Being Alive

Ok. I’ve crunched through my bowl of low salt popcorn. I drank my second 12 oz glass of water for the day. I’ve watched a bit of spirit crushing C-span. I’ve gone through the news and political blurbs that, lately, hurt my brain. And yet, here is the ironic truth…..I remain happy. I am happy because I am grateful to be here. Not just to exist, but to be alive. Truly alive.

The other day I was listening to the Broadway channel on Sirius XM, as any good musical theatre geek does. Raul Esparza’s rendition of “Being Alive” from Stephen Sondheim ‘s musical Company came on. As I drove, the words he sang seemed to penetrate me in a way they never had before.

Somebody hold me too close.
Somebody hurt me too deep.
Somebody sit in my chair,
And ruin my sleep,
And make me aware,
Of being alive.
Being alive.

Somebody need me too much.
Somebody know me too well.
Somebody pull me up short,
And put me through hell,
And give me support,
For being alive.
Make me alive.
Make me alive.

Somebody crowd me with love.
Somebody force me to care.
Somebody let me come through,
I’ll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive,
Being alive.
Being alive.
Being alive!

Its a song about the fundamental need we have to be needed and loved by another being. I think when we accept that we, indeed, have just that, life gets a whole lot brighter, even in the midst of hardships, depression and crumbling governments. I talk a lot about gratitude and perspective. If ever there was a time for people to take control of their perspective, it is now. My top priorities are my son and husband. My husband is my person, like in the song. He is my someone and my O is the natural extension of that love and connection. They are my everything. I choose to make them my main focus. Of course there is room for other things in my orb, but I am making sure to balance my intake of the negative world and alternative facts, with that which inspires, empowers, and enriches me. I’m reading this and I am sounding a lot like some tripping ethereal hippie. I assure you, my walls aren’t melting and my feet are planted on the ground.

You may think I’m coo coo for Cocoa Puffs, but I truly feel I owe my wonderful life to my husband. Had he not risked revealing his true self to me all those years ago… Had he not been so fearless in his love for me when I was still the coward…I would not be this unabashedly happy today. And, he made one hell of a baby with me! I tell you, I owe everything that matters to him. Obviously, I could go further and thank my lucky stars, or the Universe or, duh, God. Absolutely. And that is the whole point. What is going on right now in our world is abominable, I’m my opinion. It is a sad and deplorable time in our country. But it is only a tiny piece of time in the puzzle of our existence. It cannot take over my mind. I am in this fight for the long haul. What kind of warrior would I be if I just crawled under my covers binge watching Netflix in comatose denial? I will not give up any part of my wonderful life to the threatening darkness. I can be involved, informed, even irate and still be happy. I will remain happy because I am choosing to be. Because my husband and son deserve me to be. And my vigilance and resolve to make this world a better place will only strengthen. For me, that is what it means to be alive today. Thank you, my love, for making me ALIVE.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up! Thanks for reading! Peace! Xo

The Safe Decision

It’s early. The house is quiet, except for the sounds of the pipes attempting to heat this big house on such a frigid day. The snow is falling so peacefully. So beautifully. My hair is wet from my post workout shower but my coffee is warm and comforting. This is my second favorite time of day. Any time I get to rock my O, either before or after he sleeps, takes the cake. But this time is also sacred to me. It is unshared. It is the time of day when I decide what kind of day I will have. When I let myself just “be.” When important things are decided in my mind.

When the eight o’ clock hour strikes, the peacefulness ends. It is filled with “to dos” and tears. Giggles, whines, Sesame Street and subtle stresses. Life with a toddler. I know, I know, if you have a toddler you are thinking to yourself, “Eight O’Clock?!” Ok, so I am lucky in that regard. Absolutely. I know this. I am getting off track. Digression is becoming quite a sport for me, lately.

In my moments of quiet and soul searching, I have come to a tough conclusion. After much back and forth with myself I am choosing to side with my intellect. I guess I should come out and tell you. I am officially deciding to not get pregnant again. I know I have talked about it seeming to not be in the cards for us, but now I am taking the possibility off the table. I am going back on the pill. It makes me a little sad. I’m not gonna lie. But the possibility of being pregnant now at 46, and delivering at 47, terrifies me. We have weighed the pros and cons. After some odd health issues, that I can now chalk up to peri-menopause, we are choosing to be grateful for the wonderful gift we have already been given. The hardest part is knowing that on some level (at least in my eyes) I am letting my husband down. He protests that I am not, but I can’t help but feel that if he married someone younger, he would have more children. He will be upset with me for writing this. It is something I need to come to terms with.

It is what it is. One of my favorite mantras. But, it is. Considering I tweaked my back just from standing at the sink doing dishes while talking on the phone, it seems like our decision is for the best. I know I am not in the shape now that I was when I got pregnant for O. A pregnancy, even if successful, would be much harder on my body this time around. And of course, my psychic friend, Frieda’s premonition enters my mind. She said I would have one child and he would be healthy. If I wanted more I should adopt. She’s been on point with everything. EVERYTHING. How could she not enter my mind?

With the stress factors in my life right now, as well, I know intellectually that it is the right decision. The smart decision. The safe decision.

I sat here stumped as how to end this pondering, and then my own words, reiterated by my loving husband as a matter of fact, hit my ears. “Everything works out the way it should.” Oh, yes, indeed it does. Marrying the right person certainly helps, too. I have a feeling we are going to be just fine.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading, friend. Xo

Merry Christmas Mommy

I stepped away from my writing for a while. To be more accurate, I stepped away from trying to make sense of my thoughts. My aging mother is ill and my beautiful 2 year old son is thriving. It only makes sense (in my senseless reality) that it be Christmas time. The time of year that proves to be, both the most wonderful time of the year for some, and the hardest for so many others. For me, this year, it seems I am in between; stuck somewhere in the middle of joy and pain.

I have decorated the house. I have wrapped almost every gift in coordinating paper, ribbons and tags. I have fresh evergreens in every available vase. I even made a traditional German cookie house like I used to make with my Mother each Christmas. Our tree is a true sight of beauty, filled with memories for both me and my husband. We are like kids ourselves picking gifts for Santa to bring little O. We teach him Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and delight in his toddler versions. Seeing Christmas through his little eyes is the closest thing to magic and it is wonderful.

In another part of my mind, there are lists of things that need to be done for my mother’s care. There is worry about her safety and that of my father’s, as well. There is guilt that I live four hours away. There is a sadness I have never known. I miss her so much. There is also a fear of what is yet to come. Will I be strong enough? Will I come out the other side intact? Will the hole that is growing in my heart ever mend?

How can I exist in this dichotomy of circumstances and feelings? I have often thought about how having my son so late in the game means O having grandparents who are much older. They aren’t who they were 10 years ago, let alone 20 years ago when most women my age were having children. I am so grateful that he knows them and has a relationship with them, but I don’t know he will remember them as I know them. By the time he is able to, it is possible my mother won’t even know him. I suppose it is pointless to obsess or worry about scenarios I have no control over. But the sadness in it stays with me.

Perhaps it is true that God only gives you what you can handle. Maybe he knew, in his Divine providence, that I would need the joyful focus of raising a child to keep me sane while my mother slowly slips away. I don’t know. But it makes a lot of sense to me. Funny, right about now, the only thing that truly makes sense other than my little nucleus family, is God. Who’d a thunk? I guess it all began with a child, so of course, it makes sense a child could get me through the tough stuff. With that I say Merry Christmas, my friends. I wish you much joy this season, and always.

Remember, behind every great kid, is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. She might also be depending on the magic of Christmas more than you know. Thanks for reading. Xo

Lonely Mommy Long Winter

This Mommy business is a lonely one. While I am basking in the joy of it all, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I feel lonely quite a bit of the time. I have a hunch that I’m not the only mommy out there who feels this way, at times. Let’s face it, my constant companion is a two year old who doesn’t speak in full sentences yet and who has mood swings that rival the best of schizophrenics . I keep hearing that motherhood is so rewarding. But I am guessing the big reward is a type of delayed gratification. Like after all this hard work, one day I’ll look up at my son while he accepts the Nobel Peace prize and know it was all worth it. Right? But for now, staying home raising a child, while full of great moments, can be exhausting, and most definitely, lonely.

I find myself alone in my thoughts for a great part of the day. For me, that isn’t always good. I tend to over think things. It makes my husband crazy. Sorry, lover. But, it is hard to avoid. I often find, if something is important to me, it is hard to just let it go. I take far too much to heart and listen to far too much CNN radio. The icing on that cake of disaster, is that I am incredibly sensitive with a two year old for company.

I find most other moms out and around where we live, pretty much keep to themselves. At the play area in the mall the other day, I sat across from another mother. I could tell her son was at least a year or more older than O. She looked stylish, involved, (but not hovering), and a bit older (like me). I thought to myself, I wonder if I could be friends with her? The children played and we knowingly nodded to each other here and there. At one point I commented on how I loved her son’s hair. A head full of curls. He was a gorgeous child. She politely said “thanks.” But that was the extent of our interaction. We each moved onto our own day each with our own child in tow. It’s weird. Yet, I suppose it would be weirder to approach someone you don’t even know, in a mall, and say, “let’s be friends!” Yeah, that is most definitely weirder.

The truth is, I guess I am a bit of a loner. It isn’t necessarily always by choice. It reminds me of high school at times….when you walked into the cafeteria and didn’t see your friends. You would feel awkward or uncomfortable until you spotted your group. You might give off an I don’t care air, just to self preserve. Maybe I give off a stand-offish vibe off to other moms? Ironic, the self admitted loner saying she gets lonely. Ha. But it’s true. It is absurd that I worry that O doesn’t like big groups. Neither does Mommy (or Daddy for that matter!) I swear, does our child stand a chance?

I look up at the skylight in our family room. It is covered with frost on this frigid November morning. Winter is fast approaching. It’s gonna be a long lonely one unless I jump out of my comfort zone. I need to commit to putting aside my mild discomfort with new people. I need to venture into the unknown of new friendships. I suppose I find that most of the moms I encounter are much younger than me. But, in truth, age has little to do with commonalities shared among moms. I’m looking for excuses to stay stuck.

No, it is time to put on my big girl layers of cuddle duds and flannel. I have had wonderful friendships in my life, that still exist, though almost all are now at a long distance. It’s time for some more day to day friends. My life is here in New England now where the winters are cold and often long. What I know of friendship is that it is necessary and most definitely warms your heart.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Yup. Pretty much every day. xo

Woof Mommy

I do not want a dog. There. I said it. It is now in black and white. We will NOT get a dog. That is my mantra. I am as firm as I can be on the subject. That being said, I am well aware I am going to be outnumbered when the question actually gets posed. I am assuming it will be in a few years when O is about 5. You see, my husband is a true dog person. He, in full juxtaposition to me, says we WILL get a dog. He doesn’t say it in a challenging, jerky manner at all. He says it as a matter of fact, which is worse. Because I have a sneaking feeling, I will be worn down and will concede to the puppy plea. To be truthful, my husband has almost already worn me down. Add my little then 5 year old boy pleading for a puppy to the mix and I am a goner for sure.

I know all reasons why people like to have a dog. They are fun and sweet and cuddly…blah blah yada yada. But dogs are also a huge commitment. They are messy. Hairy. Slobbery. Not to mention destructive at times. I, on the other hand, am a clean freak. You could eat off of my floors and I prefer it that way. A dog ends that immediately. Everyone I know who has a dog says, “You just have to vacuum a lot.” Well, I already vacuum a lot. And one thing I know for sure is that it will most likely be me doing the extra cleaning.

Yet, as much as I fight the notion, I somehow know it is a lost cause. Because even now on this rainy autumn day, as the raindrops hit the skylight above me, I can envision a sweet golden lab nestled in my lap. I am realizing quite quickly, that I am my own worst enemy in this situation. You can’t not want something and want it all at the same time. Well, you can, but it most always leads to actually getting said something. Woof. I am in for it.

My husband says that a family needs to time the procuring of a dog properly. The idea he says, is that you time it so that the dog’s life expectancy coincides with when your child goes off to college…and then you are free. Ugh. I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I don’t want a dog, but I most surely will have one. Not only will I have one, but I will assuredly clean up after him, walk him, bathe him, and on occasion, even enjoy him. But above all, I suppose I will welcome him into our family and love him. And then we will get a weekly cleaning service.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Woof! Xo

Mommy Falling Short

I know I’m not the only parent who has moments where I feel like I am completely failing my child. Those moments where everything I give seems to be just not quite enough. I often have this nagging suspicion that I should be doing more. That I should be teaching him more. That I should be exposing him to more. It feels as if every opportunity missed is a failure. Why is that? I know it is completely silly. I’m not so far gone to believe that this is the absolute reality. The notion that his development is solely based on my interaction with him is completely foolish, I know. Nevertheless, it is very hard to shake the idea that, where it concerns our O, I should be doing more. More. More.

I understand the importance of taking care of myself. I understand the importance of having my own “thing” outside of caring for O. And I do. I pay attention to my husband. I give time to my aging parents. I take care of our home. Yes, I am spread thin. But not so thin that I feel like any one area loses out. Except where it concerns O. (Enter nagging feeling) Because the truth of the matter is, that I would do anything and everything for my child and even then it would not seem like it was enough, in my own estimation. I swear, I am not getting all crazy on you. But If I am being totally honest, I can’t escape the feeling of (maybe) coming up short. So a question is….is it my type A personality or do other Moms feel this way?

I am well versed in the phrase, “I am doing the best that I can.” And I am. Aren’t we all? But what happens when your best isn’t cutting it? What happens when you know you should bring your toddler to the park for some outside time, but you really have to take care of some pressing business? Or imagine….you just don’t feel like it? Or what about when you let him watch The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse because you really want to blow dry your hair and put on some makeup to look like some semblance of a lady rather than the gal who cleans the floors? Is that me really doing my best? Or is that just the crap I tell myself to make my selfishness seem more palatable?

There is no shortage of support in this web of deceit. Pretty much everyone is ready to tell you what a great Mom you are. How you are, in fact, “doing the best you can”. We all talk about how hard it is. And it is. We are all very human, as we are compelled to be. I don’t ruminate over this to find a way to be a better mom. I, like every mom I know, is being the best mom she knows how to be. What I am acknowledging is the layer of guilt that wants to float to the surface every now and then. The guilt that permeates logic and reason. It lingers deep in our consciousness. And even though we are doing everything “right,” it pops up. Ready to take us down.

Now there very well may be some fathers who feel the same way. I’m not sure. I actually didn’t ask my husband. But something tells me that men think differently about parental guilt. I could absolutely be wrong. But for some reason, guilt tends to be a trait overwhelmingly known to females. I have an amazing dad, but I have a hard time thinking of him laying awake at night wondering if he could have done more to further my development. I know, for a fact, my Mother (where it concerns her four children) believes she fell short.

So where are we? Well, I’m not sure. I suppose I will have to squelch the rising guilt when it decides to rear its ugly head. It really has no place in my everyday life. None of us have the time for that wasted energy. I guess I will keep trying, as we all will. Everyday… to do my best and to make my best better. The truth is that everyday comes with new challenges. Some days I rise to meet the challenge in front of me and some days I can’t seem to navigate through the unknown without falling on my face a little. Or a lot.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo

Sneaky Mommy

The following nugget I am about to share with you is not one I can claim as my own brainchild. It is a Pinterest find, but an absolute gem in the picky toddler eating games I am currently eye ball deep in. If you are in my current predicament, you also have a toddler who refuses to eat many things put in front of him or her. I could take the path of eat it or go hungry. He has gone hungry. And then I thought, why don’t I get creative and, dare I say, sneaky? Yes, I decided to trick my son into eating healthy fare. Thus far, it seems to be working out deliciously!

Here is one of the super healthy and super sneaky picks! Spinach muffins! I have changed the recipe to suit our tastes, but it is essentially the same. They are awesome. And they freeze beautifully!

Serves: 12 muffins

Ingredients
2 cups whole-wheat flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup canola oil
3/4 cup almond milk
1 (6 ounce) bag fresh baby spinach
3/4 cup mashed banana (from about 1 to 2 bananas)
2 tsp pure vanilla extract

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350°F and line one 12-cup muffin pans with paper liners.
Whisk together dry ingredients in a large bowl: flours, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside.
In a blender, place oil, milk, and spinach. Blend on high for about 30 seconds or until completely puréed. Add banana and vanilla; blend on low just to mix.
Pour puréed mixture into dry mixture and fold together with a rubber spatula until completely combined.
Fill muffin cups about 3/4 full and bake 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

These days, I call most everything cake, apple sauce, yogurt or ice cream. Yes. I do. These muffins are now affectionately called “breakfast cake” in our house. O gobbles them up. Now you could certainly change out the sugar for apple sauce. I already reduced the amount of sugar from 3/4 cup to 1/4 cup. The key is to have really over ripe bananas. There is no denying it is a great way to trick your toddler into eating some very healthy spinach packed “cake.” Right now, that is what is working for me. Complete and utter trickery.

Another act of misrepresentation is my veggies and fruit purees I put in re-usable pouches. The pouches are sold by WeeSprout and are fantastic. They come in different ounce sizes. I ordered the medium size of 5 oz…they are perfect. I steamed a bunch of carrots, spinach, pineapple…..puréed it and added some organic unsweetened Apple sauce. I do the same with beets, greens, etc. Any combo of veggies and fruits is spectacular. My son is none the wiser. We can add proteins, grains, you name it….and I get to decide the nutrition he gets. He thinks he is having an apple sauce or yogurt pouch. He is happy. And I know he is getting the nutrition he needs. For now it is a win….I’ll take it. So I can still serve him new things and not worry too much that he doesn’t touch it. Eventually he will. My doctor says it can take up to 15 times for a child to try a new food. (Oye!) So while we navigate that bumpy terrain, I’m sneaking in the vitamins, fats and minerals he needs to develop. Sneaky Mommy. :))

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! Xo

Bon Appetit Baby

That’s it. I’ve had it. It is time to reign in my picky eater and broaden his horizons. I will expand my child’s palate or die trying. Ok, that is a bit dramatic. But I mean, come on! I refuse to accept that I must only give him pasta, PB&J, or yogurt, as these are the foods he eats willingly. In my short sightedness to get him to eat, I started giving him only things that he liked. Day after day….and now it has turned into my toddler refusing to even try anything that looks different. It is ridiculous. It is my own fault. And it is time to end this craziness.

I’m not supposing this will be easy. It is learned behavior on his part, that I have indulged. He does seem to have an issue with textures, but instead of helping him through that, I let him avoid it. I could kick myself. (Hindsight, right?). Now that he is well over the two year mark and in the throws of being a toddler, he can absolutely eat anything and in my opinion, should. My husband and I are adventurous eaters. We enjoy different foods, spices, wines and whatnot. It is unacceptable to me that I will raise a child to be a pedestrian eater. It just won’t jive with our rhythm at home. He will need to learn to eat what we eat, and it starts now. Did I say I know this is going to be difficult?

When O was a baby, the doctor, and pretty much everyone, said, “He will know when he isn’t hungry. He’ll stop himself. Babies know when they are full.” Well that may be true, but I’m not convinced a toddler knows. My son would eat as many graham bunnies as I gave him. He would also prefer them for dinner, if I’d allow it. His new tactic when he doesn’t want to try something is to say “All done.” So I’ve now started to say, “OK, all done.” I’ve stopped offering anything else. Down he goes from the table. Dinner is over. No second chances. He will go to sleep with an empty stomach. My hope is that he won’t let himself go too hungry. Right? Harsh, I know. But I refuse to be a slave to a finicky child.

Last night, we had roasted summer vegetables and turkey kielbasa over brown rice. It was actually very nice. O only ate some of the rice. I wanted him to at least taste the meat and vegetables. Mind you, there were sweet potatoes and carrots in the veggie mix, which he likes, but because they were in chunks he would not even try them. Really? It’s maddening. So, once the rice was picked over, he asked for apple sauce, which was denied. He followed up with a wail and an “All done!” I make no fuss over it. I simply say “OK, all done.” I take him out of his chair and send him on his way…hungry. Eventually, the stubbornness will yield to hunger, right? Are you thinking that I am a horrible mother now?

In France, children O’s age, sit down for a three course meal, daily. They eat all sorts of fish, fruits, vegetables and cheeses. When I say vegetables I don’t mean brocolli with cheese sauce, either. There are no special dinosaur chicken nuggets sold in grocery stores. And there aren’t special kid menus in every restaurant featuring the same items: pizza, mac and cheese, and a hotdog. They are taught from a very young age how to eat and how to appreciate food. International data collated by the International Association for the Study of Obesity show that 15% of children are overweight in France compared to a whopping 30% in the U.S. So who is doing it right?

I believe that food is part of our education as people of a civilized society. To appreciate different tastes and textures is one of life’s pleasures. Sharing a meal with family and friends, is to be part of something. It is a learned sense of community and belonging. Eating is something we need to do for the rest of our lives. Perhaps it should be something we are educated about and learn to do well. Anyway, that’s this mama’s two cents. I’ll let you know how my struggle goes. Did I mention I don’t anticipate it is going to be easy?

Until next time, while I’ll be rocking in a corner back and forth, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Ah, my life story! Bon Appetit!

When You Think Your Toddler Is An A-Hole

Today my snack of choice is green pea crisps. They are baked, gluten free and have enough salt to satiate me without being high in sodium. A good choice of avoidance, I’d say. But the bag is now empty, so my words need to start filling the page. What I am about to say is not very nice. I feel horrible for even thinking it. As if guilt isn’t already part of my standard operating procedure. But here it goes. I don’t always like my toddler. Yes, of course, I love him. I’m grateful for him and can’t imagine my life without him. But sometimes, he can be really unlikable. Geez, Mary. Yeah, whatever. I could have picked a much harsher word to describe this child and his unacceptable behavior, but my husband and his grandparents would no doubt frown upon such language chosen to describe their little angel. I remember a friend of mine saying ” My kids are being such douche bags!” I remember thinking, “Geez, that’s harsh.” (What a judgmental singleton I was.). But now I kinda get it. Cause sometimes it proves oh so true.

With O we have moved into a constant whine, which apparently is reserved just for mommy. It is like nails on a chalkboard. He has started kicking and swatting mommy followed by “Ow!” in a sassy “whatcha gonna do about it” tone. Not to mention ramming Thomas the Tank Engine into the back of mommy’s ankles while I am at the kitchen sink. Some days are far worse than others, obviously. When I say “No” he says “Yes.” When I say “Yes” he says “No.” It’s maddening. It is non sensical. No matter how I address the behavior (ignore, redirect, admonish) it persists. These things are just the tip of the iceberg. I know, I know, he is two. He is testing me. I take cleansing breath after cleansing breath. It’s no wonder I don’t pass out from all the deep breathing. I longingly look at the clock willing my husband to walk through the door. I tell you this, these aren’t the Terrible Twos….they are the A-Hole Years.

Trust me, I don’t feel good about saying this. The tougher it gets, the more I feel like I am failing. Like there are days that I don’t know if I have the strength of character to get through. Days where the fantasy of driving away in my car creeps it’s nasty head into my thoughts. It is shameful. It is humiliating and loathful. Who thinks their child is an a-hole? A two year old, no less. I’m an ungrateful horrible bitch of a mother.

And then I remember three fundamental truths. I am human. I am doing the best I can. And he is just a child. I will get through the day. God willing, I will get another shot at parenting tomorrow. It’s all gonna be ok. And just like Newton’s Third Law of Motion states, his unacceptable behavior will be replaced by an equally and opposing sweet, tender and loving state of being. And just like that, I can forget why I thought he was unlikable….until he dumps an entire jar of oregano all over the floor just because. Or when he empties out my pantry for the umpteenth time leaving a trail of canned and dried goods from the kitchen to the living room. I know it is him exploring and learning, which is why we let it happen, but after episode number 13 on any given day, I’d like to put a lock on the lazy susan. But let’s be realistic, that would be met with a tantrum of tantrums and would only be a battle won, not the war. I pick and choose my parenting battles carefully. The word NO is important. It’s overuse will make it meaningless. I can’t have that. No, the war is with myself, not my child. It is about me finding peace and grace in the maddening mundane chaos. I have gone white water rafting in number 5 conditions. I have hiked mountains. I have performed for audiences of thousands. This, my friend, is much harder.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid (who is, indeed, NOT an asshole) is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo

Turning Two

You would think after having two years experience (that’s 730 days) of watching my child grow and develop, I would have come to terms with him inevitably getting older. I have not. I have made strides in the right direction (acceptance), but my heart still aches a bit with each inch and milestone he conquers.

O’s second birthday is approaching, and if I let myself breathe that all in, it could seriously knock the wind out of me. My husband has been asking me what’s wrong with me lately. He can tell something is “off.” I keep saying it’s my stomach. I just don’t feel right. Well, when something is bothering me, that’s where the stress goes. Right to my gut. I’ve not been purposely lying to him. I actually didn’t realize the correlation until I started writing this post. But that’s what’s “got” me. My baby is growing up and there is no way to stop the clock.

That’s not to say that I want to actually stop the clock. Of course not. I want to see him grow and thrive and become the man he is meant to be. It’s just the pangs of loss that hit me occasionally. Sometimes gently and sometimes like a smack across the face. Like now, as this 2 year marker approaches. I understand how precious this whole process is. The act of raising, caring for, and unconditionally loving this being that was created with such love. It is awesome and truly the best thing I have ever done in my life. And it’s all flying by so quickly. I believe this is one of the big reasons why people have more children. The feeling is so wonderful, at times, euphoric. Of course you want to make it last. So you have another. And maybe another. Unless you can’t. Unless it maybe just isn’t in the cards.

Ah, and there it is. The crux of the matter. I didn’t really think about O’s birthday coinciding with the end of our “have another baby” project. But the months have passed and with each one came a reminder that I’m not going to have another child. I promised I wouldn’t be upset. I promised. But as I sit here wiping away my tears, I’m finding my promise is proving to be empty, however well intentioned. I won’t let myself spiral into a dark place over it, however. I have far far too much to be thankful for to let that happen. But I think my not allowing sadness over it was a mistake. That’s a ridiculous notion, really. Not allowing sadness? It’s just silly. As if my heart has a choice. Ha.

So I’ll go on, filling my my mind and days with work and projects. I’ll spin more plates than usual, no doubt. But I will be aware of my particular sadness and honor it. And I suppose, if I need to cry, well then, I’ll cry. At least I won’t be denying my feelings. If you read my blog, you know that I believe everything happens the way it is supposed to. And I don’t believe in regrets. I believe in lessons. But this advanced maternal age mommy wishes perhaps she didn’t wait quite so long to have a child. Maybe there would have been time for another? A tough lesson to swallow in hindsight. But then, perhaps another child was never in the cards. You can really think it to death. Who really has time for that?

So as my little O gets ready to turn two, we will celebrate his time so far on this earth and the immense joy he brings us….with a Sesame Street theme, no less. We are having a combined birthday with his second cousin, Nora, who was born two days after him. Lots of Elmo and Abby Caddaby! Alphabet cookies, crayons and Cookie Monster fudge! I’ll take lots of pics for a fun party blog. And I won’t forget for a moment all that I have.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo

From Gucci To Gerber

Tales, Insights & Observations from an Advanced Maternal Age New Mother

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