Lists

There are so many of those lists going around today cataloging the best and worst of the past year: lists that remember what we have lost and celebrate what we have accomplished, lists that make us think about our regrets and smile at our achievements. They simplify a full year into a few moments and skip over the everyday things that actually filled the year- dishes and laundry, traffic and long days at work, binge watching TV shows on Netflix and hours spent on the treadmill. Instead we highlight the brief flashes of tragedy or happiness that dotted the year, ignore the in-between, and then wonder how the year passed so quickly.

It was a busy year. New house. New job. Death in the family. My youngest starting school. My oldest moving solidly into her own independence. My life advancing forward. It wasn’t a perfect year. I could surely come up with a Worst Moments list, a Failures list, a Bad Parenting Moves list. But there would be good lists too and I would say it’s a healthy balance.

I’m not one for resolutions. There is no reason to only try to begin to be better on this specific date. That’s not to say I don’t want to be better, to make positive changes, to be the person I wish I was. I see that person- stronger, healthier, more rested, more patient, less stressed, less critical of myself, less sensitive- and I want to be her. (She also has amazing hair, but I think that’s maybe a stretch goal..) But if I was to have a vision for the next year it would be to strive to be that person- remember her when I make decisions, picture her when I doubt myself, embody her when times are harder and I am so exhausted from work and parenting and everything else that I don’t know how to cope. I will be her someday- I believe that. I see her just ahead, constantly and quickly moving forward in front of me. It’s just a matter of time and willpower and belief. I’m already far closer than I was a few years ago.

I wish everyone the power to be that version of themselves they want to be. Happy New Year.

In Thanksgiving

I am thankful for that warm bed I woke up in this morning. And thankful for the knowledge that there will be hot water in the shower. I'm thankful for the big beautiful windows in my living room so I can see the snow outside. Thankful for warm boots and hats and gloves and scarves. I'm thankful for the shovel I have to clear off the steps and scrape the driveway. I'm thankful that I have the strength to do it. I'm thankful I have a car to brush the snow off of. I'm thankful for this peaceful neighborhood that I get to live it. And the sound of the neighbor shoveling. I'm thankful for the cold seeping through, knowing that I'm lucky to feel four separate beautiful seasons. And I'm thankful I turned up the heat before I went out.

Though I don't get to be with my children today, I'm thankful that they will have a nice holiday, a good meal, and each other. I'm thankful for the technology that will let me see their faces and hear their voices today. I'm thankful for the family that is waiting for me, and for all the rest of them who I'm thinking about today. I'm thankful to have a job that does not require me to work today, or tomorrow. But I'm thankful for all of those who are working today to keep us safe, to keep us warm, and to keep us healthy.


Today I'm thankful that the sun is shining after the storm. And even though it's cold, I have so very much to keep me warm.

Thank you.

The Value of a Good Friend

               I often end up writing about bridges. They are, of course, symbolic in many ways and I have found ideas of crossing over, transitioning, making changes and arriving in new places compelling things to write about. And it was just recently that I found myself thinking of bridges again.

                I think it is rare to find a friend with whom you share the unique ability to communicate with in such a way where it makes no difference how much time has passed- even years- and yet the conversation continues. My good friend and I recently reunited after what I am ashamed to admit was a 4 year separation. We exchange the occasional informative email, but this was our first face-to-face for far too long. It’s not easy with both of our overwhelming schedules to find time to travel the distance between us, but I was glad to have the chance to finally visit her, if only for a brief day and a half. And, as always, we picked up our story exactly where we had left off.

                 The thing about this friend is that we are remarkably similar in a lot of ways, yet our lives have taken different paths for many different reasons. We have both had our share of successes and achievements as well as disappointments and hardships and distractions. So while our lives are, at the moment, very different, there is always plenty to discuss, plenty to think about and plenty to share.

                My friend lives in a very unique place. Looking out of the window of her apartment, the view is framed by two very impressive bridges- Hell Gate Bridge and the Triborough Bridge. Both (if I’m not mistaken) cross over from her home in Astoria into Manhattan, or in that direction at least. She is perched on the edge of one of the busiest places on Earth (as opposed to me who is perched on the edge of a bunch of farms, corn fields, and some very friendly chickens, as I recently discovered). Yet her home is quiet and warm and comfortable and I felt just as much at home there as in my farm land back home.

                As I said, it is rare to have a friend like mine and I don’t take that for granted. She is the kind of person who can and does succeed at everything she goes for. She is unafraid to take those challenges in life that would break a lesser person. She is brave enough to cross those, or any other bridges. I am in awe of her accomplishments, her spirit and her incredible knowledge.  

                It wouldn’t be completely wrong to say that I doubt myself, on occasion. (I can hear my therapist laughing in my head…). It has happened, more than once, that I have come to a bridge in my life and been absolutely terrified to cross, or even to take a step forward. I wonder if there are places I could have gone if I didn’t carry that fear. I wonder if moving too slowly has colored my life for the worse at times. But my courageous and amazing friend, who has braved so many things, reminds me this isn’t true. She thinks that I am doing ok. She, a person I admire more than I can say, calls me brave, tells me I haven’t screwed it all up. And while the rational part of me already knows it, her words, along with the words of my other amazing, daily supporters, shore up that knowledge and help me choose the next bridge to cross.

                So here is a big thank you to my friend, who has remained nameless just in case she would like to stay that way! Thank you to those people who love me and see me and believe in me. You are all the wind that pushed me forward, and I am forever grateful. 

Waiting

I've waited for obscenely delayed planes.

I've waited through the two longest 9-month stretches of all time, waiting for my children to be born.

I've waited through many agonizing 20 minute stretches for a 3 year old to put on his shoes "all by himself."

I've waited, glued to my phone, for job offers.

I've waited for fevers to come down and bruises to fade and babies to sleep.

I've waited for many many things.

But nothing compares to the minute-dragging, day-lagging, week-stretching delay of waiting for literary agents to respond to query letters.

Good lord, is it painful. Please read my book! they might as well say, those letters.

Good or bad, those replies are like lights in the dark. Granted, most of them are a resounding Thanks but no thanks! And that's fine. I expected that in a completely subjective line of work. I can live with it (mostly....).

Hope is one of those things we all think we want to have. I mean, really, hope is a good thing, right? But honestly, it's a tough beast. Holding out hope when there is more of the darkness than the light is the hardest. Lose hope? Give up? Then what's the point.

So I'll write. I'll query. I'll wait. And wait.

I'll get there :)

You Know What They Say About Karma

It was supposed to be a brainstorming conversation about what kinds of healthy things we could pack in their lunchboxes for the new school year. After a summer of ice cream cones and candy stores by the beach, it feels like we need to step it up with the fruits and veggies and whole grains. We had agreed on yogurt and raisins, cheese sticks and apple slices. They were less enthusiastic about baby carrots and cottage cheese. Then I brought up sandwiches, knowing I probably wouldn't get too far with them. The only acceptable version in our house involves peanut butter, which is not allowed at school.

"Well, Roman likes turkey sandwiches now," my 6-year-old Evelyn says. My skin turns cold.

"You do, buddy?" I ask him, holding out hope that his sister is telling one of her "wish stories" (ie. lies).

"Oh yeah. Daddy gave me one," he says, not looking up from the picture he is coloring and my heart actually hurts.


They say that karma is a bitch. I picture her as a winged creature- scaly and grey and dragonlike, all pointed ears and deadly claws- swooping in to punish those who do wrong, collect old debts and strike out against evil. In short- serving as the symbol for the hope that being the bigger person does pay off in the end. I put a lot of stake in being the bigger person in the wake of a bad divorce. When I start to feel the grip of anger or frustration I hold my own feelings in check to make sure that my choices will not keep me up at night. I choose the best thing for my kids, even when it benefits my ex.

So when my 4-year-old son, who has been raised vegetarian since birth along with his sister, is handed a turkey sandwich by their father for no other reason than to seek vegence against me for whatever wrong-doing he has imagined, I start to scan the skies looking for karma to do her job.

The trouble with karma is that we all do wrong. We lie, we cut corners, exceed the speed limit, choose ourselves over others sometimes, fail to be the best we can be. Should we all be looking back over our shoulders, worrying that life will pay us back in the end? I am not without fault, but I do my best to try and make sure that the rights heavily outweigh those wrongs at the end of the day. I know that in reality all things do not come out even. All rights are not wronged. And bad things do happen to truly good people. But I can breathe easy knowing that when you choose to hold on to anger and work to spread misery to others, you will only breed unhappiness in your own heart. And a heart can only hold so much of that kind of burden. Perhaps that unhappiness, festering and ugly in those kinds of hearts, is what karma comes to feed on in the night. While I am soundly sleeping.

Moving On, Again

"I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone.

I'm movin' on."

                                   -Rascal Flatts

So summer is more than half done and the Back-to-School advertising is out in full-force.  It is shocking how fast the time goes, especially when things are changing. The news is all good news, though, and life moves forward no matter how little sleep I get or how many moments I forget to record.

My family and I are on the move again, this time to the lovely small town of Merrimac. I will be saying goodbye (again) to my hometown. The brief year and a half return was both fun and strange. Plenty of people from the past still hang around town and running into them is always a trip into the past. It's fun to see where people have gone and who they have become. But there are many ghosts, many reminders of a past I don't want to live with, and plenty of reasons to be glad that I am moving on.

So once again I am putting our lives into boxes and figuring out what I want to keep and what will essentially get left behind. The thing is, I love both the act of purging things we don't need and also carefully keeping the things I want to remember. (Any thoughts on the wedding album from a marriage-gone-wrong? Will the kids want it when they are older??) I have to admit, I have kept only a small stack of kindergarten art pieces. There are just too many to hang on to. Not sure what impact that has on my Best Mother Ever status. I also have to admit to keeping a box of baby clothes- my favorite ones that instantly bring me back to those moments when my babies were tiny enough to tuck into one arm. So it's a healthy mix of things-to-go and things-to-keep.

So while packing is never any fun, taking inventory of our lives certainly is. There are no more strollers but lots more art supplies. Fewer sippy cups and board books but plenty of skateboards, backpacks and sparkly sneakers. We're taking all of the Disney movies (even though they prefer Ninjago and Power Rangers now, for the most part) but tossing the baby monitors and any size clothing that includes a reference to their age. And I'm taking the newest version of me that has learned much from this latest stage of my life and leaving behind any lingering doubts that I could handle it on my own.

Maya Angelou

I was a self-conscious 17-year-old when I first heard the words… I rise, I rise, I rise- some of Maya Angelou’s best known. I already had the inclinations of a writer but hadn’t yet put much of worth down on paper. I found, in those words, a hope that maybe someday I could write something that would be so important to someone as those words were to me. Even now, all of these years later, I still think in my weaker moments when I need something- anything- to grab on to…But still, like air, I’ll rise.

I devoured every word of her's that I could find- her poems, her plays and, most strikingly, her autobiographies. Her life, so different from mine, was inspirational in a way that I had didn’t know was possible. Her struggles and hardships should have created a bitter woman, one who gave up on life and succumbed to the worst of the world as tragedy after tragedy struck her. Instead she was able to see the goodness in life, the beauty and agony of the human soul and to revel in the uniqueness of her own spirit. She fought for the rights of woman and African-Americans. She refused to step around the ugliness in the world, but instead addressed it head on and inspired others to join her on the way to happiness.

The above picture, a framed excerpt from Phenomenal Woman, sits out in my kitchen. I gave a copy to a few special women in my life several years ago. These words, along with so many others that Maya wrote, are a constant reminder to be strong. My heart hurts at the loss of such an extraordinary woman. I can only hope to channel even an ounce of her inspirational strength and maybe, someday, find a way to write down something that will change someone the way she has changed me for the better.

Wishing Maya Angelou a sweet goodbye on this sad day.

"All my work, my life, everything I do is about survival, not just bare, awful, plodding survival, but survival with grace and faith. While one may encounter many defeats, one must not be defeated".

Maya Angelou

33 And Counting

32 had such a nice ring to it. Nothing terrible about 32. But 33? Is that officially mid-30's? I think you could argue it either way. Either way, I turned 33 yesterday- a bright beautiful day in May.

I have felt many things on birthdays of the past, many of them having to do with the frustration of getting older, the feeling of not having accomplished quite enough, the desire to do more and be more. So this year when May 17th rolled around, the question of what to do on that day arose. I gave it a good amount of thought and realized something. Here was a special day meant to celebrate me. But I didn't want parties or fireworks or extravagance. What I wanted was everything I already have. I wanted to be with the people I love. I wanted to see my kids' beautiful faces and hear their little voices singing Happy Birthday to me. I wanted peace and happiness and comfort. I wanted to look around at the sum of my life to this point and know that it is all adding up to something great. And I got all of those things.

I have said in the past, while reflecting on aging, that I'm ok with it because I know that I'm better now than ever. I try to remember that every day. With every day that passes I am the result of every day that has come before- every experience, every mistake, every step forward, every bit of myself that I give to someone else- all equals me today. Sounds crazy-optimistic, I know, and not terribly like me. But I'm trying. And it turns out that state of mind is half the battle.

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes.

Another Bridge

My favorite moment when I go for a run is here- the walkway of the Rourke Bridge in Lowell. There is something theraputic about running through this tunnel- sky above and river below. There is no other way to cross but to keep moving forward and come out better on the other side.

Love Them Like Crazy

“Mom….mom….mom….MOM!!!!!!”

 The lights on the small white receiver next to my bed flash green. I jerk up out of a sound sleep and stumble across the hallway into my kids’ room. I glance to the left and see my 5 year old snuggled up with her Peter Pan doll, blissfully lost in sleep. I continue to my 3 year old’s bed, where he is laying with heavy eyelids barely held open. I ask him what the problem is and he sleepily points at his stuffed monkey which is currently laying on the floor. I grab it and, less than gently, toss it back to him before heading back to my own bed and the scant few hours of sleep I have left.

I confess. I still use a baby monitor for my 5 and 3 year olds. Somewhere in the process of transitioning them from cribs to beds I must have insisted quite strongly that they not get out of their beds once they are in them. So, to this day, neither child has gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Instead, they lay in bed and call me until I show up. And while I have since informed them that getting up to use their en suite bathroom is perfectly fine, they just won’t accept the idea. The problem is intensified by the fact that they also call me when they have a nightmare, or need a blanket straightened or have leg cramps (both kids get them). As a result, Mom is there to serve them, day or night. And I can hear them breathing, turning over and snoring all night long.

 Since this is the way I have always done things, I only had a vague idea that it was strange. I have been informed by numerous people that our continued use of the monitor is way outside the norm. I think every parent would admit to making some sort of categorically insane decision when it comes to their kids, whether it be spending a wild amount of money on a sought-after toy or taking them to the doctor after a single cough or feeding them Cheerios for dinner for the sixth night in a row when they refuse to eat anything else, sure of the fact that they are about to starve. And every parent has looked at their kid and felt the force of Parent Brain- a combo of sleep deprivation and the slow torture of a toddler’s unending “why?” questions. But add to that the crazy that comes with loving these little people more than life itself. Basically, we’re screwed.

It seems like a reasonable idea that a person would be able to make rational decisions when it comes to their children. Feed them well. Teach them things. Correct them when they misbehave. Sounds like a plan, right? So what happens when your three year old hits his sister, gets handed a firm timeout, but then crawls into your lap, throws his chubby little arms around your neck, presses his sweet little boy kisses to your face and asks why you don’t love him anymore? I am wildly guilty of hugging him back and assuring him that he is the sweetest little thing that ever lived. I’m pretty sure he walks away from that situation feeling like he won, even when I make him apologize. They are master minds of manipulation and, most often, I am the sucker.

So I make these and plenty of other parenting mistakes. Occasionally, people in my life who love me gently offer advice or point out that I may be slightly misguided in some of these choices. These kind people are well-intentioned and only offer constructive criticism meant to help the parenting effort (more or less). I know I’m not perfect and I tell myself all the time that I could be a better parent. But hearing it from someone else’s lips is like getting a good swift kick in the stomach. Ouch. So- deep breath- I listen, take it in, try to step back and process said advice. Like the baby monitor.

I informed the children (as they looked up at me with their huge, adorable, trusting eyes from their beds) that I would no longer be able to hear them if they chose to shout my name in the middle of the night- that if they needed something they either needed to get up and handle it or, if worse came to worse, come across the hall and get me. The way was solidly lit by nightlights and I felt confident that this new way of life would work. Cut to midnight when both children appeared at the side of my bed, simultaneously wailing their little heads off. 5 year old had a nightmare and decided to wake up 3 year old and take him along on her sad excursion across the hall. I put them back to bed with kisses and reassurance, but with a sick feeling in my stomach, knowing she probably cried out for me and I didn’t come to her. I went back to my room…and left the monitor on for the rest of the night. (What? I said I wasn’t perfect).

Several more nights have gone by and the monitor has since stayed off. Turns out I’m sleeping better and the kids have been fine. I know I don’t give them enough credit. They aren’t babies any more (my soul just cried a little!). I still have moments when I wake up during the night and listen for them. Maybe, just maybe, I am a little sad that they don’t need me…ok, definitely. I am certain that I suffer from single-parent-overcompensation syndrome. In response to knowing that they only have me when they are with me, I may just love them a little too much. Everything I do for them comes from wanting them to have the best life possible, which only makes the parenting mistakes harder to accept and correct because they are all well-intentioned.

Love will drive you nuts, much as young children will do. Loving young kids (and older kids as well, I assume) is complicated. They scrape their knee and I get nauseous. They struggle to do something and I reach out to help them. I hope to never be a smothering parent or a push-over parent, though I am aware that I have my moments of doing both, which is why I listen to those who love me enough to offer advice. I will work on accepting the fact that kids are like technology- once you figure out the latest thing, there is something new you have to learn. So I will keep trying. They will keep getting older. And we will all keep growing.

Ash

I touched a single leaf
with a matchstick fingertip,
and watched the whole tree
turn to ash,
burning down through the roots
and up,
singeing each blade of grass
to the very tip.
The ground grew blackened and grey
in an airless wave
around my feet and spread;
a ripple of ruin against
a pure green.
With one unguarded touch
I brought down a land
and left smoldering
something once so beautiful
and worthy,
tainted the air with
my own exhalation of smoke
and burned, without intent,
every living thing.

Think Of Me

Think of it as a massive arrest of time,

Of days that do not bother to end.

Think of it not as a change of heart

But a new one.

Think of me as you know me

And know me.

Love.

My 5-year-old daughter ran into a boy from her kindergarten class at Target today. They said hi to each other and flashed embarrassed smiles, each looking shyly back at their mothers. Then the boy reached out a hand and gave my little girl a penny he had clutched in his sweaty, little boy palm. Now she is in “love” and has declared that he is her boyfriend and they are going to get married- after they play together on the playground more next week, of course. Moving a bit fast, I thought, but who am I to question young love?

Certainly a 5-year-old’s version of love is based mainly on Disney movies. And they have certainly come up with some very skewed portrayals- love is instant, love is easy (once all of the bad guys have been dealt with), love is forever, love conquers all. The incongruence of those ideas, pleasant as they may be, with reality is so striking that I fear my daughter will grow up thinking that all it takes is a penny (or a charming smile or a cool car, etc) to buy her favor. Somewhere I have to slip in the lesson that she’s got to love herself first in order to really know her own worth, and therefore recognize when others see it too- easier preached than practiced.

That’s not to say that Disney hasn’t smartened up since the days of Cinderella and Prince Charming when it comes to that stuff. In fact their most recent movie, Frozen, included the brilliant line from one princess to another- “You can’t marry a man you just met!” The love-at-first sight relationship in that case crashes and burns, leaving the struggling princess to fall in love with someone after getting to know him. Imagine that. It even shows the strength of loving a friend, ie. a talking snowman who declares that “Some people are worth melting for.”

What Disney is finally learning is that love is so much more than the perfectly fitting glass slipper. Love is ugly, and bumpy, and sometimes uncomfortable. It’s about sacrifice and compromise and getting through the bad days. It’s about knowing yourself well enough to know what works for you and what doesn’t. It means leaving when it’s wrong and sticking it out when it’s right- even when doing those are the most difficult things you can imagine. And the kicker? When you take all of those things, add all of the good stuff and stand back to take a look? It looks different to every set of eyes on the planet, meaning it’s undefinable and unexplainable.

In the near future I know my daughter will have some larger questions about love that I will need to be prepared to answer. So what does love look like for me? Love. I can’t lie. It’s been a far trickier road than I ever thought it could be. It’s been about giving up on a fairy-tale that I fought so hard to put a good face on, that it took far too long to admit that the ground had crumbled away beneath my feet. It’s been about finding ways to love myself even when I didn’t think I was worth the time. It’s been about reaching out when I needed a lifeboat to cling to. It’s been about friendship and honesty and growing. It’s been about pain and new definitions of loneliness. It’s hope and peace and starting from scratch so many times. It’s about newness and certainty and joy. It’s about happily using a heart that’s far more weathered than I ever thought it would be. It’s about green grass after a very cold winter.

I had to have the first, very simplified, birds-and-bees talk with my baby today. (As in, “No kissing until you are 18, got it?”). She walked away singing a song to herself about love. My little princess. Someday she’ll fall in love for real. And her heart will get broken too- it’s all part of the same deal. She’ll pick it up and put it back together and move on. We all do it. Her idea of love will grow and change and hurt and heal. I’ve known it all, and have plenty more to learn too. C’est la vie.  

Bridges

 

 

In school we built

Bridges out of toothpicks

To prove how fragile parts

Can still make up a thing

Strong enough

to cross over.