Sweeter Words Were Never Spoken

Last week was a bit of a challenge for our family. The wonderful time had by all (including Liam, Grandma and Grandpa) while we spent our first days apart came with a bit of a price. The boy struggled to transition back into our daily routine with all the neediness and whineyness a toddler has to offer. It was his way, I suppose, of letting us know he missed us and did not understand where we were or why we had left him- at least that is what I kept telling myself. After a few days of this I thought for sure I might lose my mind. Then it happened, the moment every mother waits for, the overwhelming emotional validation for all the sleepless nights, aching shoulders, endured tantrums, irrational worries- he said "I love you, mommy". I thought my heart would burst right then and there. He as been saying "luv you" when prompted (tell Grammy you love her) and has been known to respond "yeah" to me when I have said "I love you, Liam" so to have him walk up to me, hug and kiss me and then say "mommy I love you" was more than I could take. He has since walked up for random kisses ("kiss, mommy!") and other affectionate expressions, but I will always remember that moment, sitting on the floor in my Nana's house when those three little words were uttered.

Liam, I love you to the moon and back again.

Sowing the Seeds of Love

This past weekend was the first time my husband and I have been away alone together since the boy was born. Almost two and a half years is a long time to go with very minimal cultivation of the garden which is your relationship. I have written here before about how difficult it is adapting to the change in dynamic that the transformation from couple to parents brings, but it is equally as difficult sometimes to reconnect to the place where our former selves reside. Evenings out alone tend to be a couple of hours over dinner and drinks spent rehashing the day or a previous disagreement or discussing parenting strategies in a space that is not surrounded by constant interruption. This was different. We owned this time, which was days not hours, it was not borrowed from evenings of bath and bedtime rituals. We left on Thursday for his best friend's wedding and returned Sunday afternoon refreshed and renewed, having had ample opportunities to sit alone, individually with our thoughts and together as the couple who made each other laugh, supported each other and fell in love.

So this is what I learned. Those two people who fell in love are the same two people who created a child, a wonderful boy who shares the best (and a few of the worst) parts of us. We just have added a new dimension to our relationship, one that at times feels consuming, but is really an enhancement of who we are at the core. The struggles strengthen us if we allow ourselves to absorb the lessons within those struggles. When we honor those experiences instead of denying them, we grow together not apart.

At the risk of sounding cheesy, I heard Bette Midler's 'The Rose" the other day in a department store and it took on a whole new, somewhat profound significance for me. The seed, struggling through the cold, hard winter and blossoming to a beautiful, magnificent flower with the warmth of the sun. I know, I know but love and relationships aren't always perfect and it takes the dark cold winter to bring about the warm, brightness of Spring. It's all in our perspective. Plant a seed.

Time to Chage the Profile

A Lot has happened since my last post and my other half has been "chompin at the bit" to see what I have to say about it all.

The unofficial end of summer came and went and though it was a little later than usual for me, I started to get the sweater/jeans itch that comes along with September Days. However, it has been pretty warm still around here- the weather can be pretty unpredictable after all so more on that later.

I also found a promising training program to get my entry level certification to teach yoga which is something I have been working on for almost a year with a couple of bumps in the road along the way. If all goes as I hope, I will be starting training the first of January and finish up the first of June with the ability to start teaching immediately following if I choose. The connection with people on the level to initiate change is something I miss from my social worker days and teaching yoga will allow me to do that again, but from a more meaningful and authentic place. I am excited to get started.

Mid month I assisted in coordinating an event for Dar a Luz Network with the focus being bringing women together to honor our births. A BOLD Red Tent is a gathering of mothers in a spaced created for the sacred purpose of sharing our stories of birth. This evening proved to be more powerful and cathartic than I think any of us anticipated and I was overwhelmed to be a part of the circle we created. I believe women are a force to be reckoned with, one that is exponentially greater when we become mothers.

Speaking of forces to be reckoned with, we had our own little hurricane right here in south central Ohio on the 14th. "Ike" sent us a freak windstorm that lasted for over four hours, produced F1 force winds and snapped tree limbs like toothpicks all around our communities. We lost power for four long days and I spent most of that time telling myself we were blessed to be in our home with our health in tact, unlike other families affected by Ike. I spent the rest of the time frustrated to be living out of a cooler and without my "Elmo" back up for kidzilla stress relief. Spending evenings reading by candlelight was romanitc and relaxing (even hubby picked up a book!) but we were all relieved to have the power back on Thursday. Some of my friends and family had to wait even longer, or are still waiting and we are sending them positive, energy producing thoughts over the universe's waves.

And just so you are completely up to speed, yesterday was my 35th birthday which means I am in the 35-44 check off box on the surveys. Somehow 35 seems older than 34, like I should have more of an scripted life in place or something. Truth is, my life has changed so much since I turned 30 that my twentysomething self wouldn't recognize it. Trust me, that is all for the better. My path from this point on feels like a shared journey, whereas before it all really seemed so much about me. If our twenties are about gaining knowledge, then our thrities are definately about putting that knowledge to pratice which I have learned is a moment to moment process. Here is to the next moment, and the next 35 years.

Going to Grandma's

When you have a child, your life suddenly become much more defined by the list of "firsts" that occur- first smile, first steps, first haircut, first family vacation. This weekend we experienced yet another- Liam's first overnight at his grandparents. This night away from home was planned as a trial run for later this month when hubby and I will be away for a few days at a wedding and the boy's grandparents have offered to keep him. We thought it might go better if we started slow and worked our way up to several days away from home without mom and dad so off he went Sunday evening, bags packed. Holding back tears as I waved him down the street I instantly felt like something was missing, lighter somehow, exposed. I wasn't shielded in the cloak of motherhood and our plans for dinner with the soon to be marrieds that were in town opened up to the land of "before we had a kid". Thing is, I felt like a stranger in a strange land, like I'd been here before but everything looks different. Then to spend the night talking about wedding plans and seating charts felt even more foreign as it has been 10 years since I've visited those milestones. Nonetheless, I had a few drinks without worrying about the headache in the morning, and only silently wished I was home putting my boy to bed.

As for the boy, he had a fabulous time with grandma and poppa and went to bed like it was any other evening- same routine, different sleeping quarters. My mother in law says she didn't hear a peep out of him until she checked on him at 7:30 in the morning when he popped his head up and said "hi Grandma!" I did not ask if he called for me. I didn't want to know the answer. I do know that the smile that shined as I walked in the door to pick him up was as bright as the sun and it felt so good to wrap myself back up again.

Practice makes Perfect

Okay, not really. Perfection is not really what we are striving for as the journey is an evolving one with the ebb and flow of ever changing needs and circumstances. Today, this is what I told myself as I dealt with an unwilling participant at naptime. He had fallen asleep for mere minutes in the car while out running errands with a friend and subsequently decided he was not interested in napping at his regular time this afternoon. So my normal response would be to get angry and try to exert some sort of control over the situation, thus perpetuating my anger and frustration and down the spiral we go. Today, I took a breath, in fact I took many breaths, and I met the situation where we were at. We sang, we rocked, we cuddled, he struggled, but I stayed calm, present explaining I knew he was having trouble settling down, but it was naptime and momma would stay with him until he was ready and comfortable. He rubbed his eyes, sucked his thumb, cuddled his blankie all the while saying "no, don't want" for almost an hour. Then it came, the moment when he surrendered to the now and his own immediate needs and he relaxed. I laid him in his warm safe bed and watched him for a few moments before walking out and closing the door. His perfect little form snuggled under his blanket in that sweet state of slumber.

Being present gave us the space to deal with our needs, embracing those needs allowed us to meet them in a compassionate way. A tiny lesson learned for this moment, today.

Perfect.

I Yell Because I Care

Apropos to my last post this was the theme to our recent family vacation, the first since baby Liam (who isn't much of a baby anymore) was born. I saw this phrase on a plaque in a funny little boutique in Asheville and though it was meant do be a bit sardonic I suppose, I thought it was created just for me. A bit sad, I know.

Our five day trip landed us in Asheville, NC which is a quaint little progressive city nestled in the mountains of the Tennessee/Carolina border and we all fell in love with the landscape and atmosphere that the environment had to offer. We were, however, all a bit tired of mountain driving by the time we left but glad we went none the same. Liam did beautifully with the transition and would have done much better if his control freak mom could have relaxed a bit. Sigh. Practice, practice, practice.

There is something about experiencing new things with the family you have created that speaks to the very essence of why we have children. Seeing my two and a quarter year old son scaling rocks on a mountain with no regard of fear or imminent bodily harm was a bit of a reality check for this mom who was white knuckled and hyperventilating the whole time. Don't even get me started on the swinging bridge. Ask Liam what he did on vacation and he'll tell you he "climbed rocks", "go through tunnel" and about the "grey kitty" we had visiting us daily outside our vacation home. These adventures were enough for him and more than exceeded his expectation of the trip because HE DIDN'T HAVE ANY! He was perfectly content with what each day had to offer because it was exciting and new and he was with his two favorite people in the world (now with the exception of grey kitty). And you know what, in spite of all of the yelling that may or may not have occurred, it was enough for us too.

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.

Dada's Day , Belated

We have been having internet problems at my house which could be a whole other post in itself, especially in regards to my ability to manage "tech stress". I wanted to be sure, however, to acknowledge how wonderful it is to see the relationship developing between my husband and my son. "Dada" as Liam refers to him still, is his go to guy. They play ball, they play blocks, they play cars. In fact, they play A LOT, which is so important for our little guys. They also "watch ball" which encompasses anything on television involving something round and competitive. I can see my husband's face light up every time Liam asks. I am pretty sure no greeting I could ever welcome him with will match the running smile and knee hug he gets from Liam as he arrives home each day. This is after Liam has been waiting in the window, thumb in mouth, blanket in hand waiting for Dada to get home. A man and his son.

I also should acknowledge how even in the hardest, deepest throws of parenting, I know how much harder it would be alone and in spite of it all, my husband and I are doing the best we can to raise our boy the best way we know how. These last two posts bookmark the days devoted to mothers and fathers but each day should be a celebration of parenthood itself and all of the joys and challenges it brings. Nonetheless, I honor the devotion and commitment my son's father has to him and to me. To all of the Dads out there...I hope your day was wonderful. Enjoy the journey.

A Day Rooted in Peace

Mother's Day Proclamation- 1870

Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the voice of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe our dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace...
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God -
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Julia Ward Howe, a woman whose two most passionate causes were peace and equality, wrote this proclamation 238 years ago calling on all mothers to unite in the name of peace. This was the beginning of a future declaration by President Woodrow Wilson in 1914 after the first celebration of Mother's day in West Virgina in 1907 in honor of JWH's earlier crusade.

I found it fascinating that a day that honors mother's (and is capitalized on by all mass markets) in its original form was a call to mothers to fight for their children and families by ending the suffering of war, which unfortunately continues to be very relevant today. It was an urge for mothers to tap into their collective power and rise up to rally for something they believed in. And, women have been doing it ever since, in marches on Washington, in online grassroots communities such as momsrising. When mothers unite, things happen.

On a more personal, individual level, every mom I know struggles with cultivating a sense of balance and inner peace. We judge, we criticize, we dismiss our intuition with uncertainty all the while fighting our own battle for that elusive sense of peace, validation, if you will, for the choices we make as women, as mothers, as partners, as members of our communities. One of my favorite mantras is "within me there is a peacefulness that cannot be disturbed". We have the power to find tranquility with every breath regardless of the chaos around us. Tap into that power. Breathe.

One of my fellow mothers and I have a saying "every day is Mother's Day". Let's pay homage to the work of Julia Ward Howe by making it so. Find the peace available to you in each moment, each breath. Let that peace transcend your inner struggles to your family, your community to the world at large.

Happy Mother's Day. Go in peace...

Spring Cleaning

This past weekend I went on a Women's Spring Cleansing Retreat. Not only was it the first time I was away from home overnight in about three and a half years, it was the first night/s away from my boy. I missed him intensely, especially at predictable times when I knew he'd be eating dinner or getting ready for bed. Waking up in the morning without a toddler to care for was a bit surreal. However.......

I had a fabulous time. I spent the time with fifteen other women of all ages and backgrounds, only a couple of whom I'd ever met before, none of whom I had intimate relationships with. We quickly became a community set on cultivating an environment of relaxation and sisterhood. Being that it was a time of cleansing, we ate a raw food diet, did yoga and mediation, had steam facials and a variety of other things to detox our bodies and minds. By Sunday morning, I felt rejuvenated. I spent time with myself and other women without the limitations of a schedule or family obligations. I existed in the moment and the moments occurred with a natural rhythm that I did not feel the need to control. It was liberating.

I also, for the first time in a long time, felt like the woman at the essence of my soul. Who I am at the core, without all of the self imposed expectations and judgments, attended this weekend retreat. I realized I have missed her intensely too. She is witty, engaging, intuitive and introspective and much more fun to be around than her replacement over the past couple of years. She is who I am which means she is Liam's mom, Chris' wife. I am not these roles, they are part of me.

I hope to make such an event an annual outing. Being away for the weekend was good practice for the upcoming months of intense training I'll be participating in for my yoga certification. I am looking forward to the journey ahead.

Sun Salutations

A little over a month ago a winter storm piled on thirteen inches of snow bringing with it the harsh reminder that, regardless of what the meteorological calendar says, Spring was still almost two weeks away. The Vernal Equinox came and went and it continued to be cold and cloudy and for a lot of us, downright miserable. It didn't help that Daylight Saving Time occurred the same weekend of the blizzard stretching out these dreadful, dreary days like a bad movie that just won't end. A cruel last minute joke of winter's cohort, Seasonal Affective Disorder. I needed a sunshine fix like the worst of junkies, my own personal Prozac.

And then, this week, it came. Bright and shining and warm. Not like the brief burst of sunlight you get occasionally during winter's days but complete with birds singing and grass greening and flowers blooming. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, all spent outside worshiping the most glorious of celestial energies. There were bikes, and balls and open windows bringing the season alive with play and lifting spirits all around.

This could be the unrecognized gift of cold snowy days, of mid March blizzards. They allow us to greet the sun with the fiery passion it demands, the gratitude for the encompassing warmth it provides. It is through the longing for temperatures above freezing that provides the opportunity for change, growth and renewal we so desperately need after the stagnancy of winter days.

Welcome, sun. It is with open arms I greet you.

A Birth Story

The story of my son's birth is a memory that I hold on to like that of the feeling you get when you finish a good book or when a dear friend or loved one says or does something so wonderful your heart bursts. Sometimes at night, when I am lying in bed anxious and cannot sleep, I think about the morning of Liam's arrival and I just feel at peace. Birth, in all of its complexities, is one of the most sacred times in our lives. Prior to having a child, you are only someone's daughter, seeing the world through the eyes of that which has been protected. Upon giving birth, and I like to think we give birth to not just a baby but ourselves as mothers, we come to the realization that we are now the protector, the lioness shielding her cub. I also began to look at others differently; everyone has a mother, we were all part of someone's birth process. A reminder that we are all individually, universally part of something bigger.

In the spirit of this universality, I am honored to have been asked by my friends at Dar a Luz Network to create We Birth, a blog celebrating the amazing finale of the unpredictable journey we as women embark on during pregnancy. This blog space acknowledges the commitment and value of a woman throughout the birth process and encourages women with all birth experiences to share their memories of bringing new life into the world. Our blog's motto is "Every Woman, Every Birth, Every Story" and I hope that inclusive spirit creates a community that is inviting and welcoming to women as mothers. We are changed by birth, in so many ways. Sharing that story can be a wonderfully cathartic way of honoring those changes. I encourage you all to visit and share your story, or stories as the case may be.

The Path of a Wannabe Buddha Mom

I just finished a fabulous book, Buddha Mom- The Path of Mindful Mothering by Jacqueline Kramer which has been on my bookshelf since last summer and completing it made me wonder why I hadn't read it sooner. I felt connected to the pages in the same way I did when I first read Momma Zen early in the mothering days. This book seemed to be more applicable to where I am now, and so many of the authors experiences resonated with me as evidenced by the transparent pink lines that now permanently mark my "a-ha" moments among the pages.

As wonderful as this book is, and I encourage all moms of all faiths to read it, that is not what this is about. Mindful mothering, being in the present moment, these are what I hope my daily path leads me to and books such as these inspire that path. If I am honest, however, it is in the moment that I feel I truly fail when the path gets bumpy. It is the practical verses the spiritual if you will. "It is the attachment to desire that causes suffering, the past and the future are not real, living in the past and the future is living in fantasy; living now is living in reality"- these are all quotes from Buddha Mom, quotes I highlighted. What if the now is not where I want to be, especially when changing a diaper is more like wrestling a crocodile. In the quiet moments of reading about spiritual enlightenment as it applies to motherhood as an experience, I can find the space within me that opens up and invites the lesson in like the welcome advice of a dear friend. When my son throws his food on the floor, AGAIN, it is much more difficult to be present in the moment instead of spiraling down the '"will this ever end" thought process. And while I am in the throws of honesty, it is nothing short of torture, at times, walking at a toddler's pace. I realize these moments do not last forever, but some days they sure feel like it. Maybe part of the struggle for me is that most moments do not feel like my own, but somehow borrowed from the routine my son and I have unwittingly constructed to map out the pattern of our days. He appears to be a creature of habit, perhaps a maternal trait. It is difficult to live in the moment when each moment seems to have an unrelenting effect on the next.

So where does this leave me on my path? Lost, detoured, going in the wrong direction entirely? If "to practice means to make mistakes, make corrections, try again, make mistakes, make corrections, and try again, over and over" then I suppose the path I am on is the correct one.

A journal, a lesson, a gift

A few days ago I found the journal a friend gave me when Liam was born. It started out as the "log journal", the place where a new mom frantically logs every action of her precious babe in an effort to validate her crazed attempts at making sure she is doing everything "right". Early entries read something like 10:15- 20 min right side and 10:30 dirty/wet. However, skipping ahead a few pages I found evidence that those early logs were just the beginning stages of my desperate need to control things and further desperation of my seemingly failure to do so. There was a darkness that loomed in those pages, a reminder of the deep cave I found myself in while trying to hold on to an illusion of what I thought motherhood should be and who I should be in response to that. I did find some validation as well, though not necessarily in the incessant logging, but in the struggles I overcame and the rewards that come from living through difficult times. I seemed to have learned from some of my perceived mistakes.

The entry that struck a cord with me was one I wrote a little over a year ago following a coffee date with my dear friend, Steph, who at the time recognized I had been falling slowly into a very scary place. Our conversation inspired a previous post which you could read here, if you choose. One of the things she said to me was "forgive yourself, you will never be the mother you thought you would be, but allow yourself to be the mother you are so you can channel the best of who she is." This resonated so much with my experience at the time and continues to ring true as my experience changes. I have been thinking a lot about birth lately and the transformation that takes place for women during that sacred time. When a child is born, so is his mother, be it a first or fifth birth. With that birth, however, comes the death of the woman you were before necessitating a grieving process for the loss. I have said before that I am certainly not the woman I was before I became a mom but in so many ways, my life is richer and more fulfilling. It is the attachment to previous expectations and desires that has created suffering for me. Giving yourself permission to be who you are and grieving the loss of who you were can be a powerful gift. Life's journey is not a linear one, enjoy the unexpected curves.

Freedom

Cue the George Michael music here..... It started snowing Friday morning and didn't stop until late Saturday. By snowing, I mean SNOWING, with wind, whiteouts, the whole mix of bludgeoning winter weather that incapacitates you and mother nature reigns. Sort of puts your control issues into perspective, I guess. The thing is, I have been attempting to check my need to control things for, oh, about two years now. From right about the time my labor started, quite unexpectedly, three weeks early and I was SO unprepared in a "oh my god the nursery isn't ready" kind of way, through yesterday when we had to cancel our plans (PLANS!) to go out for the evening because of heaping mounds of snow and no accessible childcare. I was angry, depressed at the unfairness of it all, especially when about 4:30 the sun stared shining as if to say "it's okay, come out and play!" oblivious to the foot of snow on the ground. The fact is, we could have went ahead with our plans to play, if it were just the two of us, but therein lies the above reference. Cue the George Michael.

The lack of freedom has been the most difficult part of mother(parent)hood and one that is somewhat difficult to articulate at the risk of sounding like you do not love, enjoy, appreciate the amazing things a child, and only a child, can bring to your life. I would have really loved, enjoyed, appreciated what drinking a martini with friends while listening to great music could have bought to my life last night, however. So many things are beyond our control in life, but when you become a parent, the control factor is not only out of your reach, but in someone else's hands. You are controlled by things that which you cannot control, thus the lack of personal freedom. This, like many other things, is an opportunity to remind ourselves of the benefits of being present in the moment and appreciating what is, instead of what was or could be. But sometimes, I just want a martini, a glimpse of what was, to remind me of the woman I used to be and how she became the mother I am. I want the snow to stop falling. I want to go out and play.

Sing it, George.

Wonderment, revisited

Wednesday is trash day. Another chore to be completed- taking it out, gathering the recycling, making sure not to step in dog droppings getting the can to the curb. Oh, and the ever present inquiry "did you take out the trash?'. Again, an adult's perspective, one that is heaped in responsibility and task management.

My boy is in love with the trash truck (and strangely trash was one of his first words). He hears it from another room and comes running, "truck, truck, truck!" Every Wednesday morning about 8:45 you can find us in front of our window watching and pointing and giggling as the trash guy does his own collecting and gathering, fully aware of the entranced eyes of his audience. Nothing else takes place during trash time, it is only a time to watch, in wonderment, as a seemingly mundane task is completed by the distracted adults around him. Today the trash guys honked as they pulled away in their big, amazing vehicle. My son turned to me with eyes as big as his smile- "Truck!"

Wonderment

I am tired of snow. I am tired of heavy coats, hats he won't keep on and boots that just do not seem to ever fit right. I am tired of canceled plans and not being able to go out and PLAY. Looking through my own eyes this is what I see, another winter to endure, another cold day to suffer through. But mine are not the eyes of a toddler, a lesson I learned yesterday while out running a routine errand on yet another snow filled morning, both of us dressed head to toe in our best cold filtering gear. "Walk", he said as I attempted to carry him from the car as I always do. I watched as he proudly stomped through the slushy parking lot like a character from one of his board books. Big heavy flakes fell from the sky as he pointed up in wonderment exclaiming "whoa" in his best Joey Lawrence impersonation. "SNOW!" he cried out, uttering for the first time the very word that I had been cursing all morning. "Yes" I smiled and said, "isn't it beautiful?". We walked back to the car (of course) and went home to watch the snow fall.

To the one I love...

I don't usually get all sentimental about Valentine's Day but I am feeling a renewed connection to my other (sometimes better) half. Our recent loss provided us with an unexpected benefit- we found ourselves united in a way that was raw and honest and genuine and we experienced something together that reminded us of who we are as a couple, not as parents. Grief is a funny thing. I also recognized that this (this meaning parenting, relating, EXISTING) is not a combat zone which I seemed to have created in my own mind. Maybe it is the perceived shift in the balance of power or maybe it is my own feelings of inadequacies, but I've had this idea that it is me against him and he will never understand what it is like caring for our son on a daily basis or the sacrifices I have to make in the process. In that process I've managed to negate his experience in the shift that is parenthood and dishonored the losses and sacrifices he has made, one being his wife pre-motherhood. I cannot deny I am not the me of before baby and all of the complexities that exist within that transformation, but this new life would be a lot more harmonious if we related as partners instead of adversaries. Believe me, it takes a united front to overcome the daily struggles of toddlerdom.

So here's a Valentines Day toast to my wonderful husband, my son's incredible father. We are lucky to have you. And vice versa!