Time to Say Goodbye

It seems as though everyone is grateful to be saying goodbye to 2016. I get it. War and terrorism. Politics and public disgraces. Publically declared racism and hatred. Shootings and bombings. Science warring with religion. And what seemed like a new celebrity death every day.

It's comforting to try and gather all that and box it up neatly in 2016 and hope that 2017 will somehow be different. People will suddenly be reasonable. The general public will understand what the second amendment actually means. Everyone will decide to see past their differences and peacefully agree to disagree. Things could get better. But to be honest, it's hard to believe at the moment. Things out in the world seem grim.

So with these last few hours of the year winding down, I'd like to focus on the positive and remember just how much I/we have to be grateful for. So here they are:


TOP TEN AWESOME THINGS ABOUT 2016

10. I got a new awesome job that renewed my love for what I do.

9. I ran. A lot. Faster than I ever have. It may have only been by a little bit. But still, it was faster, and it felt awesome.

8. My kids got taller and smarter and no one got kicked out of school or got scurvy from not eating vegetables or poked an eye out.

7. I learned to love.....ok, accept and tolerate my new mini van. It doesn't define me. Right, guys?.....

6. I completely failed at reading and writing as much as I wanted. And that's ok. The year was filled with other amazing and time-consuming things like travel and wedding planning and knitting baby blankets for new little bundles of joy. So while writing was on the list of things I really wanted to do, I'm more than ok with the other things that took up that time.

5. Getting engaged and then married to a man who brings me flowers, understands my love of avocados, always believes in me, willing supports my Starbucks habit and has promised to never, ever make me go camping.

4. Green tea lattes.

3. I survived an entire year without cheese. And milk. And Reece's peanut butter cups. Tomorrow marks one year as a vegan. I won't make the arguments here or try and sell it in any way. I will only say that it's the right choice for me and I couldn't be happier about it.

2. I got a new step son. He is witty and funny and too smart for his own good. I don't always understand him, and I'm sure he doesn't always understand me. But he, and his handsome dad, have turned us from a family of 3 into a family of 5. It's louder, happier, crazier, sillier and busier than ever. And I love it.

1. There is still a chance that Donald Trump will get distracted by something shiny on his way to the White House and never show up. It could happen. Fingers crossed.

Happy New Year!

May She Light Up the World



"Did she win?" she asks me. Her eyes aren't even open yet. She would have stayed up all night if I let her. She was that anxious to find out if our country was going to have its first woman president.

I disappoint my children every day. No more candy. Time for bed. No TV tonight. Do your homework. I deliver this kind of "bad" news all the time. It's part of parenting. And they groan and complain and wish for a different outcome. But this news? Having to look my 8-year-old in the eye and tell her that, 'No sweetheart...she didn't win,' is a moment I don't wish to ever have to live through again. The sadness in her eyes stabbed me in the heart, even though I put on a smile and tried to reassure her that everything is going to be ok.

She had so much hope- a belief that good would win out, that the hatred and racism and lies would be defeated. All the political consequences aside, my little girl wanted to see a woman in the highest position in the country. But instead of celebrating, I had to tell her that a highly educated, highly accomplished, highly prepared woman lost to a man who has no experience at all. What I didn't have the heart to explain was that even though the man who won said terrible things about women, even though the man who won encouraged violence and hatred against those who didn't support him, even though the man who won plans to systematically discriminate against minority religions and races, even though the man who won is accused of rape and sexual assault and infidelity, more than half of the people of our country found all of that acceptable in a leader. I didn't explain those things because I want her to be able to sleep at night, even if so many of us can't.

As parents, we teach our children respect. We teach them to honor their elders and trust in those people who are in a position to protect us. What do we teach them now? Even without watching much tv, my daughter has seen enough news clips -- at restaurants, in airport terminals, in waiting rooms, etc -- to know that Donald Trump is not someone she can look up to. She told me herself, 'Mom, you can tell that man is lying.' So what do I tell her now?

What I did tell her this morning, as she lay in her pink bed, surrounded by dolls and Harry Potter books and stuffed unicorns, is that she has the power to become whatever she wants to be. That if she doesn't like the way things are, that she has the power to try and change them. I told her that 10 years might seem like a long time but it will pass quickly enough and then her vote will count, like mine counted yesterday. The election might not have turned out the way she and I hoped, but that doesn't mean that we don't have a voice.

I have to believe that at some point, Americans will understand that experience matters, that respect and civility matters, that fairness and kindness and equality matters. I am heartbroken to say that we aren't there yet. But having a daughter, as well as a son who will need to look harder to find better role models, pushes me to keep fighting for those things. And it motivates me to help guide them through harder moments like the one our country faces right now.

My kids will see a woman president in their lifetime. I am sure of that. Not because we need a woman president to make things fair, but because there will come a time when a woman runs and she will be the right choice. Maybe it will be my daughter, as I told her this morning. She certainly has the guts for it. And the heart. And if nothing else good comes out of the next four years, let it be the fire that was lit inside of her today. Right now it is surrounded by darkness and sadness. But those people that love and support her will keep it fed and safe from the terrible winds that will blow around her as she grows. And some day it may light up the world.

I'm Not Worried About My Daughter

Yesterday Michelle Obama gave what some people are calling the speech of her career. This is a woman who campaigned for the country's first black president and is now doing so for what is likely to be the country's first woman president. Yet her own accomplishments reach far beyond her campaign skills, which are great, no doubt. She is a lawyer, a writer, an educator, a graduate of Princeton and Harvard, the former VP of Community and External Affairs at the University of Chicago, an advocate for women and girls' education, a proponent of healthy living, a voice for veterans and their families, and so much more. So while calling a campaign speech the highlight of what has been and surely will continue to be an amazingly impressive career certainly downplays her strengths, it does serve to highlight how important her words were. Not for this election, freak-show that it has been. But for our kids and how we choose to raise them.

I'm not worried about my daughter. She was born with a fighting heart and a killer eye-roll and she has never once shied away from declaring what she wants, what she intends to do and how she plans to get there. She kicked ass at karate, loves getting sweaty at soccer, and is proud to show off her Star Wars knowledge even though none of her girlfriends know what she's talking about. No, I'm not worried about her ability to stand up for herself as she continues to grow into the intelligent, witty, and bold young woman she is becoming.



Sure, she will hit walls and glass ceilings. She will question her worth. She will wonder if she is good enough. (These feelings aren't felt only by women, to be clear. Men feel them just the same even if, perhaps, they don't talk about them or show them as much). But my daughter has female role models to look up to and the spirit to believe in herself and to know that there isn't anything she can't do just because she's a girl. I can hope, as her mother and as a woman who has had more than my share of self-righteous, overbearing, critical, and overtly sexist men in my life, that she is never challenged in those ways. That no man ever looks at her and says, or makes her feel, like she or her job or her voice, or her contribution to her family and to society don't matter. I know how that feels. I know what internalizing those thoughts does to a person. My heart breaks at the thought of those things potentially happening to her. But she has me. Me, who has become stronger and smarter and better on the other side of that "masculine" strutting. She has herself- her own best advocate. She will have a woman president to look up to. And so many other strong women too, like Michelle Obama for instance.

Obama said, in that speech, that "Like us, the men in our lives are worried about the impact this election is having on our boys who are looking for role models of what it means to be a man." She couldn't have been more right. The social media and press storm after the horrendous things that have come out about the other presidential candidate have focused mostly on our daughters. How we don't want them growing up in a world where talk and action like this is normal. And we don't, of course. So much of it is normalized to the point where it's hard to step back and look at what we teach our daughters objectively. Sit like a lady. Don't be so bossy. You are the prettiest! I'm sure I've said all of these things to my daughter without really thinking about the implication behind them. I've rethought all of those things and watch my words more carefully so that I'm making sure that she isn't, in any way, stymied by social expectations about girls.

Then there is my son. He's so small. He's so young. A new stuffed animal still makes his day. But then his innate observations skills come out of no where and he comes out with the most profound thoughts, forcing me to stop and really think about what he is learning from his environment. I hope he is too young to remember the way his father used to talk to me. But I also hope he realizes one day that choosing to demean women means that women won't stick around. I hope he looks to his stepfather, a man that equally shares household duties, a man that requires his own son be respectful of everyone, a man who values me and my work and my successes and my time even more than his own, and sees a man that he wants to be. I hope he never thinks to use the words "locker room talk" to excuse something he has done or said. And I hope I will have taught him enough by then that he never says or does them to begin with.

More than teaching my daughter how to protect or stand up for herself, I want to teach my son that he is not inherently better than anyone- male or female. That he never has the right to dominate, demean, discriminate or devalue anyone. That there is no such thing as a birthright specific to the male gender. I want to teach him that, as Michelle Obama put it, "People who are truly strong, lift others up. People who are truly powerful bring people together." That's the kind of man I want him to grow up to be. Which is why we cannot tolerate anything less from the people we choose to represent us.

I am not a political person. I don't have signs in my yard or bumper stickers on my car. But I'm a mom, to both a son and a daughter. Their fights are different, but the goal is the same- to be a good person who does good things for themselves and for others. And every day I see or hear or read something that makes me shake my head at the happenings in this world. And it's scary to raise children when there are so many bad things going on. The very least  we can do (and we should do more when we can, of course!) is stop those who promote messages of sexism, racism, hatred and complete disregard for human decency. And do our very best for ourselves, our communities and for the world we want our children to grown up in.  

Growing up- why is it so hard on me??



A year ago I wrote about a "baby" on the bus, watching my littlest one head off to kindergarten. Looking back, it's probably the most accurate thing I've ever written. There was an almost physical sensation of my child being ripped away from me and sent off to begin his independence- a chaotic mixture of pride and sorrow. Now, a year later, we've crossed that threshold again, and the kiddos are off to start another year of school. 8-year-old will learn cursive and read state history and (god help us) play the recorder. My little guy has his own desk for the first time and nightly homework to do. Ugh. It's so good, so normal, so expected. But, as I've written before- why is it so hard on me??

Recently a colleague was circling the office, showing off pictures of his newborn son. We ended up having a lengthy conversation about diapers, sleep schedules, swaddling and pacifiers. Riveting conversation. No, for real. I've been through it and was happy to, in extreme detail, grace him with my experience and knowledge. And he's early enough into it that discussing breathable crib bumpers is still exciting. Now that I'm on the other side of all that, it's easy to feel like an expert, even though I remember struggling through figuring all that out when it was my turn.

Maybe that's it. I've got this base of knowledge that just sits there, unused. It's why strangers in the street are so quick to run up and tell you that you aren't burping your baby the right way. We learn these very specialized skills and then only get to use them for such a precious, short time. And, of course, they are all wrapped up in that hazy new parent bliss that is part delirious exhaustion, and part terrified joy of being the owner of this tiny, perfect person they let you leave the hospital with.

If I was being totally honest, I would tell you that I cry on their birthdays, at their yearly checkups when the pediatrician tells me they are big and healthy, at Christmas now that they've started to squint their eyes doubtfully at me when I talk about Santa, and, let's face it, even when putting them to bed sometimes when I see how far down the bed their long legs now stretch. Yup, I cry about the kids a lot. I associate them getting older with them not needing me. And that sucks.

(I'm not delusional, I swear. I remember, clear as anything, holding a fussy newborn with a cranky 2-year-old clinging to my leg, un-showered, sleep-deprived, surrounded by piles of laundry and a sink full of dishes, wishing I could get 10 consecutive quiet minutes to myself. Believe me, I cried a lot then too!)

But now here they are, hopping off to school with barely a glance back. They are confident and ready and excited. They are gorgeous and smart and funny and full of trouble. They are everything I want them to be. Except little. I can just barely still scoop the 1st grader up and carry him for a few nostalgic moments. He thinks it's hilarious. He knows he's big. He knows he doesn't need me to hold him like that. I'm not sure if he does it for me or for him, but I still need it. I still need to be needed.

Added to all that now, is my awesome stepson - a child that came into my life when he was already a flourishing pre-teen. The fact is, he has never needed me. I'm happy and proud to be a parental figure in his life, but it's parenting at a whole new level. He doesn't love me by default, like my kids. I've been working on, and will always be conscious of how to be better at, earning his love and trust and respect. With him, and with my rapidly growing and developing kids, it's a constantly evolving challenge. I never know what new and complicated thing they are going to throw at me. Let's just say, these days it's very rarely nightmares and boo boos (ie. things I know how to fix!).

Reality is that I still need my mom. (Hi Mom, thanks for always reading these...) I always will. I know my kids will always need me. But every day it changes. They don't need me for basic survival, though sometimes their survival seems to depend me delivering a snack at the right moment or their little worlds come crashing down! And I couldn't be prouder of the people they are growing up to be. Some times at the end of the day I have to remind myself to take a deep breath and hold in these fleeting moments of their childhood- and also to let them go and let them keep growing up. Luckily we've got a long way to go (good lord, those looming teenage years scare the crap out of me), and time to keep figuring it out. They know mom cries sometimes and giggle when I tell them, jokingly, to stop growing up so fast. They always give me an extra hug and reassure me how much they love me. They are awesome like that - another sign that them growing up isn't all that bad.  

This Picture is a Big Fat Lie

It kills me to write that. This picture has always been one of my favorites. Her perfect curls, her sweet little fingers and chubby cheeks, the lemur's soft gray fur.....and the idea that my baby girl was seeing something she had never seen before. But there is so much more going on, so much that I struggle with, so much that keeps me up at night and makes me question life.

I have always loved the zoo. I love animals, so it makes sense, right? When else does a girl from New England get to see a lion, an elephant, a rhino, a ring-tailed lemur from Madagascar? There is no shortage of places that are willing to round up these animals and throw them in cages and behind glass walls in order to give spectators that experience that they would, most likely, otherwise never get. Good for us, huh?

Pause here for a few thoughts:

*In 2015 the world freaked out when a dentist from Minnesota named James Palmer shot and killed a famous lion named Cecil who lived in a national park. The lion wore a GPS collar, was tracked by researchers, was known to locals and was generally considered a loved member of the community. Palmer claims he was mislead by his hunting guides and was only trying to legally practice an "activity" he loves. Loves. Loves being lead by a guide to an animal and killing it. For fun. Cool guy. Way to spend your free time.

*In 2016 a three year old boy at the Cincinnati zoo climbed into a gorilla's zoo enclosure and had a pretty intense encounter with a silver-back gorilla named Harambe, who was shot and killed by zoo officials when they determined that the boy was in danger. It was a HORRIBLE tragedy in every sense. Horrible that the child could find a way into the enclose. Horrible that a mother had to watch as her baby was dragged through the water by an animal that could easily crush him in a second. Horrible that an endangered animal had to die. And horrible that a beautiful animal made to live in the forests of Africa was instead in a concrete enclosure in the middle of Ohio. Once again, the world freaked out.

*Also in 2016 a 2 year old boy was mauled to death by an alligator at a Disney World resort. It was an absolute tragedy. No one on Earth is denying that. I can't image that family's pain. But no one said ONE WORD when Disney World officials scanned the whole lake and slaughtered every alligator they could find. Not remove, not relocate, but outright killed. No one cared. I guess because alligators aren't as cute an cuddly as lions and gorillas? I don't know.


Somewhere along the line people decided they should control when and where animals exist. Those alligators will killed because they were being alligators- in their own environment, doing what alligators do. The lion was killed because a bored dentist from Minnesota wanted to...what?...feel more manly? Feel dominance over an animal that was minding it's own business? The gorilla was forced to exist in an environment in which it didn't belong, and then was murdered because humans couldn't control that environment properly.

People have incredible skills of self-protection. In many ways we put blinders up to protect us from things that are too horrible or uncomfortable for us to deal with. Most people are so far removed from the meat industry that few people ever have to see the animals living in deplorable conditions, don't have to see the horror of their slaughtering and butchering, never have to see the pain of their short existence and their gut-wrenching end. Instead you see a steak, neatly wrapped in the cooler at the grocery store. Simple, easy and, for you, completely painless.

I had blinders up too. Not about meat- that one became pretty clear to me a long time ago. But humankind's relationship with animals is so much bigger than that. It's not just our dogs and cats that we love so fiercely. (How do we not see the dichotomy of eating a hamburger one minute, while pledging life-long loyalty to our "Fur Babies" the next?). It's about the animals in the zoo, at Busch Gardens, at the circus. It's about the falseness and cruelty of putting wild animals on display simply for us to see. I'm sorry I didn't see that part for so long.

I am in the minority. People will vehemently disagree with something that I see as so simple, so morally obvious. People will laugh and say "But bacon!" as if that is an argument for ending a life. Is cruelty that easy to people?

But I digress. Back to Evelyn and the lemur. I hope that I can find a way to continue teaching her to have respect for all living things. This picture, which used to bring me so much happiness until I stopped allowing myself to wear those blinders and put my own satisfaction before the lives of others, still holds her innocence and youth. And mine, in many ways. May she grow up with better sight than I had for a long time.

How Am I Doing This Parenting Thing?

My seven year old daughter has mastered the art of eye rolling. And the craft of storming out of a room in a huff. And the skills of deep sighs, moody stares and angry foot-stomps. She knows how to draw the attention in a room. She knows how to make her friends laugh. She isn't afraid to talk to the boy she has a crush on, or speak her mind or proclaim her love or hatred of a given thing. I have been joking about her being on the cusp of turning into a teenager for years now, to the point where she happily quotes it herself, though I realize that I have probably only seen the tip of the hormonal iceberg that is, quite literally dead-ahead. The spirit of this child is something I never felt as a little girl. And hallelujah for her. I don't use the word bossy. I don't call her out for insisting on being the leader. If I could have one wish for her as she faces a world that still pays women less for the same job, it's that she never loses that fire.

How do you arm a little girl with the tools she needs in life? How do you show her how to be the kind of woman that loves herself enough to walk through any room with confidence, but also knows how to protect herself when the need arises. As cliche as it sounds, having a daughter, and a strong-willed one at that, ignites the desire in me to be a better woman- not necessarily a better mom or a better person per se, although of course I want that too, but a better female- one that never apologizes for what she feels, one that isn't afraid of stepping on toes, one that doesn't say "ewww!" when she shows me the cricket she caught (ok, that one is a work in progress...). I don't have all the answers on how to raise a daughter the right way, but inspiration is certainly not lacking.

This girl looks more like me every day. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks now, we both instantly turn red as little lobsters in the sun and as her face gets older, I catch a look or an angle and see a bit of myself there, behind her dark eyes. But I don't want her to be me. As a woman, I have taken the harder path when it comes to a lot of things. I want her to figure out some of the tougher stuff long before I did. I want her to be her, because that person is shaping up to be the kind of woman I have always wanted to be.

                                                               ..............................

My five year old son builds a wall of stuffed animals on one side of his bed every night before he goes to sleep. His animal friends are carefully arranged in some kind of supposed pecking order, according to him, so their placement is important and takes a few moments to construct. In general, more is better, so he piles them high and then crashes into sleep surrounded by their furry little faces. The animals are on a rotation. Some nights, Big Elephant is king and holds the prime spot right at the pillow and my son happily squeezes the life out of him. But some nights Elephant is lodged halfway under the bed next to some Legos and dirty socks and Balbeg the Bear holds the spot of honor.

I love whatever it is that got into his head to generate this bedtime ritual. I'm sure it's about comfort and routine and having some control over his little world, but to me it's him- his love, his physicality, his little boy silliness, his stubborn self- everything that makes him who he is. I look at him and don't see a single spot of me- not a freckle, not a fingertip, not a single Scottish gene in his whole little body. Ok, maybe a tiny bit of that stubbornness...... But still, difference not withstanding, he is mine.

Being a mom to this little boy has been just as much of a redefining process as was being a mom for the first time with my daughter. Every day, something different, like his recent announcement that "real men don't wear shirts to bed!" as he marched off to his room with just his Batman PJ shorts on. I have been a single parent for more than half of his life and I know that I overcompensate. I know that I don't always make the right choices for him, like still scooping him up and telling him he is my tiny little baby and that he should never leave me. :) But I know the days where he will still giggle and allow those things to happen are numbered and I will mourn them when they are gone. I know there is a day where he will probably outgrow me and have to stoop down to give me a hug. I know that there is a day, much sooner than that, when he will look at me with judgement in his eye and think "Ugh, she doesn't know anything!" (Like, seriously guys, Minecraft? Can anyone explain??) But for now, Mom has all the answers, even when I don't, and thank goodness for that.

There is not a single busy, crazy, stressful, happy, fly-by day that goes by that I don't marvel at the amazing contradiction of challenge and reward that is parenting. Even on nights where I am so exhausted by their bedtime that I could easily lay down and sleep beside them, even on days where there is no time to do EVERYTHING I need to do, even on freezing cold mornings on soccer fields, and during long nights of stomachaches and leg cramps, even when they ask for something over and over and over again, wishing for a different answer, even when I feel the heartbreaking pull of wanting to be with them fight against the desire to make a career for myself, even when they leave their coat on the bus or their trash in the car or their dirty cups on the table, even when they refuse to wear the new shoes I just bought them that fit in the store but are now miraculously horribly uncomfortable, even when they disobey or fight or talk back or make me cry or leave me speechless, even then.....I thank the lucky twist of fate that made me their mom. There is nothing harder, nothing more frustrating, nothing more challenging....and nothing better.

Happy Mother's Day

39 Years Late

Thanks to the largest merchandising push ever to hit our collective cultural experience, my children have become absolutely infatuated with Star Wars. Now, since I have existed in the world since the early 80's I have, through some kind of osmosis, picked up on the general idea of what Star Wars is, who the characters are along with their major issues and what the big shocking reveals revealed. (But I will take this opportunity to quote the amazing Anna Kendrick who spoke these very true words: "But....vader in German means father....His name is literally Darth Father....".) C'mon guys. Though I never really understood why guys of my generation were enamored by a woman with such an unflattering hairdo....

Seriously.

Anyway, through this vague pop culture knowledge, I am able to have basic conversations about SW with my kiddos as they have worked their way through the movies (thankfully watching them when I wasn't in the room). I can't emphasize enough just how obsessed they have become. Case-in-point, my 5-year-old rejected his formerly much-loved Ninja Turtle sheets, saying that now only SW ones will do. (He lost that battle, FYI. Sheets ain't cheap). I have sat through long history lessons about fictional planets and their government systems, and endless arguments over the power of Siths versus Jedis. But when your kids are excited about something, it's cute and endearing and I let them have at it. Let's just say we had a very Yoda Christmas this year.

So along came the time when I could resist their insistence no more and I finally let myself be convinced that I should watch the first movie. Which, apparently, is actually the 4th movie... But I was informed that this was the place to start. And two hours of 70's era "special effects" and a whole lot of suspension-of-disbelief later, I had finally done what I have avoided since birth.

In the fear that my children will someday read this, small though that possibility may be, I will refrain from comment on the actual movie (though I will mention that the soundtrack is something pretty incredible as it does elicit a response even from a cold-hearted Star Wars avoidee like me). Clearly the rest of it's got something in there that continues to attract people across decades and cultures and languages. And it's lasted through the complete revolution of CG and every other cinematic technology that has been developed in the last 39 years, ending in the newest movie which, from the looks of the trailers, couldn't look any more different from the 1977 one if it tried.

So somehow this crazy movie franchise has struck a deep chord with my little loves (and my big love as well, as it happens) so it wasn't two hours wasted. Their laughter and their lit-up face and their insistence that "Mommy, mommy, watch this part, it's my favorite!!" is, of course, totally worth it. So cheers to it all and I'm glad for the happiness it brings my family, even if maybe it just isn't my thing. And hey, no one can complain about watching a 35-year-old Harrison Ford, am I right???