I woke up this morning freezing.
Fumbling toward my night stand, I grabbed my phone and saw that the temperature was 34 degrees.
Wandering down to the kitchen, I lit a candle and dutifully clicked the coffee pot while I grabbed a fleece sweater and curled up in a chair waiting for the liquid gold to brew.
Because it's pitch black outside at 7am, no one wants to get out of bed, including me. But the reality is that fall is slowly saying goodbye and with only a few days left of October, the craze of the holiday season and winter will soon be upon us.
I have such a love hate relationship with this time of year. I always beg for an Indian Summer...one that will last with 65-70 degree days far into November and snow that will only come lightly with big puffy flakes just in time for Christmas, while only leaving a dusting on the drive.
I want weather that warrants cups of tea, cider, chai and coffee, but not the kind that has me chilled to the bone, finding my way to the tub on a daily basis.
I yearn for red, orange and yellow leaves that stay well past Halloween and crunch as I walk my kids bundled to and from school...but not the wet ones that sink into the cracks of my drive and make it impossible and gross to gather into yard waste bags.
I beg for pause. An opportunity to be slower, to reflect, to be more mindful...but not so much so that I find myself lazy, apathetic and filled with consternation about all of the projects I should have gotten done but now have no energy or interest in accomplishing.
I pray for renewal. As the end of the year winds down, I seek the time to be grateful for all that was and hopeful for all that is to come.
I guess, I want for a lot in a rather complicated, particular way.
Staring down Daylight Savings Time on Sunday morning...I say, thank you for sunshine earlier in the day but boo to 5:30pm dark drives home.
And as Autumn stands in the corner singing his song of farewell, I say, I'll miss you. I think I can bear the winter months as long as you promise to return again in the not so distant future.
"Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile." William Bryant
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Business of Being a Parent
I met this lovely woman the other day.
She came to tune our piano.
We struck up a conversation about how long she's been engaged in her work; what I do for a living and the state of raising good kids in a time when the world is spinning faster than we can sometimes manage to hold on.
After she finished making our ivories shine and downed the remainder of her cup of tea, she remarked, "I get it. I understand why you were a mediator. I could sit here and talk all day and tell you my life's woes and probably feel better on the way out the door."
"Well, that's very kind of you to say," I smiled, "but I hardly think my three children would concur. They're certain that I invented marathon yelling and Olympic nagging."
She laughed and said, "I never had kids of my own, just lots and lots of music students. I could tell the ones who had parents really in their lives and those that were just shuffled from one place to the next. Keep up with it. Pretty soon, they'll be gone. Good luck with the lessons."
She left and I went to the kettle, poured hot water into a mug and watched as the tears stained my cheeks.
Parenting is bliss and shit all in the same breath. It's the feeling that you just want to run away to a place where no one needs you while simultaneously, putting them on a shelf so that you can treasure the moments when all the stars align and pick them back up after you're rejuvenated and ready to get back into the game.
It's the moment when your four-year old proudly holds up her Hello Kitty jack-o-lantern beaming with joy and seconds later screams at you because you can't find her fairy wand. And you "ALWAYS lose her stuff." Yep, fuck me.
It's the time when your eight-year old completes her first dialogue journal entry all on her own and after reciting the sweet words blasts, "You're making lasagne? Why? What am I going to eat for dinner?" Yep, fuck me twice.
And then, your 10-year old comes back from a Boyscouts outing to the City Council and shares how his question was selected and how cool it was to meet an elected official and then blurts out, "Why does Kate get to have a friend over?" And fuck me thrice.
But, but, but....as she so aptly said, one day, they will leave...all three of them...so help me God, no 30-year old grown child will be living in the basement.
And so, as Claire held her fairy wand shoveling homemade lasagne into her mouth while Kate scooped grapenuts into a vegetarian pie hole and Sam proudly called his friend to secure a play date, I thought...somehow, someway, all is well...and it's okay to cry when they leave and to cry when they stay wishing they would leave or that I could leave.
This is the business of being a parent.
She came to tune our piano.
We struck up a conversation about how long she's been engaged in her work; what I do for a living and the state of raising good kids in a time when the world is spinning faster than we can sometimes manage to hold on.
After she finished making our ivories shine and downed the remainder of her cup of tea, she remarked, "I get it. I understand why you were a mediator. I could sit here and talk all day and tell you my life's woes and probably feel better on the way out the door."
"Well, that's very kind of you to say," I smiled, "but I hardly think my three children would concur. They're certain that I invented marathon yelling and Olympic nagging."
She laughed and said, "I never had kids of my own, just lots and lots of music students. I could tell the ones who had parents really in their lives and those that were just shuffled from one place to the next. Keep up with it. Pretty soon, they'll be gone. Good luck with the lessons."
She left and I went to the kettle, poured hot water into a mug and watched as the tears stained my cheeks.
Parenting is bliss and shit all in the same breath. It's the feeling that you just want to run away to a place where no one needs you while simultaneously, putting them on a shelf so that you can treasure the moments when all the stars align and pick them back up after you're rejuvenated and ready to get back into the game.
It's the moment when your four-year old proudly holds up her Hello Kitty jack-o-lantern beaming with joy and seconds later screams at you because you can't find her fairy wand. And you "ALWAYS lose her stuff." Yep, fuck me.
It's the time when your eight-year old completes her first dialogue journal entry all on her own and after reciting the sweet words blasts, "You're making lasagne? Why? What am I going to eat for dinner?" Yep, fuck me twice.
And then, your 10-year old comes back from a Boyscouts outing to the City Council and shares how his question was selected and how cool it was to meet an elected official and then blurts out, "Why does Kate get to have a friend over?" And fuck me thrice.
But, but, but....as she so aptly said, one day, they will leave...all three of them...so help me God, no 30-year old grown child will be living in the basement.
And so, as Claire held her fairy wand shoveling homemade lasagne into her mouth while Kate scooped grapenuts into a vegetarian pie hole and Sam proudly called his friend to secure a play date, I thought...somehow, someway, all is well...and it's okay to cry when they leave and to cry when they stay wishing they would leave or that I could leave.
This is the business of being a parent.
Monday, October 26, 2015
Moth to a Flame
I have this really amazing friend.
She's much more like a sister who knows my soul like the back of her hand.
We live in different states and so the only real way that we catch up is over the phone. And often when we do, we find ourselves in these "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" type dialogues. The other day, she was lamenting about a homily her priest delivered when she happened on the rare occasion to be worshiping in the house of God sans her kiddos. His words gave the both of us pause.
The gist of the message went something like this...the human condition is such that we run toward that which is futile knowing that we'll never quite get what we want, but all the while, not being able to help ourselves from chasing that which we cannot fully have.
i.e. a moth to a flame.
In it's simplest version, I equate this concept with my constant internal dialogues regarding food and diets and losing weight. They go something like this...tomorrow, I will begin consuming meal replacements for the rest of my life and I will be happy. Which lasts for approximately two hours until someone comes home with a doughnut or I remember that I have a bag of chocolate chips in the freezer and then like a dog in heat, I shovel the sugar into my pie hole. And then, tomorrow in the shower, I vow it all over again.
In the more complex version of the priest's message, we recognize that as human beings, fallible, broken and constantly tempted, we are drawn toward sin.
And we all know which ones are our favorites. Maybe, you closet shop and keep the goods in the trunk of your car until after your better half has vacated the premises. I am of course, not speaking from personal experience. Maybe, you binge watch episodes of fill in the blank when you should be doing something else for the good of the household. Maybe your temptations are more dicey.
Either way, the challenge as human beings is to decide to not chase that thing that will only send us spiraling into greater guilt, frustration or regret.
But how do we do it? How do we get off the rat wheel? How do we decide that all of life is not futile and that indeed habits can be broken, patterns can be changed and that even if the flame is bright and glittery, we will stay away?
The poet Rumi says (I'm paraphrasing)...
All of life is divine
All of life is a temptation
All of life lures you
While at the same time, keeping you stuck in your attachments
The key is to never long
For anything
Then, you'll be free
The problem, of course,
is that you are human.
She's much more like a sister who knows my soul like the back of her hand.
We live in different states and so the only real way that we catch up is over the phone. And often when we do, we find ourselves in these "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" type dialogues. The other day, she was lamenting about a homily her priest delivered when she happened on the rare occasion to be worshiping in the house of God sans her kiddos. His words gave the both of us pause.
The gist of the message went something like this...the human condition is such that we run toward that which is futile knowing that we'll never quite get what we want, but all the while, not being able to help ourselves from chasing that which we cannot fully have.
i.e. a moth to a flame.
In it's simplest version, I equate this concept with my constant internal dialogues regarding food and diets and losing weight. They go something like this...tomorrow, I will begin consuming meal replacements for the rest of my life and I will be happy. Which lasts for approximately two hours until someone comes home with a doughnut or I remember that I have a bag of chocolate chips in the freezer and then like a dog in heat, I shovel the sugar into my pie hole. And then, tomorrow in the shower, I vow it all over again.
In the more complex version of the priest's message, we recognize that as human beings, fallible, broken and constantly tempted, we are drawn toward sin.
And we all know which ones are our favorites. Maybe, you closet shop and keep the goods in the trunk of your car until after your better half has vacated the premises. I am of course, not speaking from personal experience. Maybe, you binge watch episodes of fill in the blank when you should be doing something else for the good of the household. Maybe your temptations are more dicey.
Either way, the challenge as human beings is to decide to not chase that thing that will only send us spiraling into greater guilt, frustration or regret.
But how do we do it? How do we get off the rat wheel? How do we decide that all of life is not futile and that indeed habits can be broken, patterns can be changed and that even if the flame is bright and glittery, we will stay away?
The poet Rumi says (I'm paraphrasing)...
All of life is divine
All of life is a temptation
All of life lures you
While at the same time, keeping you stuck in your attachments
The key is to never long
For anything
Then, you'll be free
The problem, of course,
is that you are human.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Choices From My Eyes and Yours
I pride myself on taking the high road.
Particularly, when it comes to my kids.
I bite my tongue and pick my battles more often than not.
But this morning was a whirlwind of converging shit storm factors that led my 4-year old and I into a raging battle of the wills.
To be fair, I will preface my commentary by admitting that I had no business getting up at 4:30am to take a boot camp class. It's a fucking miracle that I didn't kill myself or the girl standing next to me. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, my mouth was as wide as the room yawning.
So when she came bounding out of her bedroom wrapped up in a kitty blanket demanding chocolate milk, I will admit that my patience was at an all-time low.
Kindly stirring the syrup into the milk, I asked her to get dressed for school. Returning in a summer get-up (which is probably again my fault for not cleaning out her closet), I told her to look outside at the rain and reminded that she needed something warmer to which she shrieked, "I'll wear what I want. It's my school."
Fine, 'freeze' was my first thought.
And somewhere between her bitchy response and my internal one, we found ourselves screaming at the top of our lungs about striped tights, yogurt or bananas for breakfast, brushing teeth with the paste that she says tastes horrible and getting out the door without 50 billion stuffed animal friends.
I drop kicked her ass out of the car and cheered the whole way home.
Until pick up, when she shouted to her friends, "Goodbye Suckers! My mom's here." Standing mortified, she barreled out of the joint and ran directly into the parking lot, nearly getting hit by a mini-van, while all of the mothers dutifully holding their children's hands nearly had a heart attack.
Screaming again in the car, I howled, "Do you want to be squished like a squirrel? You can't run away from mama...you're turning 5 in a few short weeks. You know better."
To which she replied, "Can we swing through Starbucks and grab a vanilla bean frapuccino before ballet?"
With a primal squeal, I glared, "Are you kidding me? Absolutely not. I'm not rewarding poor behavior."
Two minutes later, she started to cry and said, "Why do you always get everything YOU want?"
And that is where my story officially begins, the moment that I lost it.
I'll paraphrase because I'm fairly certain that I blacked out and was replaced by my inner wounded child or a demonic presence....
"Everything I want?!!! I absolutely do NOT get everything I want. Not even remotely. Do you know what it means to be an adult? To have to make choices that have real consequences and to sacrifice for the greater good of the family...to have to decide how to be a good steward of your time and money and energy all the while second guessing whether you could have done it differently or better while being mindful that you're not getting any younger and that the clock is ticking."
Approaching a stop light, I looked in the rear view mirror at a little girl with tears in her eyes.
Epic motherhood fail.
Pulling into the driveway, I turned around and said, "I know you think it's easy to be a mommy and that I tell you things to do all of the time and get to have dessert when I want and tell you that you can't. But the truth is that sometimes, well a lot of times, it's just as hard to be your mommy as you feel like it is to be the kid. Maybe we should say that we're sorry to each other and try again?"
She smiled, gave me a hug, hopped inside, changed into her ballet leotard and from her room screamed, "Can we still go to Starbucks?"
Ah, the joys.
Particularly, when it comes to my kids.
I bite my tongue and pick my battles more often than not.
But this morning was a whirlwind of converging shit storm factors that led my 4-year old and I into a raging battle of the wills.
To be fair, I will preface my commentary by admitting that I had no business getting up at 4:30am to take a boot camp class. It's a fucking miracle that I didn't kill myself or the girl standing next to me. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, my mouth was as wide as the room yawning.
So when she came bounding out of her bedroom wrapped up in a kitty blanket demanding chocolate milk, I will admit that my patience was at an all-time low.
Kindly stirring the syrup into the milk, I asked her to get dressed for school. Returning in a summer get-up (which is probably again my fault for not cleaning out her closet), I told her to look outside at the rain and reminded that she needed something warmer to which she shrieked, "I'll wear what I want. It's my school."
Fine, 'freeze' was my first thought.
And somewhere between her bitchy response and my internal one, we found ourselves screaming at the top of our lungs about striped tights, yogurt or bananas for breakfast, brushing teeth with the paste that she says tastes horrible and getting out the door without 50 billion stuffed animal friends.
I drop kicked her ass out of the car and cheered the whole way home.
Until pick up, when she shouted to her friends, "Goodbye Suckers! My mom's here." Standing mortified, she barreled out of the joint and ran directly into the parking lot, nearly getting hit by a mini-van, while all of the mothers dutifully holding their children's hands nearly had a heart attack.
Screaming again in the car, I howled, "Do you want to be squished like a squirrel? You can't run away from mama...you're turning 5 in a few short weeks. You know better."
To which she replied, "Can we swing through Starbucks and grab a vanilla bean frapuccino before ballet?"
With a primal squeal, I glared, "Are you kidding me? Absolutely not. I'm not rewarding poor behavior."
Two minutes later, she started to cry and said, "Why do you always get everything YOU want?"
And that is where my story officially begins, the moment that I lost it.
I'll paraphrase because I'm fairly certain that I blacked out and was replaced by my inner wounded child or a demonic presence....
"Everything I want?!!! I absolutely do NOT get everything I want. Not even remotely. Do you know what it means to be an adult? To have to make choices that have real consequences and to sacrifice for the greater good of the family...to have to decide how to be a good steward of your time and money and energy all the while second guessing whether you could have done it differently or better while being mindful that you're not getting any younger and that the clock is ticking."
Approaching a stop light, I looked in the rear view mirror at a little girl with tears in her eyes.
Epic motherhood fail.
Pulling into the driveway, I turned around and said, "I know you think it's easy to be a mommy and that I tell you things to do all of the time and get to have dessert when I want and tell you that you can't. But the truth is that sometimes, well a lot of times, it's just as hard to be your mommy as you feel like it is to be the kid. Maybe we should say that we're sorry to each other and try again?"
She smiled, gave me a hug, hopped inside, changed into her ballet leotard and from her room screamed, "Can we still go to Starbucks?"
Ah, the joys.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
State of the Union on Sex
It's no surprise that I like to talk about sex.
I've written about how I bring up the topic in conversations at parties particularly with unsuspecting types who invariably spit out their adult beverage when I poll them on the following:
How much sex are you having? What's the standard for couples in long-term monogamous relationships? How do you gear yourself up when you're tired? How do you keep it interesting when you've been married year over year? How do you manage your partner's libido in conjunction with yours? What happens when you have kids and they suck the life force right out of you?
At this stage in the game, most of my friends are married and have been for a while. The majority of them have children and all of them have jobs that frequently require travel away from their spouses.
A few of my friends are single, some with and without kids.
And depending upon who I'm talking to dictates what the state of the union on sex looks like at their abode.
As I reflect back on my 20's, it makes me laugh to think about all of that sex.
All of that sex coupled with disposable energy, income and freedom.
Now that I have children and am entrenched in the day-to-day grind of keeping it all afloat, sleep often seems infinitely more appealing than peeling off my clothes to do the nasty. And when I probe my married sisters, they say the same. No disrespect to our partners, but a hot bath, a good book and a cozy bed is a terribly attractive mistress.
But if you talk to their husbands, they're convinced that all of the neighbors are getting laid and they're in a season of drought. I think this is because when men gather, they don't talk to each other about the state of sex at the other person's house.
My single friends envy that I can have sex whenever I want with someone that I don't have to worry about getting an STD test before I share the sheets.
My mother who works in a retirement community says that you can't believe the amount of vibrators and after dinner activity that permeates the place.
So, as I look to the future, potentially when I'm in my 80's and my children are grown and gone; peanut butter sandwiches and macaroni and cheese are a thing of the past;, my bedtime doesn't look like 10pm and my bank account isn't reflective of catholic school tuition; I think I'll become a pole dancer, in my own home, of course.
I hear all of the 80-year old Mrs. Robinson's are hot and up for anything.
I've written about how I bring up the topic in conversations at parties particularly with unsuspecting types who invariably spit out their adult beverage when I poll them on the following:
How much sex are you having? What's the standard for couples in long-term monogamous relationships? How do you gear yourself up when you're tired? How do you keep it interesting when you've been married year over year? How do you manage your partner's libido in conjunction with yours? What happens when you have kids and they suck the life force right out of you?
At this stage in the game, most of my friends are married and have been for a while. The majority of them have children and all of them have jobs that frequently require travel away from their spouses.
A few of my friends are single, some with and without kids.
And depending upon who I'm talking to dictates what the state of the union on sex looks like at their abode.
As I reflect back on my 20's, it makes me laugh to think about all of that sex.
All of that sex coupled with disposable energy, income and freedom.
Now that I have children and am entrenched in the day-to-day grind of keeping it all afloat, sleep often seems infinitely more appealing than peeling off my clothes to do the nasty. And when I probe my married sisters, they say the same. No disrespect to our partners, but a hot bath, a good book and a cozy bed is a terribly attractive mistress.
But if you talk to their husbands, they're convinced that all of the neighbors are getting laid and they're in a season of drought. I think this is because when men gather, they don't talk to each other about the state of sex at the other person's house.
My single friends envy that I can have sex whenever I want with someone that I don't have to worry about getting an STD test before I share the sheets.
My mother who works in a retirement community says that you can't believe the amount of vibrators and after dinner activity that permeates the place.
So, as I look to the future, potentially when I'm in my 80's and my children are grown and gone; peanut butter sandwiches and macaroni and cheese are a thing of the past;, my bedtime doesn't look like 10pm and my bank account isn't reflective of catholic school tuition; I think I'll become a pole dancer, in my own home, of course.
I hear all of the 80-year old Mrs. Robinson's are hot and up for anything.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Happy Birthday, Mom
This is my mom and today is her birthday.
She turned a very young 63.
I've written about her before. How for example if you've never met her, you would know that she is my mother simply by the sound of her voice. She is soft and kind and way more sugary sweet than me. Her smile will melt you and even if you're not the "huggy" type, you'll embrace her because she instantly makes you feel wanted and loved.
She has five children and 10 grandchildren and all of them love her to pieces. When she comes to babysit, she sets the littles off on scavenger hunts and listens while they play the trumpet or the piano or watches them "Whip" and "Nene" or paint or play American Girl dolls all while expressing how big they've gotten and how beautiful they are.
If you need anything, no matter how small or large, it is yours...with absolutely no expectation of reciprocity. There is literally nothing that she has to have because I've literally watched her give away most of her possessions at any one given time...with the mindset that you can't take it with you.
And if you want to know the the power of elbow grease combined with the unconditional love of the heart, watch what she does for a living. Serving as a resident liason for amazing elderly people in their final days, she teaches yoga; dances the Jitterbug; prays when they are scared; calms their family when they are weak and gives them hope as their faculties are failing. If you've not seen her in action, I can attest that it is holy work and not for the faint of heart.
All of this combined with her physical beauty. She makes no bones about coloring her hair, taking care of her toes, maintaining an active exercise regimen and drinking a glass of wine or two or three...whatever it takes.
And as I look at her, I know that I am blessed to be her daughter. At the age of 40, I pray that I get many, many more birthdays to honor and celebrate with her. Many more times to say thank you for teaching me the power of sacrifice, the meaning of hard work, the declaration of love.
If I thanked you daily, it would not be enough.
Happy Birthday, Mama...we love you...xoxo
Monday, October 19, 2015
Appreciation Appreciates
We've been meeting now for 10 months.
This amazing group of women and me.
I'll never know how I got an invitation to this cool club; but I am blessed none the less.
And in the time that we've gathered, long enough to physically birth a baby; we've been birthing and transforming and shaping ourselves in the world right before our eyes.
Tonight, we took a step toward manifesting our intentions by participating in a sacred ritual. Surrounded by candlelight and stones, we assembled a council of appreciation...an opportunity to honor "the other" and to share in a very personal way what their presence has meant in our lives.
It was vulnerable, emotional, powerful and so God damned rare that I wish I could harness the energy and pull it out of my back pocket when I'm in need of courage, back bone, will, determination and memory that indeed, others see me in a light that I don't often view in myself.
And this is how it goes right?
We're so willing to see the light in others....the gifts they bring, the ways that they make the world and our lives so much better. But when it comes time to appreciate who we are...we cringe, second guess, over analyze, dismiss, self deprecate, fill in the blanks with the things we lack instead of all that abounds.
At least that's what I do.
But at the gut level, we viscerally know that what we appreciate appreciates. That which we cultivate grows. Whatever we tend to flourishes...both the positive and the negative.
So, if we decide that we're not enough based on fear, lack of experience or past performance...well than, it's self-fulfilling and we probably won't.
But if for one moment, we believe in what others see and choose to appreciate who we are; we gradually build the strength to honor that maybe, just maybe, we are enough.
Most likely, we are more than enough.
The exercise of looking another in the eye and saying, "This is why and what I appreciate about you," is tremendous in and of itself...but the act of looking yourself in the mirror and honoring who you are and what you bring is where it starts.
Day over day, month over month, year over year...those beliefs become truth and that truth is what changes the world...one word at a time.
This amazing group of women and me.
I'll never know how I got an invitation to this cool club; but I am blessed none the less.
And in the time that we've gathered, long enough to physically birth a baby; we've been birthing and transforming and shaping ourselves in the world right before our eyes.
Tonight, we took a step toward manifesting our intentions by participating in a sacred ritual. Surrounded by candlelight and stones, we assembled a council of appreciation...an opportunity to honor "the other" and to share in a very personal way what their presence has meant in our lives.
It was vulnerable, emotional, powerful and so God damned rare that I wish I could harness the energy and pull it out of my back pocket when I'm in need of courage, back bone, will, determination and memory that indeed, others see me in a light that I don't often view in myself.
And this is how it goes right?
We're so willing to see the light in others....the gifts they bring, the ways that they make the world and our lives so much better. But when it comes time to appreciate who we are...we cringe, second guess, over analyze, dismiss, self deprecate, fill in the blanks with the things we lack instead of all that abounds.
At least that's what I do.
But at the gut level, we viscerally know that what we appreciate appreciates. That which we cultivate grows. Whatever we tend to flourishes...both the positive and the negative.
So, if we decide that we're not enough based on fear, lack of experience or past performance...well than, it's self-fulfilling and we probably won't.
But if for one moment, we believe in what others see and choose to appreciate who we are; we gradually build the strength to honor that maybe, just maybe, we are enough.
Most likely, we are more than enough.
The exercise of looking another in the eye and saying, "This is why and what I appreciate about you," is tremendous in and of itself...but the act of looking yourself in the mirror and honoring who you are and what you bring is where it starts.
Day over day, month over month, year over year...those beliefs become truth and that truth is what changes the world...one word at a time.
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