“There’s a cougar in my bedroom…”

Months between posts indicates two things…either, I NEVER have a chunk of time alone to write, or when I do, I am at a loss of writable words… writable, because anyone that knows me, knows I’m never actually at a loss of words.  But, words worth reading?  That’s a different story.  But it’s August, and that means Sawyer is rounding out another year. So despite my scandalous sounding title, this is Sawyer’s birthday post.  I made a promise to myself last year that I would continue to write/post something every year for his birthday throughout his childhood.  We all know his baby book won’t actually get filled out completely, so I figured this is something a little more meaningful than documenting the dates he cut each tooth.  He currently has all his teeth – at 18, that’s probably all he’s going to care about anyways.   So, today I find myself sitting in the airport with time to spare, missing my kid, and figured this is as good of a time as any to reflect.

This past year was the year of imagination.  He found it.  It just showed up one day in the form of a story depicting a cougar in his bedroom as a ploy to have cookies for breakfast.  It was a fabulous, specific moment, and I couldn’t be more up grateful that it happened in such a sharp and distinct way so I could capture that memory.  He was a little over 2, I don’t remember the exact date, but far enough into two to articulate. Either way, it was a Sunday morning. He came running into my room and told me he was scared!  Scared of the cougar in his bedroom…  “A cougar?  Like a big cat?” I asked.   “Yes mama!  I’m scared!”  “Well, you better climb into bed and snuggle with me then!”  Moments passed and he laid there quietly, then he said “Mama, I want a cookie!  Let’s get up!”  ” I said, “What about the Cougar in your bedroom?” “It’s OK mama, I closed my door, he can’t get my cookie”    I realized at that moment, the story of the cougar was somehow an attempt to gain pity so I would let him have cookies for breakfast.  I was impressed!  It wasn’t entirely logical, but there was thought process there.  It was creative, it took planning, pre-meditation.  I gave him the cookie.  He had earned it.

Since that day, his imagination has taken off with crazy stories, imaginary picnics and talking stuffed animals, all helping him refine his manipulation skills daily. He’s figured out ways to get around the rules and negotiate.  “You can bring 2 animals to the store.”  “I want 4: elephant, dog, cat and pig” – “No, the rule is 2.”  “Ummm…” – “2.”  “OK, I want the elephant and the dog. Mom’s animals can be cat and pig.”  –We ended up with four stuffed animals at the store.

Every time he tries to pull one over on me, I’m a little proud.  I know I should be upset with him for trying to work the system, but when he uses his head to think around things and doesn’t accept things as black and white, it’s both frustrating and remarkable to me.  He may not always get what he wants out of it, but I’m a lot more likely to reward creativity (manipulative or not) than I am a tantrum.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned being a parent this year, it’s that sometimes, rules are meant to be broken.  All the guidelines, books and parenting advice stated as “should be’s” and “ideals” are really anything but.  They are nothing more than words of parents who think they figured it out.  And for their kids, they did. — And that’s great!   But when you have a child that concocts elaborate stories involving wild animals in hopes of a 6am thin mint at 2 and a half, you’ve got to realize that he may not fit the text book ideals.  So, we make it up as we go, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he’s taught me that.

He’s taught me so much in 3 years.  More than I ever expected.  He’s taught me how to walk away from things in life that aren’t worth it, because now my decisions are based on how things might affect him, instead of me. This includes how my mood will be affected, my time, and my ability to pay attention to him.  Those small things all matter and are considered now in what I allow to continue or happen in my life.

He’s taught me to be comfortable in my own skin. I would love to lose 15 lbs and I wish I didn’t have stretch marks, but I don’t obsess like I used to because I have a person to show for these hips and lines. It seemed like so much to give up when I was pregnant, then he came and I realized how incredibly amazing it is that this entire human with all this personality did as little damage to me as he did to develop into existence.

He’s taught me to care less what other people think, as he now asks me if strangers in the grocery store have a penis like he does…loudly, in the frozen food section after a roaring rendition of ‘Twinkle’ down aisle 9.  –  He wasn’t creating a hazardous environment for others by throwing the eggs out of the cart, at this point – that’s all I care about when shopping.

But most of all, he’s taught me how to truly enjoy and cherish the small moments that make you laugh or smile.  He’s taught me how to find a happy moment in a day and be able to stand back and look at my life and be able to find the silver lining in it again.    Every moment in his life is a teachable moment.  Every mistake he makes, every discovery and every time he gets himself into trouble, he learns something.  He walks away with a new understanding, and is proud of himself the next time a similar moment arises and he remembers what he learned. He’s not bitter or resentful when things don’t work out his way (post tantrum of course) He doesn’t carry that anger with him after it’s over.  He takes something good out of every upset.  And it’s truly a profound and amazing capability.  Its wisdom we somehow lose as we grow up. When we let our sense of entitlement, fairness, ego, or self-consciousness overtake our general acceptance of the world as it is, we forget to just be grateful the moment, good or bad, happened so we can learn from it.  He has taught me this, and for as much as I teach him daily about his ABC’s and 123’s – he’s really the one teaching me the important things in life.  For that, I will always have a reason to feel grateful.

So Sawyer, last year, my wish for you was that you never lose your spark.  This year, my wish is that, as your learn to make that spark work for you, you never stop learning from what life throws at you, and are always grateful for the lesson.  For this will ensure you’re forever happy.

“Every experience, no matter how bad it seems, holds within it a blessing of some kind.  The goal is to find it.”

~Buddah

Perfecting Chaos

We Fear Rejection, prize attention, crave affection and dream of perfection. – Ms Mr, Salty Sweet

I started this blog three years ago today.  It was an experiment in writing, in putting myself out there, in overall basic communication. – Something I’m not the best at verbally.  It was  started the same time I started my LLC for marketing collateral design and I decided I needed practice writing and putting personal work out there for all to judge and see.  Nothing’s more personal than basically publishing your inner monologue.   If I could do that and become OK with it, then I could handle the rest of the rejection, criticism, corrections and re-do’s that were sure to come as I changed careers and stumbled along the way.  It was a way for me to work on practicing and perfecting skill sets I knew needed work. I’m not a perfectionist – but perfection was always the goal in that. I had no idea that it would evolve into periodic  posts that would develop a small following and be a place I document thoughts, moments, family history and life lessons that would become not only therapy for me, but would strike personal conversations between friends,  colleagues and neighbors.  It has become an ice breaker for intimate discussion with people I otherwise would have shared nothing but pleasantries.

This forum evolved for me from a positive, up-beat “here’s how I see life” space to a place I can complete a thought and share a few different aspects of life — from motherhood, to random stories, and mental health.  It has gotten me through the birth of my first child, learning to become a mom, a complete career change, two jobs and being diagnosed as BiPolar 2 after a year of postpartum depression.   It has taught me how to organize and process and find meaning and purpose in life’s hiccups, changes and momentous events.  — All too often, we go through life one day at a time and don’t take time to notice what has just happened.  And when something big happens – good or bad – we tend to get through it and simply move on, never realizing how it has just changed us.  This has provided a place to put it all, read, re-read and share with those that care to read.

The posts that get the most vocal and generally the most ’likes’, ‘hits’  and ‘shares’ are the ones about Sawyer’s childhood.  They are happy and comical, something most people can relate to.  People like to share in others joy.  People like to remember that we can and should be learning from the innocence of our children.  They like to be reminded that the small, temperamental people in our lives are who we all wish we still were  – easily amused and not afraid to say what we want in life, because at 2 you’re biggest want is generally a cookie.  These posts also don’t make anyone uncomfortable.

The heavier posts, the ones about mental health, depression and lifes harder lessons; those don’t seem to get shared often.  They get a few silent ‘likes’ and any thoughts on them are shared with me privately, as most people aren’t overly comfortable talking about things like that. – And that’s why I do.

In today’s world of social media we have the ability to share every happy moment of life publicly. It has created a stigma that if you’re not thrilled with your career, your life ever has an upset, you can’t afford bi-annual vacations, or your kids aren’t perfectly dressed and behaved for that perfect family photo – you’re doing it wrong.  I don’t subscribe to that anymore.  I don’t even strive for it.  Perfect doesn’t interest me.  Honestly, it bores me.  And I don’t think it makes you happy.  I think it makes you really good at faking happy, because your life is perfect – you have nothing to bitch about.  So, you take to facebook and post perfect pictures of your perfect children and bitch about silly things like Targets lack of your favorite brand of paper towels, because you want people to think that THAT’S you’re biggest problem.  If it is, I am happy and sad for you all at once.

But here’s my reality…

My child isn’t perfect.  He’s loud.  He’s sassy, he’s stubborn and infuriating.  He’s also full of personality for 2 years old.  I often wish he would settle down and just be content looking at books and not jumping on my couch or coloring on my cabinets, and I feel like a bad mom when I can’t control him.   But I also know that I won’t ever have to worry about him being scared to raise his hand in class. I already know that he will be the kid that welcomes ALL the kids to come play, because he just wants to be friends with everyone.  He will be the one that not only sells lemonade, but develops a marketing plan and promotes it a week in advance, door-to-door.   He will be the kid turning a summer job cutting grass into a landscaping company purely because he’s bored.  At 22, he will be the motivated intern that will talk to anyone that will listen to his ideas, and won’t think twice when offered the opportunity to study abroad or travel the world for a year.  He has too much energy and personality to be content with status quo.  Boredom won’t ever be an option for him. So, I grapple daily with the fact that for now, he’s messy and destructive and exhausting, I struggle with the fact that he’s always the one on the play date getting into trouble and running off, but that I wouldn’t really want him any other way, because his fearlessness will pay off.  This is what makes him great.  This is what makes him perfect.

My mental state waxes and wanes.  I am not always happy, but I’m never bored.   I don’t always know why and I don’t always react the way everyone else thinks I should or wants me to.  And though some days I would give my left arm to have life just be easy, I try to remember that there’s purpose to this: I can read a room full of people in less than 5 minutes, I can tell when someone is upset within one word – text or verbal, and I can figure out most people within 2 meetings.   If I went through life like everyone else, I wouldn’t have developed this.  I wouldn’t be able to be the voice of reason when my best friend comes to me panicking or my husband overreacts.   I wouldn’t get away with calling things as they are and challenging the bullshit in life and still have friends and be liked by coworkers.  I wouldn’t be the one playing ‘Switzerland’ in inter-office debates or be the friend people talk to.  My occasional arrogance wouldn’t be warranted or welcomed.  At this point, it’s been earned and was worth it to be able to be these things for the people I love.

I can’t afford fancy vacations and a huge house in some well-off neighborhood, but as a result of doing my best to give what I can for my family; I have found myself in a neighborhood with people who are in the same boat.  We watch out for each other.  I’m in a spot where the neighborhood kids come in and out of my house like they live there and my kid can go outside and play and I know the bigger kids will watch out for him.  If I need a Saturday morning sitter for an hour, I can walk outside in the summer and anyone out there will be happy to watch him while I run an errand, and they know that I would do the same.   These people know that if they come into my house, they will find me folding the explosion of laundry on my couch in my PJ’s and dishes in my sink.    I’m in a place where these people have become friends and we all help each other out because we are all working full-time and making ends meet and have a little bit of chaos in our lives.  We all need help; we know it and we don’t judge.  Sometimes the concept of a little privacy is nice, but I would take things the way I have them over an acre lot, not knowing my neighbors and worrying about the lady across the way judging my landscaping, any day of the week.   It’s real. It’s human.  It isn’t a life of pleasantries and keeping up.  It’s a life of down-to-earth love and genuine care for other people.  Its takes a village, and I have one.  And there isn’t a vacation on the planet that could be better for Sawyer than that.

Sometimes it takes stepping back to remember what you’re grateful for in life.  This blog has allowed me to do that.  It has forced me to write things out, and rewrite them until I get into words exactly what matters in life.  It has created conversations with people who let me know I’ve stirred something or touched someone or had an effect.  It gives it all a bigger purpose.  Sometimes that’s the best thing that can come out of daily grievances and major life events.  They aren’t situations; they aren’t simple events that are just ‘over’ when you’ve survived it.  Not if you don’t allow them to be. Not if you find a way to give it purpose.

Thank you to all that have commented, shared, liked, read and engaged in conversation with me throughout this odd experiment I call a blog.  It’s made a difference.  Here’s to three more years of finding the enjoyment and purpose in this chaos I call life.

 “You were put on this earth to achieve your greatest self, to live out your purpose, and to do it courageously.”
― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

“Listen to the Musn’ts…”

You’re only given one little spark of madness, you mustn’t lose it – Robin Williams.

There have been many moments the last two years where Sawyer suddenly stopped seeming like a baby and turned into a little boy.  None as definitive as the last week or two as a whole.  My baby suddenly changed. He got big.  He became not only independent by will of mind, but by physical ability and determination.  He no longer waits or even asks for help.  He’s pretty confident that he doesn’t need it anymore.  I probably should just start enrolling him in colleges, maybe help him apartment hunt.  As far as he’s concerned – He’s got this.

He will be two at the end of the month, and with this upcoming birthday, I look back at the last year and the entire thing was a blur.  It went faster than any other year, and there have been so many changes in my life as well as his.  Every day he has done something new, and every week gotten bigger, all the while, every month seems to have brought another drastic change or adjustment to my life outside of his world.  – He hasn’t noticed, I’m considering that a ‘win’.

Throughout all of these changes and growth, I have done my best to enjoy and notice his differences as much as possible.   He has been my rock and my reason the last 12 months.  No longer just being a little life that I need to care for, but he is now a little person that can make you laugh, cares when you’re upset, and who’s wants are no longer always needs.  That’s the biggest difference.  Year one was about needs, and nothing more.  Year two has been about learning to distinguish them, and picking the moments you want to help teach him the difference.  It’s also been about embracing his individual personality.  He’s squirrely, headstrong and happy.  His tantrums are back-arching, shrieking  protests and his opinions are plenty.  He will tell you if his booster chair needs to be wiped down before he gets in it, however, he will sit in a pile of dirt in the back yard and play until he’s covered.  He will open and empty every drawer in the house, but an open door needs to be closed before we can leave the room.  He now smiles in a way where he scrunches his nose at you, and only does this when he knows what he’s smiling about his silly.   His identity as a ‘little boy’ is no better demonstrated than it was 3 minutes ago, when he found a dead fly in the windowsill, picked it up, proudly proclaimed “Bug!”, told me it was “ucky” and then went to put it in his mouth before I quickly intercepted. – This moment adds another to the list of “things that weren’t phrases before I had a child” with “we don’t eat dead flies”. For your amusement, other notables on this list are:

• “I want to eat your feet”
• “Don’t pull on the dogs penis”
• “Don’t chew on the windowsill”
• “Don’t drink from the dog bowl”
• “Don’t lick the shopping cart”

I’m sure there is at least one new ridiculous statement that comes out of my mouth per week.  Sadly, most of our conversation consists of “nos”, “don’ts” and “stops”; as keeping him alive and safe is now a much more difficult these days.  When I can, I try and mark the moments where he says or does something that I have nothing but praise for or that makes all the frustrating moments worth it.  In particular, I always tell Sawyer that I love him more than anything in the whole world.  He now almost always repeats “whole world!” when I say that, and it gives me hope that that statement is sticking every bit as much as all the ” nos and don’ts”.  Then the other day, he gave me that moment that every mother waits for, he said out loud that he loves me.  I actually remember wondering what that moment would be like and how old he would be when it happened while I was pregnant.  I think I even mentioned it in a previous blog.  Well, Thursday, August 7th 2014 – I was leaving and I said ‘ I love you’ and he said ‘ love you’ in response and gave me a kiss.  I actually teared up.   Those moments make the times when he’s repeatedly blowing a whistle, using my bathroom break to crack eggs on my dining room floor, or acting like I just killed his dog because I took away the sharp scissors he was using as a drum stick, make sense.    Most would say it makes it worth it, but they do more than that.  They clarify the relationship, the intent and the general nature of all of his two-year-old goodness.  He’s a little boy.  A little boy that has his dad’s sense of immortality, his aunts level drive, his mothers stubborn independence and his very own outlook and capacity on life and love.  The first 2 years I’ve been watching  him to see who’s traits he inherited, and where I can see myself in him – learning more about us both every day.  And as the days approach ‘two’, I see less of what everyone else has contributed to him and more of who he is all on his own.  A little boy who prefers to play with the big kids, that gets verbally nervous during the climax of a cartoon, will drink bloody mary mix out of a sippy cup if I have one I can’t share, and spends his days contemplating how to conquer and get to wherever it is I’ve attempted to lock him out of (usually successfully).  He’s becoming more than just a toddler doing ‘toddler things’ , but more a toddler doing ‘Sawyer things’.  Suddenly why he does the things he does makes sense, and when they don’t that’s when I know he is doing nothing more than just being himself.

So Sawyer, last year, my wish for you was that you learn that it’s not about the path you choose, but how you choose to travel it.  This year, when you blow your candle out all by yourself, I will be making the wish that despite all the no’s, don’ts and musn’ts — you never lose your spark.

~She Silverstein

“Slugs and Snails an Puppy-Dog Tails…”

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

– Ancient Proverb

This is only my third post this year.  You can say that life has given me a little more than I can handle on a daily basis and I’ve had little time to write, let alone enough sleep to put any thoughts into a coherent sentence.  I also seem to have lost my hormonal muse, and have settled into taking life day by day and have had no time to over-think it.  – Basically, I’ve become busy.

However, Sawyer is going to be a year in six days, and I felt I needed to find a way to wrap up this year with him in a documented way.  I find it bitter-sweet that he is too little to create memories yet. These have been some of the most memorable months in my life because of him, and it’s weird that he’s been the focus, but will remember none of it.  He’s become such a little person the last two – three months as he’s transitioned from baby to toddler.  He has opinions and thoughts and a daily agenda that only he seems to know about.  It’s hard to grasp that each of his thoughts are passing thoughts, and leave little trail.  However, on the plus side, he will have absolutely no recollection of the time I got distracted before buckling him in to his high chair and he fell out.

His first year of life really seemed to be focused on simply keeping him alive; and to be honest, I’m a little proud of us for being able to do that.- I’ve killed a lot of plants in my day.  Therefore, this first birthday is a big deal to me.  It may not be a day he will remember, but it’s the day my baby is no longer a baby, and the term “parent” changes meaning. We are no longer the people that simply provided him life and are here to make sure his basic needs are met for survival, but, in addition, we are the people that need to start molding his personality, thoughts and actions.

This is a new challenge, as keeping him alive is becoming increasingly harder with his new mobility, strong will and sense of curiosity.  For him, the entire world is one big play pen, where dog food and pennies are scrumptious new tastes and textures, not just a choking hazard. He’s turned into a little boy. Nothing seems to be off limits, the word “No” is incredibly selective, and my mad-face is apparently hilarious.  Yet, every day he surprises me in a new way.  This morning he decided that instead of getting into things when left to his own devices, he would crawl over to his book case and page through a few by himself in his room for about 20 minutes.  This is new focus for him.  He’s never given anything that type of “quiet” time before.  It gave me hope that there may be a few moments of sanity I can enjoy over the coming months.

It’s the little things that you learn to hold on to in order to get you through the day now.  It’s those moments of discovery, the small victories of each day that become large triumphs and reasons to celebrate.  It’s the rare times I tell him no, and he actually stops and re-directs himself, and the look on his face when a new connection is made and he suddenly sees something he never noticed before.  It makes you recognize that life is a series of building blocks, things don’t happen, they are built.  Each curious attempt, whether it be mine when giving him pickles to see if he likes them or his when he reaches for something new to see what it feels like, are little stones of accomplishment and knowledge that help develop a person and a life; in my case — a little mischief-making, mess-finding curiosity-satisfying boy.

I am a fatalist.  I truly believe that everything in life is meant to happen the way that it happens.  It isn’t always pretty, and we don’t always understand why.  But I believe that the people that come into our lives are there for a specific purpose, the relationships we build and the struggles we endure are there to feed and further our souls in one way or another.  This belief system offers an immense amount of comfort when needed and allows me to justify and explain things I don’t understand.  But it also hinders my ability to see and appreciate the small things that truly develop the structure.  The daily activities that may not be part of the ” big plan” – I have a hard time thinking anyone’s soul needs to like or dislike pickles for a greater purpose – but these little moments of curiosity, knowledge and accomplishment all help develop the person, so they can in turn, help develop someone else.   Every mother hopes her child grows up to be something great, and defines his greatness by his occupation.  “My kid will be the next president of the United States!”.  Of course I hope he decides to become something professionally that will create financial security in his life and provide opportunities for him.  However, I think my greatest wish for him is that he develops into a person that serves a million littler purposes that are greater than his ability to comprehend.  Be the child that helps the kid up that was just bullied by someone else.  Be the listener his friend needs in a time of crisis, challenge the girls he dates to be better people, while he in turn does acts to become a better person himself.  –  I don’t want him to grow up to simply be a doctor, I want him to grow up to be happy and satisfied with who he is, and truly understand that everyone has worth and a soul and understand that the moments in life that truly matter are the ones where you have touched someone else’s soul and helped them in a way they will remember and take with them.

So knock over those blocks, learn to love pickles, and experience the difference between the dogs ears     and the cats and what happens when you pull them; because these are all the little curious moments in life that will help you develop a strong foundation, a tolerance for the bitter and a gentle touch with others.   Happy 1st Birthday Sawyer, when I help you blow out your candle this year, you may not know to make a wish yet, but my wish for you will be that you grow up to learn that It’s not about the path you choose, it’s how you choose to travel it.

“Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…”

 “One of the things that makes our military the best in the world is the certain knowledge of each Soldier, Sailor, Airman, and Marine that they can always count on their comrades should they need help – that they will never be abandoned.”

Jon Kyl

This week a good friend of mine lost his mother.  The relationship between the two was strained to say the least, in fact they had barely spoken in 10 years and he hadn’t seen her in at least that.  She wasn’t the woman that raised him, and she wasn’t a mom that was around to bake cookies and pack lunches.  She was sick with addiction, which eventually led to her end.  Its a sad story, and all too common these days I think. I can only imagine that losses like this are sometimes harder to process than the ones of people we are close with.  You don’t know how to feel.  Your daily life isn’t impacted.  You don’t notice the new absence in any way, and therefore it comes at unexpected times and I can only assume paired with unwarranted guilt and unexplained sadness.  The people around you don’t know how to react to you, and the typical “I’m sorry for your loss” doesn’t seem right.  Most people look at the negative facts and the ways she hurt him over the years and assume he shouldn’t be upset at all. There’s no relationship there to miss, he was likely better off growing up without her constant presence.  However, there is an innate and unwavering connection to our biological parents that cant be severed no matter the situation.  I’ve never lost a parent, I can’t imagine it honestly, but I can only assume that he’s feeling the loss less in ways of memories and relationship and more of a loss of part of himself.  She was a part of him and he was a part of her, even if it only seems to be genetic to the outside eye.  I asked him how he was doing, and he said “it comes in waves… people want me to talk about it, but there’s really nothing to talk about”  He had a valid point.  There were no vivid and happy memories to recount and no words for those feelings.

This friend is a proud member of our Navy.  He joined right after high school, and was probably the most unlikely candidate in our class upon first glance. However, I think he saw it as his only sure-fire way to make something of himself and not follow in the footprints of the examples that were shown to him growing up and a guaranteed escape.  He was wise enough to know he didn’t have the self-disciplined at 18 without the firm hand and guidance of the US Military, and I think he had some deep rooted fears of what the alternative outcomes of his life could be.

I know this friend fairly well.  We were more acquaintances than friends in high school, but  became close post college, after we had both done a little growing up and found we had a few things in common.  Upon getting to know him the past few years, I think he underestimated himself at 18, and probably would have turned out to be the up-standing person and success he his today regardless of the military, but I think the path he chose was an admirable one. It allowed him to have experiences and travel in ways he never would have imagined.  It also allowed him to become independent and keep the wall up and not letting too many people too close.  This wall was likely built as a child and the traveling life of a sailor allowed him to re-enforce it with a few layers or bricks, sealed it with a water proof solvent and then finish it  with a smooth layer of cement to ensure no cracks, gaps or weather could allow for someone to truly permeate it. I know a lot of people with walls such as this one, in fact, I think these walls are seen more as an art form for my generation than a hindrance.  Seen as a sense of control, identity, independence and strength.

The relationship between parent and child may be the most complicated one there is.  I am not a psychologist by any means, and I can’t diagnose anyone let alone an entire generation, but so many of my friends are in their 30’s and single.  Waiting to start families, scared to take that step.  Many are making the selfish, yet not so selfish, decision to wait or miss out purely because they are afraid they will miss their independence.

For those of us that have children and welcome relationships in to our lives, these decisions seem selfish at first.. that you don’t want to accommodate yourself, opportunities or actions to anyone else’s agenda, needs or restrictions.  Solid relationships are walked out on because of the fear of losing ones identity through compromise.

It seems selfish.  But then I think about the examples that many in my generation have had and the various types of relationships I have seen my friends have with their parents and think that this obstinate behavior may be less selfish but more a selfless act of love for little people to be or not to be.

We all have aspects of our parents that we don’t want to become; but when these aspects are traits that were detrimental to us as children, we are forced to realize at a younger age than most that our parents are people with dreams,wants,desires, and priorities that may not have always been based on our existence.

As a new mom, I’m realizing  more and more the pressure to be defined as “mom” and the complete fear of that becoming my entire identity.  And in the next breath being overwhelmed with guilt that I don’t want that to be my entire identity.  It’s a constant struggle.  We grow up thinking that Mom is just that; “mom” and Dad is “Dad” – That is WHO they are.   There isn’t any more to them.  They are here to raise us and love us and in most situations, they put their child first.  — That’s how its supposed to be.  That’s how we want our children to think.  We don’t want them burdened with anything else.  We are there to take care of them and their needs and that is our purpose.  So when this identity is overwhelming or if the ability to pose as nothing more than that is overtaken by other things in life, such as the disease of addiction, the balance is skewed and the damage can be scaring. It forms who we become as adults.  Once we work through the resentment of it all, and realize our parents are people, the fear of putting someone else through that is top of mind.

I think this fear is what has created such a commitment-phobic generation.  I don’t think its necessarily a selfish act of Independence, but instead an irrational selfless one of wanting to make sure that when its time to be “wife” or “husband”, “mom” or “dad” they are OK being just that and nothing more to avoid putting someone through the confusion and hurt they went through.  –  This train of thought as merit, and unless you’ve been through it yourself you can’t judge it.

I love being a mom, my son is everything to me, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there are days where being on a big boat in the middle of the ocean not having to”be” anything to anybody sounds like heaven on earth.

“I’m sailing away,
Set an open course for the virgin sea,
‘Cause I’ve got to be free,
Free to face the life that’s ahead of me,
On board, I’m the captain, so climb aboard,
We’ll search for tomorrow on every shore,
And I’ll try, Oh Lord I’ll try, to carry on”

-Styx

“Faith,Trust and Pixie Dust” -Peter Pan

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
― C.S. Lewis

The count down to my 30th birthday is upon me.  This is not an excited, cross the days off in anticipation, countdown.  But rather a “you have less than 30 days of your youth left, better make time to do something stupid while it can still pass as cute” countdown.  Yep, I’m about to reach the age where it’s no longer endearing to see the 20-something financially struggle to make it on her own, and where each cookie consumed is eaten without thought, and the empty box is significant of nothing more than the fact that I need to buy more cookies.  No, now cookies have become magical.   They’ve gained the ability to reincarnate themselves and find a new home, usually around my thighs, chips and all. It’s almost spiritual really, they each have a second chance at life, which they seem to greatly value and fight for as they set up camp.  What used to be a few nomadic chocolate chips that occasionally stopped to rest, has now turned into a retirement resort for all things delicious and consumed. I’ve become Boca for Oreos.

30 feel’s much more significant than the other milestone ages did to me.  I never thought I would actually be 30.  This is not a morbid statement of an assumption that I wouldn’t make it to 30, but rather one of blissful naiveté and disbelief that it would ever actually happen me.  But, here it is, in all its “you’re officially old” glory and I can’t help but realize how ridiculous the last decade has been and be a little relieved that the next 10 years will likely be a different kind of exciting.  20 seems like a lifetime ago, living in my first apartment with an old high school friend, working part time as a server at a fast food place…the same job I had in high school, and celebrating my birthday in our apartment where no one would catch me drinking  a Miller Lite.  My biggest responsibility was taking care of my pet hamster, whose cage was rarely clean because I “didn’t have the time.”

At 20, I was still in a hurry to grow up, to be taken seriously, given responsibility I thought I wanted and obsessed over the 5lbs I had put on since high school.  At 30, I wish I could freeze time to keep my baby a baby, have a weight loss goal that still has me lying on my driver’s license, and would happily give up some responsibility in exchange for eight hours of sleep a night.  The last 10 years were spent working towards the next goal, ‘finding myself’ and attempting to be an adult, when I obviously wasn’t one.

I think my 30’s will be the decade of finding Neverland; trying to learn to relax and play and fly.  I want to stop looking for all the answers and believe in things like I did as a kid. I want to teach Sawyer how to make wings out of cardboard boxes like I did as a child, and then  jump off the front stoop, determined to take off, and never get discouraged when it doesn’t work.   I want to find a way to put my skepticism aside without turning such a blind eye that I lose the things I learned in my 20’s.  I want to find the balance between tangible and intangible so the line between them blurs and I begin to fully understand and accept the unbelievable as fact when needed.  I want to re-gain that child-like ability to not be worried about or focused on anything other than what I am currently doing and carry enough faith in the concepts of magic that fairy-tales can come to life again.

I guess I already know that you can’t really go backwards, and I don’t specifically want to re-live my childhood as a child.  What I want is to re-live my childhood as I am now… so I might have a better chance of appreciating and enjoying it. My husband’s new found way of dealing with stress is to color.  — When I say color, I mean exactly that.  Color.  With crayons and a coloring book. I personally think this is fantastic, and it’s one of the main reasons I love him.  I bought him the big box of 120 Crayola crayons and a giant hot-wheels coloring book for Valentines day.  – I know, I’m a hopeless romantic.

Coloring is pretty genius actually.  It’s a complete escape. No need to create or worry about the outcome, just 20-30 minutes of complete mindless activity.  If you think about your day, how many minutes in an average week do you spend on something that requires no true thought and renders no anxiety in any way?  There’s a reason that most of the people I know take something to manage their mental health.

For some reason, I feel like 30 come’s with a lot of pressure.  Maybe it’s not really the age, as it simply is the point in my life that I’m at.  I want to do it all.  I want to be a good mom, spend quality time enjoying my child.  I want to own my own business and be successful at it.  I want to have a clean house. (which in all honesty is the most far-fetched thing on my list).  I want to have time in the day to walk the dog and sleep more than five hours, work out, cook dinner, and actually assemble the baby book.  I want my friends and family to be able to come over without the mad scramble to pick up and I want to be able to take an hour out in my life to get a massage and not feel guilty about it.  Unfortunately, with a full time job, only 1/3 of the things on my list get accomplished each week.

I guess what I’m saying is I need there to be two of me.  I am splitting at the seams most days just trying to juggle everything at once and not drop the ball. I makes me wonder how everyone else does it all.  I have friends that do.  They do it all and make it look simple and I wonder what kind of magic they are using to make it all happen.  Most days, I just do my best to just get done what I can, and try to not obsess over the things that don’t; have faith that the necessary things will get done; and trust that someday I will get to sleep again.   The other days Iwonder if I should just skip this birthday, bust out the crayons and watch Peter Pan.

Being a child is to believe in magic everywhere…
“…but even Peter Pan had to grow up one day.”
― James A. Owen, The Search for the Red Dragon

Enjoy Life; Eat J-E-L-L-O…it has fewer calories than a Christmas cookie.

“The past is a ghost, the future a dream, all we ever have is now.”

~ Bill Cosby

As the year draws to a close and the last of the Christmas left overs are consumed and the good dishes are put away for yet another year, I have been reflecting on the past 12 months in an effort to make the appropriate resolutions for the next.  2012 was both the hardest and best year of my life.  It offered change I could never have prepared myself for.  My life began changing in September of 2011 when I exited my career in hotels and vowed to myself I would never return.  After that decision was made and a new job was had, it was as if life turned into one giant mudslide wiping out everything I had known and was accustom to on a daily basis and presented new options, challenges and offerings that I had barely considered let alone prepared for.

This past year was one of self-evaluation, re-organization, re-definition and learning to embrace change.  Extreme lows followed by extreme highs and a new daily reminder of what really matters in life.  It has reassured my faith in fate, while also re-confirming my belief in miracles and that life’s journey is really about developing our souls through experience and trials. The avalanche of change that made up the past year left me dealing with things as they come with no plan or structure.  Anyone that knows me, knows that this is the exact opposite way in which I prefer to handle anything, so you can say that this year threw me for a loop on every level.  In an effort to embrace this change, while being true to my obstinate self I am creating a list of resolutions and have chosen to share them publically to possibly secure a greater chance that I will hold myself accountable.  In the past I have often viewed resolutions like cookies.  If no one sees me eat them, it never really happened and those calories didn’t really count.  Since my hips have decided to teach me a lesson in truth as of late, I figured I should find a new approach to this new-years resolution thing.  So, without further ado; My 2013 Resolve:

Financial

Save money.  Pure and simple.  Pay myself first, stop buying stupid shit on a daily basis, realize that it’s OK for the baby to wear the same outfit twice.  Whatever it takes to somehow come out of 2013 with more than $3 in the savings account would be a decent start.

Pay off bills.  This seems to be a bit of a conflict of interest to the last resolution, however, if I could have half of the hospital bills paid off by the end of the year, I would be willing to be flexible on the $3  savings minimum requirement.

Physical

20 pounds: gone.  Enough said

Tone up.  Build enough muscle up to find sitting upright to be less of a challenge for me than it is my 4 month old, while also eliminating the cellulite that seems to now make up my legs post-baby.  I’m a little worried at this point that without the cellulite I might be down a few limbs, but I’m willing to take that chance.

Practice Yoga 3 times a week.  In a class, at home, while driving… whatever it takes to fit it into my crazy schedule.

Work

Build my business.  Find the time to put the effort in and don’t be scared to say “yes, I can do that”, even if you have absolutely no idea how… That’s what business partners are for.  Goal: consistently be completing a minimum of 1 job per week by the end of the year.

Develop my skill-set.  Learn to do more with the tools I have and research and find new resources, then learn how to use them.  Generally just get better at what I do a little bit, every day.

Life

Play.   Realize that it is not a waste of time to read a book or spend 2 hours making funny faces with the baby, even if the laundry isn’t done and the house looks like a bomb went off.   The mess isn’t going anywhere, but eventually the baby won’t have any interest to play with me anymore.

Watch the every episode of the Cosby show.  It’s hilarious and it will save me money on parenting books.

Practice my violin. 15 years of lessons was a waste if I can’t even play the basics.  Goal: re-master Vivaldi’s Concerto in G major  (which happens to be one of maybe 4 pieces of sheet music I can still find)  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6b7WH9Le-E

Read and finish at least 3 books.  Only one of which can be “50 shades of Grey” the other 2 need to be something on this list: http://thegreatestbooks.org/ in an effort to not get dumber.

Walk the dog at least more than once every 3 months.  The pug is fat and feels neglected since Sawyer took his spot on my lap.  And it wouldn’t hurt me to walk once in a while.

Drink more.  This is probably the exact opposite goal most Wisconsonites should have this year, however, I’ve never been a big drinker, and I think if I consumed a drink or 2 on a more regular basis, my ability to relax and accomplish my other goals will be more likely.  It’s really simply a means to a more successful and happier end than a specific resolution in itself.  I’ll try and keep it regulated to various types of clear liquor.

Change the daily baby goal from: “keep him from crying as much as possible” to: “make him smile every chance you get”   All babies cry, but not all of them have a reason to smile. Be his reason to smile.

I could continue on with lists of things I would like to improve upon in 2013, but I think I will keep the list to an achievable level and do my best to embrace what 2012 taught me and let the rest of the chips fall where they may. If I’ve learned anything from the baby it’s that goals are good, but sometimes you fall face first if you reach too far,  it’s the simplest things in life that create the biggest smiles and messes will happen every day, so dry your tears, clean them up and move on to a  toy that makes you laugh.

“Peace Begins with a smile” ~ Mother Theresa

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Perception is Reality

“And those who were seen dancing, were thought to be crazy, by those who could not hear the music.” 
― Friedrich Nietzsche

The baby came unexpectedly a few hours earlier than planned, as my induction time was set for 6 AM and he came at 4:07 AM.  It was a pleasant surprise that resulted in 36 hours awake and a drive to the hospital that my husband doesn’t remember thanks to the makers of Tylenol PM.  Since then, life pretty much has followed suit in a world of crazy that nothing could have truly prepared me for.  It’s not the obvious stuff; you know going into it that you are going to sleep less, and getting ready to leave the house for a drug store run will now be a 45 minute process.  You know there will be times he simply will not stop crying (inevitably when you REALLY have to pee).  What you don’t expect are the hormones.   Life is completely different now, and not because my schedule is different, but because I see and react to everything entirely differently.  The news of someone hurting a child was always bad news to me of course, but now I have a gut wrenching feeling that leave me feeling helpless and sick.  Watching any TV show that has a birth in it brings me to tears, and when I am away from Sawyer for any length of time I miss him in ways I’ve never missed anyone before – and I have yet to be away from him for longer than an average work day.  Hormones are weird, as is the concept of perspective.  It’s amazing how some things just matter less now than they did before and other things seem overwhelmingly bigger.

I went back to work a few weeks ago, and it’s been pretty ridiculous.  I thought about it the other day, and I don’t know how I ended up with so much on my plate.  I used to go to work and come home, sit and be bored.  Now suddenly I woke up one day and I have a full time job, a house, a husband, 3 cats, a dog, a newborn and my own business.  I’ve created this ridiculously crazy life where someone or something needs me every single minute of the day.   There are moments when I stop and ask myself –“what the hell where you thinking? — You must have been drunk when you made every single one of these decisions!”   But, in the same breath I know I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world… except maybe the working full time thing, that’s just a silly necessity until I win the lottery.

The truth is, I like being needed.  My job is nuts.  I work for people that seem a little out of touch sometimes, well, most of the time.  I get directives from them like “Work your Magic” with no actual answers.  So, I use the same strategy that I use to get through every other aspect of my life… I fake it.  I used to get frustrated and upset over that kind of communication.  Now, it just seems to be an expected part of my day, and I don’t think twice about it. Now it’s just my job, it is no longer my identity.

I really didn’t want to go back to work. I miss my baby every day.  But, they seem happy to have me back and I have to say that being missed is a really good feeling, and despite the ridiculousness the ensues on a daily basis, I really do like my job.  Maybe it’s the people.  Maybe it’s the fact that this the first place that I’ve been that treats me like I might know what I’m doing.  –Maybe I just need to up my meds.

Perspective is a funny thing.  The situation or the facts don’t change.  Only your feelings towards it  all does.  This concept has been hard for me the grasp.  It wasn’t until this past year that I started to really think about it and have tried to change how I view things in an effort to put my life where I want  it to be.  I had been waiting for the facts of life to change, for the stars to align and have some big miraculous force to come down and fix everything.  So I guess I was surprised when my big miraculous force ended up being only 7lbs 11oz, and he didn’t change the facts, he just changed me.

Sawyer Reece – 2 Months

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Nursery Pictures

Tomorrow at 6am I am going in to have a baby.  It’s weird and comforting all at the same time that I have this scheduled.  It isn’t at all how I thought this would happen.  But I make a terrible pregnant lady, and I am happy that I will be able to be done being pregnant within the next 24 hours and get to meet this amazing new little person and welcome him into our lives.  The fact that this is the last night that I will be just me and not someone’s mom is weird.  When I started this blog, my aunt pointed out that it would be really cool for the baby to see what I was like before I was “mom” and I guess since then, I have written this blog with that in mind.  Someday he may read all of this and make the realization that I was a person before I was his mother.  That’s a hard concept for anyone to think about.  Your parents are simply that, your parents.  You don’t think of them as people with pasts and experiences that molded them into who they are today.  They are just your parents, and when you get old enough to realize that they are actually people too, it’s a bit of a wake up call, and usually doesn’t happen until well into adulthood.  Hopefully, he will read some of this someday and realize that life is what you make of it, and that his dad and I didn’t, and probably still don’t have it all figured out, and see that the mistakes we are inevitably going to make while raising him were done with the best of intentions and the most love possible.  Hopefully, he will realize that we are human.

But in an effort to make his entrance as perfect as I can and hold off figuring out how human I really am from the get go, I put some effort into his nursery.  For those of you who have been following my blog, you already know that the theme is Dr. Seuss, and it was chosen to try to make an impact from birth that life can be whatever you can imagine it to be.  So, it is finally complete, and I thought I would share the pictures before it’s over-cluttered with toys and the mess of a little boy.  (Click on one of the pictures to make them bigger)

Yes I know I can’t actually keep the bumpers and pillow in the crib. They are just there for the photo-op. 😉

My Lorax looks a little stoned…. it was free-handed on a whim one morning. His eyes aren’t quite right. When he’s older and notices, I’ll just tell him the Lorax is a little too close with his Auntie Andi…. And then let her explain that one 😉

The cat is real, thats Layla, and she has already claimed the back of that chair as her’s. She matches the curtains, so I’m gonna let it slide….

To my son,

Tomorrow your life journey begins and your father and my life will forever be changed.  I can’t even imagine what will be like to finally hold you and see your face.  It’s been a long wait for you these past 9 months and we could not be more excited to welcome you into the world.  We will make a lot of mistakes along the way I’m sure, and I just hope that we can do right by you in the end and that you always know you’re loved.

We can’t wait to meet you tomorrow!

Love Always,

Mom and Dad

 

 

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Your Body Is a Temple

…Mine just happens to be the booby-trapped one in Raiders of the Lost Ark.  My body and I have been at odds for the better part of the last 2 decades.  When I say this I am not referring to my body image, however, I am looking forward to possibly having knees again once this pregnancy is over.  I am referring to the fact that my body, as a whole, hates me. It always has.  There truly is no better way to describe it.  At 17, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, after over a year of doctors and tests and specialists.  My grandfather rolled his eyes in disgust when I gave him the diagnosis, then he explained that Fibro is latin for Fibers, My means Muscles, and Algia means pain.  So basically, they just gave a name to a grouping of symptoms they knew nothing about to sound like they had a clue.  He was right to be disgusted by this.  At the time, they didn’t know anything except that it wasn’t going to kill me, that there is no definitive treatment, cure or medication for it.  So basically…  this diagnosis was a way of saying “man, it really sucks to be you.”

At 17, this condition was uncommon.  Most people that were given this diagnosis were post-menopausal women and they were often treated with narcotics to deal with the pain.  At the time, I thought a script of vicodin sounded like a fabulous idea.  My dr. did not.  Apparently, teenagers like prescription drugs and addictions are easily formed at that age.  However angelic I may have looked, there may have been the possibility that I would throw a pharm-party or become dependent and living on the streets pan-handling for my daily fix.  I definitely wouldn’t have used them to treat the pain in a responsible way.  That would be absurd.

Another 2 years went by and I was in and out of pain clinics and physical therapy and experimental methods that involved long and painful dry needles at 90 bucks a pop that did absolutely nothing.  I was sleeping 17 hours a day and basically failing at life.  I eventually gave up on the western medical world and adopted the eastern-medical philosophies of acupuncture and whole-body treatments that seemed to be much more effective overall.

Basically,  learned to cope over the years.  The acupuncture was a god-send and allowed me to re-join the world to the best of my abilities.  Not cured.  Not pain-free. – But functional and with a little restored faith.  This experience has made me a bit bitter against the western medical world.  I don’t trust it as a whole. Mostly, because it’s never done anything for me that amounted to much or proved it actually knows anything. Everything seems to be a giant guessing game.  I’m not one that “rolls with the punches” easily, and I’m not a good patient.

I try and keep in mind that this “condition” is just that.  A condition.  It isn’t a disease.  It’s a nuisance.  It doesn’t enable me from most things unless I allow it to. It just makes everything more difficult.  But I try and keep a positive mind-set about it, as the alternatives for diagnosis of my symptoms were much more dyer.  So, I guess I’m lucky.  I have a cousin that faces his mortality every day and upon visiting him during his last hospital stay, he told me that he was jealous that I was going home on my Saturday night to fold laundry.  I looked at him funny and said I thought it was pretty sad that I was spending my Saturday night doing laundry.  He told me that he would give anything to be able to sit on his couch and fold laundry and be able to carry the laundry baskets up and down the stairs.  He had a point I couldn’t ignore.  I hate doing laundry.  But it’s better than not having the option.  I guess it’s all about perspective.

While trying to keep all of this in mind, I have to admit that having fibromyalgia throughout this pregnancy has been a disaster.  In theory, the medical world tells you that there’s a good chance your fibromyalgia will go into remission while pregnant.  They lied. They weren’t wrong that some of the general muscle pain would subside a bit.  I am without any medication or ability to take over-the-counter-anything that helps, and I’m still standing.  What people forget about are all the other symptoms that come with FM that are now compounded.  All of your organs are made from muscles.  My muscles don’t like to work very hard to begin with.   A growing baby forces organs to be squished and work harder.  A few of mine decided that seemed like too much effort and just opted out.  One of which was aptly named a “lazy colon” —  I won’t go into all the painful and uncomfortable symptoms that come with a lazy colon, or the unmentionable ways in which they have you attempt to fix one.  What I will tell you is that my body has been holding this pregnancy against me.  it’s been an outright boycott of having to share with another.  The latest has been the false labor.  From what they tell me, false labor is common at the end of a pregnancy.  30 hours straight of it is not.  –  By the time that we got to the hospital for the second time and the nurse told me I was not making any progress despite the last 28 hours or labor, I was spent.  When she looked at me and said  “well, they call it labor for a reason…” – I almost punched her.  The next person that said “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable” was going to get it.  I know uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable is being sandwiched between two 400 lb men on an airplane- this was not “uncomfortable”.  This was pain.  And a lot of it. – For almost 2 days.  They offered me an Ambien.  Really?  Ambien?  I pretty much told the nurse to fuck off at that point.  – I told you I’m not a good patient.

Either way, I used my emergency stash of sedatives and muscle relaxers provided to me for my FM, and with my Drs. blessing, drugged up and knocked myself out until It was over.  This kid isn’t even here yet and I’ve already grounded him until he’s 30.  My body is obviously pissed off at me for putting it through all of this and has now joined forces with the baby to be to conspire against me.  There can be no other explanation.  In addition to the day and a half of false labor, followed by a 3 hour encore performance a few days later in the middle of the night, I have developed a pregnancy rash called “puppps” that is driving me absolutely nuts and upon my Drs. appointment recently, she informed me that I there’s also a good chance this baby may be sunny-side up, which maybe why I’m having the false labor as he’s trying to flip over.  If he is unsuccessful, this will result in back-labor.  Now, I’m certain this is a conspiracy.  My body has been out to get me since I was 14.  Now it has  made an alliance with this baby to escalate its agenda.  Apparently I am pregnant with a politician in the making.

All I can do it wait it out.  Everyone tells me that I will forget everything once I see his little face, and though I’m sure he will be worth it and all will be forgiven, I highly doubt I will forget all of this.  Just in case, I’m documenting it now.  It will be a reference tool when he starts asking to get paid to make his own bed.

This experience prompted my mother to remember the story of my grandmother’s experience with my aunt.  She also had an episode of false labor.  For a little comic relief, I thought I would share this:

My mom was 5.  My grandma went to the hospital to have the baby, when she came back the next morning without one, my mom asked my grandpa… “where’s the baby?”  My grandfather, the general practitioner and OB, told her that there was a field of babies at the hospital and you have to catch one with a net.  Grandma wasn’t fast enough so they sent her home.  “This was the extent of my sex-education” -was my moms closing remark to that story.

I’ve mentioned my grandfather a lot throughout this blog, as his stories keep coming up in my family and no matter what they still make me smile and feel a bit better about life.  I love that he knew that understanding reality wasn’t usually necessary and did what he could to keep us all in the dark  about it with his crazy stories and imagination.  I think I’ve faced a lot of reality in my short 29 years.  Not near as much as some, but definitely more than others and the older I get and the more reality I face the more I rely on the fantastic concepts of a life where chickens are chartreuse and babies grow in fields.  I don’t think he was conscious of it at the time, but somehow he knew that conjuring up crazy explanations and imaginary friends was therapeutic.  Many knew and respected him in the community as the town doctor, and I’m sure that’s how he wanted to be remembered.  But I know that his true legacy is in his ridiculous stories that will carry through generations and provide therapeutic relief through the tough times in life.  That story will stick with me.  No, it hasn’t resolved the fact that my body is trying to defeat me, It didn’t make me less frustrated or disappointed in the situation, but it did make me laugh.

“So many tangles in life are ultimately hopeless that we have no appropriate sword other than laughter.” ~Gordon W. Allport

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