Tag: appreciating life

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Today

Today I paid off my student loans. For a few moments, I stared at the screen and my eyes filled… 18 years it took me. 18 years and I can’t quite believe that it’s done.

I remember staring at my payment schedule when I graduated. All of my education was financed with federal loans. And the four jobs I worked in college paid for living expenses and books. The payoff seemed so far away. I was 23. So much had transpired during those years of study.

When I first began, my plan was to pursue travel nursing. I’d graduate, gain my first two years of nursing experience at my community hospital and then I’d go travel the country as a nurse.

Being a mother was still a top goal of mine… by 29 I said… back when 29 was “old”. After three years of pre-nursing, having applied and been accepted to an esteemed state university for Nursing school, that summer just before I began my two year nursing program, I discovered I was very unexpectedly, pregnant. In that moment, everything changed.

I moved four times with my baby, that year that I graduated. My future felt so uncertain. But I had a degree, a career opportunity and I was determined to make it.

I stayed local, never leaving that community hospital where my journey first began. Her Dad and I found a way to build and then re-build a relationship and marriage to last. And from his previous marriage, our relationship, and a journey in foster care, we now parent six children legally and have nine that we love as our own. I am an 18 year experienced nurse, charge nurse, educator and perinatal bereavement coordinator. Three years ago we moved into our dream home on nearly two-acres in the country. It’s modest compared to many, but it’s quiet and open and everything that we asked for.

Today, that 19 year old that I held in my arms at graduation, is on her own journey of self-discovery. I miss her when she’s not at home. But I quiet that ache with memories of myself at her age. She is her mother’s child. My younger three are off in North Carolina with my sister, their aunt, and uncle and cousins for the week- “cousins camp” they call it. My sister was just beginning her college journey there, when I was wrapping up mine. After she graduated, she put down her roots there. And now part of my heart belongs to NC.

Today, I sit on the front porch of what I hope to be my forever home, my sanctuary. And in the quiet that I so rarely get, I am listening to the birds- so many songs across my green acres. I’m watching my chickens hunt worms in the misty rain that soaks the plants I’ve planted here- once small, now growing full and robust. My husband calls, “Think about where you want to eat tonight…” It’s a date- sans kids- when he gets home. And when the kids return next week, my house will be full again, bonus babies included- my full fridge will be empty and shiny floors, dull and littered with shoes. And after that, a 3 week road trip around the country.

I capture this rare opportunity of solace to reflect and write.

It’s not often that I allow myself to go back and think about my life in my early 20s. It was complicated in so many ways… and hard. I made mistakes. I suffered setbacks and heartache. I worked really hard and I was often very lonely. But this milestone that I reached today and the quiet of my home, took me back to that place- Back to the sparse apartment, to the piles of books and mostly empty fridge. Back to the swollen belly, exhaustion and tears, the daily drives and walks through the city campus and clinical sites, the forever low account balance, the white uniform and the push to succeed and provide for my tiny baby.

I wish I could go back and tell that lonely, scared and very tired girl, that it was all going to work out. That there’d be more blows… bigger blows in fact than she’d ever felt, blows that would leave scars… but her tenacity and grit would pull her through again and again. And a beautiful life would emerge nonetheless. That her loneliness would transform to a circus of children, a zoo of animals and the non-stop antics of her husband. That her fears would build into confidence and wisdom. That while she may never achieve high financial wealth, her life would be rich in love and fulfillment. That she would one day travel and adventure. That along her messy and unconventional path, with time and intentional hard work, she’d become the nurse, wife and mother that she wanted to be. That she would one day know the love that she then craved.

But if I did go back, I don’t know that she would believed me. That girl of 23 had known so much pain and loss, that this life, as it stands, would’ve been unbelievable.

Sometimes, when we are in darkness or at a crossroads, the future is hard to see. Sometimes it looks bleak and lonely, uncertain and very, very different than what we once planned. Sometimes the ache of lost hopes and dreams is heavy and deep. But what my own life, losses and grief have taught me, is that life is forever evolving. Wherever life finds you today- It won’t always be like this. You won’t always feel like this. Those two very simple truths, have helped me weather my greatest pains and soak in my greatest joys.

18 years ago, I never would have predicted that my life would look the way that it does today. I am living a fucking fantasy. It is so beautiful that in my tender moments, I marvel at all that I have… and then I fear losing it all, because I know that nothing lasts forever. And yet, it’s still filled with challenges. And that fear of impending loss, I’ve learned, is likely a trauma-response. I have been hit so many times with unpredictable and astoundingly painful blows, that I sometimes wince without a strike. I prepare to lose simply because I’ve lost before. I brace myself because I tell myself that it hurts less that way and nothing good will stay.

But it isn’t true. Preparing for an imaginary loss does nothing to ease the pain, it only robs us of our current joy. And dwelling on the past, holds us hostage from the marvels of the present moment.

Today I took a quiet stroll into my past, like a visit to my old neighborhood. I looked around. I remembered. I felt. And with a respectful nod, I left. While that place helped to build me, it also helped to break me. Who I become now, helps to build tomorrow. Looking into the horizon, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead… the gains or losses, the celebrations or hardships… and I once again avert my gaze. That’s not for today…

Today is for chickens to feast on rainy day worms. To feel the soft purr of my cat at my feet and the quiet snore of my pup next to my tall, soft bed. To soak in both the quiet and the song. To marvel at new flower buds, racing hummingbirds and rambunctious young squirrels. For a much anticipated date with a man who makes me feel cherished and loved. To enjoy a clean house and a mid-day glass of wine. To draw a smiley face next to “Paid in full”.

For it is these moments that make yesterday’s storms worth weathering… and fill my tank for whatever energy tomorrow might require.

I’m learning to sit with today.

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Time

If I had more time…

I’d write more, dance more, love more… I’d have more friends… I’d make more and take more adventures… I’d sleep more, self-soothe more, pause more. With more time for me, there’d be more of me to share with others.

If only there were just a few more hours in each day… I’d be better, do better… life would be better… with more time.

But in the quiet, I remember… life is nothing but time… it’s how we choose to spend that time that shapes and defines our lives. And I remember the lives that I’m molding, shaping, saving. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, I suppose there’s no greater thing to do with that time…

That time that I’ve been given… the ticker that started 40 years ago and has a battery life that is unknown to all but the highest power. In a blend of quiet reflection and panic, I wonder, I plead, for a lot more time.

Here I am, gifted with this vessel of- time to invest in the present moment, time to make every difference, time to build and create. Sitting on a pile of forty albeit hard, still blessed years, like coins of gold, I determine how they are spent… and yet here I am, unsatisfied and selfishly asking, pleading, for more.

Perhaps it’s not “more” that I need. After all, there is no bank to withdraw more of this precious currency of life. But instead, perhaps I need an advisor… an analysis of how it is that I am choosing to spend my minutes, hours. How does each investment serve me? Serve others? What is the overall yield? In this culture of endless “more”s , how much time is frivolously spent on mindless screens and scrolling? What if I could deduct time spent in traffic? On pointless worry? On stewing? On regret?

“Time is the apparent progression of events from past to future… the evolution of time appears to be continuous and irreversible.” *

There is no going back and no speeding forward. There is only ever, right now.

From my quiet place, that place that feeds my soul and allows for slow and beautiful growth… I pause and stand. Putting my best foot forward, I reset my goals to speak only truth and kindness- and to correct my missteps without dwelling on them. To notice life and beauty, everywhere. To make a difference, in ways both big and small- a smile at a stranger, time to talk to the lonely, efforts to grow and watch grow, pause to soak in the sunshine, the songs of the birds, the laughter of my children and the playful eye of my lover. To wipe my tears and tend to my fragility, to courageously feed my strength.

My hourglass hides in the clouds and I know not how many grains remain in the glass enclosure, but I reset… not to ask for more… but to treasure each one that hangs in the balance and then falls. For in that grain, holds a million opportunities for greatness. And they each belong to me.

*Quote by Paul Sutter, an astrophysicist article on Livescience.com

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Serenity Prayer

God, grant me the serenity…
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

 

I don’t pray very often… that dwindled around the time that I lost my faith- sometime after my brother’s death, my parent’s divorce and more than my share of traumatic experiences. I left the religious schools that I spent twelve years in, and in a public university, I met new people that embraced intellect and understanding over short-sightedness and judgementalism and I learned an in-depth view of science… and that was it… the frayed threads that held my faith and kept me a “believer,” broke. I’ve tried to mend them but it’s like they dissolved…You can’t sew with thread that isn’t there. I admit that church and religion got the short hand of the deal from me because there are many good and smart people in faith communities. And there’s more than one way to embrace “belief”… but going back now is like trying to convince yourself in your 40s that the Easter bunny really does exist. And so I resolve to make peace with where I am. If a god really does exist… then he gets me… and he sees my efforts… and when I’m really in a hard spot… hopefully he still hears my lonely prayers.

Although, in these days of pandemic and personal struggle, I’ll admit that I’m praying more than I ever have. They say, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” And while I don’t believe a desperate cry for survival constitutes “faith”… I accept their point that sometimes desperation leads to the consideration of other ways of thinking, or believing. And when you have exhausted every physical and intellectual effort, and fear and doubt persist… you throw a Hail Mary because fuck it… it can’t hurt. I don’t mean any disrespect for those who treasure their faith deeply… I just sit in a different place. And I wish I had the peace and assurance that they have.

But I am working on creating that peace, that serenity, in other ways. I’m doing that through reframing negative thoughts, acceptance, prioritizing needs, working towards positive change and self-care.

So when I see frustrating things on the news- leaders who in my opinion, display complete incompetence, citizens who endanger others through selfish and ignorant means, the short availability of needed and life-saving supplies, viewpoints expressed that are completely out of balance with humanity as a whole, when I feel overwhelmed and frustrated with my own challenges, deficits and burdens and those of my patients and family, I take a deep breath and I reframe:

“They are not selfish- they are afraid.” “They don’t know any better- ignorance is their crime.” “Their challenges are different than mine.” “I am blessed to have what I have.” “However painful this is, this is a learning experience.” “Today I am here, and I am fortuned with the skills to make a difference.” “This is an opportunity for success.”

Reframing is a technique used to change the way we think, into one that sees the good in a situation, and focuses on positivity, productivity and acceptance, instead of negativity, useless rumination and defeat. When we change the way we think, we then change the way we feel and behave.

When I can’t reframe, because some realities are just that… then I swallow hard and try to accept that I cannot change other people or circumstances and that the life that I have been given, is my own and it is beautiful despite hardship. I can share my messages and shed my light, but I can’t do it expecting people to change. Nor can I let their ignorance rob me of my peace or ability to find beauty. If I let them steal my peace and contentment, then I let their contempt win and their ugliness spread.

Darkness can encroach, darkness can shadow and shade, but darkness can never win.

Then I focus on what I can control, what I can change. I prioritize what is most important for my life and what matters most to me. And my family, my wellbeing and my career sit at the top of those priorities. I can control MY family’s compliance in this pandemic. I can wear a mask and be diligent in my hand-washing and infection control practices. I can control our diet and exercise by providing as much quality produce as I can purchase/grow, be mindful of adequate water intake and use our space and the open outdoors to move when my body is able. I can meditate and practice good sleep habits to enhance the quality of my sleep as much as possible. Exercise, good nutrition and sleep will give my immune system its best fighting chance if I get sick. I can turn off the news and practice self-care activities like soaking in a tub, painting rocks, listening to music, gardening, cooking, writing and laughing and playing with my family to decrease my stress- because stress is not only a detriment to the immune system but it impacts sleep and overall wellbeing. Stress is the enemy of happiness. But serenity, is her friend.

In ordinary times, tomorrow is promised to no one. We are in a global pandemic. I hope that my good health and that of my family pulls us through, but there are no assurances. If I am to lose my life, or that of one that I hold dear, I want to have spent my last days well- knowing both that I gave us our best fighting chance… and that we embraced one another in love and quality time, all the way to the end– not fighting, not angry and stressed out, not ungrateful, not with regret.

If I die tomorrow, I want them to say “She was a warrior”– who practiced diligence and safety and risked her own life to serve others, but not recklessly. I want them to say, “She was kind”– while she spoke the truth, she didn’t put others down, she tried to see the best in every situation and she always lent a helping hand where she could. I want them to say, “She was fun.”– she was forever dancing, singing and laughing and throwing new activities and games at us. And while she might have liked wine a little bit too much and curse words may have slipped-out, both in her discontent and in her mirth… “She loved life and she loved us.” In the words of our little foster baby, I want them to say, she made “This a happy home.”

What do you want people to say about you? And how are you going to get there?

I am so very far from perfect. Stress makes me grumpy and short. I think I appologize more than I say “Thank you.” I’m loud. And it’s possible that my bluntness might offend more than it soothes. But I’m trying.

Many years ago, when I was a young, single mom in nursing school (yes my husband and I worked very hard to get where we are) and my life was one of the hardest and most complicated that it ever was, I threw a penny into a fountain. And when I did, I chose very carefully what my wish would be. Unsure of where I’d be living, desperate to graduate, provide for my baby and to make something of myself, and completely overwhelmed by how to make the very complex and at the time, difficult relationship with the love of my life work… I wished only for “Happiness.” I had no idea where my life was going to end up… but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with true happiness. And it’s been my wish in every fountain and every birthday cake since. Nothing about my life is even close to perfect, but we are happy.

In my eight grade year, I, like all good little Catholic girls, received the sacrament of Holy Confirmation. In the classes leading up to the sacrament, we learned that this made us an “adult” in the church and we learned about the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit- Wisdom, Knowledge, Right Judgement, Courage, Understanding, Reverence, and Fear of the Lord/Wonder and Awe. Caught in another very difficult time in my life, my family was divided, broken and ailing. Of those gifts, I prayed the most for Wisdom, Courage and Understanding.

Perhaps the sacrament worked after all… (Reverence and Fear of the Lord certainly weren’t ones that came through, LOL). While plagued with previous traumas, I did emerge from my most difficult experiences with fortitude, a gained perspective and a desire to understand people and their stories. I have embraced my journey in nursing and in foster care courageously and from that, have gained more wisdom and more understanding than I could’ve ever imagined. Whether or not I was gifted with these through the sacrament, they didn’t come without a hefty price.

Wisdom, I am convinced, is gained when you weather through difficult circumstances, seek to understand them and then derive from them, lessons for the future. However, with that, often comes tremendous pain. While grateful for the wisdom I have, some days it’s hard for me to believe that it was worth it. Some days, if given the choice, I would have sacrificed the wisdom, to escape the pain. But in life, we don’t often get a choice with the cards we are dealt, instead we choose only how we manage them. Understanding that, is acceptance.

This time of the year holds many anniversaries for me. As I soon enter my 38th year of life, 16th year as a mother, 15th year as a nurse, 13th year as a wife, 2nd year as a foster care provider, and day 50 of quarantine…

In these unprecedented times, I am reframing this rainy day as: one that is feeding my garden, as a gift to be alive, as an opportunity to create goodness and to make a difference, no matter how small. And when I am challenged the hardest- on the days when my face hurts and my body sweats from isolation gear and a respirator, when my patients and my family face insurmountable hurdles and the world seems to have gone mad… maybe, just maybe… this self-proclaimed non-believer, might just say a little prayer. Then she’ll take a deep breath, wipe her tears and take another step, because life, horrendously hard as it can be, was meant to be lived well. And my soul aches not for discontent… but for Serenity.

Live well friends and know that in your times of challenge, courage will push you through… and where your heart aches, scars will one day patch the pain… and with them, understanding and wisdom will accompany you.

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Coping

A few weeks ago, when the pandemic first made its self widely known in the U.S., someone asked me if I was “scared”. I reflected on the question and my feelings and I resolved that, no, I wasn’t afraid… at least not of dying… but my pervading feeling was instead, exhaustion. It took me a few weeks to again reflect and identify exactly what was causing my exhaustion; to nail down and come to grips with why, even on my days off, I was so tired. And that became the content and the inspiration of my last post- “Tired”.

 The post hit close to home for many of the healthcare workers that read it.

But then, someone posed a new question to me, “How are you coping?”

So, after more time reflecting… here goes:

While some level of coping involves grit and determination, of grounding one’s self and remembering what you are called to do, even when it’s hard… like going into battle or powering through childbirth unmedicated or pulling through the last leg of a marathon…. that inner strength and adrenaline only lasts but so long. There comes a time, when you must find inspiration and joy to re-fuel you. 

So, while I give myself this little pep-talk before a shift. And I embrace the profession I was called to do… in between the moments of dehydration, patients’ tears and painful isolation gear… I look for inspiration and joy and I practice self-care.

Self-care can mean taking a hot bath and listening to soothing music, taking a nap or practicing Yoga.  It can mean a favorite television show, book or movie. Or spending a few minutes to prepare an extra-yummy snack or allowing yourself to enjoy a hobby. It’s time that you intentionally elect to do something that you enjoy, which does not sabotage you in some other way (ie. drug/alcohol abuse). For me, what self-care looks like, changes daily and it’s more about listening to what my body needs or craves at a given time- be it quiet, an outlet, healing heat/movement, or distraction.

When I have cared for myself, I am in a better place to search for inspiration.

I find inspiration in the faces of my patients. Whether they are there for the best or worst day of their life… they are looking to me to both care for them and to give them hope. Behind the mask and through the face shield, they are searching for what my eyes have to share. It will never stop being a tremendous honor to be present at the moment of birth and death. And exhausting as my job is right now, if it ever stops inspiring me… it’s time for me to step down.

I find inspiration knowing that this pandemic, horrifying as it is, is making history. Viewing it through that lens, helps me to open my eyes and take-it-all-in, rather than to shut-down- which is easy to do with the grim daily statistics. We are living history right now and the day-in and day-out are stories that we will one day tell our great-grandchildren. The same way we sat vigilant, listening to our grandfather’s stories of war and our grandmother’s resilience in the great-depression, we too are being given the opportunity to be great warriors and survivors. And that prospect gives me energy to live well. Do I want to tell a story of how much I complained and feared? Or how I learned to create and contribute to the greater good? Will I talk of sharing or hoarding? Of coming together or dividing? Of hurting or helping?

I find inspiration in others. I am inspired by the distillery who used their alcohol to make hand-sanitizer instead of spirits. The factory workers who lived in their facility for a month’s time to make PPE. Clothing and shoe companies who donated goods to healthcare workers and used their facilities to make masks and scrub caps. Small business owners who expanded their license to provide carry-out and delivery, even though that meant tremendous work on their part. And bigger restaurant chains who donated meals. I am inspired by the retired healthcare workers who ached to help and sewed and cooked from home to help their comrades on the frontlines. The grocery workers, truck drivers, and environmental service workers who showed-up to stock, transport and clean the areas we needed  to stay “essential”. And the teachers, telehealth workers and therapists who didn’t abandon their students and patients and found a way to work from home, so that their desperately needed services could continue.

I am inspired by the other foster parents who didn’t close their homes out of fear and instead opened for placement, knowing that doing so might mean introducing the virus to their family… but seeing that life-threatening abuse and neglect, that is sky-rocketing with this quarantine, took precedence.

I am inspired by the mothers and fathers who find a way to provide for their family and still maintain quarantine- by shopping as infrequently as they can and sacrificing their well-loved luxuries for the greater good. Who have learned home schooling in a pinch and “do their best”, even though teaching was the last profession in the world that they would’ve chosen. 

All around us, there are sources of inspiration, if you choose to see them. And every day, I make an intentional effort to find joy. 

I find joy in having all the laundry clean and folded- that’s a feat that rarely happened pre-covid. I find joy in a clean house. Clutter and messiness is “visual noise” for me and causes me to feel unrest. So I am joyful when I have available time to house-keep.

I find joy in my pets. The dogs are thrilled to have us home and get frequent walks now. The rabbit is finally getting the exercise, out of her cage, that she’s suppose to. Even the snake gets handled more and the fish bowl stays clearer than ever. It’s only the cat that probably wishes we’d get out of the house… but even she, still brings me joy.

I find joy in creative cooking. It really is a game for me to create the most delicious meal I can, with the ingredients I have on hand. And I’ve expanded our go-to meals exponentially. Nightly meals have become more of a family affair- both in planning and preparing the meal. I love not being in the kitchen alone and I love creating goodness with less.

I find joy in gardening. Most years it’s something we do, but it usually feels very pressured to get the vegetable garden in before it gets too hot. And our composter was out of commission for a year because it was full and we simply hadn’t had the time to empty and till it into the earth. Now going outside to weed is more feasible, and it gets me my daily vitamin D. I’m saving my seeds from store-bought produce to create starters in egg cartons. And watching them get rain and sun brings me joy… and so will their harvest! 

I find joy in writing and crafting-something I again, rarely had the time I wanted to. Writing is a therapeutic outlet for me. It gives me a way to process my thoughts and “talk it out”- like talking to a girlfriend… only I get to carefully select my words and chose only the ones I wish to share. Coloring and painting rocks are therapeutic too, but in a different way. Those activities allow my mind to escape thought and to enjoy just being ‘lost’ for a bit. Our photo puzzle gave us new wall art. And when I get around to using those corks I’ve been saving, that will provide me a feeling of resourcefulness and a new trivet to enjoy. And that will make me smile 🙂

Above all else, I find joy in my family. If this virus means not taking people for granted and telling people that you love them when you get the chance… then seeing their faces every day and spending quality time with them means I’ve hit the jackpot in opportunity. Every night we choose a different activity and I soak in every card game, every puzzle, every show/movie, every silly moment.

I’m a nurse. I work the frontlines. I know grief. I have a husband 18 years my elder; and a 16 year old, who in two years, plans to move out of the state. I’ve lost people close to me from unexpected and tragic causes. I don’t take anything for granted. Family time is always precious! Even if it’s forced. Even if it’s via a computer screen.

While we are all living through this pandemic, everyone is experiencing their own reality, differently. Some of us are living alone and the isolation is what is hardest. While others are wishing they had moved out of their parents’ house before now, and the crowded space is driving them mad. For some of us, work is the hardest it’s ever been and we regularly ask ourselves if the paycheck is worth it, if we end up paying for a family member’s life in return. Others, are desperate to return to work and wonder how they will survive another month without income. While some of us feel safe, others are living a nightmare. While some of us are enjoying “a break”, others are willing to risk it all to escape the quiet.

Regardless of what your reality is, I assure you, there is joy and inspiration to be had. Despite those out to hurt, there are many, many more, out to help. Today I implore you, at the advice of dear Mister Rogers, “Look for the helpers” and look for the joy. And when this is over… many, many years down the road, I wish you safety, good health and young bodies crowded around you to hear your stories of creativity, resourcefulness, laughter and the shared respect for humanity. 

Keep coping!

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*If this pandemic finds you in a place of inescapable horror: the police department and your local DSS are still open. And if there’s anyway I can help, email me at my blog e-mail address: amandameneses0101@gmail.com and I will do everything in my power to find you aid. I am a registered nurse and licensed foster care provider. 

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Stone Eggs

This has been an Easter unlike any other…

For 4 weeks now, we’ve been in quarantine. Four weeks of scheduling grocery shopping. Four weeks my children haven’t seen their friends, cousins or classmates in the flesh. Four weeks I’ve been a mother, nurse, writer, wife … and now middle school and high school teacher, resource finder, creative outlet user, frontline emergency worker. I’m tired.

And now for the sake of my children and for the sake of searching for goodness (a principle I always promote), we are faced with a holiday, that in my humble opinion, must be celebrated. Not because I feel a religious obligation, because I don’t (and I mean that with no disrespect to those who do).  It must be celebrated because our children, our selves, have been robbed of enough these past few weeks.

We’ve been robbed of peace-of-mind, robbed of face-to-face human interaction, robbed of convenience, day-to-day food items and amenities we’ve come to expect, robbed of traditional schooling and many jobs, and some of us have even been robbed of our safety and health. I will not allow this virus to rob us of this holiday too. And yet we have this moral and social obligation to maintain social distancing for the sake of that very health and safety we stand to lose further.

So how? How do we celebrate when everything we’ve come to know and expect has changed? Holidays are largely built upon tradition and togetherness. I come from a huge Catholic family.  And while I have abandoned the religious aspect of the holiday due to my personal beliefs, I greatly anticipate the tradition and togetherness that comes with each holiday, this one included. In my family, we are used to a table filled with lamb and ham, deviled eggs and endless desserts, salads and side dishes. We are used to getting dressed-up in new spring apparel, Easter egg hunts and baskets filled to the brim. We are used to a day well spent in each other’s presence, with laughter, good food, conversation and games.

How do we celebrate this one… in quarantine- when resources and groceries are so limited? And the faces we normally anticipate seeing are all isolated in their own homes… How do we create that sense of ritual when it feels like there is none?

It seems ironic with the happenings this year that this holiday’s roots are in re-birth after sacrifice.

So first, we must be willing to sacrifice. Sacrifice that extra trip to the store… sacrifice having all the food dishes and all the activities that we’ve had in years past, sacrifice some gifts, sacrifice sitting with and hugging our loved ones, knowing that that sacrifice leads to a greater good (remind you of anyone?… Our sacrifices sound pretty small next to his.)

And then we must search for another way… Another way to commune, another way to feast, another way to continue tradition.

My family is setting up a Zoom encounter to see one another tomorrow- to chat and perhaps even play one of our famous family games.

See my previous post on playing family games virtually: (Zoom, WhatsApp, Skype and the like, are amazing technologies that are FREE and can be downloaded on virtually any device. And they allow us to see one another, connect and commune, even if it’s in the virtual sense. So why not still get dressed-up and pick out a family game to play. Or, find the joy in being dressed-down this year, but enjoy each other’s company nonetheless.)

I’ve never had salmon for Easter. My brother always makes this amazing roasted leg of lamb and most of my family members have their signature dishes that they contribute-broccoli salad, homemade cakes and pies, maple bacon brussels sprouts, Jell-o salad… oh how I’m going to miss them! But salmon is the best meat I’ve got in the freezer right now and so I’m thankful to have it and for the reason to cook it. Honestly, it suddenly feels like the perfect choice to accompany the asparagus I have. And potatoes are a lock-down staple! No eggs though… I’m down to my last four. My mom has ham and is cooking for only two this year. So she’s going to do a porch drop off and share some with us. I wonder if others might consider sharing with their families and friends what they have as well…

As long as I have been a mother, I have always crafted Easter baskets for each of my children and filled them with loads of goodies. The “Easter bunny” hides them and on Easter morning, it’s a spring-time scavenger hunt to find their hidden treasures in the house. The Easter egg hunt comes later, when the family gathers and it’s held with all the cousins together.

I don’t have enough goodies to make individual baskets this year, much less to stuff eggs. That is partially due to what was available in the store and partially due to delayed shipments and finances. So I’ve settled on a family basket this year. We will search for it and enjoy it together. And instead of silly little toys, earbuds and socks, I managed to score two new family games to play at home, to replace the time we normally spend elsewhere.

And then we’re going to put in a family garden. It’s the season of fertility, after all.

Instead of dying eggs- because food conservation is a must, a dye kit isn’t worth it for four eggs, and quite frankly- my kids were never big fans of hard-boiled eggs anyway… we came up with a new idea! It started with my teenage daughter painting rocks to pass the time and then delivering “Smile!” eggs to neighbors as a random act of kindness. And now it has continued as an activity to recreate two time-honored traditions- dying and decorating eggs and the well-loved egg hunt.

This year, we are painting and hiding Stone Eggs!

We went on a family walk in the woods this morning, collecting rocks as we went.

Then we brought them home to wash and dry them.

And then we busted out our old paints and creative juices.

After they dried, we hand delivered them in a basket, to the yards and porches in the neighborhood. Little surprises left for the people around us. It’s like we got a turn at being the Easter bunny for once. I watched my almost 13 year old son, who is increasingly hard to excite these days, dart in and out of the yards to deliver our goods unseen, like a ninja… or an Easter bunny. On his face was pure joy and it shot straight to my heart. A perfect culmination of our day of family togetherness.

The irony that the eggs, a pagan symbol of fertility, are made of stone this year, like the stone rolled away from Jesus’s grave, didn’t escape me. I am a complicated bundle of everything that has made me who I am- loss of faith and a huge loving Catholic family all rolled together.

And I am at peace with that.

Just as I am at peace with this Easter unlike any other… an Easter where space might have divided us, but love kept us together. An Easter of sacrifice and giving to others. An Easter of new traditions created from old ones. An Easter of making do, of ingenuity and creativity, of grasping every bit of gratitude you can find and searching for goodness everywhere… even if it leads you to a neighbor’s porch, to a dried creek bed of rocks, to an empty tomb.

This is an of Easter with stone eggs.

There was another Easter that was very much unlike any other… it was the Easter that my grandmother died… read that post here:

Learning the meaning of Easter

 

 

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I’ve been waiting for this day…

As a bedside nurse and mother, these times are frightening ones… and a title such as the one I’ve chosen, likely seems a strange choice. Let me explain.

My life has been filled with an intricate balance of hardship and opportunity. I grew up poor; but thanks to loving friends and relatives, I had middle-class opportunities. I spent my first six years in a trailer park, where my parents raised four kids and shared one second-had car. Our home environment was strained, and yet my grandmother would have us over to play with our cousins and teach us how to cook. My aunts would take us out to the zoo, theme parks, various outings and treat us to special things. And one year, my grandparents even treated the whole family to Disney World! We were loved.

By school-age, we had a fixer-upper, single family home. There, the local library and woods served as our playground. My great-aunt splurged for a community pool membership and lessons; and that pool became both our babysitter and the source of a great skill. We were avid swimmers when our grandparents invited to us to their “beachhouse”, a bay-side trailer that was our only vacation, every year. While my parents fought to provide us our basic needs… I was afforded the opportunty to receive a private school education. I was the kid in a uniform, who’d never been skiing, or owned name-brand anything, but knew how to cook. I was the honor roll student, who lived in a home that the police knew all to well. I was the girlscout who passed all her tests but never had her badges sewn on, the teenager who had four jobs, the young mother who didn’t drop out of school and earned her degree, but will carry her loans for decades. I was the 25 year old white woman, who married a 43 old divorced immigrant, who had not a dollar to his name, but a heart of gold…and we made it! 18 years and counting!

For ages, I felt like I got the short end of the stick. And yet, I was so often met with unbelievable blessings. My education allowed me a career in healthcare… and yet my hardships gave me perspective. Exposed to universities and surrounded by professionals, I grew and I saw what the world had to offer, but my childhood reminded me to stay humble and it helped me to withhold the judgement of others. This combination of struggles and gifts, continued my tug-o-war of gratitude and discouragement into adulthood. While I was grateful for my blessings, I often struggled with feelings of inadequacy and wished I hadn’t had to work so hard to achieve what others seemed to have so easily.

Having married a man who grew up in a dictatorship, tackling the challenges of parenting, and a nursing career that brought me to the world of grief work, however, helped me to sort those feelings. All of these things furthered my sense of perspective and settled my priorities. Nursing and grief work gave me an outlet to apply my own lessons learned in grief and loss and it reminds me daily, what truly matters, as I help people who have suffered the ultimate loss-the loss of a child. And the challenges I face with my own children, heavy as they are (and trust me, they’ve been heavy!), are never as heavy as losing them.

Both my husband and I work very hard in our professions to give our children the things we didn’t have. And yet we hold our family time sacred, because we understand that life and love is a gift. We cook every day and save restaurants as a special treat, in order to afford travel. And while we have the grand goal of traveling to all 50 states (we’re up to 35!), we make it happen by driving and camping a lot. Travel too, improves perspective. And busy as the day to day is, we limit our children’s activities and it is a requirment that we sit together at the dinner table every night. We found …. no we fought… for balance.

Together, we took our bucket of disadvantages and hard knocks, missed opportunities and lessons learned hard, and we seived out the things that really matter. And we have created a happy and balanced life.

Yet as proud as I am of the life we have created, it has become harder and harder to maintain, as our children have entered adolescence. “I’m not hungry”, one will say as I call them to the dinner table. Homework has sabotaged our afternoon walks and friends have stolen family game night from me… leaving our closet full of games often abandoned (until the foster kids come that is.). As hard as we continue to fight for balance, the culture in this country and social pressures to be everywhere and do everything, are hard. I get tired of being the “bad guy” and saying “No.” What good is time together, if it’s forced?

For years I have been uncomfortable with the busy culture that our country has embraced. We kill ourselves and work til exhaustion. We fill our children’s lives with so many activities, we’ve forgotten how to feed the family unit and spirit. Money has replaced compassion. And materials have replaced selflessness. Our intention to get ahead and to plan for the future has left our arms full of things, and our souls empty. I am appalled at the condition that we have left our planet in, all in the name of convenience and greed. And I am discouraged by the loss of community and the selfishness that this culture seems to breed. Technology has flourished, with computer tech salaries doubling my own and contributing to the nursing shortage. And yet it’s nurses that save lives. We’ve created a generation of children who have no survival skills and think You Tube is the greatest source of information.

This virus has this nurse and momma fearful for her safety and for the future of the world. With hospitals worldwide packed to the gills with people starving for air and dying due to lack of enough equipment, the world is broken… and yet… in some ways… we already were.

While Covid-19 has created a plethora of problems and I believe we will see the repercussions for years to come… in some ways, it might just fix some of our others.

Out of work and shut off from the outside, families have found one another again. Skills and supplies have become our currency. Nursing and other manual labor jobs are once again valued. Wealth is less useful than ingenuity now. While panic and selfishness are certainly evident in hoarding and ignoring quarantine restrictions, the people I witnessed when I did my weekly shopping were kind and considerate and patient. We’ve been forced to let go of luxuries and we’ve re-discovered our creativity. Last night, my teenagers played with sidewalk chalk again. Two weeks ago, I was looking for someone to gift that very set of chalk and paint to. And a week ago, I was the “worst Mom in the world” for denying my 16 year old, the party she was invited to, because according to her friends, this virus “wasn’t serious”. But last night, she snuggled against my legs, all four of us, piled into my bed to watch Frozen 2. As I sit here and write, both kids are playing BINGO with their Dad and he’s playing music by Kenny Rogers, to educate them on “one of the Greats”. Time together, it turns out… IS valuable… even if it’s forced. Venice’s waterways are clearer than they’ve been in ages. Smog and pollution are down. And the technology that turned my children into zombies and I once screamed to limit, is allowing me to play virtual games with my family, across cities and states.

This is just the balance I was praying for.

We’ve stopped looking over the rainbow for our happiness and started looking in our own backyard… and drawing them on our own driveways.

I have been a mother for 16 years now and a nurse for 15. I have witnessed countless births and deaths. I’ve held babies while they took their last breath, raced out of work to respond to my own family’s 911. I’ve been called to the school after being awake for 28 hours because my child was in crisis and received devasting diagnoses and news for the very children I raised so carefully. I have struggled and suffered… but I have known a love that few people do. I laugh until I cry and I have made it my daily goal to search for goodness so as not to be consumed by darkness. My life has in so many ways, been very, very hard… but it is also so very, very good. That, is balance.

What is money if you have no one to laugh with? Education, if you have no platform to apply that knowledge? Opportunity, if you can’t create your own? Good food, if you always sit at the table alone? A green and blue planet, that is covered in waste?

For the sake of healthcare, for the sake human lives, for our economy and for public safety… I pray that this pandemic will soon end. But I hope the positive change doesn’t. I’ve waited for this day… not like this, not with lives lost and a job that now has me in a war zone… But a balance of priorities, a time to love and cherish, and quiet, to find amongst the storm, rainbows.

Seach for goodness… and where you find none… create it!

Wash your hands, stay home, stay safe!

 

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“You are Not Alone”- A Letter to the Person who Finds This Season a Struggle

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Dear friend,

I see you. I see you sitting at the table, hot cup of coffee/tea in your hand…and a pause…that you wish would go away…or last forever. A desire to move on…or to freeze and be lost in thought, anything but to deal with the outside world right now. I see the struggle to decorate, the struggle to participate, the struggle to smile.

I see that you are tired. I see that this is hard.

You are not alone.

This isn’t how you want to be. The rest of the world is happy. The rest of the world is bright and busy…and you are just trying to hold on and survive. You want to feel “normal”. You want to get caught-up in the happiness and the joy…but just when you do…you remember…and then…you’re low again. You’re alone again. You’re tired…again.

Maybe the holidays were never good for you. Maybe they have been a reminder of your trauma since as early as you can remember. Or maybe, they used to be good…and things changed. I don’t know what’s worse- to have never had…or to have had and lost.

Either way, I see you.

And I feel you. You are not alone.

This is a hard, hard time for so many people, myself included.

This is what I have learned:

Sometimes, it never is the same again or the way we wish it would be. We may never get the family, the partner, the wishes that we’ve had for so long. We can’t rewrite history or resurrect the dead. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find value despite our pain.

Finding a way to give back, attaches purpose and positivity to the season. Years ago, my family and I decided that we’d pick three “give-back” activities every holiday season. Some years I called soup kitchens, others we packed a box of donations for the local cat/dog rescue, and still other years, we sponsored a family in need and added their needs and wishes to our holiday shopping lists. Our longest running tradition is creating gift-bags for the homeless (as we live close to a major city with a large homeless population). The kids decorate gallon-sized zip-lock bags with colorful sharpies and we fill them with things like weather-appropriate socks, hand/foot warmers, non-perishable proteins, sweets, toothbrush/toothpaste, hand wipes, a water bottle, etc. We hand them out on the days leading up to the holidays. And on the years that I am scheduled to work at the hospital on Christmas Eve, I make a deal with the universe that if they don’t call me in to work, I will instead, drive around the city to hand out bags with my children. We never get tired of the satisfaction that we gain in helping others. And the kind words and expressions that we receive in return, make it feel like Christmas morning on the city streets. Good deeds are scientifically proven to improve happiness. With no obligation, no price point to match, nobody over-seeing you…find your own way to give-back…and let the magic happen.

And a smile or a kind word is immeasurable to the person receiving it. Don’t get caught up in consumerism-either feeding into it or fighting it…just be kind! The world needs it!

Rituals and traditions-however mundane or silly they might seem at times, help to improve mental health outcomes. Not only do they give us something to look forward to- the game that we always watch, the recipe or the restaurant that we always enjoy, or the “thing” we always do…but they also decrease anxiety because, whether we realize it or not, traditions within a family/group, are predictable. Whether you like the tradition or not…the fact that you know that it’s coming, makes it less anxiety-provoking than the unknown. So, traditions provide us with a comforting sense of “what to expect.” If you don’t already have long-standing traditions, start them! Let this year be the beginning, so that future years reap your ritualistic rewards.

Self-care is essential- and that doesn’t have to mean the spa… (cuz who has time for the spa this time of year?!) While cooking/creating can feel like a chore sometimes…it can also be a wonderful method of self-care. There is something very therapeutic, very maternal, very practical and satisfying about cooking or creating a gift (instead of buying one) for our loved ones. Consider building a photo book/calendar, painting a canvas or ceramic, drawing, writing a poem/letter, making homemade bird seed ornaments or dog treats or baking for friends/family/neighbors. If it feels pressured or overwhelming, than we’ve missed the point, but if it provides distraction and a sense of accomplishment… then well done! You have experienced self-care, with a practical multi-purpose.

You don’t owe anyone, anything… Ok, so if you’re a parent with small children….you’ll have to pull it together for them. But other than that…work functions, family get-togethers, community events…they will all go-on without you-and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. This season might be self-preservation-mode for you. While the rest of the word seems to be operating in over-drive, what you are comfortable doing, is enough! Create boundaries. Know when you are approaching your limit. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to “sit this one out.” It’s okay to stay close to home this year. This is your holiday too, protect your heart and your energy.

Energy is precious when you are struggling. When I am in grief, I have learned that I can have one really good, productive and social day. One day when I’m acting like I’m back to my old self and it feels like “the old days”… and then, I’m exhausted. The next day, both mentally and physically, I have nothing else left to give. Learn what your patterns are. If this is true for you…then don’t schedule more than one busy day back-to-back. You can always spontaneously add activities if you are feeling up to it, but don’t set yourself up for failure by committing to more than you are comfortable doing. Ask for help if it’s a matter of carting kids around to activities or other such stops that don’t require your presence. And always make an escape plan- a easy way to get out of a social gathering if you need to.

I see you.

I see the sadness and the longing in your eyes. I see the heartache that feels as though it will last forever. I see the broken promises and the shattered dreams.

I see you standing in the middle of the flashing lights, the blaring carols and the larger than life trees-donned in loud and bright decor…in the middle of lots of happy people.

You feel small. You feel unheard and un-noticed. You see their smiles and you hear their laughter and you want to join them… but tears and the urge to run away feel stronger than the muscles that could turn the sides of your mouth upwards.

You are not alone.

But you are loved and you are important.

I urge you to step out of that busy scene and use this time to discover the real significance of this season. The quiet, reflective season of giving, nurturing, and loving one another. If you feed that…it will feed you in return. And blessing will come, even in your darkest hours. You can do this. You will survive this season.

Wishing you peace, this season…and always! Happy Holidays, from LIFELIBERTYANDLIBATIONS.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Quilt

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Forward: A deeply personal piece, I have woven into this quilt my own life experiences. This quilt, while unique to me, represents the patchwork inside all of us. Some days I struggle with the loss and tragedy that has touched my life. And some days it’s hard to see the good through the bad. But we must remind ourselves that in the end, it is both the light and the dark, in the struggles and the successes, the tears and the laughter that build the beautiful masterpiece that we are. I am learning to love myself, in all of my different shades. And this piece was an exercise in doing that through writing. I encourage you to reflect on what your quilt would look like and learn to love yourself too, in all your many colors.

Outside, rain smacks against the window panes. Sitting in her chair, her wrinkled hands guide the shiny needle, poking the soft edge, then pulling the thin white thread through the colorful panes of fabric that lie folded on her steady lap. As she sews, she reflects…

Her eyes scan the fabric for a pattern. Is there a pattern? She holds in her lap and in her heart, a patchwork of progress, experiences, accomplishments and hardships that have unfolded over a lifetime. Each event, each square, occurred separately in her life and when stacked in a pile on the table, felt solitary and unrelated. And yet seeing them now, in her old age, side-by-side and top-to-bottom, she realizes that the thread in her hands is not the only thing that ties them together.

Olive and white strips with a silver ring filled with burnt orange felt- the colors of the trailer she was born in and the mud pies that she learned to make from the clay outside. It was there, from her very beginnings, that she learned how to make-do and find joy in simplicity. And the move was her first experience in feeling uncomfortable in order to make positive change, at age five.

Change is easier with magic. She was always looking for magical things- like fireflies and genuinely kind people. Royal blue, with stars, the outline of a jar and little black and yellow fireflies embroidered within its lines. Next to it, a frog, patiently plopped with a subtle smile. The flying creatures that she watched decline in numbers over her lifetime, brought magic to the evenings of her childhood, and lit-up both her jar and her inner joy. The jumping amphibians that she chased as a girl, became an exotic pet and then a tattoo on her back…and then a favorite pitcher and candlestick set on the dining room table that she used to entertain her guests. She loved frogs!

And she loved to entertain- something that wasn’t celebrated in the home she grew-up in, because anxiety oftentimes overruled joy. So she had to make a busy and colorful square with a cake and confetti for all the parties she was denied as a child and overcompensated by throwing as an adult. Birthdays, baby showers, weddings, even seasonal changes- her parties utilized her organized and energetic nature to satisfy both her drive to create beauty and to share joy.

Animals also brought her joy. Her Dad taught her to love and respect all creatures-even snakes. When she was a girl, she thought she’d grow up to be a veterinarian. She wanted to help animals that were hurt or sick. She’d grow up to teach her own children the same values and have a house full of pets. There was never a time that she didn’t have several. So with tiny, shaped pieces of material, in various hues of brown, she created a square for a lifetime of unconditional, furry, scaly, love.

And next to the mud pie, the frog and the pets, a powder blue square with a white house and a tree for the childhood home, she at first hated, but grew to love. Pragmatically perched across the street from her school, with the best climbing tree a kid could ask for, it survived both a house fire and a multitude of challenges. That house held her bed, her pets buried in the yard, her secrets and her screams, her dreams and her nightmares for 15 years. The house that she both ran to and ran from, taught her both what she wanted to be and what she didn’t.

A dark gray square with a single candle. “There’s a candle burning”… sings the Aerosmith song of child loss, “Fallen Angels.” Her family of six crumbled to a family of five when as a teen, her brother ended his life too soon. And it burned a hole in her heart where her faith once resided. Out of the darkness she crept and many a survivor she ministered from her own painfully, preventable loss. And while his flame of existence he might have snuffed, the threads of his influence weaved the most intricate pattern and spelled compassion and understanding on her soul.

An emerald green square, for a pop of her favorite color and birthstone, a symbol of her Irish roots, the color of frogs… And the color of mental illness- that took so much more than a brother from her; but became a passion that she fought for fervently. And top-stitched on the green, a purple and turquoise semi-colon, a lovely cool color pallet that appealed to her on the days when she felt low, and the symbol of suicide prevention.

The turquoise of the semi-colon almost matched the teal hearts sewn atop the solid black square. One tiny heart for each time hers was broken by another “me too,” her own and the children and women she loved so dearly. She wished she was left with more open space and her heart and hands grew tired of cutting out the same shape. And yet she knew the experiences came to define a large part of her- the power that grew from her pain and the anger that energized her fight for change. Her gray head nodded as she thought of the progress made by her gender and education on the word “consent”.

The black background and the fight for women complimented the dark red square, that she proudly embellished with a black tassel and a gold RN- for the day she danced across the stage with a diploma in her hand, past the instructor who told her “Who do you think you are… having a baby in nursing school!?” The diploma that handed a single mother the most rewarding career of nurturing (not animals, like she once thought, but people) and empowering women in their life changing moments of childbirth- where the screams and tears of pain, perfectly married those of new life and joy…(the irony didn’t escape her).

And two more blocks of life-altering significance…cotton candy pink and blue ones with cradles, not just for the career she choose, but for the two babes she birthed herself. She added a microphone to the pink one, for her feisty girl’s ability to always speak-up, to use her voice to help others and….for her love of Elvis Presley- (a unique obsession for a girl so far removed from that generation). And the blue one had a monkey with a pink heart hanging onto the side of the brown cradle, for her active little boy who learned to climb before he walked; but carried with that crazy boy energy, a love for the color pink and a tender heart that found compassion and love for the people most often rejected by the world.

Pink and blue mixed together make purple…a lavender square with a dark green leaf and a tear, for the many babies she held in her career that were still…and the many tears she wiped, when a gift became a betrayal. Around the leaf she stitched concentric circles. Like the ripples a falling leaf creates on a pond, the ripples of grief and loss were ones she knew all too well.

The thin lines that created the pond circles almost matched the perfectly spaced blue stitch that repeated horizontally across the white square. Evenly spaced circles lined-up along the left, to create a piece of paper. Like the papers she graded as an instructor and the papers she sat with for hours, helping her children do homework (ADHD sucks), like the papers she filled with her thoughts and poetry. Across the center she added a pen and covering the bottom corner, appeared to be the edge of a book. She believed that knowledge was power and writing was her therapy.

Empowered as she was and though armed with a spirit of steel and a therapeutic habit, during some seasons of her life, that therapy wasn’t enough. And she remembered the days that she walked into an office and said, “I need help…I’m not okay right now and I can’t do this alone.” Then it was someone else’s turn to minister to the ‘soldier’ who so often ministered to others.

A tangerine orange block spoke to the trauma she witnessed too many times to count and the caution it created in her steps. But overlaying the color of both bold fun and caution, she stitched a rainbow, because after every storm always came a new perspective and behind the dark shadows of tragedy, beautiful blessings are always hidden. Rainbows also mean “love is love” and she never could understand why not everyone could support that.

A light gray square served as fitting background for the beige stoop and black and white door, for the first foster child who knocked on that fateful August night. He brought to her what she knew she was being called to do. “Grief is love without a place to put it”. And fostering gave her love a place to go- cradling those in need of comfort and acceptance and a safe place to lay their heads. Coming full circle from her own childhood and experiences with grief and trauma, it opened a door in the greatest of ways. And she ensured that every child that walked through that door knew both love and fun.

A colorful Ferris wheel made of tiny scraps of fabric for another meaning-filled block…that’s fun….or not. A day at the fair gave her an illness that would forever change her perspective and overall health. Like the facial paralysis she experienced as a teen, being a medical anomaly isn’t cool when you’re living it. Whilst some days, it felt like another illusion, another betrayal…from it she learned what was really important in life and she gained an immense gratitude for the things she took for granted- eating, walking and living a day without pain.

A sunny yellow square with a green tent for the camping vacations that started out as “all we can afford” and ended with driving across the states for a lifetime of unforgettable adventure. Persistence and hard work always pays off. And the view from the summit is always worth the climb.

A cornflower blue one, to compliment that yellow…with some clouds and a plane. The plane that brought her her husband, adventures and a worldly view.

And a sand-colored bottom, with an ocean blue top for the bodies of water that bordered both her and her husband’s home lands. The only vacation she ever knew as a child, didn’t bore, but instead guided them to their most favorite place to be…at the beach. There, the hot sand soothed her joints, the waves washed away her anxiety, and the wildlife provided joyful entertainment.

Every square carefully stitched, each one sewn together to create shapes of both light and darkness, warm colors and cool ones. Every experience interwoven into the next, nothing happening by accident or without repercussion.

While she so wished some of those squares weren’t there at all…while she would have done anything to keep the colors of trauma out of her quilt…she realized the fact that they were there, wasn’t her fault. Instead, it was through her hard work and healing that those colors didn’t sabotage the rest and instead made space for new habits, new experiences, new colors. She even began to see the ways that the different colors complimented one another. A black quilt would be drab, but black next to cheerful colors make them pop. A life without pain and tragedy yields a life of ingratitude. And a life without struggle, yields a life without perspective. Painful as they were to experience, the quilt wouldn’t be complete without them.

Snipping the final loose threads, she lays down her tools, sinks back into her chair and pulls the blanket up under her chin. She’s tired now and as her head relaxes to the side, she nods off to sleep. Her dreams are flooded with every memory that together, created the final masterpiece that she has become. And although there are times in her sleep that her brow furrows and silent tears sneak past the wrinkles around her eyes, she ends with a smile on her face; because she not only survived the storms, she managed to create beauty with them.

Behind her, the rain has stopped and a rainbow crowns her…. and her masterpiece quilt.

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“It won’t always be like this…” Advice to the Mother of Small Children… From the Mother of a Teen

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I often times see on Social Media, a sort of competition between the mothers of toddlers and the mothers of teens… a sort of “Oh you think You have it bad!?” comedic banter. And truly, in order to survive parenthood, you must have a sense of humor. But I also recognize that there can be a bit of back-handedness hidden in comments like “Enjoy this time while you have it…” or “You’re gonna miss these days… ,” when they are being said to a parent who is at their breaking point. While on some level, these comments are very true, and I’m sure, I myself, have been guilty of saying them in the past… I also understand they are equally unhelpful when said at the wrong time.

I am not yet done my journey and I won’t pretend to have all the answers… but as a parent who has survived infancy and toddlerhood x2 and a nurse and a foster parent who has learned and observed… here’s what I have surmised:

Those days that you have while your little one can still fit in your arms, while they still look up to you, while they still think you wear a cape most days… Those days are in fact precious. And I do think we need those reminders sometimes- so as not to lose sight of our gifts or take those precious days for granted. The day will come when you find yourself longing for another chance to hold those tiny pudgy fingers and the little lump that crawls into your lap and falls asleep, to once again hear the sweet, unrestrained voice that says “I love you Momma” and “You’re beautiful” with ease and honesty. And that first birthday or Mother’s Day that doesn’t start with a hand print craft and a sloppy kiss, won’t go unnoticed or un-mourned. Life will likely never be this beautifully simple again.

But those days of raising tiny humans, whilst precious, are also hard. The days and hours are long and exhausting. And the love they give you willingly is met equally by selfish demands.

I remember.

While I do miss the days my children openly and lovingly adored me… Attending to their every physical, intellectual and emotional need, was exhausting. The non-stop questions, the non-stopping touching… both beautiful signs of their growing, inquisitive minds and their desire to feel safe and loved by their Momma, wore me out and left me over-stimulated on a daily basis.

I was never as tired. My house was never as messy. And chores and errands were never as difficult as when my children were young.

I now have a 12 and a 15-year-old.

And while I am a bit less tired now because I am able to physically lie in my bed for longer periods of time… and it has been years since I’ve been awoken by “Mommy I peed the bed.” or “Mommy, I threw up.” or “Can I sleep in here?… I had a nightmare.”, I now more often lie awake and lose sleep with worry. Adolescence is a time of a painstaking push for independence. Decisions are often made impulsively and recklessly. Attitudes are typically selfish in nature. And this developmental stage directly precedes adulthood, thus, the consequences for their actions often reflect that. I am grateful for the opportunity to sleep more but I must admit that my night-time anxiety is one I never knew before.

My advice to you, sleep when you can. Sleep when the babies sleep. I know you want to knock out that project or mindlessly scroll through social media in the short window that you have to yourself, but if you are behind in sleep, then catch up. Sleep is the most restorative function next to eating. And if you are sleep deprived, every other aspect of your life will be affected. You will likely find that when you do get sleep, your awake time is much more functional too. These exhausting days don’t last forever. The day will come when projects and housework will get easier. What you didn’t get to today, will still be there tomorrow. Sleep when you can.

Speaking of trying to get things done… one of the things I don’t think anyone prepares you for as a new parent, is how hard it is to run a simple errand. Just going to the store to grab a few things for dinner, when you have an infant and a toddler, is a huge-freaking ordeal. There’s getting them all ready, packing the diaper bag, getting them into their car seats… Then, getting them out of their seats and into the cart without one of them running off, and at that point… you haven’t even made it into the store. Long gone are the days when you could just slip on your shoes and run out for a gallon of milk. You’re exhausted before you even start shopping.

And then, there’s the trials and tribulations of trying to shop with them…

I remember one such shopping trip: As if the “Stay with me, please…” and “Yuck, don’t put that in your mouth!” and “No, we’re not buying that!” and “Stop putting things in the cart!” weren’t enough…. In the middle of my shopping trip, my infant-in-arms began throwing up. Then, while I stood in the middle of the grocery aisle, with vomit running down my shirt and splattering all over the floor, my toddler dropped the cap to her Chapstick- which conveniently rolled under the shelving unit and became irretrievable. And as he continued to vomit all down the front of me, she screamed about the cap that she lost. So, instead of resupplying my empty shelves at home, I left a full cart of groceries in the middle of the store. Covered in vomit, holding my sick baby, I dragged my irrational and screaming toddler out of store. And then I cried- because I didn’t know what we were going to eat that night for dinner.

My advice to you… try to time your errands when you have the help of your partner or a Mom friend. And when that’s not feasible, I hear those grocery store delivery services are a god-send! I’d check them out if you haven’t already. I know I certainly could have used it back then. Likely, it’s not a service you’ll use forever. I don’t need it now. And I love that I can leave my relatively self-sufficient children at home or at school and go shopping alone. But I do remember, what an unusual treat that was, just a few short years ago. Running errands won’t always be this hard. Hang in there!

Of course your grocery bill won’t be this low either. With growing teens and tweens, I miss the days that I could feed them for pennies. I miss being able to control what goes in their lunches. (My highschooler routinely eats from the vending machines at school using her babysitting money and it makes me nauseous). And sometimes with everyone’s crazy schedules now, we aren’t always at home together for dinner… and I miss their chubby faces at the table. Though I don’t miss them throwing food on the floor or having to poop the second I sat down with my plate.

Speaking of food, don’t bother making your own “Step 1” baby food- it’s not worth the effort to make food that pure and that thin. Build the prepared baby food into your budget- but only for a month or two. Once they can start tolerating some texture in their food, throw whatever you’re making for dinner in the blender and Voila! You’ll save money and create a child with a decent food palate. Studies show that eating a wide variety of foods is more important to the toddler diet than eating a large amount of food. So don’t stress if they only take a few bites. And keep trying, even when they refuse. Picky eaters are annoying no matter what age they are! Start them early by exposing them to a wide variety of foods.

And stop carrying the household work load alone! Give your children chores. Even toddlers can do simple tasks, like unloading the dishwasher and picking up their toys. And I started having them making their own lunches in Kindergarten (with a pictured diagram of what protein, veggies and a snack entailed). Yes, it is more work initially, to supervise them and go behind them, but it will pay off! My 7 year old foster child knew how to vacuum, cook and clean floors when he came to us. (… I thought I was doing good with “Pick up your toys” and “Put your plate in the sink.”) Teenagers should be doing their own laundry, learning to cook and sharing the kitchen clean-up. Those are life skills that they will soon need! You do them no favors by enabling them. Sharing the load leads to less frustration on your part and promotes teamwork and independence. My fifteen-year-old loves showing off her simple cooking skills with her friends- (most of whom can’t even fry an egg). Trust me, they WILL thank you later.

Sometimes though, it’s not just the chores that feel so cumbersome, it’s the constant longing for touch and attention that wears a new mom out. One of my children had very high physical touch needs. All day they wanted to be next to me or on top of me. They had no lovey or blankie or self soothing mechanisms, they just wanted to touch me all the time. And I remember that while my husband’s physical affection for me was one of the things that I fell madly in love with, during that time, I didn’t even want him to touch me. By the end of the day, I was so over-stimulated. Sex was a chore.

I do miss the daily hugs and snuggles. I did love nursing my babies and sleeping with them in a quiet lump on my chest… and now I love having my body back. And I love sex again… though it’s a little tricky now with teenagers who don’t want to go to bed and come downstairs for midnight snacks.

My advice to you, when that tiny body is clinging to your leg as you try to cook dinner and you want to scream “Get off of me!”- Stop for just a second, squat down and hug them. Tell them that you love them very much and enjoy that tiny squeeze. Sometimes that’s all they want. And then tell yourself that this is only temporary… and if you have to… go hide in the bathroom.

While toddlers truly are tiny, irrational beings that often drive us to our wits end, teenagers are simply bigger versions. Their tantrums and selfish demands are infuriating! Add that on to your ever, over-flowing plate of chores and challenges, and it can be enough to make you lose your mind! I know!

My advice to you- no matter how irrational or volatile they are, don’t spank them. I did, and I regret it. Spanking is easier. People say that our kids are entitled and spoiled brats now because people no longer beat them… not true. They’re spoiled and entitled because we stopped spanking and replaced it with little-to-no disciplinary action. Effective parenting is hard! It requires self-control and follow-through. It is easier to lose it and give their behind a couple good wacks than it is to remain calm and make them do an extra chore or take away their screens, toy or cookie. But it does yield better results. You will become a better person for it. And it’s great practice for the teenage years. You can’t beat a 17 year old who’s bigger than you… set your standards and practice these parenting techniques now while they, like their mistakes, are still small and easily managed. And treasure the fact that they still come back for a forgiving hug.

As the mother of a teen, the tantrums and the melt-downs are fewer now, but the consequences of those emotional breaks, the problems and the worries are much bigger. Remind yourself that their worries of which pair of shoes to wear and how many m&ms they’ve eaten today are very tiny choices in the scope of life. Allow them some autonomy and don’t get yourself all razed-up when they wear, say, or do the wrong thing. Take a moment to teach them, but don’t let their emotions escalate you as an adult.

And listen to them, teach them that their words and their feelings matter. Young children who feel heard by their parents will grow into teens who feel safe to confide in their parents. And teens who confide in their parents make less deadly mistakes. Their thoughts and opinions don’t have to change your decisions, but you can at least show them that you are willing to hear them. A foundation of respect, honesty, structure and discipline is essential to a healthy family dynamic. But don’t lose perspective either, save the big fights for when they truly matter.

Sometimes I think we intrinsically know which fights are worth fighting but we feel pressured by others to make a certain impression. And sometimes, the people who pressure us the most are the people who raised us. “You’re gonna let her wear that out of the house?”, “Don’t you think he’s a little young for that?”, or “Oh I didn’t let you guys have that …”, are judgmental statements that often leave us questioning our own parental decisions. But guess what? Our parents weren’t perfect! They made mistakes. Trust your own judgement. Don’t allow yourself to be bullied and don’t copy the same mistakes under the guise of- “That’s how I was raised.” Each generation has the opportunity to learn from the previous generation’s mistakes and successes- so learn, and then make your own decisions about what is best for you and your family.

While your parents do have plenty of wisdom to utilize, they might not always be the best source of advice for child rearing because they raised their children in a very different time. I find, I oftentimes get my best advice from friends and family who are not so far removed from raising children. The people that I see actively managing their life and their children in an admirable way, in the same culture that I’m trying to raise my kids in, are the people I look to forge relationships with. And those relationships have proved essential to my surviving life with children.

Friends give you breaks. You need breaks. Once you’ve built those trusting relationships with one another, take turns watching each other’s children so that the other one can get an errand or a nap in. Or better yet, schedule a wine date and leave all the kids with someone’s spouse so that you can get some uninterrupted, adult conversation in. We have to remember that we have an identity outside of being a parent. You and your child both will enjoy each other more when you have space from one another. Not to mention our children need to learn how to function in our absence. You’ll all be better for it… trust me! Even the spouse who’s watching the five kids… they’ll develop a new found appreciation for what you do on the regular. And when you come home after a few glasses of wine, sex might not be such a “chore” that night (*wink).

And lastly, my advice for the best way to meet said friends…

Get out of the house! Take your children to go play at the local park or elementary school playground. Church works too, if you’re a churchy person. They are all great places to watch other parents parenting their children and you’ll be able to see who you want to invest the time of building a friendship with, and who you want to lose the phone number of, (LOL). When you stay local, you’ll meet parents who likely live in your neighborhood and may even be assigned to the same schools as your children. This sets you up for the possibility of an ongoing relationship, if you so choose. Not to mention, by being outside, the kids won’t be messing up the house. You’ll all get some vitamin D, which everyone is deficient in (and that deficiency causes increased tiredness, fyi). And with all the evidence that screens are killing us… you’ll give your children a break from technology and the opportunity for wholesome, creative play and exercise.

And then… when they’re teens… you’ll be a little less tired, have cool friends to hang out with, and kids who (hopefully) have a decent food pallet, a few life skills, will talk to you, could potentially be able to handle not having a screen for a few hours and tolerate being outdoors… 

The day will come when what felt like an eternity ahead of you, are now the days behind you. And you’ll look back and say, of the greatest chore you were ever given, “I hope I did it good enough.”

Momma, it won’t always be like this.

Forgive yourself. Love yourself. Allow yourself.

Find Beauty where you are right now. And know that nothing lasts forever… even this.

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Reading Cards and Reaching for Rainbows: If I could talk to my child self

 

A tarot-card reader once made me a proposition…

To do a silent reading, for this skeptic on a mission.

The results would be sealed for years, to prove its accuracy,

protecting fate from interruption and yet satisfying my curiosity.

 

I never took her up on it… for fear that I would cheat

and open the envelope for an illegal peek.

I was afraid I might change it, if I knew what my fate held…

Like the tampering with history or a misguided spell.

 

Still I wonder… Was this always the plan?

The choices and happenings, that built this lifespan…

Did they build the person? Or did the person built it?

Was the mold pre-determined? Or the pieces built to fit?

Did my life circumstances come to inspire?

Or was my discontent the fuel to my fire?

 

If I could go back and let that child know,

all that was to come, all she’d have to show…

Would she have slacked off and stopped working so hard?

Or was her life’s journey always in the cards?

 

Nevertheless, I wish I could’ve told her:

That the day would come, that someone would hold her,

someone would love her and treasure her gifts.

That she was the captain, not a piece of wood drift.

 

That intentional choices and decisions that were good,

would eventually bring the life that these things should.

But she’d have to be patient and be willing to roll

with a lot of life’s punches, many she can’t control.

 

That the nights as a child, spent lying awake,

wishing the world had sent some other fate…

Would grow into inspiration, to take a child in

and give them the world- a new chance to begin.

 

Life is not easy, but blessings must not be missed-

every chance, every encouragement, every time the soul’s kissed.

Like jewels in the rough, hidden in the darkest days,

are quiet, kind angels who will help you along the way.

 

They’ll give you small glimpses of how sweet it can be,

if you work hard, choose right and take the time to see

the beauty and blessings in all places- light and dark.

Seek to understand, judgements miss the mark.

 

And in your adolescence, the rebellion, emotions and rage,

the poor choices, screaming and feeling like being caged…

will give you the experience and the wisdom to guide

your own gorgeous kin, navigating life and their delicate, dark side.

 

College and four jobs, eighteen going on thirty-

will teach you how to work hard and not fear getting dirty.

You’ll be jealous of others and think it’s not fair.

But my darling, one day… you’ll reap more than your share.

 

Rich not in money, but in love and compassion,

your journey will be hard but driven by passion.

The world is in need of the talents you hold.

Love is the answer, not a heart that’s turned cold.

 

Many relationships, I’m afraid, will come and go.

And each one, holds a lesson that you will need to know.

And then you will choose to love a man twice your age,

scandal at the time, but a love that becomes a gauge.

 

For when your own children come into their self,

they will hold that marriage up like a treasure on a shelf.

And with their future partners, they will compare

the way they are treated, with the love that you share.

 

The bad break-ups and hard lessons, the mistakes and the losses-

merely sticky plaque, that building character soon flosses.

Boring you’d be, not experiencing these things,

You’d lack meaning and depth, a marionette hanging from strings.

 

And yet it is hard, living a life of hard knocks.

My god how it hurts, when yet another shoe drops;

But hard work pays off and rainbows follow storms.

You’ll make it into happiness and help redefine the “norms”.

 

And when you do, humble as it will be…

You’re job is to reach back and help others see:

That beauty and love forever exist

and the opportunity to help, should never be missed.

 

Pick your head up little girl, you’re stronger than you know,

Your fate lies not in cards but the way your heart grows.

Turn your pain into purpose and tears into dreams,

Now go make them happen, life’s sweeter than it now seems.

 

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