2 minutes

Yesterday, I walked my daughter to school and thought how warm the day was and how beautiful the trees looked.  My 2 year old sat quietly in her stroller, licking a lollipop, and we silently walked home.  The only noises were my feet crunching on the fallen leaves.  Every once in a while, we get a glimpse of that stillness and it gives off such a feeling of contentment.  I silently counted my blessings.

45 minutes later, I get a text that the school my daughter is at, is on lockdown.

There are no words.

You hear the word, “LOCKDOWN” and you basically lose your mind.

Immediately I think of Newton and Columbine and I feel panic.  I feel helpless. 

My daughter is 4.  She is a baby.  She is so innocent.  I cry silent tears, clutch the phone with shaky hands and call the classroom.  The teacher answers and tells me that they don’t know anything, but nobody is allowed in or out.  She tried to soothe me but my only solace would be seeing my child.  That’s it.  End of story.  My only relief would be seeing her!

The lack of information was what drove the fear like a rocket shooting through the sky without direction.  As information gathered, my fears lessened.  But still, I did not relax until I held her.  When I did, relief flooded me but a piece of fear stayed with me, nipping at my ear, speaking slowly and softly, “we are all susceptible,” it said.  We are susceptible to being at the wrong place, at the wrong time.  We are not immune to it.  We can live in a quiet town and do the right things.  We can be good and happy and quiet in our living.  We can decide not to take risks; to live simply.  But, it just doesn’t matter.  Our lives can change in the span of a second.   If we walk in the middle of New York City at 3am alone, or walk our child around the block to school, anything can happen.  If I’m being honest, that is the scariest thought of all.    

Everything ended up being fine.  The lockdown was a precaution based on a threatening phone call directed at another elementary school in town, but that feels insignificant to me.  What feels significant is the fact that my quiet contented life, spun out of control for only 2 minutes.  But that was enough.  2 minutes was all it took for me to realize what matters the most in life.  Forget about the little things that bother us.  Forget about the fact that my 2 year old cried all morning.  Forget about the fact that I still have to call my bank to resolve a check problem.  Forget about the fact that I still haven’t picked up soap for the kitchen sink.  Insignificant.  What matters more than anything, is our children; our little innocent children.  We don’t want to lose that innocence just yet.  Not yet.  Not now.  There is plenty of time for that.  I want to keep them close and safe.  I want to hug and squeeze and love. 

I really hate the people that threaten that.

So, after I gave my daughter a big squeeze, I sat at the table, stared off into space and ate Halloween candy.  I looked out the window and ate one peanut butter cup after another.  It actually helped.  My girls dressed up in pretty white dresses and smiled and laughed.  I counted my blessings.  For 2 minutes I might have felt helpless, but each minute after that, I will be sure to make it count.    

It's not you, it's me

My husband and I have a quote that we bought in Arizona on vacation and it has blessed all of our apartments and now our home.  It states, “Everyone is crazy besides you and me, and I’m beginning to wonder about you.”  We thought it was hilarious.  We always talk about the “extremes;” those bizarre people we have met along the way which makes us look at each other with a questioning eye and then try to validate that it can’t be us.  “It can’t be us, right??”  It has to be them, yeah?  We thought this quote was funny because sometimes we look at each other and say, “It’s us.”  We are nuts.  NUTS!  Then all of the sudden, you will catch a glimpse of someone else’s ‘wild’ eyes and that will be it; friendship aborted.  It’s them.  Yes, it has to be them.

Everything in moderation; I believe that is the sentence of normalcy.  We can gossip, but not too much. ”Can you believe Noreen and her husband fought over a SOAKED DISH???”

We can feed organic, but give the kid a chicken nugget for lunch and a lollipop for dessert for god’s sake.  Let them LIVE!  Let them have a sugar high, a sugar low, and then scream and cry.  Let it happen!  “I’ll give them Kale tomorrow, I swear to it!!” 

We should care but we should not become a helicopter mom, you know…hovering and micromanaging.  The extremes are what I find to be over the top and at times, a little bit ridiculous.  Someone who is extreme in thoughts or actions, make me question their motives.  Are you doing it because you believe it, or because you believe you are better than me?  Are you judging me if I don’t do the same things?  Those are the questions to dig deep in to with a shovel, a garbage pail and a heavy duty face mask.  As my 2 year old says, “PEE-YOU!!!”

Peel the onion, layer by layer and you will find the core; inside at the heart of it all, the truth. 

And this concept does not just live in parenting decisions.  It resides in relationships and friendships as well.  

What sparked this post is because I’m upset about a few moms who were cold to me today and it bothered me tremendously.  Nobody likes to feel awkward and uncomfortable, if we can help it.  I left asking my husband the same question…is it me?  I don’t understand how some people who used to be nice to me are now cold because a circumstance has changed and it wasn’t to their liking.  It made me feel like I was the foolish one, in this case.  I felt upset and questioned myself; my normalcy.  But, as my husband and I talked it over, we decided that our realities are just different.  I just have to move forward and be confident enough in myself.  I’m not the one being catty, so I’m not the one who should feel bad.      

So, how do we deal with it, ‘the extremes?’  As parents, we try to be as centered and grounded as possible.  We try to teach our children balance.  We try not to let them be too extreme in all things; a lot can be said for a middle of ground approach.  If I put on the TV for the kids a lot in the morning, I try to do stimulating activities in the afternoon.  If they eat one too many cookies after lunch, I try to stuff their face with broccoli at dinner.  Balance.   If someone tells me that TV causes underdeveloped brain activity in 4 year olds, well, I’m going to walk right by you next week and pretend I don’t see you. 

As adults, we try to do the same.  Lead by example.  Show others friendliness and kindness and shrug off the ‘extremes’ that are trying to tell you that you are doing it wrong.  If you feel like you are put off by someone else’s approach to life, it is probably best to steer clear of them.  Maybe they think it is you, maybe you think it is them.  Whoever it is does not matter.  Just steer clear.  Lead your life how you want to lead it, but don’t judge others who do not lead it the same way.  There are no experts here; just a large amount of information that we have to sift through.  If someone tells me (with wild eyes) that Johnson and Johnson shampoo causes cancer as I’m lathering my children’s hair with it, I’m going to take note and then rinse.  My phone will ring off the hook when you call.  I’m just saying.  Help, yes.  Don’t try and convict me.  I don’t see your gavel.

The truth is we are all just trying to do our best.  Right now, if you feel like you are being a tad extreme and feeling a bit senseless yourself, put on some sunglasses to hide those telling eyes.

But, if you are working hard to stay grounded and sensible, you can show those eyes in the sun and be proud of yourself.

Fleeting Moments

I don’t like big changes.  Sometimes I wish everything could stay the same.  I know change is inevitable but sometimes it hits hard, like a death in the family or a new stage in life.  I want my kids to stay this age.  As hard as it may be at times, I don’t wish it away.  I love the fact that my 2 year old will sing happy birthday to me when I get her out of her crib in the morning.  I don’t know what I did to deserve that!  I think it is funny when my 4 year old stalks off with her arms crossed stating that she does not “appreciate sharing!”  This morning, she was getting herself dressed and got all tangled and squealed, “I can’t do it. I’m so frustrated.”  I like that she can communicate her feelings a little better now.  And I laugh a little when she does so with a huff of frustration and an eyebrow crease.  It’s funny.  I snicker.  She definitely doesn’t appreciate my laughter though.  “Don’t laugh MOM!”

“Please,” I say to myself.  “Don’t let me forget this.”

Do you ever have those moments?  Where you desperately cling to it and don’t know how to hold on to it, because it is fleeting. 

Me and my girls bought new dresses for a wedding this weekend and then skipped to the car holding hands.  Fleeting.

My 2 year old quietly looked out the window on the way home and sang, “Once upon a Dream” Fleeting.

My 4 year old daughter told me yesterday, “You are the best mommy in the world.”  Fleeting.  I know she will not say that when she is 14.  If she does it is probably because she will want something from me.

Tears emerge as I think about all that I have and all that I stand to lose as time ticks away…

I read a post the other day on how we shouldn’t “wish away” the stages of life.  We shouldn’t say, “When my baby does this…then it will get better.”  I happen to agree wholeheartedly with that post.  The “if only” thought will only serve one purpose in life, unhappiness.  Then we will always be waiting and what we are waiting for will never come.  We will be grasping at straws; happiness never within our reach.

I have to remind myself of this, constantly…especially when I am knee deep in nebulizer treatments, the croup, ear infections and antibiotics.  Welcome to fall.  It is hard to remember this mantra when I am chasing a 2 year old around the house with a face mask.  “For the love of God, BREATHE IN THE STEAM!”  Or holding my 4 year old in a wrestling tackle to squirt steroids into her mouth.  “OPEN!…SWALLOW!!!”

I have to remind myself to embrace each and every stage and phase while it is happening.  I mean, the 2 year old molars emerging aren’t pretty.  But, if I wish it away, I wish away the constant snuggles and the chubby thighs.  If I wish for my 4 year old to be in school all day, I will miss her singing out loud with her dolls, “Listen to the beat of your heart,” she sings, “keep on dancing!”  Very fitting.   

I’m not ready for 5^th grade clicks at school.  I’m not ready for high school boyfriends that cheat.  I’m not ready for any of it right now.  At this moment, I am ready for whatever happens today.  I have to be.  We all have to be.  I am ready for this stage.  Hopefully when the next stage comes, I will welcome it and be ready.  I’m sure I will.  We are only given everything that we can handle, facemasks and steroids included.  Because each stage/phase serves it purpose.  Time keeps moving, seasons change, and children grow…and these present moments with our children are elusive.  We have to remember that.  We cannot take hold of them because they are fleeting.  We can try to etch them into our brains, write them down, take pictures, but it won’t matter.  They will be gone.  But we can wrap our arms around them with our hearts and hold on for dear life; trying, if we can to embrace them while we have them and appreciate the now…

 

The Soaked Dish

I wrote a post called “The Soaked Dish.”  Normally, I don’t let anyone see anything I write before I send it, but I had a nagging guilt about this one.  I asked my husband to read it first and tell me if it was ok to send.  It got DENIED!

I think he decided it was horrible when it got to the part where I pictured his face as a soaked dish not done, “bubbles popping from his ears.”  I think it was that part that he stopped reading and stated emphatically, “I hate it.” 

Yikes! 

I was having a bad day and I vented.  “How would you feel if I wrote a blog about how you are a witch if you don’t have 8 hours of sleep,” he asked.  “Been there, done that,” I responded.  I’ve said it all.  I’m not shy.  I lay it out there, the good and the bad.  “Should I write about my spare tire again,” I asked with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Look,” I went on, “you are wonderful and helpful, but you have such a busy life.  Things slip through the cracks and it isn’t your fault.  It’s ok.  It is the way it is.”

We ALL cannot do it ALL.  Nobody claims to be perfect.  Nobody is.

 And I am so grateful for everything that he does and how helpful he is to me and this family. 

One in a million.  With that said, I have been allowed to share “The Soaked Dish” 

Enjoy.

The Soaked Dish

You know when the smoke alarm starts running out of batteries, it starts chirping.  It starts off slow, a chirp every 45 minutes or so.  You tip toe around the house trying to find the direction of the chirp.  Is it coming through the baby monitor?  The kitchen?  Upstairs?  Downstairs?  Finally you give up or get distracted by a little person that needs your attention.  But, you hear it, every so often.  And then all of the sudden, you go downstairs a few days later to throw a load of laundry in and you hit it dead on.  CHIRP!  Ahhh, it is the basement one.  You know now, but you don’t change the battery, because that one isn’t your responsibility.  That one’s not mine, I think.  I’m not touching it.

You tell your husband and he hears you, so you think.  “Can you change the smoke alarm battery in the basement? I’m not tall enough.”

The chirps get closer together. 

Weeks go by; the chirps come at you every 3.25 minutes.  CHIRP!!!!!!!!

And with each chirp, your patience starts to wear down until the chirps become a resentment that festers and bothers you almost as bad as the soaked dish.  You know, the one not scrubbed but soaked overnight for you to take care of in the morning.  That one.  My friend tells me I need to coin my phrase, “a soaked dish is not a done dish.”  There. Coined.

We have so much going on as moms, how are we expected to take care of everything?  At some point, the tasks alone can drive you mad as a hatter until you are running around with an irritating tick.  Was the garbage taken out?  Tick.  Did the recyclables get taken to the curb?  Tick.  Did you call about the gutters?  Tick.  Eventually, you look at your husband and all you can see is the soaked dish as his face, bubbles popping from his ears.  Then you give a weak smile trying to forget the image of yourself dragging the recyclables to the curb in your bare feet and polka dot pajama pants that morning.  The grass is wet.  Your hair is in a messy knot of a bun.  And your neighbor drives by…

And then you think to yourself, I just can’t do everything.

And we can’t.

Mothers are extraordinary human beings.  We can birth babies like warriors and run a household like a business.  Nobody is running out of toilet paper, not on my watch. (A sound of a whip cracking).

But at the same time, we are human and we need help.  Our husbands or partners need a present role in our lives and need to be actively participating in SOME of those aggravating tasks.  Otherwise, they will be married to aggravating women.  Nobody wants that.  Truth be told, we don’t like ourselves like that. A scrubbed dish and a battery change will go a long way.  We just want a little help and we would love it if we didn’t have to ask sometimes.  That’s all.  It isn’t hard, I promise and I am not dogging my husband.  This isn’t about him.  This is about me.  We all just need a little understanding.  He does, I do, we do, and you do.  I guess we cannot let it fester.  I THINK we have to communicate.  Give and take.

My husband and I are actually in a wonderful place and I’m sure this is the first he is hearing about the chirping smoke alarm.  Actually, I know it.  After all, he isn’t the one who hears that infuriating noise all day long.  And, I’m sure I told him at a very distracting moment as he was slugging his work bag on the arm of the chair and 2 little rug rats were running full speed at him.  In any event, here is my communication… “Honey, the basement smoke alarm is chirping, can you change it?”

 

 

 

Pop the bubble

Sometimes I feel like I live in a bubble.  I zip around my town and surrounding towns in my car with my kids, dropping off and picking up, running errands, seeing friends, living life.  Everything is neat in its place.  My feathers don’t get ruffled much.  You get yourself into a tidy routine and then you assume positions.  I like it.  It’s safe and natural.  It’s life.  We all have our routines and we make it work, whether we trek into work by bus, or stay home with your kids, we all fall into our prospective bubbles and places.  And I float around bouncing from one thing to another waving to familiar faces and bursting with protected situations.  Bounce to the gym.  Bounce to school.  Bounce back home.

It’s funny because I recently went to get myself a wax and spoke to the owner of the place.  I walked into a conversation about her discussing her “bubble.”  “I was just thinking about my bubble,” I said.  And I was.  I was thinking about my neat and tidy bubble.  And sometimes it is nice if you pop the damn thing.  There is nothing wrong with being safe in your life and your routine, whatever it is.  But there is something liberating about leaving it for a moment.

A few weeks ago, I went out with some friends on a Friday evening.  We took the train into New York City for a night out.  I used to feel like Penn Stations was a second home but it has felt like years since I’ve been there.  I walked out of the train and couldn’t keep my eyes still.  OVERSTIMULATED! 

Look there!  Do you see that?  Is he asleep?  Should we give him money?

It’s like I was 12 years old or something.  I didn’t’ have enough eyes to see everything around me. 

I got so used to my little bubble that I was struck hard by my surroundings, especially the man doing gymnastics through Penn Stations. “Watch him,” I whispered to my friend sipping our roadies in brown paper bags.  I watched the men and women in their suits and business attire breezing by living a different life from mine.  I saw a couple kissing in a corner, a mom carting her baby in backpack; I saw it and I liked the view. It was so fun to step outside and experience something other than filling sippy cups and making sure I have enough diapers in the house.  We went to a beautiful rooftop bar and clicked our martini glasses in solidarity.  Moms are out in our high heeled shoes.  Click, clank, click clank.  The little 20 something’s need to watch out for us because when we go, we go hard.  We drank, we danced, and we stumbled home.  We stepped out of our routine and away from our bubble for a night, for a change in scenery.  We had fun.  And then we went home, woke up to our children, and assumed our positions.  But somehow, my life felt even more pleasant after a moment away.  It gave me a little more perspective.  Yes, I can be a mom but I can also be me.  Yes I can be serious and teach lessons, but I can also yell at the DJ for not playing MY SONG!

We might be married and have children, but we also have lives to live outside that bubble.  We have been stretched out physically and stretched thin mentally.  Perhaps some of us have stretch marks under our spaghetti strapped tops to prove it but it only tells us that we have truly experienced life.  We have been there, where they are.  We have done it.  We have survived through it and ended up where all those young kids want to end up, like us, with children.  Well, most of them anyway.  There is nothing more beautiful and over stimulating than that.

In the end, I nursed a hangover for 8 days which turned into a very bad cold on day 9.  But, I did it with a smile on my face; happy to have popped that bubble and stepped out of it, if only for one night.

 

Unkempt

I don’t shave my legs enough.  It is just one of those things I just don’t do well.  You know why, I’ll finally get the kids to bed and then realize that I have to go outside and put away the stroller or the wagon.  Then I’ll find a sippy cup somewhere in the grass with old milk crusted up and ants crawling in it.  Then I’ll have to deal with that.  I’ll walk inside, defeated.  Then, I’ll finally drag myself into the shower, (because I didn’t have time during the day) look over at the razor and give it a swift flick of my wrist.  No.  Too much effort.  But, I’ll pay for it later.  Like yesterday, I was at a gym class wearing short Capri work-out pants and doing some move the wrong way.  The instructor came up to fix my legs and accidentally (I’m sure) brushed up against my hairy leg.  I went still.  No, please don’t.  I know she saw it or felt it and me and my bright red face focused on that for the next 38 minutes of the class.  Why oh why didn’t I just shave my damn legs??  She must think I am the most unkempt, messy, disheveled human being, a sore excuse for a woman.   How on earth does she even drag herself from her house, she’ll think.  

Is this where I am?  Too lazy to shave my legs? 

If you have been following ‘growing ladies,’ for a while, you know that I went through a really, ugly phase when my second baby was born.  I mean the whole nine; spare tire, crusty finger nails, gray roots…the whole shebang.  And although I am slowly but surely creeping myself out of there, I am fully aware that I am not always up to par.  Who knew we would have to do so much to look good?  Along with shaving our legs, we have to wax, paint, gloss, color, cleanse, and brush.  Who has time to go from here to there and get it all done?  I sure don’t.  So then I’ll find myself lacking somewhere, usually it is my hairy eyebrows.  I’ll look in my rearview mirror and see it in full force.  Drat!

We are woman and we need to feel good about ourselves.  And I will never say anything against that.  EVER!  If my friend wants to drop off her kids with me to get herself a wax, DO IT!  We need to look good for ourselves.  If not, what is the point??!  One of my friends recently said and I quote, “this isn’t my time, this time is all for the kids.”  I couldn’t have disagreed more.  I completely respected her opinion and honestly, more power to her for putting her all into her children, but at the same time, I just think that is no way to live. This is a time for our kids; true…but it will NEVER NOT be about us.  Did you catch that double negative?  Even though we have kids, it should still be about us.  We need TLC too.

I mean, it isn’t like we are walking around like beauty queens here.  At least, I’m not!  We are doing what we have to do to be acceptable.  Go into the world and see people, acceptable.  But, we have to do it for ourselves.  If not, we just don’t feel as good as we can feel about ourselves and then, we won’t be as good as we can as moms.  It’s true.  Full circle.  It all ties into each other.  Look good, feel good, and be good.  Truth.

Look, I have daughters and I’m not saying that we need to FOCUS on beauty.  Not at all.  But, we can focus on being our best selves.  I will also say that I don’t want to walk around with bushy eyebrows.  The amazon look is really not in my ‘acceptable’ column.  If that means getting myself a bi-weekly eyebrow wax, I WILL NOT feel guilty about it. 

Do not feel guilty about taking time for you, whatever it is that makes YOU feel acceptable as a human being.  Do not feel guilty about going for a run, spending an hour with a book, sneaking off for a drink with friends.  Do not feel guilty about living your life.  After all, I don’t want to be 94 years old and asking myself, when did I have a moment for me?!  I want to be 94 years old and say, I had a good life, filled with good people, and felt good about myself during it.  My 94 year old grandmother (in law) was just put into a nursing home/rehab facility for a few weeks and wanted to get her hair done. What a heartwarming thought.  That was always what she did to feel good, always.  I said to my husband, “that is so wonderful and beautiful.”  After raising 7 children, there will never be a time when she doesn’t deserve that.  There will never be a time when any of us moms, don’t deserve to look and feel and BE our very best. 

I’m shaving my legs tonight!

Unspoken Truths

Motherhood is hard.  There are so many silent rules to abide by; so many unspoken truths, judgments.

If everyone just went with their gut and trusted their instincts, everything would be a heck of a lot easier that is for sure.  If most everyone accepted you for what you were, even easier.  But life is not like that.  And when something goes haywire, people are there…waiting for your actions and ready to go home and tell so and so, how they would have done it differently.  Can you believe she did that?  I would NEVER do such a thing….

Judgment.  It doesn’t end when you get your diploma senior year of high school.  It follows us everywhere.  It continues on through your 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and so on.  You know when it pops up, this ugly judgment, when you have a bad moment.  The times you feel like a failure, when you feel like you are the only one in the history of the world who has ever been in this moment.  You know people are watching your every move, ready to pounce; claws sharp. SCRATCH!

I had a moment like that the first day of school.  My 4 year old was nervous to say the least; she gave herself a wicked stomach ache from those nerves.  She was quiet about it.  But, I knew.  I tried a little reverse psychology.  You know, if your friend Olivia cries, you should try and make her feel better, ie. You won’t have a chance to cry because you will be taking care of your friend. 

Good plan?  Nope.  Well of course I dropped her off to the worst tantrum in human history.  Kicking, screaming, and flailing arms and legs, loud cries, heartbreak.  I couldn’t walk away.  I felt like the only mother in human history to have to deal with something like that, EVER.  I know I’m not.  But, I felt it.  I felt like the worst mom.  Of course my daughter isn’t flexible and adaptable.  Of course.  I’m a failure.  Deep down, I know it isn’t true.  But, I walked home crying.  I usually never cry.  But, I threw myself a really awesome, well deserved pity party, wine included.  Did the other moms judge me?  Who knows?  A few are friends and I know they didn’t, but perhaps the others?!  The truth is, I judged myself, harshly.

At the end of the day, are we are own worst critic?  As moms, we don’t need others to judge us, because we do an amazingly stellar job doing it ourselves.  Some moms will judge us.  But the good news is, we do NOT have to be friends with them.  We do not have to accept it as our truth.  We do NOT have to care.  Judgment is here to stay, it is everywhere.  And sometimes people try to expose what is wrong with you because they cannot handle what is right!  It doesn’t matter if you are a CEO, a housewife, a doctor, a lawyer, a writer, it is always there.  People will always have an opinion about others.  And some people will bring down others to make themselves feel better.  Human nature.

BUT, there is always support.  As moms, that is OUR universal unspoken truth.  Other moms will support us.  Yes, they will.  The good ones. Those are the ones we can socialize with and keep close.  Nobody is sitting on their high horse waving down at the crowd with a ‘best mom ever’ sash waving in the wind for good measure.  If they are, then I don’t think they are the best mom.  The best moms are humble.  The best moms will always be striving to do the right thing and to try and be better.  That mom on top of that horse will come crashing down the minute she realizes that she will be up there alone. 

Down here, the rest of us will have hard moments, sulk a little, and then get up the next day with renewal to try again.  We have to.  We must keep going for our children and for ourselves.  And the text messages I got from the moms who are supportive are the ones I hold dear.  And the daggers thrown at me today or in the future will be bounced off my titanium shell.  We are too old for that.  We are in this together.  We judge ourselves enough.  We, as moms, need each other.  Remember that, when you are the one that feels like a failure.  You are not alone.  There will be someone, another mom perhaps, who will lift you right up again and tell you that she will cry right there with you.  

Today I woke up to a brand new day.