me. It seemed like something people said when they didn’t know what to say, or were dismissing your crisis, as a crisis. But, maybe it’s more of a statement to wait for abilitiy to handle it, for the moment to panic and process, for lull between storms to regroup, for something to alter your perspective and alter whats considered a crisis. It’s a statement telling you to wait for the next the time that Murphey drops the buttered bread, but instead of being upset that its buttered-side down, assume it will be, have a reliable carpet cleaner on hand, and be happy it wasn’t peanut butter.

Sawyer,

This year, you looked at me and told me you hated life as virtual school dragged on, you went on medication for ADHD and had to handle side effects and moods swings and bordeom you didn’t know was possible. You watched me have panic attacks, and saw your dad get sick, and had to realized your parents are humans way earlier than most children do, and you froze when you saw your dad tear up in fear and frustration for the first time in your life, never knowing he had the ability to cry or that dad’s were even capable of being scared. You fought tears for no reason and struggled with understanding why there were feelings when the day had presented no real reason for them in that moment, and you had to accept changing plans and routines and responsibility you had never had before. You learned to wait, and you felt feelings of resentment and anger, and you learned to power through. The other day you made a statement that was both heartbreaking, but also pride-inducing, as our plans were cancelled once again, and as I braced myself for a melt-down from you, you simply said ” it’s ok… I figured that would happen. We’ve had nothing but bad luck for like 2 years.” It broke my heart that in the thick of your childhood, you have to do anything but just enjoy being a kid, but I was also proud of your for being able to accept the situation immediately, and although you had feelings, and you didnt ignore your disappointment, you were able to control it and find a way to understand the reasoning behind it and think about the other people involved and how much we are all doing to simply get through each day. In that moment, I simply said that ‘bad luck doesn’t last forever, this too shall pass.’ And although, I can’t predict the future, and I can’t tell you when or how, I do know that simply your ability to slowly tackle what’s infront of you and power through will make each of Murphy’s tricks less tricky as time moves along.

As you turn 9, my wish for you is that this next year is easier, not just by our luck changing, but by you finding your own coping mechanisms, whether they are 11pm panic attacks, or diving into a ‘Dog Man’ comic book to find a reason to laugh when life gives you nothing to smile about. It’s for finding a way to realize that sometimes Murphy shows up and he can be a complete asshole, but that accepting him as a part of life allows us to be better prepared in the wake of his destruction. This too shall pass, and when it does, don’t forget to take a few minutes to reflect, learn and know that it’s OK to not be OK for just a little while. Crying is a human response, regardless of your age or gender, and you don’t ever need a reason in the moment to be upset. Sometimes, you’re processing something that’s already over. Keep your world filled with things that make you laugh, and go to sleep reading or remincing on those things or moments, because that’s what will allow a bit of happy that will ultimately provide clarity to better handle Murphy and his bullshit tomorrow.

Your growth and maturity this year, especially the last few months, as been noticeable and impressive and I’m so proud with how much better you handled this year than you would have only a year ago. As you find your voice, sarcasm, coping mechanisms and happy moments, remember you’re never alone, we will always be here to help you clean up Murphy’s mess.

Happy 9th Birthday kiddo, you’re one of a kind and so much stronger than you know.

Love you to the moon and back,

Mom

“When you’re going through hell, keep going” – Winston Churchill

Impossible Blueprints

“We’ve got to believe in our beautiful, impossible blueprints” – Doris Lessing

Some days, I get up with ideas. Big ideas. Limit-pushing, idealistic, unachievable ideas. Skyscrapers with glass facades that gleam in the sunlight, intended to raise standards and reveal resolutions hidden in the shadows. They develop in my head like a drawing. Always in images of the final product, perfectly overdone, complete with quoined corners and marble laden steps, monuments in my mind. I will sit with these ideas for days. Sourcing materials, researching construction, eventually realizing the breakdown isn’t reasonable. Time, energy, payoff – just aren’t there. A grand idea isn’t always a good one. The letdown sets in. The disappointment that my newest skyline addition can’t be what I imagined it to be. The realization that I fell short on ability, execution or sound mind. Frustration, self-doubt, and then acceptance. Only after acceptance can I take the monument down to a building – realign the goals. Maybe a well-built 4 story office building with a box bay window will suffice. A solid foundation on a budget. I’m short on time, maybe just a flip that needs fresh paint and landscaping. Practical.

Eventually, I get around to practical. I hate it. It feels cheap and unloved. It feels half-assed and half-hearted. It’s just enough to get the job done. Most people seem to be ok with ‘good enough’. I’m not. I know what the intent of the skyline was supposed to be. I know the possibility was out there. I just couldn’t create a proper blueprint. No one realizes I sold-out, fell-short and gave up on an opportunity to create or be something truly great. No one realizes these windows only reflect the light on the southwestern exposure from noon-two. Solutions will emerge slowly from this catalog selection, the shadows are plentiful. I move on. There will be other designs, other buildings, and different problems to solve.

It still takes me a while to get to the acceptance stage. I feel like I’m lowering my standards when I do. But it took me years to ever get to the “move on” stage. I might calm down enough to refocus, but that building would be in the back of my mind, it would be filed into “someday” in my head, and I’d never really stop working on it. I’d never really let myself off the hook for not pulling it off. I’d also never really get around to making it happen. The design would become irrelevant by the time I had it figured out.

I see this in Sawyer. I see the big thoughts, the constant inventing – the constant designing in his head. The buildings get mentally erected and his eyes light up. He knows exactly how they should look and what their purpose is to be. The disappointment and frustration come in huge waves when his creation isn’t possible. He has self-doubt when we have to tell him that his big idea isn’t practical, and we try to help him scale-down. He knows how it was supposed to be. He knows the outcome is half-hearted. His wheels turn, he finds materials and researches construction. The difference between us is his ability to deconstruct.

I woke up one Saturday and came downstairs to find him cutting the flaps off of a cardboard box. Markers, tape, and boxes scattered all over, his little hands holding large scissors.

“STOP! What on earth are you doing?!”

“What? I’m just making a candy machine”, he replied as if this is standard Saturday morning practice. He continued to cut.

To his extreme objection, I took the scissors away and I told him he would have to wait for his dad to build that, and that he should take this time to draw out what he wanted it to look like, and how it would work. He did. He wanted slots for multiple candy types, and labels and the ability to start and stop at the desired volume of candy distribution. BIG ideas. His dad got home later that day, I left to run errands and they spent an entire afternoon building a candy machine to his specs. I’m sure dad did more of it than Sawyer did, but it was not without Sawyers design and imagination. He woke up with an idea. A monumental idea. He wasn’t going to let it become an unachievable idea. He worked it backward, he discussed the options, he sourced the experience needed to help with the construction and he didn’t give up. There was not going to be a letdown. He took the skyscraper in his mind and instead of being overwhelmed by the scale and complexity, he took it in parts, in pieces and developed it. This wasn’t the last of his cardboard creations this year. He prefers cardboard to build with over Legos or blocks. I asked him ‘why’ the other day, as I was attempting to stunt his creativity in exchange for a clean house, and he said: “I can’t invent the same with toys that already exist.”

I completely understand this sentiment. I don’t want to do the same things everyone else is doing either. Never have. There’s no artistry in it, no personality, no sense of accomplishment. Self-pride is the motivation. It’s what keeps people like us going. It’s what makes the effort worth it. Without it, there’s a lackluster feeling where life starts to feel mundane and repetitive. Boredom quickly comes. Routine can often be the enemy. If you’re not taking something on because it infringes on your routine, then nothing great can ever happen. There’s a self-inflicted sense of obligation to make sure that is never the case. It comes with a side of stress.

Stress from constant thinking, stress from the analytical nature of solving the problem, stress from overextension and personal expectations. Being overwhelmed becomes such a way of life that on the days you aren’t, you don’t know what to do with yourself. There’s a discomfort in the quiet moment. I’d rather be anything than be bored.

Sawyer got bored this year in kindergarten. He had three years of pre-school before actual pre-school, which made actual kindergarten pretty uneventful. So, he joined the chess club. I couldn’t have been more proud of him that day. He wasn’t intimidated that he was so much younger than the other kids and he learned enough that he was able to teach me how to play, and let me win. He put himself out there and added something to his plate. But more than proud, I was excited for him. He was going to learn how to strategize, predict a few moves ahead, see and analyze the full board. He was going to play against his opponent, learn how they think, and learn how to plan. He’s going to learn how to see all the moving parts and see a blueprint in his mind, not just the finished product. This is a skill I’ve always struggled with. His monumental ideas will have an outlet, a way to come to life outside of his head. Maybe he won’t have to spend his life in the cycle of dreams that will only be dreams and executions that will forever be personal failures and disappointments. He’s developing a way out. An exit strategy. He’s paving the roads for his future skyline.

Sawyer,

When you started your candy machine in January, you just started cutting without a plan. Last week, you asked me for a few 2-liter soda bottles and some straps. You wanted to make a jetpack. You thought if we shook them up right before we put them on you when we uncapped them, you could fly. You thought it through. You took the idea, broke it down, and used the knowledge you had to create a plan. You were disappointed when I told you that it wouldn’t be enough force to make you fly, but you accepted it quickly, then asked how much force would be needed. You went back to the drawing board and decided it wasn’t something you could do on a Sunday afternoon. In a few short months, you’ve learned to hone your big ideas into achievable tasks, assess how achievable and determine if you have the time. Learning to be ok with this mental process took me years, and nothing excites me more than watching you figure this out before age 7, as it may save you from years of frustration and doubt. So as your ideas get bigger, as the buildings in your mind move from 10 stories to 30, never forget this process. Remember that an impossible dream only seems unachievable if you don’t take the time to strategize, find the practical center and build out from there. Don’t get discouraged, never give up, and never settle for simply “good enough”, for you have the mind and the tools to achieve great things. And for the moments you realize you need to scale down to the practical, I’ll be here to remind you why every cityscape needs an occasional apartment building or parking lot.

My wish for you this year is that you spend your lifetime inventing and creating. That you never give up on the vision of your skyline and that you will always remember the blueprint.

Happy Birthday to my first, truly successful, big idea: I love you.

-Mom

“The blueprint for success is inside you. It will stay there unless you take it out and create it”

-Larina Kase

Lipstick and Tacos.

“Life is a party. Dress like it.” – Audrey Hepburn

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I weigh myself every day. Sometimes twice. Theoretically, its a method of weight and health management. Realistically, its a practice in self-loathing and control. I take a deep breath, exhale fully and step on the scale every morning just before I get in the shower. If I don’t like the number, I might hop off and hop back on, hoping a slight shift in weight distribution or a mental picture of a salad may shave off a half a pound so I can start my day on a ‘lighter note’. Sometimes I celebrate the results, usually with some form of counter-productive dietary reward, like extra cream in my coffee, sometimes I realize I need to increase my ACV intake and vow to have a salad at lunch. Usually, that kills a pound or two by the next morning.

When I’m not obsessing over the number on the scale, I’m focused on the shape of the various parts of my body, obsessing over if I’m disappointing anyone throughout the day with my lack of organizational and time management skills, or I’m eating. Sometimes it’s my vowed salad, usually, it’s chocolate.

To add to my masochistic tendencies, today I asked a handful of friends how they would honestly describe me to someone in a few words or sentences. I got all sorts of colorful adjectives to pull from. On the high end: beautiful, sexy, brilliant, smart, wise and selfless. This wasn’t my worst idea! On the low end: Materialistic and Temperamental. Fair statements. What everyone found a way to agree on in some fashion was that I’m stubborn (my favorite word for this was tenacious), blunt, caring and complicated. They didn’t all say those things in the same way, but there was definitely a resounding theme to the results.

So, why did I make eight of my friends super uncomfortable today? Because Violet LOVES make-up. As I scrolled through the years pictures to reflect back on her year of being two, I realized she had a lot going on! So many activities, firsts, and new found interests and joy. But I realized that NOTHING brought her more happiness this year than make-up.

My favorite day with her to date was an impromptu ‘girls day’. I took her on errands, which started at Ulta. She walked in and her eyes lit up. She was in her own nirvana. She immediately started asking for things and reaching for the brightest and shiniest items on the shelves. Then I turned around and she had found a caboodle, just her size. It was over. We spent an hour walking the aisles as she loaded up with all things pink. -She did it in sunglasses. As we got into the car, she climbed into her seat and said: “Ok, now let’s go get Tacos!” – This chicks going to be the leader of the pack. (and expensive!)

After that day, she’s spent lots of days playing dress up, and smearing hot pink lipgloss all over her face while requesting snacks. When she gets upset, she will climb into my lap and ask to see the “dresses” on my phone. – She likes to scroll the toddler dress section on my Zulily App. It seems to calm her down. Most days, she’s insistent her socks are pink and has an opinion on her hairstyle. And after every hairstyle, I tell her how pretty she is. She smiles at me, touches her pigtails and says ” I’m so beautiful”. She doesn’t need a mirror to know this.

This year I’ve watched her unwavering self-confidence with admiration. She doesn’t wear makeup because she thinks she needs improvement, she plays with makeup because it’s fun. She doesn’t need a mirror to know she’s beautiful, she knows it because I tell her. Many people would tell me to stop commenting on her physical appearance and replace those words with “bold”, “strong” “courageous”, and I think telling her shes those things is important, but it doesn’t replace ‘beautiful’. All girls want to hear that they are beautiful. There hasn’t been one day of my entire life that I have been half as self-assured as she is. Then last week, I was with some friends, and through some general conversation, one of them said: “…ya know the worst thing about you is your [lack of] confidence…” This was a compliment, a backhanded one, but a compliment nonetheless. And probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. So, today I asked those that know me what they thought of me. I put it out there, I made everyone uncomfortable, I asked for blatant honesty. I gained some perspective. They had similar words to each other, but there were very few similar words to how I would have described myself. It won’t stop me from getting on the scale tomorrow or applying the 2nd coat of mascara. But it will change the words I choose when talking about myself in front of my daughter. It will change the words I allow her to use about herself as she gets older. It might make me stop the next time I’m comparing myself, my work, my everything and remind myself there’s a chance it’s all in my head. I might also try to learn how to graciously lose an argument, I’m told I’m bad at that.

Violet,

I will always indulge your ‘girly nature’, as it might simply be who you are. But as you get bigger and more insistent on a well-rounded shoe collection, stop and take note of how beautiful you are barefoot. Never lose your confidence. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re anything but stunning. Let your strong will, blunt personality and intuitive heart shine through every situation and realize that your favorite pink lipstick is doing nothing more than getting people to glance in your direction so they can see the unmatched character and loving heart that shines through those big brown eyes. And most certainly don’t ever let your love of all things pretty keep you from your love of Tacos. There’s room in life for both.

Happy 3rd Birthday my pretty pink princess. I love you more than chocolate.

-Mom

“Makeup is art. Beauty is spirit” -unknown

Do you believe in magic?

“An Idea survives not because it’s true, but because it’s interesting.” – Murray Davis”

R.I.P. Waves and June; August 3, 2018- August 8, 2018

I listen to a fair amount of podcasts. Mostly True Crime type stories, but also some ‘This American Life’, ‘Revisionist History’, ‘Ted Talk’ type stuff. I’m typically choosing something that is an offbeat topic, something factual, but fascinating. ‘Criminal’ with Phoebe Judge is a common go-to when I need to plug myself in and focus on a project at work. I like the analysis, the story, hearing how peoples brains work. I like learning. I like knowing stuff. But for the amount that I listen, I find that I retain very few actual facts. I retain the premise. I retain the analysis of behaviors, the overall story. I don’t retain the characters names, or dates, or even the specific murder weapon most of the time. I retain my first and last impression of the program. Was it interesting or did it take me a while to get into it? Did I agree with the verdict? Was the perpetrator a sociopath? I retain the portions that allowed my mind to wander. Never the facts.

When I was growing up, before Google, my stepdad was our google. He retained every fact about everything he had ever read. And he read a lot. My sister and I would make a game out of it and think of random things to ask him, just to see if he had a reasonably believable answer; like “how do bees mate?” or “what’s the average circumference of an oak tree?” – I would never play him in Trivial Pursuit, it would have been soul-crushing. My sister also has a memory for details. I’m pretty sure she remembers everything that’s happened to her since 1980, while I have retained a totally of 27 cumulative minutes of my entire childhood. I remember the moments that evoked a powerful feeling or idea. I don’t remember most of the details of the rest of the day surrounding it. I can come up with the memories, if prompted, but I’m not always sure if they are accurate.

This makes me wonder how much of their childhood my kids will remember. I feel like we spend a lot of time, as parents, trying to ‘make memories’ for them and it’s interesting to think back on my trip to Disney World when I was seven and realize that I remember primarily the elements that upset me; the terror that was ‘Space Mountain’, having my one allotted souvenir, a glass figure of Mini Mouse, smash in the bag while wondering the park. (which, by the way, I blamed completely on my fact-retaining stepdad- He was the one hauling all of our bags, clearly he did that shit on purpose.) The happy moments I remember? Swimming at the ‘Days Inn’ pool, and mickey mouse shaped pancakes with whipped cream. Yep, that’s it — mere minutes of the entire week-long adventure captured. As a results, I’ve crossed Disney World off the list of ‘things that are a requirement for childhood.’ I retained feelings, not events. Clearly, meeting whatever princess I’m sure I did, didn’t impress me.

Sawyer’s always had a knack for remembering things. His wild imagination pays close attention to the world around him, but seem to fill in the holes with the parts of reality that he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll never just sit in the unknown. Lately, he doesn’t seem to live in reality at all. He lives in the land of make believe, on the planet of the Pokemon, and vacations on video game island. A good portion of this year was spent trying to decipher what he was saying, and if it was actual English or not. He speaks in made up words, or in fantastic concepts that develop into elaborate stories that only his imaginative mind can follow. It was both frustrating and awesome at the same time. Last year he started finding language, this year, he figured out the best ways to use it includes challenging reality. Maybe he’ll be the next J. K. Rowling.

He scolded me on several occasions for crushing his dreams by explaining the basic concepts of science to him, debunking whatever grand possibility he was hoping for. I worried about the amount of time he spent inside his head like this, and if his inability to separate fantasy from reality was normal. I was like that as a kid. I believed in my grandfathers imaginary pets, and that my stuffed animals had actual feelings. Even when logic told me these things weren’t true, I rarely let go of the emotional tie. “…but what if the ARE real, and we just can’t see it?”, a little voice in my head would nag. I carried this issue for a long time, I would create and dream and plan, and convince myself that my plans and dreams were actually going to happen. Then they wouldn’t and I’d be crushed. This happened well into adulthood.

So his sense of imagination this year caught me a bit off guard. and I wanted to find delicate ways to explain to him what were realistic options and what were not. We had several conversations, most of which he had in tears, about getting a real live Pokemon for him. He wanted a pet with powers. Our two cats and brand new puppy were clearly falling short. I explained that Pokemon were pretend. Cue tears. I explained that ‘powers’ are things that exist in cartoons. Cue dirty looks and yelling. I then explained that cartoons aren’t actual places. Cue 40 minutes of sobbing as if his favorite cat had just dropped dead in his arms. At that point, I offered him a goldfish. He stopped crying, gave me the most evil look I’ve ever seen and said “how DARE you offer me a goldfish? The fish Pokemon are the WEAKEST of the Pokemon. Why do you want me to have the WORST of something?” – clearly, I’m not winning any ‘Mother-Of-The-Year’ awards. After that, I bowed of the conversation and told him that sometimes we just don’t get everything we want in life. Eventually, he settled for a goldfish.

Settling for the goldfish, however, didn’t stop him from discussing his want of a real-life Pokemon. I tried to explain to him that magic is an illusion in a simple, delicate way that wouldn’t crush his ability to believe in things. Then he looked at me and said: “You don’t know that, mom. There might be a magic store on the other side of the world where you can go in, and anything you can think of can come to life. Have you been everywhere in the world?” “No.”, I said. “Then you can’t tell me that magic isn’t real. Because you haven’t been everywhere that it might be” – “you’re right, buddy”, I conceded. “I guess I don’t know that magic isn’t real and there could be real-live Pokemon with powers somewhere on this earth. Tell you what, if you catch one someday, you can keep it.”

I lost that battle. As I should have. He was right. at 5 years old, he proved me completely and totally wrong. The fact that magic is an illusion is nothing more than a theory. He still has the ability to see past the concepts of “achievable” and see the possibilities in life. He believed in something, truly believed in it, and he wasn’t going to let anyone break him down. He fought back. (For a full week!) about this subject, and he found a way to make me understand that the concepts are just as important as the facts. That’s where everything begins. That’s where memories are made, and discoveries start. Albert Einstein once said:

“I’m enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

I don’t listen to podcasts because they are true. I listen to them because that person’s interpretation of the facts is interesting. There’s always more to the story. There are always unknown details. There’s always a little magic to be found.

Sawyer,

You have big personality and you’ve already learned to only slow down for the truly important facts. As your interests lean more towards science and math, I hope along your way, you don’t let the facts, and non-believers, inhibit your ability to see beyond them. Facts are only facts because we’ve yet to prove them wrong, and there’s always more to the story. My wish for you this year is that you continue your search for that magic store where you can make all your dreams come to life, and that no matter how old you get, that is a quest you never turn your back on. Read the great story tellers of the world, learn to create, and invent. Learn to write. For then, you will always see the magic in the world around you, and continue to enlighten people, as you did me, and the world will forever be nothing but a sea of possibilities. Happy 6th Birthday, Peanut. May your convictions always include a bit of magic.

 

“Those who do not believe in magic, will never find it.”- The Minpins, Roald Dahl

The good old days…

Writing birthday blogs for Violet is much harder than it is to write them for Sawyer. At least it is in these younger years. With Sawyer, everything is new, not just for him, but for me. There are new epiphanies and thought processes, lessons, and discoveries that I’m making along the way that I don’t have the second time around. I was told that I should write about the differences between the two kids, and there are definitely differences. But when I went back to read the post for Sawyers 2nd birthday, I realized that all of the things I had noted to write for Violet, were almost exactly the same as the things I had written for Sawyer. Turns out, at this age, they really do advance and grow in similar ways, at similar times. Especially when being raised in a similar way. She turns two today. I’m currently hiding in my bedroom to write this, so they don’t know I’m awake. I can hear her jumping up and down in her crib, and when you say birthday to her, she responds with “cake”, because at two – that’s the whole point.

My first thought was to note all of the things she suddenly can do that she couldn’t a few weeks ago. She counted to 13 the other day when I didn’t know she could count at all! And she busted out a rendition of “Happy Birthday” in the car yesterday when I was unaware she could sing. And the other night, I put her to bed, and she said “love you” unprompted. Now, shes said it before, when repeating it back to me. But never on her own. That’s when you know they actually understand something – when they say or do it totally on their own. Those are the moments of pure joy and pride for a parent. I’ve had those moments with both kids, and apparently, in similar timelines. So, writing these for Violet is harder. But, the more I watch her, the more I see her emerging personality. The words I would use to describe both kids would likely be similar; big, strong, independent, opinionated. But the way in which they are those things is very different. Violet will take ‘no’ for an answer. It takes a while. It’s never the first ‘no’, and rarely the 5th. But eventually, she will grasp that she’s not going to win this one, accept it and go find something else to push her limits with. Sawyer still doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He negotiates, and gets mad, then sad, then tells my mom how mean I am to him. He’s my little salesman. Violet has a sense of rationality buried in her. She has tantrums and cries and pushes and screams, and pulls hair – like any other two years old. But when you watch her, she simply doesn’t let upsets get her down. She rolls with the punches in her own way. It’s never without a fight. She’s loud and stubborn and determined. But, once she’s sure something isn’t going to go her way, most of the time she simply moves on – It may take a while, but she doesn’t hold a grudge.

I think this is important. I think it’s one of the keys to happiness. Letting go. I’ve written about finding happiness before, it’s something I’ve struggled with over the years, and it’s something I think a lot of people in my life have struggled with. We were taught, as a ‘xenial’, to be goal-oriented. To always be working towards something. Eye on the prize. So, there comes a point in life when there is no major goal on the calendar. No major life change or event to focus on. No college, no home-buying, no major career jump insight, no more babies to prep for. Now, it’s just retirement. And when you have 30 more years until retirement, you realize you simply can’t just focus on that. Cue anxiety. So, we focus on the goals of the children. But when they are little, they get to those naturally. I think this is one reason why studies say that an individual’s overall happiness significantly drops after they have children, and that child turns 2. The first 2 years are new and exciting and well, babies are hard but miraculous. Then they become toddlers and little people that you can’t always contain, whine and complain, and turn everything into a giant battle. Even if you do have personal goals, hell will freeze before you will reach them. Little actually gets accomplished on a daily basis, and our want to feel productive to give us purpose and satisfaction is stripped from us. We never learned how to look at the little things for happiness. Find that silver lining. We all know we SHOULD do that, but that’s not what we were taught to do. It isn’t innate. Those small accomplishments were a distraction. We might celebrate for a moment, then we refocus on what’s next. The main goal. keep moving forward. By this rationale, success and happiness can never be achieved. And we never learned to let go of the things that stood in our way. The moments or people that created roadblocks physically, mentally or emotionally we carry with us. We let those moments and people define us in an inner monologue that allows negativity to reign. Being the best and reaching that goal was, and is, a requirement. It was the definition of success. And if you aren’t “successful” then you have no right to be happy.

But I’m learning from the toddler that happiness is hidden in the daily moments, in the contentment of the present. It’s there. It’s the cake. It’s in the random moments of laughter over something the silly cartoon bear on TV did, the tiny hands wrapped around my fingers, dragging me to the cupboard to ask for candy in the slyest, sweetest way one can at 2. It’s in the countless stories told in half English, half baby-babble, that make just a little more sense each day. It’s hidden in the corners of screaming frustration, the last place you’d look. It’s there in the shadows of self-doubt and anger and sadness. Waiting for you to finish struggling. It’s waiting for that moment of pride when you’ve overcome or conquered, persevered. It’s in the moment your child tells you they love you for the first time, after a lost battle against bedtime. It’s there for when you realize you survived.

Somedays, all one can do is survive. Get from sun up to sun down, take a head count, and go to bed. There are lots of days that feel like that. Just this past week, my Saturday started with whining and screaming children at 5:40am. One wanted cold meds and video games, the other “MORE JUICE!” – and she wanted it NOW. Not 5 minutes from now, not after you’ve woken up, brushed your teeth and gotten a cup of coffee. Now means now, or in toddler world – 5 minutes ago, because I should have predicted that she was about to die of thirst from NOT having a 3rd cup readily available. So the day began. It began with yelling, and it continued with flying toys and spilled cereal, coughing, fevers, todo lists, and errands. It continued with napless children and dishes and mountains of laundry. And then it ended. It ended with pizza, laughing children, roasting marshmallows, and friends. This is how most of our summer Saturdays end, and it is one of the best parts of our life.

No one really wanted to be outside for that bonfire last Saturday. It seemed that everyone had had a shitty week. But we did it anyway. Even if just for an hour. It was the first nice weekend night, and sometimes you just need to force it. Sometimes you do it because the kids ask you to, sometimes you do it because, despite the lack of time and energy you have, you need to be reminded that this is what the struggle is for. Summer nights with friends and family, who aren’t talking about work and dishes and depression. Who aren’t focused on the things they feel they failed at, who are ignoring typical bedtimes in exchange for games of ‘tag’ after dark, and a few drinks and sitting with people that are surviving each day just like you are. Those are the times that will get remembered. These are the days we will look back on when we reach retirement and miss. These are the memories in the making. Our back alley, while we are all in our pajama pants with our glasses of wine, while the kids ride their bikes in footy pjs at dusk, waiting for the fire to be ready for marshmallows – These childhood memories our kids will take with them. The definition of happiness, if we can relax enough to notice it – the ‘good old days’ we will look back on with a smile.

Violet,

As you start to become your own person, my wish for you is that you will keep your sense of resiliency. That when you find life’s upsets, you try to conquer them, but when you can’t- you move on the way you do now. Struggle for and strive for the goals that are achievable, because you can do anything you set your mind to, but don’t let minor failures define you. Don’t forget to stop along the way to appreciate the days successful moments, the bonfires and support of those around you. Allow those to become your inner-voice. Remember that no one can write your story except you, so don’t let other voices narrate. And always remember that happiness is found in the joy of simply eating birthday cake.

Happy 2nd Birthday Sweet pea.

Love, Mom.

“I wish somebody would have told me, babe. / Someday these would be the good old days. All the love you won’t forget. / All these reckless nights you won’t regret. / Someday soon your whole life’s gonna change. / You’ll miss the magic of these good old days.”

-‘Good Old Days’, Macklemore Feat. Kesha

Two of You and One of Me

This is my first blog post of 2017 — which makes me a terrible blogger, but also a busy mom.  Similar to Sawyers first year of life, I found myself busier than expected, mostly due to disorganization and constant adjustment to the ever-changing needs of children and career.

This ‘chaos’ also means that its been a full year since Violet was born and she has been the victim of ‘second child syndrome’…fewer pictures, fewer posts, an untouched baby book, a half-assed first birthday party.  I promised myself that this wouldn’t happen. As a second-born child myself, I know what it’s like to have 1 photo album of you from ages 1-5, half of which is shared with the dog. But as this year went on, I never seemed to have enough hands.  Sawyer insisted in participating in 90% of the photo-ops in the ‘photo-bomb’ sort of way that only a 4 year old can do best, and I found myself much more interested in enjoying the moments instead of documenting them.  So, here I am once again, taking stolen moments on an airplane to write excuses to my children for the areas in which I failed.

This blog has become my corrector-of-wrongs, and I’m now heavily relying on it to someday explain away any feelings of animosity, doubt or resentment my emotional, practical (and occasionally unstable) style of parenting causes.  I refuse to apologize to the rest of the world anymore for my behaviors at this point.  My house is a mess, my office is in constant revolving chaos, I will be late for every play date until the end of time, and my kids watch entirely too much TV.  It is what it is. I do my best. But I do permanently feel the urge to explain myself and apologize to my children for my short-commings, despite their inability to comprehend or know any differently.

So, today I am writing Violets ‘First Birthday’ blog, and I’m beginning it with an apology: I’m sorry more of this year isn’t documented.  I don’t have non-cell phone camera pictures of every cute outfit or face, I don’t have a good grasp on her first word (I think it was ‘all-done’, but Grandpa thinks it was ‘Jack’ (their dog) ) There are probably several words in the mix that are feasible.   I don’t know the date she first slept through the night – and honestly, she  just started doing that consistently at 11 months- and I can’t tell you the exact moments she pulled herself up or crawled successfully, but I can just tell you that she and the pug look super cute waddling next to each other around the house…and I wish I had a gotten a picture of that.

What I do know is that she is and will be a force to be reckoned with.  She is persistent and loud and charming.  She has a sense of humor, likes to make silly faces, take baths, eat, and that she’s going to be an alto.   I know that her favorite person is her brother, and she is most definitely his.  They have developed a relationship already that I didn’t expect and I know that I want nothing more for them than for that to last.

This time around, I knew how fast it would go.  I knew how quickly she would stop being a helpless little baby and that I had mere months to rock her at night – I never put much effort into sleep training her the way I did Sawyer.  She didn’t need a midnight bottle after 6 months, but her loud insistence and my knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever kept me from forcing it.  We didn’t get endless moments snuggled alone this year like I did with Sawyer.  “There’s two of you and one of me”.   That became our mantra this year.  So I took those midnight moments. Exhausted and barely functional, averaging four hours of sleep a night – and I held her.

Alone in the dark, she would take her bottle like she’d never been fed before, and then turn her head in towards me and stare at me.  She rarely fell asleep in my arms after six months, but she would have been content for me to hold her like that all night long, and if I didn’t have to work in the mornings, I might have.

So no, I didn’t get everything documented the way I wanted to, and I’m sure that part of me will regret it someday when the baby face is gone and I don’t have a picture of the silly scrunchy face she makes – but I thoroughly enjoyed her.  She came with less stress, despite her broken collar bone and colic.  I knew what I was doing this time.  I worried less.  I knew how important it was to just watch her, carry her, let her make the mess, because preventing it was a fruitless effort anyways.  It will only be 1/614 that day- but letting it happen meant she discovered something new.  A feeling, a texture, a motor skill.  She grew, she changed and so I watched.  I enjoyed.  I tried to keep up, because she is an unstoppable force, and I didn’t want to miss it searching for camera.

Violet,

‘Two of you and one of me” – That was this years theme, and I hope someday you will keep that in mind when you ask for your baby album, and I hand you 3 pictures, and a handful of these letters instead.

You completed our family.  You are my last baby, and as sad as that is for me, I couldn’t imagine a better finale to this chapter in my life, so with that, I close your first year out with advice that only this year with you could bring:

Eating has always been your favorite activity, so I have no doubt that you will make quick work of your first birthday cake, but in the moment before that, while the candle is still lit, I will be wishing that you never lose your sense of adventure, that you continue to speak your mind loudly, so you you are heard over the crowd (the way you do now), and always try new things with as much confidence and pride as you have this year, for it will be that inner-force I see in you that will take you places.  Just don’t forget to slow down enough to appreciate the things that truly matter, as moments are fleeting and the number filled with amazement and aw are few and can often get missed (and try and remember to bring the camera)

Happy First Birthday Snugs,

Love, Mom.

Forgiveness, Not Permission.

“I understand what you’re saying, and your comments are valuable, but I’m gonna ignore your advice.” Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl.

I have a love/hate relationship with the age of three.  I absolutely love the hundreds of funny and observant things this kid says on a daily basis.  I love watching him figure out life and finally be at an age where he can accomplish tasks, play games and do puzzles without endless frustration and help.  I love that he is little enough to want to snuggle in my lap and be carried in sleeping from the car.  I love that he still says words incorrectly sometimes and his sentence structures are often that of a foreigner learning a second language.  I love that simple things, like a package of fruit snacks, can make his entire day, and that he was finally old enough to take a tumbling class during which he learned how to hop like a frog, and as a result; for a week, I was a parent to a fictitious amphibian that catches flies with his tongue, but also still eats ice cream.

I hate the new found sense of negotiation and trickery.  I hate the arguments over which plate he deemed acceptable today and why he couldn’t help me chop vegetables with the sharp knife.  I hate the constant demands as we continually remind him to use his manners and say please and thank you, and the blatant disregard for pretty much anything I tell him to do the first 5 times I tell him to do it.  It was a challenging year for both of us.  The term “threenager” couldn’t have been a truer statement than it was in this house.

Three-year-olds are at a turning point where they want to know ‘why’ to, well, basically everything, but they aren’t quite able to understand all of the actual reasons and answers.  There is a disconnect between wanting to be given an answer, and wanting to accept an answer they don’t like as a fact.  As a result, debates over everything from what color the sky is, to why he can’t survive on nothing but gummy worms occurred.  I was forced to pick my battles and let him learn some things the hard way.  Watching a disaster happen that you knew was preventable is challenging.  Being the one to clean up the mess and deal with the aftermath over and over makes it an exercise in insanity.  But, its the only way some kids learn, and throughout our year of fighting and yelling and crying,  Sawyer figured out how to self-serve.  He learned how to sneak around the system to get what he wanted, be it by becoming more physically independent, or flat out lying to serve his agenda or avoid getting caught. He learned how to avoid the fight.

“Sawyer, eat your breakfast.”

“I don’t want toast for breakfast. I want ice cream”

“You can’t have ice cream for breakfast”

“Mom, I think you need to go take your shower now…”

This year, he learned which buttons to push to get my attention, and what to say to get me to look the other way for a minute while he tried to get away with something sneaky.  He became my sly, stubborn little fox that never takes ‘no’ for an answer. Then he realized that if he doesn’t ask permission, nobody can tell him no.

This year was tough for both of us.  Three is a hard age, and I spent most if it pregnant, exhausted and hormonal.  Then, I brought a new little person home that he had to share his attention with.  Needless to say, our relationship has had a rough patch or two.  I’m not intentionally a masochistic person, but getting knocked up the week he turned three was clearly not a logical decision.  But really, who could predict that overnight my sweet little boy would suddenly turn on me and every single conversation we would have for the next twelve months would be AT LEAST as frustrating as this one:

S: “Sawyer can do it!”
Me:”say ‘I’ can do it. ”
S: “but you cant do it mom, sawyer can”
M: “no, say the word ‘I’ instead of Sawyer. ‘I’ is for Sawyer”
S: “mom… ‘I’ isn’t for Sawyer, ‘S’ is.”

[ bang head on table].

During the conversations where he did fully understand what I was saying, he argued, negotiated or flat out refused to acknowledge whatever I was talking about.  I’ve watched his debates become more constructed, his retorts become wittier, and his defeat become an annoyed, labored “sigh” as he says “uuggghh…fine!” and stomps off.

But through all of this, I also watched him struggle to understand and accept our family changes.  I’ve watched him process emotions he never knew existed before now, and find ways to tough it out and grow.  I’ve watched him gain confidence in his ability to take care of things by himself and be so proud in the end that he will tell me ” I’m big now mom, I don’t need you anymore.”, as I cheered him on and found out what it feels like to be both happy and sad at the same time.  I watched him accept his little sister and love  her without question (at least on the good days) and sit patiently and play when she needed all of my attention.  I’ve watched him learn to communicate feelings with words instead of just screaming temper tantrums.  I hear him talk himself through things when he thinks no one is listening.  He will count down from 10 quietly and breath when he’s upset, as we’ve practiced before, and he will have conversations with himself as he tries to figure something out on his own before simply asking.   I’ve watched him get completely dressed, superman hat and all, all by himself.   I’ve watched him lose his baby face.

He watched me struggle.  He watched me cry through the hormones and listened to me scream out of frustration.  He learned my mood swings, and that it was best to let me sleep in the mornings and figured out how to get his morning cartoon on Netflix by himself. He watched me hold and love another baby the same way I hold and love him and he allowed it.  He watched me figure out how to answer some tough questions this year and listened patiently to most of the answers.  He let me hug him when I told him I needed to, even if he didn’t feel like it.  He told me not to be sad during countless moments of tears, and he told me he loved me even when I was yelling at him. He continued to believe in me, even when I didn’t.

This is the year I finally feel like I became a parent.  This was the year where it truly became about developing a person, picking the battles, winning the wars (and losing some).  This was the year of questions; questions about babies, and death and feelings, and human behavior.  This was the year of learning what it actually means to discipline your child and then follow through and not simply ‘redirect’ an action.  This was the year of watching him struggle physically and emotionally, and having to let it happen.   And he did it.  He overcame, he conquered and he grew.  This was the year of forgiveness, not permission, for both of us.

So Sawyer, my wish for you this year is that you never stop asking questions and pushing limits.  I hope that someday you find a balance  that allows room in life to challenge the rules,in safe ways, that will ensure the same amount of self pride I witnessed in you countless times this year.  Continue to forgive your (and others) mistakes and believe in your abilities.  When you come up short, ask yourself why it didn’t work out, find the answer and try again. Become a problem solver and never stop believing that you can do it.

We survived this year together and I couldn’t be more proud of you for being the one that never gave up.

“…he sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe, believe in him, and believe in me…”-‘Lost Boy’, Ruth B.

 

Welcome to Wonderland/Nursery Pictures

“Maybe she’s a wildflower…”  – Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.

She was due May 14th, Her induction was scheduled for May 9th, and she made her arrival all on her own on May 5th, 2016.  She’s decided that she’s not going to follow my timeline, schedules or plans for life from day 1, just like my first baby.  Her birth was a simple surprise that began a few days earlier, and hit full force while I was sleeping when my water broke, but she was easier on me than Sawyer and waited until after I had my epidural to let the contractions kick in, and came within a few hours.  She made that part easy.  She must have known that my pregnancy was miserable and she was trying to make it up to me.  She must have realized that every inch of my body was swollen and practically immobile and I hadn’t slept in months.  The night before she was born, she let me sleep. 6 straight hours.  It was equivalent to sleeping for a week at that point.  She knew I needed it.  Pregnancy and I are not on good terms.  I think the people that tell me they love being pregnant are lying assholes. Every time she moved I got a shooting pain to my lady bits and peed a little.  Every time I laid down I coughed until I choked and spent the last few weeks vomiting – seriously, who could love that?? But they are always worth it in the end; She’s sweet and snugly and healthy and insists on being held most of the time.  I’ve fallen in love all over again and having her here doesn’t seem new, it doesn’t seem like the foreign shift I was expecting, instead, it feels like I know her already and that she’s been here the entire time.   The adjustment is there, and it’s mostly Sawyers.  There’s no way around that. But for me, she’s familiar amazing adventure that affirms that nothing is impossible and that my little world is complete.  To make sure she had her own space when joining our little family, I had a little fun with her nursery and went with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme so she can start this life knowing that following your dreams can lead you almost anywhere.

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Dear Violet,

You have already proven your sweet nature to us with your snugly demeanor, as well as your assertiveness with your insistence on fighting any sort of schedule on a daily basis.  Your personality is already different than your brothers, and we are already preparing for all the new parenting challenges you will present us with as we attempt to adjust our lives and style to meet your needs.  Your big brother has a big personality (enough for 3 kids!) And I have a feeling that you will find subtle ways to outshine it when you need to and become comfortable hanging in the background when you don’t.  Please bare with us as we stumble along to satisfy both of you day to day and try and figure out when the rules should be the same and when we need to allow you to chase a white rabbit – It’s not always an easy call.  My hope for you is that you grow to be strong and independent like Alice and creative and and unabashed like the Mad Hatter.  May you always know that impossible things are to be believed,  white rabbits should be followed, and time can be frozen only in your dreams – so never stop dreaming.  But regardless of how your personality develops what adventures you choose, know that you are loved and supported every second of every day.  Welcome to Wonderland Violet Elora.

Love Always,

Mom, Dad and Sawyer.

Violet Elora Fuhrman. – Born May 5th, 2016. 9:44 AM.

Picture take: May 26th, 2016.

 

 

 

Steady as she goes…

 

It started with a miscarriage.  I was only 5 weeks pregnant, and if my body wasn’t so sensitive, I probably wouldn’t have known I was pregnant to begin with – but I did.  If I hadn’t given birth before and hadn’t experienced what it develops into and how, I might not have had much of a reaction at all – but I have.  Chances are it never attached and didn’t even have a heart beat or nervous system, but to me, it was a baby and it might have had those things.  We don’t know. My body rejected life and flushed it through my system in a violent and possibly painful way that I could do nothing about.  As a mother, I just looked at Sawyer and couldn’t believe I rejected a baby of mine. To me, it was personal and shameful and completely and totally irrational.  This was biology at its finest.  If you’re religious, it was “God’s plan”.  For us fatalists it’s what was “meant to be”. – And for those that simply tried to make me feel better it was “better this way, there was something wrong with that “it” and “it” wasn’t viable.”  – Its amazing how you know all of those things are completely logical statements, yet none of them make sense of it for you.  Not when you can feel it.  Not when you have names in mind, and not when you can physically feel the involuntary pain of your body killing your offspring.  Its morbid.  It’s mortality.  There’s no way around it.   You suck it up, and you move on.

Surprisingly, a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant again.  I had a 6 week ultrasound showing me she had a heartbeat.  I had an 8 week ultrasound showing me she had shape and was growing, I had a 20 week ultrasound showing me she is a ‘she’, had all her organs, and had a clean bill of health.  It wasn’t until that last ultrasound that I let myself believe it or connect.  I was sick.  I was tired.  I was scared.  It wasn’t until I was 7 months along that I started to actually prepare for her arrival.  I wouldn’t let it be real until I could feel her every move, every time.  It wasn’t until I realized that I only had weeks left to get things prepared, and that I better get started because this now seemed likely that it was going to happen.  Until I was 28 weeks and there was a chance that she would survive if something happened, I didn’t really spend much time thinking about it.

When I was pregnant with Sawyer, it was all consuming.  I was excited.  My mind went in 100 different directions and my perspective on the entire world seemed to change. I wrote several blogs during that time period, mostly as I grappled with the idea that I was about to be responsible for how another human being turns out in this world.  I thought thoroughly about how to provide a childhood, and bring life into this often harsh world and ensure that it is a positive experience and he finds his way to being a stable, kind and happy person.  He’s three now and I still struggle with daily.

With this baby, it’s been an entirely different experience.  It’s been guilt-ridden and full of anxiety and disbelief.  I didn’t have the time to process the miscarriage, and there’s an underlying fear that this time, things won’t go right. I got too lucky with Sawyer being healthy, his birth being text-book, his personality being huge. There’s that nagging thought that the miscarriage was just a warning sign.  There’s guilt about throwing a permanent curve-ball into Sawyers little life.  He is strong-willed and happy and always the center of attention.  He’s going to feel sad, and frustrated and left out sometimes now.  I already have issues balancing my time with him to give him what he needs and often fail at that as it is, I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to give them both 100% of me.  But I will.  I’m certainly not the first person to have more than one child, it’s just hard to imagine life differently, and it’s hard to watch him struggle emotionally. My empathy for him is unyielding.  I’ve never felt someone else’s emotions the same way I do his. That’s something they don’t tell you before you become a parent, or at least you can’t really comprehend it. Their fears become yours, their sadness is your pain, their happiness is your joy.  And the feelings and senses you have of you own are slightly dulled in comparison to how theirs now feel to you. You need to power through it and be the grown-up and tell them it will be ‘OK’ even when you know it might not be.  Even when you know it will suck for a while, no matter what happens or how you try and fix it for them, and you have to remind yourself that this is part of growing up.  It’s part of being human.  It’s part of becoming strong.

There’s anxiety and guilt over the fact that I haven’t prepared like I did for my first baby.  I didn’t have the time or words to write about it, because honestly – it isn’t new information anymore. There aren’t life epiphanies to document.  I’ve done this before, it isn’t unknown.  What’s unknown is how I will handle it.  I already know how to care for a baby, I already know in what ways my life will change.  I already know how much work it is to raise person.  I’m practiced.  I’m not worried about 2 am feedings and lack of sleep like last time – I haven’t really slept since I was pregnant with Sawyer 4 years ago.  I’ve got this.  This time, that part will be the easy part.  The anxiety is around the fact that I already know I won’t be able to hold her as much because I have another child to care for that needs me as well, the fear that the sheer ‘busyness’ of life will affect the bond somehow. The lack of total focus on one being will alter my potential relationship with her and Sawyer in ways I can’t repair.  I’m sure I’m not the only mother in the world to worry about these things, and  I’m sure these fears are irrational. Your heart, mind and body find a way to make it all work, because that’s human nature.

The truth is, this pregnancy has been hard.  2015 was a really difficult year that not only resulted in a miscarriage, but the loss of my cousin and a dear friend.  It’s been hard to not focus on mortality when you can feel another life inside you and watch people you love lose their lives too early.  It’s hard to not see how fragile it all is, and its hard to keep moving forward and not let that effect your ability to find the joy in it all instead of living in fear.  Life is too short to live in fear.  Life is too short to not enjoy and be grateful for every second of her existence.  I can’t control what happens next in life. I can’t protect my children from most things honestly.  From hurt feelings to disease, 98% of what life will throw at them is 100% out of my control.  All I can do is love them and try and teach them how to be strong through it, grateful for it, and kind in spite of it.

So with only a few days left to enjoy my son as an only child, prepare for my daughter, and mentally wrap my head around another major life-change, I sit here in a stolen moment of silence and write, as I watch her turn and move inside me, showing me she’s OK, she’s real and she’s ready to keep me moving forward…even if I’m still trying to find the pedals.

“Making a decision to have a child–it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
– Elizabeth Stone