If you Couldn’t Fail

The pictures above are of my Mom, sister, and I. We are standing on top of Dun-I, which is the highest point on the Isle of Iona, Scotland. This particular point is supposed to be the most healing spot on a very sacred island.  Going to Iona was a leap of faith. There was nothing practical, rational, or convenient about this trip. Everything about this journey was a symbol of our love, passion, and appreciation for this life. While there, we vowed to eliminate negativity, embrace healing, accept grace, and live our most authentic lives.

Leaving Iona was challenging, because we all knew that living these vows would be harder in everyday life. It's been four months since our return, and today is New Year’s Eve, which often becomes a time of reflection. What old habits do we want to officially cast away? What new goals are we hoping to achieve? Are we finally going to lose weight, change jobs, find love, etc., etc., etc. For me, personally, 2010 has been an overwhelming year. My family has experienced job loss, moves, illness, school changes, and an unexpected journey to Scotland. After such a tumultuous year, I’ve been forced to think about the impermanence of life.

We like to think that we have all the time in the world and that things will never change. However, we’re only fooling ourselves, because life is change. The more you cling to how things are, the more devastated you will be when they inevitably shift and evolve. Through recent life experience and having children; I have come to accept the trap of time. Some days feel endless, but before you know it, an entire year has gone by. This time is too precious to waste, so what are you going to do with it?

Somewhere along the line most of us got the idea that we couldn’t do certain things. Perhaps someone told us we couldn’t, or maybe we let fear drive our lives, which led us to believe in our inadequacies.  Regardless of the cause, you can make a decision to stop believing each criticism you throw at yourself each and every day. You can choose to lead the life you were put here to live.

The author, Robert Schuller wrote, "What would you do, if you knew you would not fail?".

In this New Year, start envisioning that person. Explore endless possibilities and begin to dream again. Do something crazy, like jumping on a plane to visit an island you've never heard of!  We all have a purpose; we need only to pay attention long enough to figure out what that is.

SHOOT ME NOW!

Before having kids, I was the perfect parent. I would watch haggard looking mothers screaming at their kids in the grocery store and think, "What a rotten mother. She is clearly insane and has no business raising a child." I could envision how beautifully my imaginary children would act in public and then breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I would surely be an exemplary parent.

Now fast forward a decade or so, and the picture looks slightly different. Today, I stepped into the lunatic shoes, while watchers-by enjoyed the scene. In my defense... the day was doomed to failure. My husband and I needed to register our car, so I got the enviable task of taking the car for emissions and then to the tax office... with the kids! Yay, me!

The trip to the Computer-Tune-and-Lube was okay, except for the fact that the office wreaked of cigarettes and my daughter managed to use almost every cup from the water cooler, while spilling most of the contents. By the time we got to the tax office, my daughter had decided that I was no longer allowed to look at her. You can imagine how difficult it is to get a child out of their car seat and through a parking lot without making any eye-contact. Once we were inside the building, she decided to take off her boots, her coat, and her sweater. I was then directed across the hall and then quickly re-directed back to my original destination.

After dragging the kids back and forth, they decided that they had had enough, even though we'd only been inside the building for about four minutes. While the lovely girl behind the counter was attempting to complete the transaction, my kids started to fight. Apparently, they were arguing over who was going to get to stand  at the middle of the counter. They proceeded to slam into each other, knocking me back and forth in the process, all the while I'm struggling to hear the woman on the other side of the counter and failing miserably.

Somewhat calmly, I crouch down and tell my kids to, "knock it off." My son claims that he's not doing anything; he is completely innocent, despite the fact that I am watching him participate in these shenanigans. I stand up again hoping to speed this up, so we can leave before things escalate further. But instead, my daughter begins to shriek, my son pushes her further, she pushes back, and a nice long line forms behind us. It's always important to have an audience for these performances, you know.

The room is getting hotter by the second. I can feel at least 6 sets of eyes on my back. And every muscle in my body is beginning to contract. I finally grab my receipt and start barreling towards the door. Unfortunately, I don't make it very far, because as I attempt to scoop up my daughter, I realize that my keys are firmly attached to her tutu. Oh, did I forget to mention that her ensemble consisted of brown tights, a purple tutu, green t-shirt, pink sweater, and snow boots? Well, it did. Needless to say, we were not sneaking by unnoticed.

Eventually, I was able to pull my keys out of the tulle, gather up the random pieces of clothing, and herd my kids towards the exit. All the while, muttering something like, "Five minutes, that's all I asked! Instead, we make a total scene, what a complete embarrassment!"

By the time we got home, all I could think of was chocolate! But since I recently decided to take sugar out of my diet, that wasn't happening. Instead, I settled for some herbal tea and extra brooding time. Needless to say, I'm still brooding, because there will never be a substitute for chocolate. It is, after all, the food of the gods, and mothers alike.

I HATE YOU!

So, my 3 ½ year-old daughter has a new phrase. It’s not long or complicated, nope, it’s just three simple, painful words, almost always directed at me… I HATE YOU! She’s been throwing them at me a lot lately, and I must admit that they sting quite a bit. For example, on Christmas Eve, my Mom and I took my kids to the park.  My 6–year-old son decided that he wanted to walk around the track, so we all followed. My son clearly wanted to be the leader on this particular journey, so he became restless when his little sister attempted to take his place. He ordered her back, but she persisted forward, until she finally changed her course. She decided that she would walk in the opposite direction; this way she could lead her own trek. Of course, she wanted this to be a solo journey, so when I turned to follow her the rant began.  Despite the fact that her anger was actually towards her brother, I got to hear this…

“I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!”

She likes to keep things interesting, so she mixed up the tirade with a few, “I DON’T NEED YOU’S”, “GO AWAY”, “YOU WALK THAT WAY”, “I DON’T WANT YOU”, and then, a couple more,” I HATE YOU’S”, just for good measure.

Now I should mention, that these words are screamed with a venom that could kill you on the spot. And they are almost always accompanied by an ear-piercing, gut-wrenching, shriek, just in case you didn’t get the point.

I had a little reprieve on Christmas Day; thankfully Santa’s generosity and my home-made cinnamon buns cooled the fieriness in my daughter’s temperament for a few hours. However, the inferno blazed that much hotter the next day.  This time, the wrath was ignited by the snow. The weather predictions indicated that a big storm was coming, so my husband and I prepared for the pending storm by getting snow saucers for the kids. Sledding, snowballs, fun, right?

Well, I helped them get into their snow gear, which is no small feat, just think of the little brother in “A Christmas Story”. Anyway, after what seemed like hours to get them properly dressed, we finally made our way outside.  Within about 3 ½ minutes, literally, my daughter was tearing off her mittens, saying that her hands were too wet and cold. I run inside to find a dry pair, but before I can get back out the door, I see my sister carrying in my screaming child.

She’s screaming, because her hands are cold, but she refuses to let me help. She won’t let me hold them or wrap them in a warm washcloth. And I won’t even mention her reaction to the suggestion of a warm bath or some hot cocoa! Instead, she begins to meltdown, and once again, the “I HATE YOU’S” begin. This outburst includes about 12-15 “I HATE YOU’S” in a row, along with a few of her signature screeches. So, up to her room we went!

These are the parts of parenting that people without children simply do not understand. You can’t imagine how helpless and confusing it feels to have a tiny child lose control in your presence. The same tiny child that snuggles up to you in bed, hangs on you when scared, showers you with kisses, and tells you how much they love you. How can this possibly be the same kid? But it is the same kid, and as a parent, you have the rare opportunity to get an up-close and personal view of this complicated creature.  

So what does one do in a situation like this? There are many options, some clearly better than others. What I did, was stand there. I stood there and endured the venomous string of words being hurled my way. I stood there until I felt my heart quicken, my jaw tighten, and my eyes burn with the threat of tears. I stood there until my ears and heart had had enough. Then I bit my tongue, took a deep breath, and said… “Well, I love you.”

Then I walked out of the room and told her that I didn’t really want to be around her right now, so she should spend some time by herself until she was calm again. Needless to say, she was up there for a while.

Before having kids, I saw myself as easy-going, fun-loving, and kind. Since having kids, my perspective has evolved a bit. On my worst days, I look in the mirror and see a crazed, wild banshee. On my better days, I see a woman who loves her kids from the deepest part of her soul and who carries the patience of a saint.

Parenting is truly the greatest practice in patience, self-reflection, and love. Many people fancy themselves as enlightened beings that have transcended all forms of ego. If you find yourself in this category, I challenge you to go head to head with a spirited toddler. You will quickly learn how far you actually are on the path to enlightenment.

The not-so-perfect Christmas

So, here we are, two days before Christmas. As a child, I remember only fond memories of the holidays. Despite the fact that my parents were divorced, we always spent Christmas as a family. My parents shopped together and spent Christmas Eve wrapping presents, as a team, into the wee hours of the morning. Soon after the last present was wrapped, my sister and I would sneak half-way down the stairs to get the first glance at the bounty under the tree. We would then drag our older brother out of bed, rouse our parents, and begin the festivities!

Now that I'm a parent, I am feeling the pressure of making the holidays special. I guess I never realized how much my parents agonized over our lack of funds or how time-consuming it was to bake, shop, and travel. This year, especially, I have forced myself to take a giant step back. It's unrealistic and wasteful to buy everything you want or to bake 25 different types of cookies. It's also terribly overwhelming to travel to each relative and have your kids tucked snuggly into their beds on Christmas Eve night. In other words, the holidays become much more enjoyable when you give up the idea of "perfect". Maybe a couple batches of cookies is enough. Perhaps it doesn't matter if our Christmas lights are crooked. And maybe, just maybe, we can avoid shopping till we drop.

When I think back on my childhood, I realize that I loved Christmas, because my family was together. Yes, the presents were great, the cookies were delicious, and the lights were spectacular (even if they were crooked!), but none of those things were the main focus. I guarantee that my Mother never felt like things were perfect or that she had done enough, but as far as I was concerned, the day was always magical!
So this year, decide that you have done enough. Let your oven mitt cool, put away the scisssors and tape, and go hug your kids. That's what I'm about to do, because in the end, that's what they'll remember most.

Walking in my Converse.

I still remember my very first pair of converse. I was sporting pink high-tops by the ripe old age of eight. Since then, my feet have seen many different colors, even an awesome plaid pair, given to me by my even-more-awesome sister. In high school my friend and I would swap our

"cons" back and forth during homeroom, depending on which color complimented our outfit best. Then we would meander on our way to class in color-coordinated converse, flannels, and baggy jeans; this was the grunge phase afterall.  

I've always felt very much myself in this particular brand of shoe. I don't know why... they're not very comfortable, they're not flashy or sexy, but they are honest somehow.  They suit everyone, young or old, and they don't claim to be anything they're not. It turns out that I appreciate this quality in a shoes and people alike.

Obviously, I have a loving history with these sneakers, so it seemed only fitting that I wear them on one of the biggest trips of my life. The photo above was taken at JFK airport right before I journeyed a very, very, very long way to Australia.  The purpose of this trip was to act as the matron-of-honor for a very close friend. To many this may sound like the trip of a lifetime, but for me it required months of anxiety, self-reflection, and lots of faith.

 For starters, I don't like to fly and I'm also not a fan of poisonous creatures. The biggest hurdle, however, was being away from my young children and fearing that I wouldn't make it back home. This fear was somewhat irrational, since flying is technically safer than other forms of transportation and my chances of getting attacked by a platypus were fairly slim. But fear, by nature, is not rational, so I suffered many a sleepless night.

I agonized over this decision so much, because I knew I had to take this trip. Something was urging me to seize this moment, face this fear, and trust in something greater. Ultimately, I fought through my demons, laced up my converse, kissed my family, and jumped on that plane! Would this all have been possible without my trusty converse? The world may never know.