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The Art of Letting Stuff Go

Over the past few years, I've become slightly obsessed by the amount of possesions I keep in my life. This obsession was triggered by a large number of moves in short succession; over the course of eight years, I moved six times! With each move, I began to take a much closer look at the significance of my belongings. Somehow the act of moving back-breakingly heavy book boxes, makes you ponder the need for so many self-help books. During these moves, I decided that the best way to help myself involved carrying four hefty boxes, instead of ten.

The act of managing my "stuff" has become somewhat of a spiritual practice for me. When we actually stop to think about why we're keeping certain items, we realize how attached we are to the past. How many of us are guilty of holding onto those pre-pregnancy jeans? Or perhaps we're clinging to boxes and boxes of baby clothes. Or maybe we simply can't let go of those old newspapers in our basement.

The fact is, that by the time we fit into those jeans again, they'll probably be out of style. Or worse yet, we'll never fit into them again and they'll stay in our closet taunting us, and subsequently flouting all of our future fitness endeavors. And no matter how cute those baby clothes are, our children will never be babies again. Our time might be better spent enjoying our children at their current age, rather than lamenting a stage that has long past. And while those newspapers may certainly be interesting, they also succeed in distracting us from the present moment.

Let me clarify... I don't suggest that we jettison every physical item that has meaning for us, but we could probably manage on fewer of these precious belongings. There comes a point when we stop owning our possesions and they begin to own us. I ask myself two questions when I'm deciding whether or not to keep an object...

• Does this item serve a practical purpose, and do I use it regularly?
• Does this item make me happy when I look at it?

If I can't easily answer "yes" to at least one of those questions, I usually get rid of it. These simple rules allow me to surround myself with only the things that actually have meaning for me.

My urge to purge intensified last year, when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. When I received this news, I needed a project, something to distract me from the fear I was battling. I also needed to reaccess what mattered to me in my life. Not surprisingly, most of my things seemed pretty meaningless, when compared with the thought of losing my mother.

This impulse to simplify was exaggerated even further last month, when my mom passed away.

When a loved one dies, one's first inclination is to grasp at every last memory. There's no denying that a shirt isn't just a shirt any longer; all of a sudden, this garment has supreme significance. It holds memories, scents, and history; it feels impossible to let go of. But we must.

I loved my mother more than anything in the world; we had a closer bond that most mothers and daughters could every dream of. When she passed, all of her belongings came into my home. Thankfully, my mother was a good teacher in the art of simplification. She, too, had let go of many unneccesary items. Despite her minimalist efforts; however, there are still many emotionally-charged items in my house. Going through each belonging is a very draining process.

Part of me wants to keep everything, especially the clothing that still holds her scent. It's incredibly painful to let these items go, but I know that I have to. From a practical standpoint, I have to release them, because my mom was a very petite woman, so neither my sister or I can fit in most of her clothes. But I'm also freeing myself of these things, because they won't bring her back; they'll only hold me back.

My mother wants me to live every moment of my life as though it were my last. She wants me to see the sky every morning with a fresh set of eyes. She wants me to run with my children, as if I were a child myself. Her essence is reflected through me and the love I put forth into the world, it's not in her old sports bras.

Over the past month, my siblings, my dad, and I have been dividing up her belongings. A few days after she passed, we all sat on my living room floor surrounded by her pottery. Amazingly, we were all compelled to share and honor these items. In these bowls, she served lovingly prepared food. Her vases held freshly gathered wild flowers. On other occasions, these containers would hold special stones or hand-picked shells. Her pottery was never meant for show, it was meant for holding life. This collection has a purpose: to be shared and enjoyed by those who loved her. I hope to pass this pottery down to her grandchildren someday.

There are other things I will keep, but only if they follow my two golden rules. Her belongings should feel like a gift, not a burden.

So as you manage the clutter in your life, consider this thought... When we die, we can't bring anything with us. It's not as though we're given a checklist of items to carry into the afterlife. There must be a reason for this. Maybe, just maybe, we can let go of some things that have been holding us back. Chances are, this will create some much-needed space for new energy to flow into our lives.

"Itchy Butt"

For the past 6 1/2 years, my husband and I have been fully immersed in parenthood. We happen to love the job; however, there are times when it is less than glamorous. For example, I've had the opportunity to catch vomit in my lap. My husband has had the rare treat of being spit up on, into his own mouth, while holding our daughter up in the air. I've gotten the chance to scrub poop off of the floor, walls, and exam table at the doctor's office. And my husband has had the remarkable experience of holding our son, in the checkout line, while our little bundle proceeds to have explosive diarrhea all over his arm. And yes, he still managed to pay the bill.

As you can see... the slimy, smelly, and sticky aspects of parenting are, indeed, plentiful.  I thought after all of these experiences, that we were experts in the "art of yuck", but I was wrong... so very wrong.

Let us rewind to last week. As my son was about to hop out of the car on his way to school, he stopped and said, "Ouch, my butt itches!" My initial response was, "Well, scratch it!" Within a moment, his discomfort subsided and he proceeded to head into school. I figured that this was simply a random "itchy butt" moment; it happens to the best of us, right? Anyway, he mentioned later that it bothered him a couple of times during the day, but it wasn't too bad. I didn't think much of this, until I brought it up to my Mom. She immediately said, "Uh oh!" And I said, "What do you mean, uh oh?" She then uttered the dreaded word... "worms!"

My husband and I looked at each other, and then said, "Well, that's just gross!" I decided that this was simply too terrible a thought to entertain, so this mustn't be the problem, period. Besides, we bathe our kids at least every other day and my son is a very conscientious hand washer. The next day went by fine, so my husband and I decided that we were out of the "itchy butt" woods, so to speak. We really felt like we dodged a bullet on this one! That is, until... 12:30 A.M., Friday night (why do these things always happen on the weekend!) when our son came into our room. He stood next to the bed and sheepishly said, "Mom, Dad my butt really itches."

"Freakin' great!"

My husband immediately pulls out his trusty IPAD and starts researching, what he so affectionately refers to as, "itchy butt". There are a few causes for "itchy butt"; such as, improper wiping, hemorrhoids, a rectal scratch, and... you guessed it, worms! Well, for the next hour we all laid in bed bantering wildly about "itchy butt"! And since my husband and I are both hypochondriacs, we immediately concluded that we also had "itchy butt"! In our defense, it's nearly impossible to talk about "itchy butt" without somehow experiencing the symptom. Admit it... your butt is probably itching at this very moment!

So long story short, we manage to get our son a Saturday doctor's appointment. My husband, lucky guy, gets to take him. The doctor isn't certain that he has worms, but she does say that it is very common among children. And since our son's classroom has the sink outside the room with the toilet, there is certainly the opportunity for dirty little hands to touch the bathroom doorknob all day long. It is highly likely, that a finger will sneak its way into the mouth or nose before getting to the sink. So, worms is certainly a possibility for all young children, nasty!

The doctor then makes a surprising suggestion about how to confidently make this determination. Get ready for this... She tells my husband, that we should go into our son's room in the middle of the night with a flashlight and some scotch tape. We're supposed to stick the tape to his butt and then examine it. Apparently, these nasty little suckers glow in the dark! My husband explains the plan to me and my son says, "If you're going to do that, make sure that I'm sleeping!" We promised that we would be very stealth about the whole thing.

When nighttime rolled around, my husband and I made a very important collective decision about the doc's suggestion. We decided, "Thanks, but no thanks. We'll have to respectfully pass on that one!"

Instead, we opted to give him the worming meds... just in case. We're not big on prescriptions in our household, but on this occasion, we made an exception.

Our son took this whole experience in amazing stride, which is highly uncharacteristic for him. Honestly, you can ask anyone who knows him; going with the flow is not his natural state. He didn't even mind when his sister ran up to him and said, "Hey, can I see your butt bugs?"

He simply laughed, and thankfully, kept his "butt bugs" to himself.

Ahhhh, Today was a Great Day!

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself in a downright foul mood! I spent the entire day in my head, which can be a dangerous place to dwell. Too much thinking inevitably turns to worrying, which undoubtedly snowballs into obsessing, and before you know it, you can't stand being around yourself! So by the time bedtime rolled around, I had tired of excessive thinking and had progressed to mind-numbing guilt.

At this particular moment, I decided that I was a crap mom, because I wasted an entire day being distracted by my own stupid thoughts! With each passing moment, I sunk deeper and deeper into this stinking pool of remorse, because try as I might, I couldn't stop my monkey mind! As I held my daughter's little hand, my attention darted back and forth between loving thoughts and compulsive worries. Each time my mind drifted towards unease, I doubled over with a nasty guilt-pang and figuratively slapped myself for squandering even more time! This pathetic shame-game continued until my daughter finally interrupted my thoughts (thank goodness!)

She simply sighed and said, “Ahhhhh, today was a great day! I got to go to the coffee shop and the bank and Grandma’s house. Today was the best day ever!” Those few little sentences completely silenced the noise in my head.

It turned out that while I was busy toiling with my thoughts and wrestling with my monkey-mind, my daughter was actually enjoying her day. She loves the coffee shop with the same enthusiasm as the rest of the women in her life, so she celebrates each trip. The bank is always an adventure, because she gets the pleasure of choosing a mouth-watering lollipop. And she is overjoyed every time she gets to go to Grandma’s house. She enjoyed her time at Grandma’s, even though my Mom decided to jump on the worry-wagon with me, which meant that we spent hours agonizing together! But somehow, my daughter managed to find the goodness in all of this.

Not only did she find contentment in each of these simple acts, she even delighted in the simple thought of these experiences. So while I sitting in her bed riding the guilt-train, she was blissfully recounting our day together.

This day taught me two very important things….

1. My daughter is light-years ahead of me in the mindfulness department.

And…

2. Even when we’re not the perfect parents, our kids can often find something right with what we do.

For my Mom

How do you describe the woman who gave you life? For most of us, this is a difficult question to answer. The relationship between mother and child is almost too intense to put into words. She is with you before you are born and she remains connected to you throughout your life. This bond is something that we don't think about much, but it's worth putting some time into. Consider this... the female fetus carries all the eggs that she will ever have in her lifetime. This means that while we, (ladies), were in our mothers' bellies, she was also carrying our future children (her future grandchildren) in her body. Crazy, right?!

Whether you have a positive or negative relationship with your mother doesn't really matter, the point is, that this connection is profound. I am one of the fortunate ones, who truly loves her mother. As I mentioned earlier, it's pretty hard to put this relationship into words, but I'm going to give it a whirl anyway!

Now that I'm a mother, I always wonder what my kids will remember. If you're a parent, you've probably wondered the same. Will they remember the hours you spent rocking them or the tantrums you endured? Will they remember the vacation you planned for months or the party you agonized over for weeks? Will they recall the cookies, cakes, and costumes you created? Will they remember how you cried when they got their first injury? Probably not, but they will remember things that you have long, since forgotten. Here are a few things that have stayed with me about my own Mom. For these memories, and millions more, she deserves to be honored on Mother's Day and every day...

I cried every day in preschool. I don't even know why, I just know that I hated it. Then one day, I found myself in a wonderful new school; I loved it from the moment I walked in! My Mom heard my cries and took action. I knew early on that she would never force me to stay somewhere that I felt unsafe.

When I was four, I almost drowned at a family picnic on a lake. My siblings were further out in the water and didn't see me fall down. I remember wearing a pale pink bathing suit with a ballerina skirt; I loved that bathing suit! I also remember being very scared and unable to stand up. The next thing I remember is seeing my Mom's panic-stricken face, feeling her arms, and knowing that I was now safe.

Around second grade, I was really into the 1950's, don't ask me why, because I honestly don't remember. However, I do remember, that my Mom threw me a 1950's themed birthday party. She made me a poodle skirt, collected all the right music, and opened our home to a bunch of rowdy kids. I still laugh when I think about one classmate who dressed as a greaser. His dad coated his hair with Vaseline, and when we threw confetti, it got plastered to his head. I can only imagine how many washings it took to get out! That day goes down in history as one of my favorite birthdays.

In third grade, I had a miserable violin teacher, who made me feel horribly guilty for not practicing more. I would make myself sick, just thinking about having to go to his class. When my Mom realized how traumatized I was, she marched into school and ripped this teacher a new one! By the time she was done, all he could do was stare at his own shoes.

During my elementary years, I also had a crappy principal. I don't recall what led my Mom to enter his office, but I do remember her calling him a "twit" to his face. I felt extremely validated at the time, in fact, I still feel validated, because he was truly a "twit"! From that point on, I knew that my Mom would always have my back.

Whenever we had a big snowstorm, my Mom would get bundled up and head outside. She was notorious for making these giant snow creatures. One year, she made an octopus that covered our entire lawn; she even built the tentacles climbing up our front stairs. She filled spray bottles with purple food coloring and sprayed the whole beast; he had oranges for eyes, evergreen eye lashes (Why? I don't know, that's just how my Mom rolls!), and a sign saying, "Go Giants!" (They happened to be in the Super Bowl that year.) On another occasion, she made a brilliantly green snow dragon. Her creations always stopped traffic and often landed us in the paper. Of course, by the time a reporter would come by, she was usually warming up in the house, so the kids would get the credit for her masterpieces. Totally unfair, but she never complained.

Throughout childhood, my sister suffered from asthma. Hospital trips and ambulance rides were no rare occurrence. Our Mom would bravely endure each terrifying attack. I vividly recall her sneaking Chinese herbal remedies into the hospital, when the countless nebulizer treatments failed to work.

I can still visualize the night when I came down the stairs and saw my Mom sitting with my college-aged brother. I had never seen him cry, but he was sobbing to her as he suffered an intense heartbreak. He was preparing to end a relationship and was plagued by guilt and sadness about the situation. I don't know how long they sat there, but I know she counseled him through the whole, painful process.

My Mom went to college while we were growing up, so her days were always very long. She worked, helped with homework, made dinner, cleaned, gave baths, read books (every night), and then "hit" her own books into the wee hours of the morning.

She opened her home, heart, and refrigerator to every one of our friends. My sister and I spent most of our formative years, tripping over our brother's sleeping friends. She provided a safe space for them to be kids/teenagers and then allowed them to crash on any available floor space. Everyone was always welcome, so they never wanted to leave.

As a teenager, I remember walking through the kitchen and finding all of my friends in my Mom's room. I quickly realized that they each went to her with everything that they couldn't tell their own mothers. No one ever felt judged in her presence, so they felt free to share their true selves. When they went home, they were "perfect". But when they were in our home, they were real.

Eight months after ending a bad relationship, I met my husband-to-be; I was 19-years-old. I felt that this new man had been brought to me by divine intervention, but I feared that it was too soon to enter into a new partnership. When I voiced my concerns to my Mom, she said simply, "There are no guarantees in life, so just follow your heart." This advice freed me to trust my intuition. Seven months later he proposed, and we have been happily united ever since.

When I was 24-years-old, I told my Mom that she was going to be a grandmother. She beamed from the deepest part of her soul and told me it was the best thing in the world! She gave me the confidence to become a mother.

At 27-years-old, I cried to her, as I told her that she was going to be a grandmother again. I knew I wanted another baby, but I couldn't imagine loving another one as much as my first. She told me that there is always enough love, and when that baby comes, it will follow. And of course, she was right... again.

These memories are mere snippets in time; they represent only the smallest fraction of our relationship. However, if you piece these experiences together with countless others, you begin to get a picture of the beauty that is my Mom. She is nurturing, yet fierce. Compassionate, yet cunning. Gentle, yet brutally honest. If you are her friend, count your blessings. If you are her enemy, watch out! If you cross her path, pause and pay attention. And if you are her child, biologically or otherwise, be eternally grateful. She will hold you in her heart forever, and that is a wonderful place to be.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I Love You to the Moon and Back!

Rediscovering Fish Sticks

One of the greatest things about parenthood is having the opportunity to rediscover childhood delights. For instance, on a recent trip to the grocery store I spied fish sticks in the freezer section and felt compelled to buy them. This compulsion was fueled by the fact that my daughter has the palate of a seasoned truck driver! Seriously, she would be overjoyed if I allowed her to eat at truck stops and diners on a daily basis. In her four short years, she has sampled french fries, egg sandwiches, bacon, gyros, hot dogs and mayo-drenched cole slaw. Let me tell ya, she has loved them all! Fortunately, my deep adoration for fruits, veggies, and all things home-made, prohibit me from indulging her taste buds too often.

However, I just couldn't pass up these fish sticks! I actually had not eaten a fish stick since early childhood, but I have to say, that my recent taste test proved that they are delicious! Why did I abandon these tasty morsels so long ago?! As suspected, my daughter relished in this newfound frozen goodness. Now, I realize that many people will disagree with our, "Fish sticks rock!" claim, but I challenge you to rediscover the under-appreciated fish stick. We sampled a gluten-free variety that was breaded in cornmeal, along with another "healthy" version; neither brand disappointed.

So, there you have it! I'm not saying that fish sticks will be a daily, or even weekly, addition to our family's menu, but they may make a monthly appearance on our kitchen table. Let me know if the fish stick reappears in your home, you may be pleasantly surprised at how much it was missed.

A Perfect Day

A perfect day
As simple as can be
It doesn't take much
To bring peace to me

Husband's home
Get to sleep in
Leisurely breakfast
Ear to ear grin

Garden center beckons
Together we roam
Dirt, flowers, and herbs
Can't wait to get our bounty home

Kids lounge on mulch bags
I plant the first herb
My husband builds me flower boxes
Our house looks superb!

Kids picking flowers
Dirt starts to fly
Imaginations wander
Time quickly speeds by

Wheelbarrow rides
Our new favorite thing
Again, again Daddy!
The kids start to sing

Much needed baths
With Grandma we dine
Home-made ice cream
We're all feeling fine

These are the days
When life seems to flow
We need more of these
In my heart, this I know.

Magical Moments

One of the best things about having little kids is the sense of wonder that surrounds them. My kids are both at an age where they still believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. My husband and I encourage their imaginations as much as possible, because we know that this time is all too fleeting. In fact, the doubts have already started creeping into my son's head. When my Dad asked him what he wanted the Easter Bunny to bring him, my son followed up his response with, "If there really is an Easter Bunny." I grabbed my husband and told him what I had just overheard, we both felt a quick stab to the heart knowing that reality is starting to win out over imagination.

Some people don't buy into the whole Santa thing or Easter Bunny charade, but I don't understand why. Do they think it is pointless or deceitful to play along? I clearly remember the let-down I experienced after coming to the conclusion that these figures were not "real" in the sense that I imagined, but I also recall the intense joy I felt from believing in something spectacular! Yes, it was disappointing to learn that Santa didn't actually come down our chimney (especially since we didn't have one!), but I also had the experience of hours of day-dreaming with my sister about all the wonders of the North Pole. The excitement we experienced before Holidays was indescribable. We were certain that we had heard sleigh bells, or footsteps, or even the hopping of bunny feet! Those early years were absolutely magical!

One year the Easter Bunny left me a note; I can still recall the incredible awe of that moment. I remember thinking, "Wow, the Easter Bunny left me a note, this is one of the coolest things that has EVER happened, I must be a pretty special kid!" There was even a picture of the Easter Bunny on the note, which I found amazing, because I always wondered what he looked like. I recall playing detective about how he must have jumped onto the counter, and where he found the pen, and how he knew how to spell my name. For a kid, this is more important than any adult can imagine. My Mom probably had no idea that this little note would mean so much to me, but it did, because it meant that magic was real.

It's hard to set your kids up for disappointment. I think some parents discourage make-believe, because they don't want their kids to be crushed or disillusioned when doubt emerges, but it doesn't have to be this way. In second grade, I asked my Mom directly if Santa existed. She explained to me that Santa didn't actually bring gifts, but that the spirit of Christmas was magical and real and that it lived in my heart. Around the same time, I realized that the Easter Bunny hadn't written that special note, but that realization came with a silver lining too. I saw how much my Mom loved me. My parents were willing to stay up late writing silly notes and sneaking around with gifts, just so that we could believe in something wonderful. As an adult, this is the memory that I hold in my heart.

My husband and I are now passing on this gift to our kids. Last night, we were the ones tip-toeing about hiding eggs and filling Easter baskets. My husband even got up at 5:00 A.M. to hide more eggs around our yard before the kids woke up. We're both giddy with anticipation when we hear their little feet on the stairs.  The experience is even more exciting when I allow myself to step into their shoes. When I do this, I realize that they are living the magic in its purest form. They believe in something that doesn't make sense, because so far, no one has told them not to.

I may no longer wait up for sleigh bells, but I continue to believe in the unbelievable. As a child, I was given the freedom to dream and the space for faith; this continues to serve me with each passing year.Some of us think that we should outgrow the fairy tales, but often we need them even more as we age. Teaching your kids to believe in what they can't see, gives them the opportunity to open their hearts and their minds to endless possibilities. When we can accept that there is more to this world than meets the eye, we can embark on the path to true wisdom. My mantra... trust, have faith, believe!

Zero to Sixty

The world is clearly divided amongst two groups of people... morning people, and not morning people. I fall solidly into the latter category; this has proven to be problematic for me as a parent. Especially, since my 4-year-old daughter has yet to sleep through the night. She goes to bed fine, but inevitably wakes up several times throughout the night. I don't think that she has EVER gone to bed at 7:00 P.M. and slept through until 6:00 A.M. Obviously, when she wakes up, she finds it necessary to wake me up and usually her Daddy too. To add insult to injury, she is also a morning person! During the early years, our son was not a great sleeper either, so we're going on almost 7 years of sleep deprivation. And it's starting to add up!

Generally, my daughter opens her eyes and immediately hits the ground running! There is no easing into the day, no gentle transition from sleepiness to wakefulness; upon waking my daughter zooms from zero to sixty and expects everyone else to do the same. Usually it goes something like this... She sits up and immediately starts a conversation. Often there is a lot of poking involved and usually the shades are being opened and occasionally the lights get turned on. Once she's gotten my attention, she runs down a long list of demands, usually involving breakfast and cartoons. My daughter is awesome and adorable, but none of this amuses me!

I need to gradually approach the day. I need to lie in bed and ponder getting up, before any real action is taken. This has been my approach for most of my life. I remember my Mom repeatedly coming into my room to wake me up for high school. I would regularly bargain for 30 more seconds! It sounds completely ridiculous, but if I need an extra 30 seconds, I need an extra 30 seconds! I tell my kids this, but they just don't get it! Most mornings I feel like that familiar teenager begging for more sleep. I get ornery, obstinate, and completely irrational, but this is why my sleep must be protected.

My son, like me, is not a morning person; thank goodness! However, he does wake up grouchy and ravenous! The grouchiness I can handle, but the intense hunger requires immediate action from me. The hardest part is that I know he's starving in the morning, because he's such a poor eater for most of the day. Breakfast is the only meal he consistently eats, so I feel obligated to fill the hole in his stomach sooner rather than later. I do my best to get a few extra minutes, but it's challenging to actually sleep when you have someone screaming from the next room about how they can't go on another moment without sustenance!

My husband, bless his heart, wakes up just like my daughter. He's chatty and raring to go! Unfortunately, he leaves for work, just moments before my daughter wakes up. On the occasional morning that he doesn't have to work, they are a perfect team! They have conversations in full swing from the get-go, music playing, errands to run; it's crazy! On these mornings, I lay in bed with two emotions. The first is an intense gratitude that he is giving her everything she needs and having a marvelous time in the process. The second emotion is complete and utter confusion that anyone actually wakes up with that much vim and vinegar!

Morning people... what a mystery!

Praying to the Porcelain god... again!

Why does it always happen at night?! Dealing with a vomiting child is horrible no matter how you slice it, but being forced to handle such a situation while you’re fumbling around in the dark, bleary-eyed, with only a handful of brain cells firing makes it infinitely worse! Last night, our daughter climbed into bed, as usual, sometime around midnight. Within a few minutes, the restlessness started. This is not the normal tossing and turning that happens during a comfortable sleep, no, this is the type of restlessness that puts all my senses on high-alert. I was especially sensitive to my daughter’s agitation, because I was also doing a great deal of tossing and turning. On my other side, I felt my husband rolling back and forth more than usual. All I could think was, “Somebody’s gonna be puking tonight!” 

Eventually my daughter asked to go up to her bed, she seemed to sense that something was amiss  and wanted to spare our bed from what was to come, what a sweet kid! I cuddled into bed with her, hoping that she would settle down, but soon enough she said those dreaded words, “Mommy my tummy hurts.”  It’s now official, “Game on!”

We both sat up just in time for her to vomit all over her bed, herself, and the floor. Amazingly, I managed to stay out of the line of fire. Puke-mode goes into effect immediately; strip the beds, change the pj’s, throw in a load of laundry, and find some new bedding. Then attempt to lay down again, knowing that your attempts are futile.

She threw up two more times after that, along with about ten false alarms. But I have to say, she really impressed me. By the second bout of vomiting, she had turned into a champion! Every time she felt the urge, she would march her little bottom into the bathroom and assume her position next to the toilet. Sometimes she would hold onto the edges and simply lean over. Then she experimented with kneeling on the floor while embracing the thrown. A couple times she even made herself comfortable by resting her forehead on the bowl. She was incredibly stoic about the whole thing; there was no crying or whimpering, she simply stayed focused on the task at hand without partaking in any unnecessary fanfare. I can tell you that she absolutely does not get this from me!

For me, throwing up requires tons of fanfare! As a kid, I needed a support staff, an audience, and some serious talk-therapy every time I threw up. My sister always seemed to fill this enviable role nicely. My Mom usually had her hands full managing the mess and laundry in preparation for the next bout of excitement. So if she was unavailable, I would call my sister into the bathroom. I didn’t get intestinal bugs often, but when I did, I made the most of them! Needless to say, my sister was being called in for moral support numerous times in short succession. Every time she heard my pitiful cries, she would hurry in and hang out next to me, inevitably thinking, “Why does she need me here every single time?!” But being the awesome big sister that she is, she never complained to my face. Or maybe she did, but I was too busy to notice.

So the moral of the story is this… if you’re going to puke, take a note from my daughter. Don’t work yourself up, don’t be squeamish, just march up to that bowl, hang on tight, and get down to business! Prolonging the inevitable doesn’t make the experience any more pleasant. If you’re anything like my little warrior, you may even find yourself asking to go to the ice-cream shop the next morning.  In this case, follow my lead, and resist the temptation.

Broaden Your Horizons

I took this picture last year in Melbourne, Australia. The purpose of the trip was to be the matron of honor in one of my dearest friend's wedding. When she first asked me to play this role, my initial response was, "Absolutely not!" I wanted to stand by her side, but I didn't want to travel across the world to do it! I don't particularly like flying and I definitely don't like being in a plane for over 20 hours! My biggest fear, however, was being away from my children. I couldn't bare the thought that something might happen to them while I was away, or that something would happen to me and I wouldn't make it home.

I agonized over the decision for months, even after the ticket was purchased, I wondered if I would actually have the guts to get on the plane. My husband urged me along and convinced me that I needed this trip. Every time I fell into doubt, he would point out my irrational fears and basically tell me to, "suck it up!" I fought him every step of the way, but it turns out, he was completely right. I did need this trip.

It was a huge personal triumph for me to travel so far away and move completely out of my comfort zone. It was also incredibly fulfilling to stand next to one of my oldest friends, surrounded by her sisters, and watch her so calmly make the most important vows of her life. Having the opportunity to make a speech on her behalf was a great gift for me. It was even more moving to hear her speech, when she thanked my husband and kids for temporarily parting with me, so I could share this moment with her.

Being away forced me to let go of control and trust in something greater. It also gave me the opportunity to reconnect with friends that I have been somewhat removed from since becoming a mother. When I came home, I started looking at myself as a whole person, with a variety of important roles to play. When you become a mother, it's so easy to be completely consumed by that one role, because the demands and emotions are so intense. But I realized, that I have much more to offer my kids when I allow myself to continue growing as an individual. So while I don't see myself jumping on the next plane to Zimbabwe, I do see myself seizing the day as much as possible!

Bittersweet Birthdays

Today my little girl turned four. The pictures in this post were taken the day after she was born; I can barely believe that four years have already passed. I find birthdays to be very bittersweet. On one hand, it's amazing to see your children grow a year older. It's inspiring to see how their bodies, minds, and spirits evolve with each passing year. Watching their personalities deepen is an awesome experience to behold.

That being said, it's still difficult to watch them move further and further away from the birth stage. This period is so significant, because a newborn has yet to be exposed to the outside world. There is a sense of wonder and purity that surrounds a new life; a deep knowing that anything is possible! None of us can grow in a bubble, but these protected early moments with our children are precious beyond words. I gave birth to my daughter at my Mom's house, on a lake, with an amazing midwife. She entered the world in the most peaceful way I could have imagined. I feel like we were given a great gift to have had such an experience. During that brief time, everything was perfect in our world. I knew that blissful period couldn't last, but I can't help but feel nostalgic about it now and again.

Despite my moments of melancholy, I wouldn't turn back the clock. Today my daughter is a vibrant fire-cracker, with an intense zest for life! She has a very diverse vocabulary, full of colorful phrases. Through my son's Kindergarten stories, she has learned all about Justin Bieber! Thankfully, she doesn't quite get the reference, because she calls him Justin "Beaver" and she thinks he's just another kid in her brother's class. When she heard her cousin talking about Justin Bieber, she said, " Ha, that's so funny! There's two Justin "Beavers"; he's in Anna's class too!"

So, she may not be my sweet newborn anymore, but she is my sweet and hilarious little girl. I may never understand the Justin Bieber obsession, but I am becoming quite fond of Justin "Beaver"!

Justin "Beaver"

Thing 1 & Thing 2

 

Same parents, same house
But completely unique
Thing 2 loves her school
Thing 1 complains through the week

Thing 1 likes his quiet

Thing 2 likes to shout
Thing 1 ponders intensely
Thing 2 wanders about

Thing 1 proceeds with caution
Thing 2 shows no restraint
Thing 1 reaches for your hand
While, Thing 2 reaches for wet paint!

Thing 1 respects order
Thing 2 makes a mess
Thing 1 nibbles slowly
Thing 2 spills all over her dress

Thing 1 thinks before speaking
Thing 2 rarely comes up for air
Thing 1 observes from the sidelines
Thing 2 dances without care

Thing 1 turns up his nose
New food makes him scream
Thing 2 orders chimichangas
With extra sour cream

Thing 1 sees the glass empty
Thing 2's cup is full
Thing 1 needs a gentle push
And Thing 2 requires a strong pull

Thing 2 adores her Mom

Thing 1 idolizes his Dad
We cherish their differences

Neither one is half-bad

It's easy to think that they can be molded like clay

But they are, who they are, from the very first day!

How to be a Good Parent When You're Human?

For me, one of the hardest things about parenting is that you have to work at it all of the time! No matter what is going on in your life, your children need your energy and attention on a consistent basis, sometimes it seems like they have a need every other minute! I occasionally find it exhausting to fulfill so many demands, but for the most part, I genuinely enjoy the energy I put forth for my kids.

But then there are the times when you simply don't have enough to give. Let's face it, part of being human involves having human experiences, and some of them aren't so great! In every person's life, there are times of struggle, transition, confusion, and chaos. During these periods most of us want to stay in bed, or cry all day, or spend hours on the phone with a friend. But when you have a child waiting to be fed, or put to bed, or taken to school, you simply can't indulge in quite the same way. At these moments, I find myself wishing for a pause button; just a few minutes to regain my energy, before it needs to flow out again.

Obviously this handy button doesn't exist, so what's a parent to do? It can be so easy to underestimate your personal needs when you have children to take care of, but we mustn't ignore them altogether. Sometimes you have to cry, scream, lock yourself in your room, or all of the above! You can't simply put all the "hard stuff" on hold until your kids get older. Life unfolds at every moment, and we can't always flow gracefully through every twist and turn. But maybe that's okay.

Kids should understand that their parents also have emotions and that they don't always have the answers. If we can handle our emotions with honesty and respect, then our kids will learn to do the same. It's always better to teach by example, right?

You never know what is going on in someone else's life, but chances are that they are dealing with some form of struggle. So let's be gentle with ourselves and our fellow flawed humans. It's not always possible to be the perfect parent and simultaneously grow as an individual, but hopefully we can strive for a balance somewhere in between.

I Think We Need a Pet

Yesterday morning, I gave my kids their daily Flintstone's vitamin. Granted, these aren't the best supplements, but sometimes they do the job. Anyway, my kids always fight over the Dino, the dinosaur, vitamins. Apparently, he's the tastiest one in the bunch. Surprisingly, my daughter opted to save her vitamin, saying, "Dino is going to be my dog today!"

These comments don't phase me much, especially when we're in the midst of running out the door. I figured that she would carry him around for a few minutes and then eventually give into the fruity temptation. Once again, I was wrong. Within minutes, she had a carrying case for her "pet", complete with a bag of gem stones; the stones were his treats, obviously! She even attached a belt to the handle of her jewelry box; I assume that this was a leash for Dino. I thought this was a pretty clever idea; she must have realized that putting a leash on a vitamin would be a bit tricky, so she found an alternative way to drag him around.

Her pet accompanied us to a tea shop, the food store, and then to my Mom's house. Dino had lunch with her and then they enjoyed a movie together. Around 3:00 P.M. she started to cry, because Dino was getting a little sticky. She attempted to wipe him off with her paper napkin... you can imagine how well that worked. So then, I offered to wash it off for her, which worked even better, as you might have guessed. Eventually, we had to admit that Dino was a little too slimy to keep as a pet.

She was saddened by the news, but then quickly asked, "Well, when we get home can Fred Flintstone be my pet?" I figured, "Why not?!" Hey, Fred might not be the most exciting pet, but at least I don't have to follow after him with a pooper-scooper!

Sometimes Mama's Got to Dance!

I've avoided making a hooping video for quite some time, but I finally bit the bullet. Motherhood builds up a lot of energy and sometimes you just have to let it out!This is a outlet that works for me, I hope that you all find something that speaks to you. This is by no means a flawless video, but it is an expression of energy nonetheless!

Flat Broke

Over the months I've written about various aspects of parenting, but I've managed to avoid all financial discussions. This wasn't intentional, I suppose my subconscious simply found the topic too depressing to mention. But I've decided that it's time to start talking about the fiscally crappy situation that most us are in.

Here's the thing... I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by intelligent, educated, and talented people. I, myself, am also educated and, dare I say, intelligent and talented. None of my friends are lazy; we're all willing to put energy and effort into our work, yet most of us are still flat broke! What gives?

I know that this is not the case for all parents. I've heard of some elusive creatures that actually pay all their bills on time, take vacations, and regularly stash money into their hefty savings accounts. I believe that these people exist, but I don't actually know any of them. If this fairytale I speak of actually exists, then what are the rest of us doing wrong?

Since becoming a parent, I've watched my peers fall into one of three categories. I describe them as such...

1. The "One-Uppers". The One-Uppers can be defined as the one-income household. One parent stays home with the kids and the other parent works outside the home. If I were to draw a visual of this couple, they would be sitting on an unbalanced see-saw. I call them the One-uppers, because each partner often feels the need to one-up the other. Basically, both individuals are working their butts off, but in totally different capacities. This situation can easily create a power struggle, because both parents feel under-appreciated and, therefore, need to validate why their job is more demanding. In most cases, the root of this power struggle stems from guilt and a need to be valued. The stay-at-home parent feel guilty for not contributing financially to the relationship, but still wants to be recognized for the intense (yet unpaid) work that they are doing. The bread-winner feels guilty for not spending more time with their kids and wants to be acknowledged for the sacrifice that they are making. My husband and I fall into this category. We benefit from this situation, because I have time to keep balance on the home front and my husband has the flexibility to work overtime knowing that our kids are taken care of. Unfortunately, the overtime is never enough, so we're still broke.

2. The "Tag-Teamers". The Tag-Teamers can be defined as the parental unit that works in shifts. I call them the Tag-Teamers, because one parent works all day, and then "Tag, you're it!", the other parent runs out the door. Most couples who find themselves in this situation rely on the income of both parties; often the second-income is a lesser paying part-time job. Theoretically, this set-up makes sense... there is no need to pay for childcare and there is a greater balance of financial burden. Unfortunately, this situation robs both parents of much needed down-time. It also eliminates time together as a family, and often results in limited sleep for one or both parents. This situation sucks, because there are literally no more hours to work, so both parents are exhausted and frustrated, because somehow they are still broke.

3. Finally we come to the "Take-Outers". The Take-Outers can be defined as the two-income household. I call them the Take-Outers, because these parents are often forced to order out every night, because they're too freakin' beat to cook! Let me clarify, that the Take-Outers are not parents with nannies and cleaning ladies. No, the Take-Outers are making just enough to justify their daycare expenses, but not enough to actually enjoy the fruits of their two-income salaries. This situation can get really tricky. In most cases, the combined incomes provide a little extra cushion and the parents can take solace knowing that they are sharing the financial burden. Unfortunately, what is gained in dollars is often lost in sanity. There never seems to be enough time to get kids to daycare/school, the house cleaned, dinner cooked, or work finished. And if someone needs to be home sick, the stress of calling out of work can be too much to handle. So once again, both partners are working like crazy, but still flat broke!

Needless to say, I don't know what the answer is here. The cost of living just keeps going up, and the wages keep staying the same. My husband and I live very simply, so there are few more corners to cut. We have a reasonably priced home, used cars, and inexpensive clothing. We rarely eat out and have spent very little on preschool costs for our kids. Most activities we do are free and we barely spend any money on ourselves. So unless we want to move to a commune somewhere, I don't really know how much more we can do.

It's obvious why I have avoided this topic for so long. This is a problem with no clear answer. But I do want to say this... I think we're all doing a pretty great job! Whether you're a One-Uper, a Tag-Teamer, or Take-Outer; we're all doing our best to take care of our families. It's not easy to raise kids, but we all care enough to keep working at it, and I think that deserves some recognition. So in between stressing about our mortgage payments, I think we should also give ourselves the occasional pat on the back. And for anyone out there raising kids as a single parent, I tip my hat to you! We may be flat broke, but we all get an "A" for effort!

The Most Important Thing I'll Ever Do

There are many things I hope to achieve in my life. I would like to write a few books, travel through Europe, become a successful entrepreneur, master the art of gardening, create a delicious marinara sauce, and learn to sew the perfect wrap dress, or a perfect anything for that matter! Yes, I would certainly appreciate the opportunity to reach these goals, but they will always pale in comparison to the most important thing I'll ever do, which is to love my kids.

I'll admit, it sounds simple, but answer me this... How much better would the world be if every parent loved their child? I can only imagine how far-reaching the benefits would be if every parent was able to provide their child with this one gift. This gift wouldn't require money, or intelligence, or back-breaking work; it's accessible to everyone. Loving your kids doesn't require perfection either. All it requires is the ability to recognize, accept, and cherish your child for who they are, that's it.

When I put my kids to bed at night, I often take a few moments to admire them while they're sleeping. In these moments, I'm not distracted by the noise of life. No one is asking me for anything or arguing, everything is quiet. This is the most magical time of my day, because when I look at my children I can truly see them. I forget about the stress of the day and can forgive myself for the mistakes I inevitably made along the way. I'm able to do this, because I know that at the root of everything I do, there is love.

So no matter where life takes me, I will keep this as my ultimate goal. Books and pasta sauce are great, but they are meaningless, unless they can be shared with loved ones. If I can succeed in loving my children throughout their lives, then I trust that they will be able to pass this love on to their children. My hope would be that this love will continue to pour forth with each generation. So you see, this is why loving my kids is so important. Love has the power to continue long after you are gone and is the only thing that doesn't fade with time. So while you're out there striving to achieve your material goals, keep in mind that these accomplishments will eventually be forgotten, but the love you put out into the world will last forever.

The Age of Insanity

Soccer practice
And ballet
Little League
What can I say?

Piano lessons
Karate too
No time to play
Just do, do, do!

Family dinners
Have become passe
We must produce!
It's the American way!

Cell phones ringing
On Facebook we meet
Technologically crazy
Why must we Tweet?

Moms are stressed
Dads are too
Always running
Too much to do

Can't take a breath
Walls caving in
This is your life
Not a game to win

You have a choice to be
Not do
Your children are drowning
And so are you!

Poo Water

Sometimes being a parent is so hard that you want to scream; often it's so hard that you actually do scream! Other times it's frustrating beyond belief and you wonder how you will ever keep your last shred of sanity. And then there are the occasions where you are so exhausted that you want to cry, but sometimes you're even too tired for that!

Yes, it's safe to say that parents experience a very wide range of emotions. Fortunately, amidst all of the craziness, children manage to throw in some huge belly-laughs when you need it most. This evening, I was helping my kids brush their teeth. By this time of night, I'm pretty spent, so I tend to be all business. My son, however, was still in goof-off mode. He was sitting on the sink, practicing his spitting. He likes to see how much spray he can get when rinsing his mouth. If it gets all over the sink, good. If it gets all over the mirror, even better. If it gets all over Mom, great!

Rather than get soaked, I opted to take my daughter out of the room. I found his shenanigans funny the first couple of times, but now I'm starting to dislike my soppy sweater sleeves, and tooth-paste covered hair. Anyway, I was about half-way up the stairs when I heard a thud. I stopped for a moment to see what would happen next. Once you've been a parent for a while, you stop running after every little bump, instead you wait for a scream!

He didn't scream, but I did hear a, "Mom, I need you!" I quickened my step and headed back to the bathroom. I found my son lying on the floor next to the toilet bowl, looking slightly bedraggled, and a little wet in the face. He seemed okay, so I started to laugh and said, "What happened?"

He answered, "Well, I was sitting on the sink, and then I stepped backward to stand on the toilet bowl. I didn't know it was open, so I stuck my foot in the toilet, slipped, fell down, and got poo water all over my face!"

Obviously, now I started to laugh much harder to the point of cramping! Then, I wiped the poo water off his face, dried his foot, and praised him for his awesome stunt.

Perhaps he’ll think twice now before spitting his toothpaste at me. Probably not, but I'll take that over poo water any day!

Don't Tango with Rango!

So tonight we took the kids to see "Rango". I was pretty psyched all day.... You see, I've been a Johnny Depp fan since 21 Jump Street. I'll see any of his movies, even when he's playing a talking lizard! But I must admit, I was a bit offended by this flick. There was liberal use of the words, "hell" and "damn", tons of gun fire, spitting, bar room brawls, smoking critters, and a few misogynistic comments sprinkled about. There was also a majorly-creepy rattlesnake with a shot gun rattler! Granted, this movie was supposed to have a western flair, but still it seemed a bit over the top.

Now, I'm not the "keep your kids in a bubble" type of mom. I don't highly sensor our music or avoid topics that may seem controversial. But, I still feel like we should attempt to preserve their innocence as long as possible. It seems that that window is getting smaller and smaller, and frankly it angers and saddens me greatly.

We may be getting more and more desensitized as adults, but do we have to drag our kids into it? Can't they have at least ten solid years of being kids? Perhaps, my husband and I were negligent taking our kids to a PG movie without previewing it first. But honestly, do you really want to be those parents? To me, if you're going to market movies to kids, they should be appropriate for kids! Obviously, my thinking is naive at best.

I'm no Tipper Gore, but the shot-gun rattler almost sent me running for some parental advisory stickers! Okay, not quite, but you get the idea.

And then Chaos Ensued!

In my house, dinner time means complete and utter chaos! I don't know what it is about this particular time of day, but everyone seems to totally lose their minds around 5:00 P.M. Let's take tonight for instance... I was cooking dinner, in my usual stance, at the counter, giant knife in hand. Whenever I'm at the cutting board, my kids get the brilliant idea to wrestle on the kitchen floor, usually right by my feet. So of course I shout,

"Ah, giant knife in hand, please wrestle somewhere else!"
No response. I repeat...
"Guys, don't you see I have a knife in my hand, this is not the place for wrestling!"
Still nothing. So I banish them to the living room.

My husband attempts to give me a few moments of sanity, by wrestling with the kids in the living room, so I can get dinner finished.

Meanwhile, I have couscous cooking on one burner, ground turkey browning on another, and peppers roasting in a 400 degree oven. A song comes on the radio that reminds my husband of something funny he wanted to show me. I have to rely on him to keep me abreast of mainstream things like YouTube, since most of the time I reside in my own little world.
"Honey, check out this video on my IPAD!"
"Wow, cool. That dude from Radiohead is quite the dancer! Watch out, I need to stir this."
"Wait, now check out this video on YouTube. It's the Thom Yorke (Radiohead) video, but Beyonce's song, "All the Single Ladies", is playing in the background!"
"Ha ha, that's awesome. Okay watch out again, something's burning."

Enter kids... All of us are now surrounding the stove...

"Hey Daddy, what's that?"
"Oh, it's this video..."

Now I interject, as one of the kids leans in and is about to rest their hand on the burning-hot stove...

"EVERYBODY AWAY FROM THE STOVE!"

The kids scatter. Then I hear the jumping...

"Guys, please stop jumping on the couch."
No response.
"Guys, no jumping on the couch!"
Silence... except for the squeaking of their little feet on the sofa. I'm now about to lose it.

"THAT'S IT! IF ANYONE NEEDS TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM, YOU'RE WALKING!"

They're still jumping, but at least my husband's laughing. He finds it thoroughly amusing when I become crazy, banshee mom!

My daughter now decides that she is absolutely starving and can't possibly wait 15 more minutes to eat. I'm still in crazy banshee mode, so I can't honor her request. Daddy, however, steps in and makes his famous egg salad.

Since our son would sooner eat an umbrella than a stuffed pepper, we ask what he wants to eat. He replies, "Pancakes."

I say, "Fine", but I'm making them my way! I stroll over to my handy, dandy Cuisinart and mix up oats, cashews, almonds, pumpkin seeds, and flax. I add one cup of my mystery mixture, with one cup flour, 2 eggs, and some goat's milk. I've never used goat's milk before, but the kid's half Greek for goodness sakes, he can handle it!

We finally sit down to eat. Well, my husband, son, and I sit down. Since our daughter already ate, she's busy tending to her "lemonade stand" in the living room. Every few seconds she comes in to deliver lemonade from a piece of cardboard. I still don't know if we were supposed to drink from the cardboard, or if the cardboard was a tray. All I know, is that every other bite was interrupted by an imaginary lemonade sip.

My son is enjoying the first few bites of his awesome pancake, but then becomes overwhelmed by an ever-so-slightly-too-large bite. He then runs from the table, into the bathroom, saying that this bite might make him throw up! Well, needless to say, that was it for pancakes!

My husband and I simultaneously throw our hands up in the air, banish both kids from the room (again!), and resume our meal. Indigestion anyone?

Sleepless Night

Hear her coming
Down the stairs
Pilllow in hand
Stumbling past kitchen chairs

Climbs into bed
Utters a whimper and whine
Sinking sense
That a good night's sleep, will not be mine

Hour after hour
Tossing, turning
The fever's back
Her head is burning

Attempt to comfort
Attempt to hold
Pushes my hand away
And begins to scold

She won't admit to feeling ill
She says, she's, "FINE!"
At least, until...

The throbbing starts
In her little right ear
"Hold me Mommy!"
Just as I feared

The weekend, of course
Never fails
Will we get an appointment?
As she begins to wail

Some Tylenol
A sip of water
Fitfully drifts to sleep
My precious daughter

Thirty minutes later
Up again
I trust we'll sleep once more
But when?

Absorb the Pain

I've always been ruled by my feelings. Anyone who knows me well will agree that my feeling sense greatly overpowers my thinking sense, for better or worse. As a child, I always knew who was sad or who needed a friend. And historically, I've followed my gut more than my head.

In other words, I'm sensitive to the pain of others and I respond accordingly. There have been times that I've been overtaken by another person's emotions, teetering dangerously close to making those feelings my own. But as I've gotten older, I've learned how to have compassion for others without becoming a pain-leech.

With my kids, however, this is not so easy. When they are in pain, I seem to absorb it like a dry sponge. The sense is so profound that I can actually feel it in every cell of my body.

Let's take today for instance... this morning, I managed to slam my daughter's tiny hand in the car door. Honestly, I can't believe it's taken me six years of mothering to commit this common offense. The scene looked like this... I was climbing out of the car, into a snow bank, carrying three bags of stuff. My daughter was climbing over her brother in an attempt to get out of the car on his side. Somehow she managed to get her hand into the frame of the driver's side door, and I absently closed it, while reaching for my son's door.

Needless to say, she wailed! It took me a split second to realize what happened, but then I saw her little hand in the door and immediately experienced a flood of guilt and pain. I grabbed her, quickly examined her hand (it was fine, by the way. A little bruised, but otherwise unharmed), and held her against my chest. As she cried, I felt her pain vibrating through my body. It's a difficult sensation to describe, but I feel it whenever one of my kids is hurt (emotionally or physically). It's as though my entire being wants to stop their discomfort, so I in turn, take it on as my own.

I was still feeling the effects of the morning by the time afternoon rolled around. I got my second dose of pain after my son played a harrowing game of checkers with my Dad. My son cannot handle losing, EVER! Growing up, my siblings and I played a lot of games with my Dad and he never just let us win. We were taught the rules and we learned to play fairly. We also learned how to lose; since I was the youngest, I learned this lesson over and over again. Certain allowances were made when we were especially young and still grasping the concept of any given game, but we understood that we had to earn a win. This was an important lesson, because when we did actually have a victory, we felt genuinely proud! There was a deep satisfaction in knowing that we used our minds and skill, rather than having someone hand us a false-victory. My siblings and I are all very different, but to this day, we share this particular trait... None of us expect anything to be given to us on a silver spoon, and we accept our wins and our losses with humility.

Well, my son is still learning this trait, so he didn't accept his loss with any humility. He ran away, crying wildly, throwing insane statements into the air, such as...

"Pop needs to go buy a new grandson!"
"I want my Pop to GO AWAY!"
"Pop HATES me, that's why he wants me to lose!"
"He doesn't love me at all!"

This causes me pain on so many levels! The fact that my son could say such awful things to my Dad is almost too much for me to bare. Knowing what a kind and generous person my father is, it's devastating to hear my child throw such venomous words his way. The pain is further intensified by the thought of my son actually believing such nonsense!

As I hold his sobbing, little body I feel the rush of pain once more. Pain for my son, pain for my Dad, and pain for me that I'm stuck in the middle.

This experience got me thinking... Mothers are often criticized for looking haggard or being too stressed-out, but this experience of pain has a lot to do with it. It's impossible to absorb someone else's physical, emotional or spiritual pain day in and day out, without ever wearing it on your own face. Most of us know that our children are their own unique beings, and we respect their need to have individual experiences apart from us. We know this in our heads, but in our hearts, it feels differently.

Honestly, I don't know if mothers can ever truly create this boundary with their children. Once you commit yourself to loving a child, you can't help but experience every sting of life through them. Since I know that pain is an essential part of growth and understanding, I will continue to guide my children down their authentic paths, knowing that they will inevitably experience bumps along the way. I will do this, because I want them to live and love fully and passionately, but I certainly won't get through unscathed. Too bad they don't make Spiderman band-aids for the spirit; God knows I'll need them!