Shout It Out

It is a difficult thing to admit in the calm tranquil space of this blog, but I am a yeller. I get excited, I talk louder. I get angry, frustrated, scared, anxious and I yell. It is one of the things I dislike, HATE, most about myself. I know it is one of the things my husband most wishes he could change about me. I am terrified it is going to be what my son remembers most about his childhood- his mom yelling. I get it honestly, I come from a family of yellers and boy are they good at it. Disagreements are frequent and at full decibel and they always made me want to run and hide. They still do, which is why when I open my mouth and the black noise of chaos and anger comes rushing out like a rabid dog, I am instantly ashamed. Guess what I do when I feel ashamed? I yell.

We have the board book "My Many Colored Days" by Dr. Seuss which I have read often to the boy in hopes of instilling the idea that emotions are not scary, but a normal expression of how each of us feels every day. A self-serving perspective of "it's okay if mommy's mad" wrapped up in a catchy rhyme with cool illustrations. But is it okay? Stuffing your feelings is never a good idea but the screaming and yelling- it can be pretty scary stuff. There has to be a middle ground.

I suppose these are the real questions. What am I so angry about that the slightest things send me into a fit of vocal rage? What lies beneath the surface that ignites the fire of everyday frustrations fueling the flames into a five alarm blaze? Why are women and moms so angry?

I named this space "mommapractice" because I believe it is, all of it, a practice. Each day is an opportunity to make a choice, do things differently, re-examine what works, what doesn't. Each day we also carry the regrets, resentments and guilts of yesterday and I suppose that is what is beneath the surface. Today could be a balance of yesterday and tomorrow and perhaps that is the purpose of being present in the moment. I know I can breathe through the anger and the moment(s) will pass. It is the PRACTICE of the breath, the connection to it that is difficult for me, maybe for all of us. I will keep trying, practicing, and making mistakes and hopefully yelling about it less along the way.

The Efficiency of Intention

Here is a peek at what you can accomplish in three hours:
Drop son off at morning care program, have brief conversation with brother about his upcoming procedure, drop off books at one library, pick up books on hold at another, head home to make muffins only to learn a muffin pan is missing, call grandma for muffin pan, go pick it up, have brief conversation about pros/cons of circumcision (i know, weird), come home and make muffins, fold and put away load of laundry, post listing for upcoming garage sale, make signs for upcoming garage sale, check and respond to email, make basket of muffins and card for friend who recently had baby, and off to pick up son I go. On the way, I thought about all of the things I had gotten done and I felt proud of my accomplishments. But then I realized, I didn't enjoy any of it. I was a bundle of frenetic energy whose focus was on being productive, efficient with my time but with no intention or awareness.

In my former life, I was a community social worker and productivity was the name of the game. I prided myself on my sense of efficiency and my ability to multi-task. I was respected by my colleagues and supervisors and often a model of how to do the job well. That same skill set has got me in trouble many times since becoming a mother. I often get frustrated trying to hold myself to that same standard, refusing to surrender to what is happening in the moment or acknowledge that I am not the only one with an agenda. My son has an agenda too, and my lack of awareness or respect for that explodes into pieces of a lesson I cannot seem to learn. Identifying my strengths in this new role has been difficult for me, but perhaps because I keep ignoring them, comparing myself to that same standard which no longer exists or is even necessary or relevant.

In yoga, we are told to practice with intention, to build each pose with awareness and respect for our body and our minds. Most times the intention is to unify the two, creating balance within ourselves. The same could(should) be said about any task, complete it with awareness and the rewards are so much more prevalent. Each step of a blueberry muffin recipe is such an opportunity; the ingredients melding together to create a small piece of deliciousness to share and enjoy.

Savor the moments.
Bon appetit.

A failed attempt at mending a broken heart....

Losing Roxy was one of the hardest things I have ever been through in my life. My heart still aches frequently at the void left by her absence evidenced by Riley's lonely trot across the back yard or missing her tiny little head peeking over the chair arm while we watch tv at night. Liam still recognizes her picture and on occasion will pick up an old toy and say "Roxy's" with a big grin on his face. He also says "bite" when he get hurt sometimes which is just as heartbreaking in a weird validating sort of way. I didn't think I was ready to open my heart again to another dog. Until we met Frankie B.

Frankie is an 18 month old Border Collie who was brought to Sicsa by his breeder owner along with his two sisters after she decided she couldn't care for them anymore. Frankie is affectionate and playful and has responded well to training. Best of all, he LOVES kids. We spent about three hours with him last week, both Liam and Riley in tow, and fell in love. We picked him up last Friday on a 'foster to adopt' trial basis and settled in to welcome him to our family. Liam loved him. They played, they kissed, they hugged. "Where's Frankie?" he would ask as we got home and then Liam would run up to help get Frankie out of his crate. Chris and I were feeling surrounded by the essence of Roxy's energy and loved having Frankie around. Riley was even getting a little spunk back in her step. The cats, however, were not impressed and Frankie decided the best thing this house had to offer was these cool four legged creatures who ran when he chased them. He became obsessive about the cats and could not be deferred to any other activity when one was around. Then he became increasingly agitated until he cornered one in what may have been an attempt to cause physical harm. Here we go again.

Leaving the house with a dog only to return home without one was a familiar trip for me and one that brought back a lot of pain. The training coordinator at Sicsa couldn't have been more helpful and felt Frankie probably chased cats on the farm where he used to live and his behavior would most likely not be changed. Our experience over the weekend only helped make the chances for Frankie's next placement to be successful that much greater. I am happy to have paid that karmic debt, but the sacrifice still cuts deep.

Today we returned home from a short walk with the one that's left and Liam looked at me and pointed to the stairs and asked "Where's Frankie?". "Home" I told Liam and I hope Frankie is soon.