Tag: parenting

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“And”

It often seems that “or” is the preferred conjunction. It is “A” or “B”? Are you happy -or- sad? Do you want this -or- that? But, “or” draws a line. It divides. It claims sides. It is black and white.

But what this life has taught me, what fostering, mothering, nursing and living, has taught me, is that straight lines rarely occur in nature. In between two clearly defined groups, there is often a fuzzy divide. And shades of gray most commonly compose reality, instead of absolutes.

I believe we’ve far overused “or” and perhaps should instead consider another, more powerful conjunction- “and”.

This past fall and winter, my family entered the transition of closing our foster license and entering a relationship of permanence with our foster children (now just our children). And as we walked (and continue to walk) that journey, I was struck by the level of grief and loss that I felt. The inability of my children to reunify with their biological parents felt like a failure- not our failure, not even a failure of the system… but a failure nonetheless. That grief, coupled with the grief of closing our foster license, when I wasn’t yet ready to be done, when there were still more children I wanted to help… weighed heavy on me.

And yet with that loss, there was simultaneously relief- relief that I no longer had to comply with the foster requirements- of home inspections, health and finance records, required education, court approved travel requests and paperwork, relief that we could simply raise these children on our own without the bureaucracy of the agency, relief that we wouldn’t have to say good-bye this time, relief that safety and security could be provided at our hands and that these children’s futures seemed more certain than ever.

As I toiled with this inner conflict, I held the tear-stained faces of children who too felt “and”. They wanted to stay -and- they wanted to go back. They wanted this new family- an older brother and sister, zoo of animals and new adventures -and- their small, quiet family of origin. They love that they came to us -and- they hate that they had to. They wanted to fix what wasn’t able to be fixed -and- they wanted stability. They wanted “out” of foster care, and “in”- because they wanted to hold onto hope and possibility.

Together, we are both happy -and- sad, washed with relief -and- burdened with longing.

But this clarity of “and” didn’t begin with this most recent chapter. Instead, my reflections have allowed me to see that it was there all along.

On their day of arrival, their timid smiles relayed happiness -and- uncertainty, sadness -and- hope.

In times of leisure and recollection, when we gently and casually recall their early days and the new things they had to learn- like what “Pjs” were and meal and bed times, they laugh, confused by how it was once new and delighted by how far they’ve come… and other times they feel embarrassed… but it’s usually a little bit of both.

Holidays and vacations are often triggers. Behavior is often its worst during the times we give the most. And acknowledging that behavior lead me to affirm to the conflicted child that I held in my arms- “You can love what we’re doing here -and- be sad that it wasn’t like this at home. You can celebrate this moment -and- wish that things were different.”

My therapist, who was appointed to me from the agency to hep me dissect the tremendous load that came with my children’s story, and heard me grapple with understanding their parents through two different viewpoints, shared these words – “Parents can love their children very much, going to great lengths to show their affection and offer protection… AND do tremendous harm.” Parents can love -and- hurt, want to provide -and- be unable.

To my children, as they unpack the complexity of it all- You can love someone and acknowledge all the many things they did well -and- hate some of the choices, conditions or circumstances.

As I mother 4 very different children-3 teens and 1 preteen, each with unique personalities and character, I can affirm that all of my children are wonderful people who carry great strengths AND they are learning. They fumble, misstep, and all have their challenges. The straight A student has as many areas of concern as the one who struggles just to pass, they’re just in different areas. The child who’s been labeled a “trouble-maker” is one of the most compassionate I know. The one who’s a gem in school, often gives me the most fits. The natural born leader is taking an untraditional path. The academic genius is learning basic executive functioning.

And the “and”s continue…

When people discover what I do for a living they often say “Oh, labor and delivery, you work in the happy place!” And yet I hold a dual role of both a staff/charge nurse and a bereavement nurse. I watch life both begin and end and absorb the wails of heartache and cheers of celebration. I’ve aided families who have held birthday parties, complete with cake, guests and decorations, for a baby that was yet to be born, because they knew they wouldn’t survive long post-delivery- a joyful -and- heartbreaking event. I’ve received a baby from the sorrowful yet relinquished arms of a mother who couldn’t provide and placed it into the ecstatic arms of the adoptive parents whose dreams were finally coming true. And it’s always an AND.

What I’d like to see less of in the world is less boxes, less labels, less assumptions, less “or”s and … more willingness to see and accept the complexities and intricacies in all of us… the “and”s.

I can be a great parent/nurse/partner -and- feel defeated, overwhelmed and fall short sometimes.

I can adore the life I’ve built -and- need a break.

One can feel discouraged by life’s circumstances -and- proud of things done well.

In each of us, resides both light and darkness, beauty and pain. We don’t have to, nor should we ever, ignore one over the other. They coexist, one alongside the other. I can see one’s powerful light, without ignoring their darkness. I can tend to one’s pain without losing sight of the power and beauty they still possess.

A gain can simultaneously be a loss.

Tears can be shed for both sadness and joy and the two emotions can oscillate so quickly it’s like a vibration and you no longer know which one is causing the let down.

As my children learn to navigate their new lives and the telling of their very personal stories, I hope that the people who are so privileged to know them in that way, hold space for their trauma and loss and the byproducts brought on from it- the anxiety, the insecurity, the compulsions and unusual coping skills… AND I hope they see them for all the wonder that they are and behold, their resiliency, their character, their humor, their intellect, their humanity.

And I hope each of us too, see and are seen, both for what we do well -and- where we struggle- for that is how we are both nurtured and aim for improvement. When together we see light alongside the dark, our focus can shift from a good vs evil, black vs white mentality to a focus on complete personhood, humility and humanity. When we stop comparing and dividing and feeling as though we have to prove ourselves, we promote a society that both allows fault and fragility -and- encourages its members to learn from one another and grow.

When we don’t have to pick whether we’re the creature that crawls on its belly or the magnificent one that flies… the caterpillar or the butterfly…. but instead acknowledge that in all of us, we are both, the sooner we can become.

When we can sit in the open and restful place of “and”, we can more quickly and more clearly see ourselves, in all of our beautiful complexity… and take in the very same from the world around us.

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Today… again

Yesterday I was tired. Yesterday I had had enough… though the enough happened quite a while ago… I guess it just caught up with me… again.

Yesterday I was overwhelmed and consumed. I let simple words intended as good advice, to penetrate my skin and anger and frustration boiled from my core. I wanted to scream,

“Fuck you! Fuck your healthy diets and your exercise regimens. Fuck your 8hrs of sleep and your parenting books. Fuck meditation and any version of faith. Fuck every morsel of advise and tid bit of knowledge. Fuck good intentions and monumental efforts. All of it is for naught and bad shit happens anyway… no matter how many pews you kneel at or how many vitamins you take. So eat the cake, drink the cocktails and stop pretending that you have control. It’s all a lie anyway!”

Though I didn’t believe those words, I thought them. They bubbled up inside me from disappointment and defeat. That ‘one more piece of advice’ felt like one more empty promise from the universe waiting to happen, one more thing that I hadn’t done right, one more “You’re pretty good… but not good enough.” It wasn’t them, it was me. And in that moment I couldn’t see all that was right. I could only see inadequacy.

I didn’t scream those things that I thought. Instead, I held it in like I so often do. Sometimes I wonder with all the holding in I do, what will give first, my heart, my cells or my sanity.

Only this time I couldn’t hold it all in, and my self defeat came oozing out of my tear ducts- first one drop and then two… and then a stream, pouring down my face. I hate crying. It takes me to a place of vulnerability that is uncomfortable. Though I do it more when I’m alone than anyone knows.

I suppose the good thing about crying in front of others is that it always seems to shift the energy and it brings a glimpse of authenticity to the moment. Sometimes it also affords me words of affirmation from others- words that I cling to. And even though I hate how much I need them… I will re-read and replay them in my head a hundred times, bathing in them like a tub of glue, mending my broken pieces, until I feel whole, again.

Today the glue is still a little tacky… but the tears have dried and the boil within me has calmed again. Today is a new day. And I am reminded that all is not lost and blessings remain a bounty. The journey to ones best self is never easy or simple and it’s never a straight line. It’s a lot of ‘get back up and try again’s.

Though tired I still am…

Today I stood extra long in the steaming shower… again. Today, I turned on the sound machine… and in my mind, began building my meditative imaginary land of tranquility, again. Today I chose veggies over chips and water over wine. And I cooked and journaled and napped … again.

Perhaps tomorrow awaits tremendous joy and blessings and this shift will help me better receive that. Or perhaps tomorrow lurches another blow and today’s self care will give me the energy I need to handle it.

If worry is useless rumination of the past and anxiety is pointless fear of the future… then I have wasted far too much time in the wrong places. So, here’s to today… again.

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A letter to my child when they turn 30

Hello my love,

I hope this letter finds you well… finds you happy. In fact, I hope you’re reading it snuggled up and cozy, with a family that you love quietly preparing for bed, after you’ve just returned home from laughs and drinks with your old Mom. And I hope as you drove home from our date and reflected on how our relationship has changed over the years, that I’m a Mom that you’re proud of.

I hope that I am and always was enough.

You know, the day I discovered I was pregnant with you, I was both terrified and instantly inspired. I wanted to be the best Mom in the world. I cut out coffee and alcohol and ate all the healthiest foods. I was afraid to ever make a mistake with you and I  wanted to give you the world. And then you were here and you were mine… and I made mistakes and told you “no” more times than I can count.

But every mistake was felt almost instantly and painfully. And every decision trial, was harder than you could ever imagine.

Remember how tough it was to have a nurse for a Mom, a night-shifter at that. Every time I came home grumpy from sleep exhaustion or a difficult shift and I yelled for you to “get your shoes on and get out the door”… I regretted, the moment you climbed out of the car in the drop-off line. And after those encounters, when I nodded off to sleep while you started your day at school, I vowed to be better tomorrow… and some days, I wasn’t. Every time I sent you to school with a stomach ache or a sore throat because you weren’t throwing up or had a fever, I stalked my phone all day just in the case the nurse called and you needed to come home.

Remember that teacher that was shitty to you and didn’t understand your feelings or your needs… and I tried to point out the positives to you and give her the benefit of the doubt. I fucking hated her. And I wrote more scathing e-mails demanding change, than you’ll ever know. Her words were never more important than your feelings.

On the hard days when you cried and with a solid expression on my face, I rubbed your back and told you to keep trying, told you not to quit, told you some days are hard like this… my stern exterior broke when I was alone, and baby, I cried right along with you. I cried when you didn’t get picked for safety patrol, when I knew how bad you wanted it. I cried when your drama audition and your visitation day went badly. I cried when you broke up with your first boyfriend-watching your heart break, in turn, broke mine. Every disappointment, every pain, every sense of failure wore on my soul like a ball and chain… even if on the outside, I didn’t show it.

And discipline was no different. The love a parent has when they chose to make hard calls to instill good values and character… is a love that is both exhausting and painful… like debriding and cleaning out an infected wound to save a limb- though essential, your pain didn’t go unfelt within my soul. And so often I wished lessons didn’t have to be learned hard and that indulgence didn’t have to be spared.

As you became a teenager, the struggles got harder and your push for independence was a constant tug-o-war with my undying instinct to protect you. It was around this time in your life that you began to see little slivers of me as a person (not just me as your mom)- a curse word here, a little too much wine there… If I disappointed you then, I hope that by now, you see me as a human that you are proud of. It’s hard to wear the super mom cape forever… though I tried.

You were always a human that I was proud of… even when I didn’t say it. And I know I wasn’t always good about saying it… that was a hard skill for me to learn. Every step you took brought me tremendous pride and unbearable angst. The statistics and stories of tragic death from drugs, motor vehicle accidents, suicide, accidental death, human trafficking… kept me up at night… and the thing I feared the most, was losing you.

From the moment I knew you existed, you were and always will be, my most precious possession… only you’re not my possession. If you were, I’d keep you locked up in the valuables box. But no, you my dear were meant to be out in the world, to shine and to share your gifts. You are a wonder to behold… even though sharing you, means sharing my own heart… cutting open my own chest and exposing the blood-pumping vital organ that sustains me, to the crowded and selfish world around me… silently begging them not to poke.

I wasn’t always able to save you from pain… but my god… I sure as hell did try! And the soul-twisting, gut-wrenching pain that I felt when I couldn’t… seared like a hot poker on my heart… tissue dead, permanently scarred, leaving the muscle to twitch before it learned to pump again, resilient but blackened by the pain you suffered.

I would have given my life to save you from that pain. But in doing so, I would have missed your wonderous recovery… your resilient spirit and tremendous strength. I live every day tormented by your suffering, yet in awe of your wonder.

Despite the hardships, I hope your childhood memories are more sweet than bitter. I hope the games, vacations, parties and quality family time unweigh the time-outs, harsh words, disappointments and tears. I hope I taught you how to both survive and love fiercely, to think critically and trust your gut, to work hard but know when to ask for help. I hope you remember the tree house, ice cream and s’mores, road trips, day hikes and family hide-n-go-seek.

By now, you know that adulthood and even parenthood, isn’t some magical veil that you pass through and instantly gain wisdom and patience and all that is good. By now you know that the super hero cape I wore was one that you merely envisioned. And as you grew and it dissolved, I hope you found grace for my misgivings and recognize my humanity. But I hope you see that I never ever stopped fighting for everything that was good for us and that my love for you is endless.

I hope that you are proud of me, as I am of you.

And just as I listened to your childish pleas and I satisfied them when I was able, I hope you hear this old mother’s plea…

Don’t ever stop coming by to visit. Don’t ever stop asking for advise or a helping hand. Or calling just to say “Hi!”. And don’t you ever… for a single second question that I am not forever proud and in awe of the person you were and have grown to be.

I hope you don’t knock. Come for dinner or a drink, for an afternoon nap or an evening chat. I hope you open the fridge and my front door like you’re home… because you are… in my house and in my heart… darling, you are always home. You are mine and I am yours, forever.

Love,

Mom

 

 

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Sitting in a waiting room…again.

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I’m sitting in a waiting room again…

Another 2 1/2 hours of my life, spent.

We do this every week,

for psychiatric therapy.

There, I said it. Ohhhh….psychiatric…..gasp!

It’s not because our marriage is on the rocks or because the school advised it for the children based on behavioral concerns (although those are two very good reasons to consider going). We go because we are normal people (whatever the hell, “normal” means), with normal emotions, who encounter normal challenges and struggles and we want some help sometimes to know how to navigate those challenges in the healthiest way possible.

We are blessed to have a wonderful marriage, a loving home and two wonderful, socially mature and thriving children. And we have chosen to share our happy home with foster children. While fostering certainly adds another, emotional and sometimes challenging, dimension to our lives. Fostering is not the only reason we utilize therapy. In fact, we started going to therapy years before we ever considered fostering.

We started going when one of our children found school overwhelming, and we’ve continued as we encounter new challenges. We go because our brains and our hormones, our emotional balance and psychological wellbeing are important to us. We don’t just want to ‘do’ well, we want to feel well. We want to communicate well. And we don’t want our successes to be inhibited by the emotions that so often guide our thoughts and actions.

Just as I go school supply shopping for my children to ensure that they have the tools they need to participate in school…

Just as I take them to the doctor to get immunizations and the occasional antibiotic for strep throat so that they can be well in life…

Just as I call a girlfriend, pour a glass of wine or run a hot bath to unwind…

We go to therapists when we are having a hard time so that we can achieve, settle our minds and be well in life.

We go to therapists so that the patterns in our family lines, don’t repeat themselves.

We go to therapists because we want to utilize every tool available to us.

And there is no shame, misfortune or inferiority to be had in that.

The only shame is ignoring a problem that you know exists. The only misfortune is a person in need of assistance, being denied it. And the only thing that I find inferior, are people who think that they are superior to the services being offered or to those who utilize them.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that my fervent passion for mental health lies in part, out of fear. I was eight when I lost my uncle and fourteen when I lost my brother. I entered adulthood and motherhood afraid to lose anyone else, especially those closest to me, from an untreated, narrowly acknowledged condition. Both my uncle and my brother were never diagnosed nor ever attempted medication therapy…and they died from their self inflicted decision to escape their mental conditions because they saw no other way out. And thousands of others are suffering from the same problem, every day.

And yet the snarky comments, the diverted glances and the air of superiority continue.

We’re all supposed to be “strong”. We’re all supposed to “manage”. We’re all supposed to be able to “figure it out” and “make it all happen”. And yet, no one is giving us the tools to be able to do that. Nor are they taking into account our mental and emotional state and/or capacity.

If your kid has trouble seeing, you get them glasses. If your mom can no longer hear well, you get her a hearing aid. If your back hurts, you take a muscle relaxant, go to physical therapy, do some stretches. But when you’re overcome by fear, anxiety, sadness, loneliness, or feeling overwhelmed or stressed…you’re told to “get over it.” When someone begins withdrawing from social situations, having bursts of anger or crying spells, or is suddenly under-performing at work or school…they are shamed….or…better yet, ignored. And the more subtle signs of mental struggle are almost always missed.

No one expects a diabetic to survive without insulin and diet modifications. No one expects a morbidly obese person to run a mile. No one expects a physically disabled body to function at the same capacity as an able-bodied one. And yet all over the planet, while people acknowledge that our bodies are different, they’re pretending that our brains are all the same. And when someone can’t perform at the same caliber because of their current emotional or mental capabilities, they are shunned.

And so we go along setting unrealistic expectations, over-extending and over-committing ourselves, hiding our problems and making excuses…and it’s killing us.

Yet the excuses keep coming…

“He/she is just doing this for attention.” or “They’re just lazy.”

Attention seekers and people with a low drive exist. But most of the time, there’s more to their behavior than just these single signs. Have you taken the time/effort to explore possible underlying causes? Have you involved a professional to ensure that there’s not more going on? Or did you, with your finite knowledge come to that conclusion on your own?

Imagine the torment of not being able to see and your family telling you that you’re faking your blindness for attention. Imagine losing your ability to hear, and your boss telling you to “just listen more closely and you’ll get it”. Feeling overcome with fear/sadness, being so distracted that you can’t perform…or so manic that you can’t sit still, is like being blind/deaf to the world around you. It’s like sitting in the eye of a tornado and trying to pretend the world isn’t spinning and trying to suck you into it. Talk to them. Believe them when they tell you their struggles.

“I called but I couldn’t get an appointment.”

Mental health facilities are hard to get into. Many of them have 6 month-1 year waiting lists for new patients. Hospitals rarely have an open psych bed. The supply and demand for psychiatric services are incredibly out of balance.

All the more reason not to wait until you are in crisis! Routine mental health support not only provides the resources and support to help prevent a mental health crisis, but it gives you a provider to call when you need them the most.

“I don’t have the money or time for that.” Those co-pays add up and going to routine appointments is cumbersome and time-consuming…

So does carry out pizza and all of your kids’ extracurricular activities. Unlike pizza, investing in your children’s emotional wellbeing will support their overall health. And being a violin playing, chess master, soccer star doesn’t matter if their anxiety, sadness, anger or social immaturity prevents them from enjoying life and reaching their potential. And as parents, the damage we can do by not managing our own mental health effectively, is far more detrimental than any benefit of running ourselves ragged and avoiding self-care to serve our families non-essential desires. Trust me! That shit will come back to bite you!

That being said, there are very real financial hurdles some people face when it comes to affording adequate mental health services. However, there are a lot of resources out there…especially when you live close to a big city. A google search or even a call to a doctor’s office can help you find those resources.

“I tried that before and it didn’t help…”

Medications and therapists are not one-size-fits-all. You don’t go into a shoe store, try on one pair, and then give up on wearing shoes if that particular pair didn’t fit. You have to find a therapist, and when needed, a medication, that works for you. And sometimes, that takes trial and error. But finding the right fit…can be a game-changer.

“We’re not there yet.”

By “we”, do you mean “you”? Because if you are not the one suffering from the mental health symptoms, you shouldn’t be the only one deciding when it’s “bad enough” for someone else to receive outside help, even when that person is your child. Imagine drowning and watching a lifeguard on the shore shout to the onlookers-“He’s okay…he’s got this…he doesn’t need this floatation device yet”. What is the threshold for pursuing a treatment as benign as talking to someone? Why wait for them to go under before you call for help? What benefit do you suppose will be achieved by allowing someone to continue struggling with their head just barely above the water? And just suppose, you do…gasp go to a therapist pre-maturely…what is the detriment, as opposed to going too late? I beg of you, do not let your own pride, prevent you from seeking help for yourself or the ones you love. The risks simply do not out-weigh the benefits.

 

Many people avoid psychiatric services, for themselves or their loved ones, because they are afraid-either of the stigma or a diagnosis. Or because it involves work. The stigma ends with this, us, talking about it and normalizing it. Avoiding it only perpetuates the thing we all hate. While it is normal to grieve, to some degree, if/when a diagnosis is made- it’s important to remember that a diagnosis doesn’t create symptoms-the disease/disorder already existed, it merely has a name now. And having that name allows you to learn how to treat it and move forward. Lastly, becoming better at anything requires work. Digging shit up and working through it, recalling what is tormenting us and recognizing what our faults are and where we have err’d is hard! Growth is hard. Self-improvement is hard. But it’s worth it, to be our best selves.

 

I am sitting in a therapist’s waiting room again…2 1/2 hours…well spent…

Because I don’t have all the answers. Because while I am an expert in some things, I am not an expert in mental health. Because while my children talk to me and I, to my friends and husband, sometimes it helps to have someone else to talk to…an outsider, a professional. Because sometimes, life hands us a load that is too damn heavy to carry on our own.

Because just like pencils and erasers and two-pocket folders, I want my children to have all the tools they need to perform at their best. Because, just like the PT I get for my back, my heart and my mind too, need support and exercise. Because I want to normalize the healthy management of mental health so that one day, when I’m not around, my children, my loved ones, don’t ever hesitate to get the help they need; and so that, they in turn can continue to support others who find themselves in need of support. Because I want to be the best mom/foster mom, wife, nurse, writer, teacher, counselor that I can be. And because I’m not too proud to admit when I, we, need help.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Trials and Tribulations of Parenting: Learning not to minimize our teenager’s grief

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A couple of months ago, I had an experience, like many parents of teenagers (girls, especially), wherein my teen had a meltdown when the plans that she had concocted at the last minute would not be coming to fruition, due to, shall we say, parental factors.

In other words, despite her “hours of planning”, unbeknownst to us and her best of intentions to make it work, my husband and I, and the other parents said, “Not this time.” Thus, last minute plans led to last minute disappointment. Combine that, with her developmental stage and hormones… and holy moly… WWIII broke out in our household.

All morning she cried and all afternoon, she sulked. When I tried to talk to her, arguing ensued. That resulted in my feeling as though she was being ridiculous and entitled; and it left her, feeling completely frustrated and unheard.

It went something like this:

Daughter: “Mom, I haven’t done anything my entire first week and a half of summer.”

Me: “Yes you have, one day you …. and another day you….”

Daughter: “Two days, Mom!” That’s it! Two days!”

Me: “Well at least you got two … Seriously! It’s been 10 days!”

And then I continued to explain and justify why our decision to say “No” was reasonable,  and why her behavior was out of line. She stormed off again, slamming yet another door.

Then came threats from me and more ineffective communication. And I felt, yet again… that I was failing at this parenting thing.

Was she being overly dramatic and entitled? Yep!

Did I handle things the best way? Nope!

 

While I stewed about how long this was going to drag on and how to resolve this… I remembered a grief class that I had taught just a few days prior.

I teach medical staff who are caring for newly bereaved parents/family how to understand grief and how best to care for families who are being faced with the horrifying reality that their pregnancy will not have the happy ending that they had hoped for. In that presentation is a section of :”What to say” and “What not to say…”. And at the top of the “What not to say” list is anything that leads with “At least you…”-  because odds are, whatever will follow is a statement that minimizes their grief.

And I instantly realized, while on a magnanimously smaller scale, despite my feeling justified and rational in my conclusions, I too had minimized my child’s grief. Not only were our emotional needs not being met during this feud, we were no closer to reaching a resolution to our problem, either. And by yelling and arguing back, I was failing at providing her good instruction and demonstrating proper coping skills for how to handle her disappointment and resolve this problem in the future.

So I started by breaking things down:

Her complaint (minus the teenage drama and hormones):  “My plans were cancelled today. And I haven’t done as much as I would’ve liked to, thus far this summer.”

With this new viewpoint in mind, I completely restructured my communication with her. I went back to her, yet again. But this time, instead of telling her she was wrong, I said:

“I hear that you are disappointed that your plans were cancelled today. And I hear that you are frustrated that you haven’t done more this summer.” For once, she didn’t lash right back… so I continued. “I want to first remind you, that this is what you wanted to do initially- you asked to be able to ‘just veg out and not do a thing’, and I understand that that has changed now and you are feeling trapped.”

The high energy and defiant personality I’d been battling all day… softened and quieted… she was being heard and with that acknowledgement, she was ready to receive more input.

“So, fix it.” I said. “Go get the agenda book I bought you for school, and start filling it in. Figure out what you want to do and when. You can look at our family calendar and add in the things we already scheduled and then see what else it is that you want to do. Look up some recipes that you want to make, think about who you want to see and where you’d like to go- and I will do what I can to make those plans happen for you. But I need to know in advance. When you make last-minute plans, that require the help of other people, it is disrespectful to those people’s plans and lives. You can’t expect other people to drop everything and accommodate you without adequate notice. That is how you change what you don’t like, not yelling at people and disrespecting them-that’s never going to work out for you. And remember, it is always my job to keep you safe and make decisions that are in your best interest.”

That conversation was a game-changer.

Instead of shutting her down… I acknowledged her feelings.

Instead of arguing the accuracy and validity of her point, I offered her a solution.

Instead of copying her ineffective coping mechanisms, I offered her effective ones.

And none of that required that I waver on my expectations or renege on my standards as a parent.

And she really did hear me.

She changed her attitude, went and got her agenda, and filled it in. And we kept up our end of the bargain in doing our best to make those things happen. We shopped for her recipe-grocery items and added her plans to our calendars where we could. Within days her boyfriend was over the house and they were cooking dinner for us all.

It truly was a win-win. Even if it took me a few tries to get it right.

Parenting was one of, if not my greatest life goals. I wanted to be a Mom more than just about anything. And I really wanted to do it well. Great goals aren’t achieved overnight or without a ton of hard work. And being a parent is no different. You wouldn’t expect to hike Mount Everest without training and encountering hardships along the way. You wouldn’t expect to land a dream job as a trained professional without learned mastery and repeated failed attempts. So why do we expect any different when we become parents?

That afternoon, I failed several times before I got it right. And I’ll fail again, I’m sure. Unlike trained professionals, there are no textbooks or manuals customized for your particular child and their particular life stage. But if you keep trying… if you seek inspiration in the world around you… and if you aim to validate your children as the living, feeling, individuals that they are… you’ll be alright.

Hang in there! This parenting thing sure is one hell of a ride… and teenagers are the ultimate rollercoaster! But a few loopty loops and a few warranted screams are survivable, if there’s a safe station and loving arms to return to when it’s over.

 

 

 

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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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Building A City Made of Sweets… a journey in love and fostering

He came to us in the late night hours…separated from his sibling in an emergency placement. It was only suppose to be for a few days. He was holding a small plastic bag and nothing else.

“What do you have in your bag?” we inquired gently.

“Just my chips from dinner….and this…” He held up a tiny, soft McDonalds toy…”I like to sleep with this.”

We showed him around the house and introduced him to all of our pets. Our own children were sleeping sound in their beds. “Are you tired?” we asked. It was late for such a small child to still be awake and I imagined my own children in melt-down mode at that age. And yet this little guy was as calm and pleasant as could be. But then again, regardless of the hour, how does one sleep when they find themselves entering a strange, new home with uncertain plans and an uncertain future? But he nodded his head “yes.”

We were in awe of his lack of apparent fear, a sign of the hard journey that he’d been on. We gave him some comfy clothes to sleep in and a new toothbrush. And he neatly set his shoes beside his bed. We left a trail of lights on throughout the house, leading to our bedroom, and we retreated so that our eyes could meet and our hearts could break in private. Together, my husband and I imagined our own two children being separated and taken into strange homes in the midnight hour. And our insides ached. I stared at the ceiling for nearly an hour, processing his journey and contemplating ours, before I finally went back to peek-in on him. He was sound asleep…his tiny toy cupped in his small hands.

With only a few hours of rest myself, I was up early the next morning, coffee in hand, ready to greet our newest member when he awoke. I could hear him and my son talking in their beds and it made me smile. And then I heard the door crack. His little self stepped out with a cautious grin, stopped in front of his door and gave me a cheery “Good morning!”, before coming to greet me.

 

The following three days were well-spent. A trip to the bank- where he got to press the button and shoot the money tube for the first time, the pet store- where we stopped to see every little creature and the grocery store where he picked out a special treat-mangoes! A few new outfits and lots of new experiences, everything for him was new and fun and we had the most wonderful time getting to know one another. We learned that he was a master joke teller, a great helper and an amazing optimist. Everything from him was “Thank you!” and “That’s ok!” and “This is fun!”. He was grateful for every experience, every plate of food and every moment shared. And his most favorite thing to do…was to play board games, especially Candy Land. So we played lots and lots of Candy Land.

 

By his third night, he began to inquire more about his younger sibling. Unbeknownst to him, I had been calling daily, to try and reach the other foster mom to arrange a play date, all to no avail. As a mother, I was shocked that this wasn’t of upmost priority to every party involved. And on one particular night, when I could sense his unrest, a memory from my youth popped into my head, like a flashback, triggered by his angst, I remembered my own anxiety-filled nights as a child and one way that I used to cope.

I crouched next to his bed and I said “Do you know what I used to do? Sometimes, when I was lying in bed at night, before I’d fall asleep, I would build a city made of sweets, in my head. And then, all night, I’d dream about it.”

He gave me a curious, tell-me-more kind of expression. So I continued…”The walls of my house would be chocolate bars, the stone path would be hard candies…the windows…hmmm…what could be the windows?”

His eyes lit up and I could see the gears beginning to turn in his mind…shifting from uncertain angst to excitement.

“What would the grass be?” he asked.

“Sprinkles!” my son pipped in. “Green sprinkles on chocolate icing.”

“And the street lights would be candy canes!” he exclaimed…and before you knew it, we’d built half the neighborhood. I left him in bed, to build the rest.

When he awoke the next morning, he came to me with a smile. “You were right! I dreamed about my candy city all night!”

“That was a good dream wasn’t it?” I said. And he nodded furiously.

 

It didn’t take long to realize that we had received the most perfect first foster placement imaginable. He was sweet and well mannered, easy to love and he came with the condition that this placement was temporary. With that expectation, we viewed this placement like a long sleepover, like a friend of my children’s coming to stay for a few days. It would be easier that way, not to get too attached.

 

And then three days turned into three weeks. And one child, became two.

Through a series of unfortunate events (though fortunate for us), his younger sibling was removed from his placement and we were granted a temporary, emergency over-ride to have both children in our home over Spring Break, even though our license was only for one.

 

On his brother’s first night with us, we found another set of comfy clothes, even smaller than the ones we found two weeks before. And we reminded him of the lay out of the house and where to find us. Then, I flipped on the small lamp in their bedroom before turning the other lights out.

“Is that light bright?” the tiny sibling asked.

“A little bit” I answered. “Do you like light when you sleep? Or do you like it to be dark?”

His brother answered for him, like big brothers often do…”He likes light. He’s afraid of the dark. The last house he was staying in didn’t use lights at night and he was afraid.”

“It was very dark” the little one chimed in and his eyes got very big when he spoke.

My heart hurt. “Who doesn’t leave a light on for such a small child?” I thought to myself. “Well in this house…we always have light.” I told him. And the symbolism didn’t escape me.

Despite his approval of the brightness of the room, as I went to tuck the two in bed, I could still see angst in the tiny one’s eyes. And so I sat beside him on his bed. And I said “Do you know what I like to think about before I go to sleep?…” and together his big brother and I taught him how to build ‘A City made of Sweets’.

His reaction the following morning was just like his brother’s.

 

Over the next week, we continued our adventures as a family of six now. They loved the chore of feeding the animals. They loved to sing and dance-particularly when I played music from their country-something no one had done for them since they’d been removed from their parents months before. They loved sandwiches. They loved the dogs. They loved all their new experiences. And they loved to talk and joke and spend time together as a family.

That family experience only heightened when we got the agency to approve of us taking the boys out of state to spend the Easter holiday with my sister. It would be their first holiday in placement and also happened to be their birthday week. So we wanted it to be an extra special time. And it was.

We went to the Zoo, packed a picnic, played Basketball, Frisbee…and board games of course! We had a birthday party, dyed eggs and made crafts. My sister’s family gifted them with stuffed toys and board games. The boys had a nerf war- and their minor disgruntlements over who had more darts was far over-weighed by the saturation of love.

On Easter Sunday, while the littlest foster and I walked together in search of treat-filled plastic eggs, he made reference to a conversation we had had earlier in the week, about spreading love. That conversation, which at the time, turned into a competition of “Who can say the sweetest thing?” had very clearly made an impression on the little boy.

“I have lots of good things to say,” he said. “I want to give love to the world…like you told me.”

“Oh, you have so much love to give the world…” I told him.

Clutching his bag full of eggs and nodding his head furiously, he looked up at me and said…”Yeah…and You taught me that…you did!”

 

Despite the clear expectation that this was a temporary placement, in those three weeks, we had fallen head-over-heels in love with those two boys. And they with us. And when the day came that they had to leave, (because our temporary “over-ride” was up and the boys needed a placement that could accommodate the state regulations for two), the devastation on their faces nearly broke me.

And for a moment, I questioned the very reason we started this journey in the first place.

We started this journey to be able to show children in need that normalcy and a home of love and joy exists- so that as they grew, they would know what they could achieve if they strived for it. And when I told those little faces that they were going to leave, it was as if I yanked an ice cream cone out of their hands and threw it away in front of them. Like after a lifetime of never experiencing chocolate, I gave them a taste and then took it away. And for a brief time, I questioned if by having them these past three weeks, we had made everything worse. If they had never tasted the sweetness of a loving, structured and supportive family, could they have been saved from the pain of now missing it? In giving them a gift that was destined to be taken away, did we only hurt them more?

But once the hurt settled a little, I began to remember the many sweet memories we made together, the new experiences and the lessons in love… the times they told me that they learned new things from me and the times I watched their uncertain angst melt into a relaxed feeling of safety. I felt affirmed that despite my own hardships growing up, I had in fact, created a happy home. While not a perfect Mom, I am a good one. And despite my earlier discouragements, three weeks of happiness was in fact, better than none.

 

While I settled them into the back seat of the social worker’s car… I kissed their faces and wiped their tears, holding back my own. “Take all the love and joy that we had here… and spread it wherever you go.” I told them. “That is your job. That is what you came here to learn. I want you to teach the world how to love.”

They pulled out of the drive, clutching their new stuffed toys- a red dino and a brown monkey. There was a duffle bag full of new clothes and shoes, two Easter baskets and a gift bag full of games- Chutes and Ladders, Uno, Trouble…and Candy Land.

I waved until the car was out of sight, stepped into the house… and my own liquid heartbreak ran down my face. But underneath that sadness, was a strong sense of hope.

That night, when I settled into bed, the first in three weeks, with only two children in my home, I pictured my other two lying in different beds. And I hoped that wherever they were… In their hearts, the seeds of love that we had planted were and would forever grow… and I hoped that in their heads… they were building A City Made of Sweets.

 

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A Lesson on Pie

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All of my upbringing, every Thanksgiving, my mother always insisted on Mrs. Smith’s pies, while my father’s side of the family (with whom we celebrated the most – due to locale and numbers), had a kitchen counter that teemed with homemade baked goods. Six to eight pumpkin pies and another eight to ten of the others were standard for our rowdy brood. The task was usually split between two or more of my aunts and it was a multi-day affair- baking all those pies, along with everything else. My grandmother made the stuffing and the rolls…often times in a clean trash bag…that’s how big a brood we are.

We usually brought fruit salad. And every year I always commented on and admired my aunts’ baking skills. “Start with pumpkin,” they’d tell me, “That’s the easiest.” But pumpkin, my mother told me, was ‘impossible’. “I tried to make a pumpkin pie from scratch one year and it turned out terrible”, she’d say. Over and over, she’d retell that story about the pumpkin pie that didn’t turn out. And every year, I’d follow her lead and neglect to bake any pies. For fear of failure, for fear of “I told you so,” for fear of not measuring up to someone else’s talent, I avoided a task that I so admired in others.

And then I spent a Thanksgiving alone-just me and my then-boyfriend and our new baby. And without the watchful eyes of others, without the pressure of an owed contribution, I decided to bake my own, homemade pumpkin pie. And every step of the way, I anticipated failure. My boyfriend didn’t even like pumpkin pie. And regardless, he wasn’t a baker himself and he loved me. So I had nothing to lose- no one to let down, but myself.

It seemed too easy. I must’ve done something wrong. Surely, it wouldn’t turn out. Through my mother’s experience, I knew my lack of success was inevitable. Here, in our humble little apartment, no one would know when I failed and I would be able to tell myself that “I tried.”

Only it did turn out. It was perfect. There was nothing difficult or extraordinary about it…except for my own insecurities.

And I realized that day, that for 22 years, I had allowed one person’s singular experience to dissuade me from even trying something that I enjoyed. I had allowed someone, through their own fears and insecurities, to instill in me that same uncertainty and self-doubt.

Fast forward fourteen years….

Yesterday, my daughter (that same baby in the apartment, now an ambitious yet self-doubting young woman herself), said that she wanted to make a pecan pie. It was a Thanksgiving item I’d never even attempted. I make the corn pudding, cheesecakes and cranberry relish, never the pecan pies. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to dissuade her from her own desires to accomplish and contribute. Nor did I reveal my lack of experience or uncertainty. I added her ingredients to the shopping list and called her when the oven was free.

And then I left her to create. I needed her victory to be all her own. She’d come to me of course, to ask about doubling a measurement and rolling the dough out thin enough. And lord knows the kitchen told the story of a 14 year old who was baking that evening… But she did it! And even though, there will be other pecan pies on the counter tonight, that pie will be hers. She will carry the pride of accomplishment and contribution this Thanksgiving and in her life. And not just because of a pie, I hope; but because of many opportunities taken, not discouraged.

I’m 36 now. I’m accomplished in both life and profession. I am intelligent and creative, resilient and brave. But I am still struggling to overcome self-doubt and fear of failing, especially when that fear originates in the experiences of others who are close to me. I hope that my self- awareness leads to growth in this area.

So on this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for learned experiences, a disruption in unhealthy life cycles, for the encouragement of others and the opportunity to try.

Whether this holiday finds you surrounded by large numbers of family, food and chaos or whether it’s a quiet day of reflection, with a few signature dishes on your grandmothers tablecloth, I hope that you take a chance today. Be it a recipe or a phone call you’ve been avoiding, an invite or an offer you’re tempted to decline. Success comes only to those willing to take a chance and failure is only failure when we neglect to try. May the experiences of others inspire not discourage you and may your own demons be silenced by your inner strength.

Happy Thanksgiving from Life Liberty and a Little Bit of Libations!

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Learning your “gut feeling” and teaching your teenager to do the same

holding hands pic

As the mother of a teen, I’m sure I’m not alone when I tell my teen “No” and she doesn’t understand “Why?”. “I’m just not okay with it,” “I don’t have a good feeling about it,” and “I need you to trust my judgment,” are all statements that have been made by me and met with resistance by my teen. I’m frequently deemed “ridiculous” or “over-protective.” And my Mommy-spidey senses are rarely appreciated.

It’s hard to explain to an inexperienced, hormonal and often impulsive and illogical being that something gave me pause -that an inner nagging or a bad feeling is yielding a judgment call on my part. She is hardly able to grasp the tangible world and her own body seems foreign most days. How in the world can I get her to understand the whisperings of the spirit and the soft nudges of her conscience?!

Well, recently we had a wonderful teaching moment and I wonder if other parents might benefit from the same. And it wasn’t an “I told you so moment.” It was more personal and more impactful than that.

Fortunately for me, sassy and rebellious as my child may be, she does still talk to me. And recently she confided in me that a friend of hers had been making some uncomfortable suggestions to her. It was nothing really over the top and one could easily dismiss them as innocent inquiry; but it stuck with my daughter and it bothered her. Later, that same friend asked to have a sleepover. And my daughter came to me about the predicament.

The conversation went something like this: “I really like her as a friend. And I’m not really sure what she meant by those questions. But the idea of her sleeping over makes me uncomfortable. I just don’t feel good about it.”

I told her that that was reasonable and helped her think of a non-threatening way of handling the situation. The next day I was driving and lost in my own thoughts when BAM! It hit me! Teaching moment!

The next time we had a chance to talk, I brought up the situation again.

“Remember how you felt uncomfortable with your friend sleeping over? You didn’t really have a solid reason to deny her. You really didn’t even have any facts to go by. She really didn’t do anything wrong. But she said a few things. And those things gave you a feeling. That feeling was something you couldn’t shake. You had the feeling that as much as you liked her as a friend, you didn’t want her to sleep over. And you couldn’t feel okay with it. Baby, that’s your gut. And you must always listen to it! I’m proud of you that you listened to it. And I want you to notice that I didn’t try to talk you out of that feeling. Because a gut feeling is an important feeling to listen to.”

“Now, I know that as a mother, sometimes the decisions I make don’t always make sense to you. Sometimes I say ‘No’ to stuff with no hard facts to back me up. You know those times that the argument that you’re making to me makes perfect, logical sense; but I still end up saying, ‘I’m just not okay with it’? That’s because I’m having the same feeling that you had when you felt uncomfortable about your friend sleeping over. Those are the times that my gut is talking. And just like you couldn’t ignore it, I can’t ignore it either.”

“You may never know what would have happened if you had had that sleepover. And many times, I don’t know what would happen if I said “Ok” to you, when I otherwise feel like I shouldn’t. But I have to trust that our guts talk for a reason. And the worst feeling is when we don’t listen to it and we end up getting hurt.”

“You are my most precious gift. You are more important to me than my own self. If you can’t ignore that feeling about yourself, then I certainly can’t ignore it when it’s about you. I know it’s oftentimes hard to understand. I know I seems ridiculous and over-protective at times. But please know that I don’t ever say “No” without a reason. It’s just that sometimes, that reason is my gut.”

I’m sure most parents have a similar experience with their child. A time where they saw them squirm because someone or something made them uncomfortable. And I know every parent of a teenager deals with the teenage lack of perspective. Next time you see your kids struggle with that feeling, in addition to honoring that feeling, perhaps you too, could use it as a teachable moment. I prefer moments like these much more than the regretful, “I tried to tell you…” and the “You didn’t listen to me…” moments. Those, while at times inevitable, are much more painful for both parties involved. But a real-life, relatable, crisis-averted, “you felt it too” moment is the best in my book.

Best of luck to all you parents out there, who like me, are searching for direction and begging the universe to cut them a break – or at least allow them to survive. We’re doing it, one lesson, one glass at a time!