A New Day

I have been grappling this week with what to write about. It is a familiar struggle, but sometimes it proves tougher than other times. I’m usually blocked because I have something on my mind that I feel perhaps I shouldn’t write about. Or maybe I don’t think anyone else would find it interesting. But censoring myself has never been a productive strategy. So here goes.

I have been very affected by the politics in our country lately. It feels as if the country is divided in a way that I have never seen in my life time. And it scares me. The hate filled, fear mongering rhetoric of a certain tiny hand candidate is appalling, divisive, and small minded. In my opinion, it has no place in the leadership of our country. The parties hateful sentiments do not represent my feelings. Not at all. But rather than write about The Ego with the bad comb-over, who already gets far far too much press, I want to talk about what inspires me. This past week, something amazing happened that moved me greatly, as a woman, a mother and a citizen of the world.

I know I am pretty sappy and have a tendency to get emotional over a Hallmark commercial, but I have to tell you that I was genuinely moved by the remarkable speech from our country’s First Lady, Michelle Obama at the DNC in Philadelphia. I know as a liberal it is assumed that I would be a fan of the First Lady, so I will skip the list of admirable traits I believe she embodies. (There are many). But what really got me was when she said how her daughters, and all our sons and daughters, could now take for granted that a woman could become President of the United States. That struck a chord in me. I realized, quite seriously, that history is being made before our very eyes.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to see Hamilton on Broadway. Beyond it being an incredible piece of theatre, I couldn’t help be struck by the poetic justice of watching an incredibly talented, racially diverse cast, portray our founding fathers. I suppose this must really ruffle the feathers of the David Dukes of the world. It’s funny, but the color of any actors skin didn’t really dawn on me until after the show. It made perfect sense that George Washington should be played by a handsome strapping black man. I was reminded that for all intents and purposes, we are all really immigrants. To say you are not is just inaccurate. I was reminded of the limitations women had to endure regardless of their intellect. In the words of the character Angelica Schuyler, “We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal, and when I meet Thomas Jefferson, I’m gonna compel him to include women in the sequel. Work!” The point is, we have come so so far. Why would we ever go backwards? It defies logic. At least to this mommy it does.

This morning I was watching the highlights of the democratic convention. I watched, and re-watched, a woman of 102 years of age, who was born before women could vote, officially report Arizona delegates for Hillary Rodham Clinton for President of the United States. It doesn’t matter what you think of Secretary Clinton. You can love her. You can hate her. But the shattering of that glass ceiling is undeniable and has changed us forever. I suppose if you are against her, you might deny its significance. But in my opinion, you’d be denying reality. I will not get into a debate with anyone regarding Hilz. I won’t change your mind and you won’t change mine. But this is my blog and #ImWithHer, if you hadn’t noticed.

The future of our society, that will be our children’s and their children’s society, is changing. My son will not know of a time when a woman could be considered less important or less capable…and that’s huge. It is so much bigger than Bozo the Clown’s ego. I have a friend who has a daughter who is O’s age. She is especially energized about this new day and all it will mean for her daughter. But I truly think it is something for parents of girls and boys to celebrate. There is hope this week. There is a beacon of light shining through. And as things seem to be going these days, I’m gonna hang onto it.

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. Work!

P.S. I ordered my Hilary For President shirts for Me and O. Watch out world! Photos to follow.

Slow Down, Mommy

Do you ever feel like things are just moving too fast? Like you just can’t keep up the pace? Does your “To Do” list overwhelm you? We all have legitimate things that keep our bodies and minds on the go. I have been in that mode lately. Add to it the crazy things happening in our world lately and it’s enough to make anyone go into hiding. I handle it, until I just can’t anymore. And that’s what has happened.

In a rare moment of quiet (at yoga class, which has been a challenge to get to lately) I realized the frantic pace I have been maintaining. It took the merry-go-round stopping for me to really understand how severe my situation gets at times. I set my intention for the class. I decided to commit to slowing down. I focused on my breath. Simple. Slow. By the end of the class my teacher reminded us of the intention we set for ourselves at the beginning of the hour. She urged us to try to carry that with us into the world for as long as we could. So that is what I decided to do. I am slowing down. This isn’t some silly lark juice fast here, but rather a serious necessity. If I don’t slow down I will hit a wall. And that can’t be good for me or my family.

This is not an easy thing for me to do. My usual mode has me spinning several plates at a time while I plan my next 20 projects. When I get over done….you can just imagine the hyper speed I am functioning at. Or failing to function at, which is what brings about a crash. So, anyway, the strategy is small simple steps for me. Breathing. Taking my time. Doing one thing at a time (very challenging for this type A mommy). Enjoying the moment (especially with O and my husband). And remembering that there are things that I like to partake in, not because they have to get done, but because I enjoy doing them.

So I am making jam. Raspberry jam from our garden. You might laugh and think how ridiculous. Go ahead. I’ve made several pies already, but the jam is my favorite. It is something to savor into the autumn and winter. It is a gift to give neighbors and friends. And for me, this summer, it signifies my struggle to slow down. I realized the other day that summer is half over and I don’t feel like it even started yet. What kind of deluded fog have I been in? To say my husband and I have a lot our plates is an understatement. But it is all the more reason to slow down when we are faced with challenges. It’s things like working in the garden. Or listening to the rain hit the skylight. It’s sitting on the kitchen floor reading to O in the middle of making dinner. It’s the smell of our babies hair and the warmth of his breath when he cuddles next to us. It’s looking into my Love’s eyes after a long day and really seeing him. It’s letting him know without words that he is loved and safe in our relationship. All these things require slowing down. They take time and connection. Without these moments of meaning, our lives are just moments that are unacknowledged. A kind of going through the motions.

It’s funny…the older I get the clearer it becomes to me. The moments in my life that speak out to me as defining and full of passion and truth, are the simplest ones. I have a vivid simple memory from years ago that I look at now and know it was a defining moment. It was years before my husband and I got married. We were visiting as friends, and I remember him driving me in his jeep. We were listening to music, just driving to nowhere, and he put his hand in mine. I remember looking down and seeing our hands together and knowing that it felt so right. I knew then, it was right. So much in that simple quiet moment. Life is funny like that.

So….slow it is. For as long as I can do it. Who knows, maybe it will become habit for me. A way of life, even? And if I fall off the wagon, well then I’ll just have to get back up on the slow ride. Cause it’s not just me anymore. I have a husband and child who need me there. Fully present. Fully focused. And happy. Oh yes, happy. Covered in raspberry jam happy.

Until next time, I’ll be moving at a snail’s pace. Keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thank you so much for reading. Xo

WE DON’T DO THAT

I have finally sat down from a day of days. Trying to get O out of the house this morning to get to a car service appointment was like pulling teeth. It’s hot and muggy, so THAT doesn’t help matters. We get to the Kia dealership and for a second time, the playroom for use while you wait with your child, was filthy. Nasty filthy. Sorry Kia, not impressed! Anyway, O was being really good, so I figured while I was on the other side of hell’s creation, we would go to an indoor play area that he loves at the Mall. This is where my rant begins.

As a parent, when I take my child to a play area, playground, you name it, my first priority is to watch my child. On occasion, I have met a friend at a playground, and while we try to chat and catch up, we both have our eyes on our children. We are consistent with guiding our children in play. You know, the basic stuff. Wait your turn…no pushing…no grabbing. This is the mom I want to be friends with. You know why? Cause this Mom understands that a trip to the mall play area isn’t time off for her. It’s not “let’s check my Facebook on my phone and tune out for a few minutes.” Trust me, I know how much we all want some time to ourselves. I am the first one to say it. But this isn’t the time.

Taking your child to a group play area is an opportunity to teach your child how to interact socially with others, through play! I am not talking about helicoptering. I’m talking about guiding when it is clear your child does not know which road to take. If I saw my son push past another child to go first down the slide, I would take him aside and explain that we don’t do that. By WE I mean, a civil kind society, does not do that! If my child just grabbed a toy from another child on the playground, I would explain, yet again, that we don’t do that! We do not just take from others. We can ask if we may use the toy…or if we may take a turn. But we do not just take! What hope do our children have in this world without some guidance?

I have taught O to wait his turn. I have taught him not to go down the slide until it’s all clear. I have taught him that we don’t grab or push. I am under NO illusion that these “rules for play” won’t need to be reiterated time and time again with him. Of course they will. He is two. And he is a child. It is not any child’s fault for their behavior, lack of manners or lack of restraint. They are children. It is not their job to remember the things that will serve them as they grow up in this world. It is the job of the parent to remind them (again and again) until it becomes the child’s second nature.

I was so freaking annoyed at the play area today. Countless parents tuned out, letting their entitled children push past others. Some Moms were hovering, but more engaged in chatting with their mommy friends. I get it. We are starved for connection with another adult. Especially one going through the same trials and tribulations. But your child has decided to continuously walk up the slide and block it while other children are waiting to go down. He is completely disregarding other children; ones that are much younger and smaller than he is. He is now lying on the slide completely blocking its path. This is going on now for a bit of time. You do realize that you can say NO to your child, right? I’m not saying you have to go all Joan Crawford on your kid, but at least a gentle reminder that we don’t do that! Do you really think you are helping your children by not giving them guidance? Do you somehow think you are letting them find their way organically on their own? Or…are you just so unaware and ignorant that you think pushing and taking are good? I tell you, I am still shaking my head.

I have been alarmed at the behavior of parents of all ages, races and socioeconomic backgrounds. This epidemic of lack of respect is a wide spread problem. This sense of entitlement being embedded into children’s minds is happening right there on the playground. It’s plain as day to anyone tuned into it. And parents are just sitting back, checking their phones and letting it grow like the social cancer it is.

Yes, I’m pissed. Cause it’s right in front of me. The problem and the solution.

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.

The Truth Of The Matter

I am sat on a plane flying solo. I’m headed to Florida to take care of some business. I’ll be away from O for 3 days. I’ve done it before. In fact, you might remember, I wrote a blog post about it. I thought leaving him this time would be easier for the sheer fact that I have done it before. But this time it was harder. Much harder. I savored everything about the day we spent together yesterday. I held him tighter when I put him to bed last night.

Recent events in our world make me want to hold him tight and not let go. As if the mass shooting in Orlando was not horrific enough, I then hear about the 2 year old who was snatched up by an alligator at a Walt Disney World resort. His body recovered almost 24 hours later. The nightmarish details are haunting me. A little boy like O. Same age. No doubt, just as inquisitive and just as obsessed with water. Like most any 2 year old boy.

I’ve been to that resort. I’ve been on that beach front. Not in a million years would I ever think that an alligator would be something I’d have to think about. And at night, you would never have seen such a threat. Not even if it was right in front of you. I lived in Florida. I’ve seen many alligators. In my opinion, this wasn’t negligence on the parents part at all. Something like that would be off of anyone’s radar in that setting. I remember back in the 70’s and early 80’s when my parents took us to stay at Disney World, there was actually swimming allowed in that same body of water. We used to water ski in the adjacent Bay Lake. I’m telling you, I would have thought nothing of O wading in the edge of that water. But yet, the threat became a reality for that family. I can’t even wrap my head around the horror.

As a parent, our instinct is to shield, protect and hold tight. At times like these, the instinct is to hold tighter. I have a friend, who in response to the latest gun violence, said she wanted to keep her family in a bubble. I get it. But, of course, it is an impossibility. At some point we have to loosen the grip. At some point we have to hope that the example we set for our child will serve him as he makes his way in the world. Eventually, years from now, God willing, he will soar all on his own, hopefully towards great things and profound happiness. He won’t always be able to hold my hand and I won’t always be able to protect him.

One of the hardest things to swallow about the tragedies of this week, is that, while some tragedies, like the one in Orlando, are man made and preventable, some tragedies are a force of nature and completely unpredictable. You might say, well it could have been avoided. Well, perhaps, if the parents were holding their child tightly, not letting him explore his surroundings. And even then maybe not. But I don’t parent that way. With a watchful eye and often at a small distance, we let O explore. We believe it is important for his development and his intellect. I can tell you, honestly, we could have been in the same scenario as that family from Nebraska. I have cried real tears for those parents. My heart truly aches for them.

I guess the crazy thing to take away from all of this is that no day is promised. We are not entitled to anything more than the moment we are in. As a singleton, I always tried to embrace that ideology. But as a parent, it is a tough idea to digest. We want everything for our child and that includes a bright future. But none of it is guaranteed. That is the truth of the matter. You can scream and shout, you can fight the gun lobby, you can restrict your child from the world, you can hold them so tight they can’t move or you can choose to do nothing. We all have a choice. What we don’t have is a guarantee. Yes, that is the truth.

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 God bless.

Raising A Son To Revere Strong Women

This week I am barraged with stories in the news that make me reflect on how we as a society view women. And I am taken aback. I am perplexed. Saddened. Annoyed. Worried. You would have to live in a hole not to be aware of the Stanford freshman who was convicted of raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster and was sentenced to only 6 months in jail followed by probation. The crime and details of the trial were abhorrent. Then his father wrote a letter of support to the court that was completely dismissive of his son’s behavior. He actually says that a prison sentence is “A steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action.” He is clearly oblivious. It isn’t overly shocking that his son chose the abusive path he did. I think, what are we teaching our children about respect? Equality? And where are we going wrong?

I look at the headlines regarding our presumptive democratic nominee for President, Hillary Clinton. It’s not just a lack of respect, but actual hate that swarms around her, taking shots at her every turn. The woman has a coat of armor thicker than any man I’ve ever seen. If she was a man, it is a coat of armor that would be admired and revered. But she’s a woman. So she’s a she-devil, not to be trusted, a bitch. It’s the double standard magnified a hundred times. And both men AND women buy into it. I ask you, What are we teaching our kids? Are women not allowed to be strong? As a woman, don’t you want to be smart, strong, and an equal? And, if you are a man, don’t you want a partner who is strong, capable, and your equal? And if you don’t, why not? There is something wrong with the message we are accepting in our society about women and their worth. And I’m taking a stab in the dark here, but it seems to me, the message is perpetuated by those threatened by strong women.

Is it possible that many in our society, men and women alike, are more comfortable with the traditional roles that men and women take on? The woman standing beside her man, supporting him from the sidelines. It’s a non threatening picture, isn’t it? Maybe the dominant female figure is just too uncomfortable for folks. So when a woman puts on a pantsuit, speaks her mind and decides to run for president, it messes up our feng shui. Or when a woman gets sexually assaulted on a college campus (while unconscious) there is sympathy for the rapist, because “his life will never be the one that he dreamed about and worked so hard to achieve.” In what world is that thought process ok? What about the victim? To be clear, I am talking about the woman. What about the impact this horrific act has had on her life? There are still people who believe, however quietly, that women who have been raped, have somehow “asked” for it. During the trial the poor girl was asked what she wore to the party that night. The fact that the question was even posed is proof we are a long long way from gender equality. It disgusts me.

So as a mother of a boy, what can I do to instill a sense of decency, respect and understanding in my child? How do we teach him to treat women as equals, yet educate him on the nuances of females? I’m talking about those minute, and sometimes huge, differences that, at times, make us women seem like another species all together. Equals, but opposites. It seems pretty straight forward in theory. Certainly no mother intends on raising a rapist. So where does it go wrong?

Even at O’s young age of two, people have said in his presence, “Boys will be boys!” That sentiment will surely grow and follow him. It is up to us to define that for him and keep him in balance. I see the way little boys play on the playground and how they are encouraged to be aggressive and tough. It’s just sort of accepted. I don’t love it. There is a sense of entitlement drilled into children in our country these days. There seems to be a lack of the word “NO” in many children’s everyday life. Maybe this is where it begins. I want it, so I should have it. I want it, so I’ll take it. It happens on the playground and I see, many times, it go undetected or completely dismissed. Boys will be boys.

I don’t know what lies ahead in our country. I shudder to think of the possibilities. But this lack of acceptance and complete disregard for other people is just not ok with me. It shouldn’t be ok with anyone. What can we do? As parents we can invoke the change we want to see in our society…with our own child. Sometimes parenting requires the word “No.” We need to love our children enough to say “No, that’s not yours.” Or “No. You can’t do that.” My two year old already knows the phrase “That is unacceptable behavior.” I fear many adults have forgotten it.

Mostly, we need to love our son and teach him the dignity of the body, and how to live through disappointment and confusion. We need to teach our son how to navigate confusing feelings, and how to separate feelings from action. We need to teach him how to communicate and listen. We need to define for him what it is to be a man, because we clearly can’t leave that to the media or public figures. We need to impress upon him that his worth doesn’t come from what he has and takes. O’s biggest influence will be watching how his father treats his mother. And how his mother can be a strong woman who is respected and loved by her husband for her strength and capability. How female strength is not something to be threatened by, or something to be squelched, but rather something to seek in a life partner.

I have a feeling in the coming months leading up to the national election, the attack on the strong female figure will be unlike anything we have ever seen. The language, I’m sure, will be base, crass and dismissive. I highly doubt the buffoon with the bad comb over will choose a different fighting style. I can only imagine what the fallout will be. If you think that kind of sexism on a national platform has no bearing on the way men view women or how women view themselves, you are kidding yourself. Somewhere in the ignorant mind of some entitled teenager, the words spewed by an entitled demagogue, will validate his delusions. If you think it’s just about Hillary, it’s not. It’s about all of us.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll be holding my breath till November. Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo

If The Shoe Fits

I was getting X-rays done at the dentist yesterday. Carol, the dental assistant who cleans my teeth and takes said X-rays, was making chit chat. Of course, when you have a toddler who is in the waiting room with Daddy, the small talk tends to be about your child. In this case, O’s presence in the office seemed to bring up some nostalgia for Carol. She started to tell me, as most people do, how fast it all goes. How he will be 21 before I know it. And then she said, “What I wouldn’t give to hold my son as that little infant again.” She cradled her arms and for a second I could see her newborn baby right there in her mind’s eye. She said it was her favorite time of being a mother. I assured her I was enjoying each moment with O….and just smiled. But, I’ll be honest with you, my heart was aching a bit.

I wanted to be able tell her that I could relate. I wanted to say, ” I know the feeling.” But I didn’t know the feeling. When O was a newborn, I couldn’t stop crying. I would hold him in my arms and cry. A lot of that time is truly a blur to me. I had an impulse to share with her my bout with post partum blues, but I didn’t want to rain on her memory and make it about me. I just smiled. But inside I knew I missed something apparently very special with my son in the first several weeks of his life. Something I’ll never get back. Hence, the ache in my heart.

Now I’ve talked a lot about post partum depression and shared most every detail of my story with my readers. So you know that my situation was short lived (thank God). And I am certainly not harping on the past. What’s done is done. I can’t change any of it and I can’t get that time back. I have not beat myself up over it for quite some time now. But, it is important to me that I acknowledge the feeling of loss, however minute it may be perceived to be. With out acknowledging the darkness I was in, I can’t fully appreciate the joy and light I am basking in now. Does that make any sense?

My conversation with this woman was such a sweet memory for her and a true reminder for me to be grateful for where I am presently. I think back to that time and I feel like a completely different person now. It was like I didn’t know how to even walk in the shoes of that new mother. I just hobbled along, stumbling (and crying). And now, I feel so sure footed….like I am sprinting through fields of gold. It’s as if these Mommy Shoes were meant for me. Like they were in my wardrobe all the time, I just didn’t realize it. I guess that is a lot of shoe references. I can’t really even tell you how I wound up here in this amazing place, except that I had the unending support of my husband and I kept putting one foot in front of the other. One day at a time.

O is napping. I sit here in my favorite writing spot in the house. The skylight above me allows the sunshine to stream in onto my lap. There are toy trucks and cars strewn about the sectional. And outside I can hear bees buzzing and buds opening. I’m not missing a thing.

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. Always. Xo

Depression: The Family Thief

Once again, I have crunched my way into avoidance. Anything to delay the writing. It’s funny, because tactics to avoid writing only come into play when the topic is of a difficult nature. This is not some “Aha!” moment for me. It’s pretty textbook, really. We tend to avoid the uncomfortable difficult conversations. My bowl of popcorn, dried peas and blue corn chips are pure proof of my discomfort. By the way, my snacks are organic so that means they are good for me, right? Yeah, didn’t think so…they are just less bad. Well, that’s something.

I’ve been harboring this topic for a while. I’m not even sure how I want to explore it. It is intensely personal. Painstakingly difficult and heartbreakingly close to me. I’m talking about depression. Now I’ve shared quite a lot about my bout with postpartum blues after I had O. What I’m talking about now is the depression I have lived with for as long as I can remember. I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about my mother. It certainly has affected me my whole life…but now, as a mother myself, it brings up a whole other set of feelings.

Depression has robbed my mother of so much in her lifetime. And that is sad enough. But it has stolen as much from those of us who love her, as well. And now it continues to steal from the relationship she could have with my son. If you have never seen someone through the darkness of depression you might not understand. She loves him, undeniably. And he is over the moon for his Oma. But her sickness keeps her from spending any real time with him. It keeps her hidden away in the darkness of her slumber instead of enjoying her grandson. It has taken all possibilities of joy from her, even when they are right in front of her. It would be easy to blame the person. But I know enough after all this time, it is the illness. And when medications cease to work, it is a deep dark place she goes to. To say my heart is heavy is an understatement.

I want O to know my mother. The mother that I know. The glimpses of the real her are few and far between these days. And the truth of the matter is, she is now elderly. Depression seems to wreak havoc on an older person’s body at an exponential pace. The less one does when they are older, the less they actually can do. Bones soften and muscles atrophy through lack of use. It’s tough to make a comeback at 79. Especially when there is no end to the darkness in sight. It is brutal. The reality is that O will have the memories he has, because he doesn’t know her any other way than the way she is now. But for the rest of us, it is hard. Especially for my father.

I am writing about this not just to express my personal upset, but to raise some awareness about depression and how it affects not just the afflicted, but the entire family. There are two types of depression that I am aware of. Circumstantial and chemical. The latter, as in my mother’s case, is the trickier to remedy. A person might find a medicine that works beautifully, but after time, it begins to lose its effect and depression can set back in. The dosage is usually increased and enhancers are added, which can make for some scary side effects. Or a new drug might be prescribed and the whole acclamation period starts again, sometimes only to find out the drug isn’t a good fit. Back to square one. I can see how a patient could be despondent about their recovery.

What I know is that depression can be genetic. It can run a cycle that affects generation after generation. My maternal grandmother, though I never knew her, was agoraphobic. Anxiety runs in my family. Anxiety untreated snowballs into depression. With all that I have learned about depression, I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow that path. The madness must stop with me. Parents pass on their anxiety to their children everyday. It is unconscious and usually the fallout doesn’t rear its ugly head until the child is in their teens. But it doesn’t have to be. Seek help early. As minor as your anxiety or depression might be. Seek help. If not for yourself, then for your family. If you suffer from circumstantial depression (divorce, job loss, death of a loved one)…seek help. Your family needs you. You have a spouse, a son or daughter, a grandchild who needs YOU.

I always say that things happen the way they are supposed to. I’ve always been a believer of “If it is meant to be, then it will be.” My life is a testament to that adage. I was certainly lucky enough to have my child at the age of 44. But what I never thought of was how old my parents would be when I had him. (That’s a whole other post.). So let me finish up by saying I miss my mother. There are days when I need her more than she could ever fathom. There are days when I need her guidance and parenting wisdom. There are days when I just need to hear her tell me she loves me. To know that she is here, yet not really here, is just cruel and breaks my heart. Everyday.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thank you so much for reading. Xoxo

Lucky Mommy

St. Patrick’s day is this week, or as I like to call it, Irish Day. I call it that for no other reason than my brain can’t seem to remember St. Patrick’s name. Perhaps I shouldn’t be as lucky as I turned out to be? But if my research is right, the day isn’t just about the anniversary of the death of a Saint but about celebrating Ireland. Irish Day will do!

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I count myself VERY fortunate in pretty much ALL areas of my life. I use such words as blessed, grateful and lucky with abandon. I’m like a broken record when it comes to Gratitude. But when I think about it, being grateful isn’t about having luck. Yet, I know that I am lucky to be grateful. Does that make sense? It’s like the chicken and the egg thing. Are you grateful because your life is full? Or is your life full because you are grateful? I hold firm in the belief that our perspective on our lives is everything. One woman’s bliss is another woman’s nightmare. And so it goes.

It’s like when you read those affirmations on social media explaining life in 10 words or less. The secret to having it all is believing that you do. That one is my favorite. While I make fun of it being posted all over Pinterest, I actually believe the sentiment wholeheartedly. Someone might look at my life and think “Oh God! Who would want that?” But for me? It’s perfection. It’s funny, because this is coming from a girl who always looked over her shoulder, wondering if the grass was greener somewhere else. But now, while the reality of my actual lawn is bare patches and grubs, figuratively, it is the lushest lawn in the land. Instead of looking over my shoulder, these days I gaze in wonder at my amazing husband and our beautiful son and I thank my lucky stars.

I know I have abundance in my life. And I know I don’t have certain challenges that many people face. But I certainly have a healthy share of challenges and road blocks in my life. The point is, everyone has their cross to bear. We all have something. Because that is Life. The good and the bad. It’s all about how we handle what we are given. How we react. In fact, our reactions are the only things we actually can control in our life. The choice is ours. The glass is either half full or half empty.

I have spent my life around enough “half empty” people to know its not a path I’d like to follow. I prefer to believe my cup runneth over. I choose the wonder of rainbows and the possibility of pots of gold. I prefer to drink in and savor every moment with my husband and son. My life with them is a happiness I had only heard about until I was fortunate enough to experience it myself. So am I lucky? Aye…..I believe that I am. And that makes it so.

Until next time, may the road rise up to meet you, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thank you so much for reading! Xo

Where Is My Village?

We’ve all heard the saying, “It takes a village.” In regards to raising a child, it is certainly a true adage. Why then, oh why, do so many of us move away from our “village?” What is it about American culture that makes us think a job or the price of real estate is more important than familial ties? I’m not saying those things aren’t important, but are they the priority? Really? There is a type of impetus in the American youth to venture far away. Cross country to college. Job searching across the nation. I’m certainly not judging, because what did I do? I grew up in New Jersey, but bought a home in Florida. It was before I was married and had O. My rationale was that I was only 2 hours by plane. And I certainly did spend quite a lot of time up North with my family. But I was quite happy with my little life I created there all on my own. But after having O, I acquired a totally different perspective on things.

If it hadn’t been for my husband, I don’t know that we would have moved back North when we did. Luckily, he had the wisdom and foresight (and job offer) to see the importance of being close to family and the value of raising O somewhere steeped in history. We are not in New Jersey near my family, but at least we are a short distance from my husband’s. And the drive to NJ is about 5 hours, making it do-able. I am so grateful for being close to his tribe, but I have to tell you, the older I get, the more I miss my side of the family. I miss the closeness I remember. I miss my brothers and my parents. I miss a lot of things that used to be. I think that might be something that comes with age.

Why don’t families just live all together like they do in some other countries. In European and South American countries you can have three generations living under the same roof. Talk about a village! Why is that concept so unacceptable to main stream America these days? Why are we so eager to be separate? Do we feel we will lose our independence if we combine our efforts? It doesn’t have to cramp our style. Personally I think the pros far out weigh the cons.

My Mother-in-law is selling her house and while she looks for another, she will be staying with us. I’m actually busting with excitement about it. How wonderful for little O! How wonderful for all of us! I would love it if she just decided to stay indefinitely. Why go buying another house when we have enough room for all of us? She is worried she will be imposing on us, but nothing could be further from the truth. But she is still young, vibrant and beautiful. If my psychic friend is right, she will be meeting someone special this summer. She obviously wants SOME privacy. But in truth, nothing would make me happier than having a house full of loved ones.

Perhaps I am an oddball. So be it. But what I do know for sure is the number of people who love and watch over my son can never be too many. It makes me sad that I have a niece and 2 nephews I hardly know. I have a brother who’s day to day life is more unknown to me than the life of my new mommy friend I just met. It’s unsettling. And it’s all due to distance. Let’s face it, family takes effort. And any long distance relationship takes uber effort. A long distance family relationship where everyone is busy busy? You’re lucky if you talk twice a year. It’s really sad.

It doesn’t mean that you can’t be close with family just because you live far from each other. But effort needs to be given. And it needs to be reciprocated. Alternately, you can live in the next town and never see your clan. Which sadly is the case for many. It is perplexing to me, but I suppose family stuff can be complicated. I wonder how many of us, who have moved away from our families, ask ourselves, “Where is my village?” Where is our support system? Where are the connections to family I want for my child? Well, I can tell you, I am grateful for our proximity to our family. And equally grateful for the effort made by family who remain a daily part of my life despite any distance. One of the deepest connections I have is with my cousin who lives in NJ. I guess that proves that your village can span the miles if you want it to.

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

Yogi Mommy

With a dance background, the physical aspects of yoga have come quite easily to me. Although I am not quite as flexible as I was before the birth of O, I maintain a level of flexibility that is well above average. I stretch every day, knowing that one day, if I don’t use it, I’ll lose it. Which leads me to the reason I began taking yoga class. It’s funny, I started going to yoga because I wanted to feel more in shape. But it has done more for my mindset and psyche than anything else. And strangely, it helps me to be a better Mom. That hour of time that is “just for me” pays off ten fold in every other area of my life.

More than anything else I do for myself in any given week (which, let’s face it, isn’t a lot these days) this one special hour is personal and parenting gold. It fuels me with positivity and calm. It lets me, unapologetically, breathe for myself. For a whole hour. Before I had O, I would not have understood the importance of that. I guess I took the idea of “breathing for myself” for granted. Before O, extreme self care was instinctual. But becoming a mother has changed all my instincts. My first thought these days is to take care of O. What can I provide for him? Are his needs being met? But what I have learned, 21 months into this parenting journey, is that caring for myself is equally important. Now, I understand the concept of “breathing for myself,” not just in the context of being a mother, or a woman, but of being human. It is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

Oh it sounds so La Dee Da, Organic Crunchy Granola. So be it. I don’t care. It works. I don’t need all the massages, manicures and pedicures I once indulged in. I don’t need the vapid shopping sprees or endless “me” time. I need an hour. An hour of mindful meditative physical commitment.

It’s simple once I get there. It’s just that sometimes the “getting there” isn’t so easy. Working it around my husband’s work day, getting dinner started, feeding the baby, etc. It can be a bit of an obstacle course just getting out of the house. But they are hoops I’m happy to jump through to get to my slice of positive pie. In truth, it isn’t that tough, we just don’t have it down yet. It disturbs our regular routine, so it seems like a whirlwind when I leave, but it will soon become part of our rhythm.

As I see and feel the benefits of this magic hour, I now realize I don’t just want it. I need it. I swear, it gives me a sense of peace and strength to get through the week. It gets me right in the head. It aligns my body. It wakes up parts of my body (and soul) that I have been neglecting. I have more patience. I am more creative. I have more to give both my son AND my husband. I am a better mom, a better wife and, dare I say, a better person. All because of yoga! It makes me laugh, because it sounds so silly, but anyone who practices yoga knows the serious life benefits it possesses.

To be honest, I’m sure it doesn’t have to be Yoga. You could meditate. You could hike. You could cycle. Whatever floats your boat. For me, yoga is a perfect fit. I would never turn down a solo nature hike, but I just can’t make that work on a weekly basis with our schedules. So yoga it is. And I could not be happier. I guess if there was one thing I would want to share with a new mother it would be the idea that self care is not selfish. It seems obvious. But to a new mother, it isn’t. It just isn’t.

I’ll leave you with something my yoga teacher says at the end of class. I wish you peace in your thoughts, peace in your words, and peace in your heart. Until next time, be good to yourself, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is messing it up. Thanks for reading. Namaste! Xo

From Gucci To Gerber

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

Wise Words?