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

I Choose Us

I write a lot about extreme self care and metaphorically putting on your mask before you help those around you. Breathing for yourself so you can be a better mom. As a mother, a huge theme of mine is survival. Motherhood is an awesome, all consuming job, that doesn’t have an end to the work day. Our brains don’t get to shut off and decompress during most days. I am “on” 24/7, even when my husband is home. It’s certainly not for lack of help from him. He is a full hands on Dad. It’s just my Mommy mode. It’s like sleeping with one eye open. I never get to forget I have a child. Not that I would want to, but you get what I’m saying. I have come to realize that my survival plan is short sighted. It doesn’t encompass the big picture.

And so, it occurs to me, sometimes it is not all about MY survival. Nor is it about baby coming first all the time. It’s about the survival of our family. All of us. As a wife, who truly wants and loves this equal partnership I am in, I realize it is not only important, but imperative to sometimes put my partners needs before all else. Yes, I just said that. Before baby and before me. I find that I do a lot to keep myself in balance. I make a conscious effort to seek beauty and positivity every day. I take walks with O. We have adventures and stories and cuddles. It doesn’t always have to be “only me” time to be “me” time. Sometimes my efforts fail me, and that’s when I need assistance, like any normal being.

My husband’s career can’t exactly be called “me” time for him. Although he loves it, it is stressful. And let’s face it, the man is doing it to provide for his family. After all, it is called work. So when does he get to slow down and breathe for himself? He could go to yoga, but that’s never gonna happen. The point is that sometimes we fall out of balance because I am in need of some self care and sometimes we fall out of balance because he is in need of the same. It is my job (and privilege) to help him with that. (Yes, I said privilege and I’ll get back to that.). If it means that I have to give up some of my “only me” time to provide for him, then so be it. Maybe I miss my yoga….when I am in balance, it’s not going to wreck me. I know I’m stronger than that.

You see, to me, the bigger picture is O having two happy, healthy parents who are enjoying raising their child together and who are enjoying their loving partnership. It is about him witnessing a relationship that gives, supports and loves. The stronger we are as a couple, the more secure he will be. The more love he sees, the more he will want to give. I have to look at it like we are the foundation of our family life. If the foundation is cracked (regardless of where the crack lies) our family is on shaky ground. If we are solid, there is no limit to what we (and he) can build upon it.

I say it is my privilege to help my husband, because I am so lucky to have him as my partner. I am not only blessed to share this life with a someone…but with the someone who I truly believe I am meant to be with. There are so many people in this world longing for companionship, for love, for another. I am privileged to take this journey with a beautiful human being….I will not take that for granted.

I often say that O is our world. But in truth it is our family that holds the key to happiness. I can’t be fully happy if my partner is hurting or suffering in any way. As independent as we both are, we work as a unit, not as two independent entities. Our individual balances, triumphs and struggles affect us all. That is what the commitment to partnership means. So I don’t choose ME. I don’t choose O. I choose Us. Every time.

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 so much for reading. Xo

My Name Is Mommy

I am continually discovering on this journey of motherhood. Even at my “advanced maternal age” I learn something new about myself everyday. I constantly have those moments when I go,” Aha! That is why Moms do that!” Things I used to roll my eyes at now make sense. This constant learning curve certainly keeps this mother humble.

One of the things that used to make me cringe, was a husband and wife calling each other Mommy and Daddy. I have always thought that was really ridiculous. It reminded me of baby talk in a way, and I just couldn’t stomach it. Well this is the perfect case of having to go through it to understand it.

Last week little O walked up to me and said, clear as day, “Hey Mare!” I thought to myself “huh?” He said it again (in case I missed it) and turned and walked away in search of a truck. My 22 month old son was calling me by my nickname. Like a little version of my husband. “Hey Mare!”

Now I shouldn’t be shocked. Of course he hears my husband call me Mare. But then it dawned on me. THAT is why parents call each other Mommy and Daddy!! Hello, Mommy!? Duh! It’s not because there is some weird baby talk fetish at work….it’s because a toddler will repeat EVERYTHING he hears, including inappropriate expletives and, of course, our first names.

Let me tell you, try as hard as you may to mind your P’s & Q’s, a toddler will undoubtedly pick up the words you absolutely don’t want him to hear. It will be the ONE time you slip because shards of fiber glass are shooting into your fingers while you are carelessly throwing something away and your toddler sits watching in his wagon. Doesn’t everyone say “Fudge You!” to inanimate objects? Except I didn’t say Fudge, did I? Nope. If only. Hang out with us enough, and the actual phrase can be heard coming from my son. He really captured my inflection perfectly, I might add. We decided at first not to acknowledge it and now we pretend he is saying “vacuum” (stress on the second syllable). I kid you not.

The point is, my name is now Mommy. My husband is Daddy. My Mother-in-law is Grammy and so it goes. Every day the ridiculousness of parenting becomes more and more my norm. Spelling things out absolutely happens in our house…you can’t say the word s-n-a-c-k until it’s actually happening. No one needs that kind of melt down. I tell you, I get it now. It’s all out of necessity. And we are not alone in it. People with kids around O’s age or a bit older are all in the same boat. The same leaky boat. We are patching up the holes with chewing gum, scotch tape, or whatever we can find to make due, to survive the day. The scary part is that we are only just entering the toddler trenches. The combat has only begun. This M-O-M needs a N-A-P. Signing out. Over and out.

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

Parenting and Privacy

It dawned on me this morning, as I was sitting on the commode, that I will most likely not have any privacy for the next 4-5 years. Maybe more? Oye. It was not hard to come to this conclusion. As I was trying to expedite my morning “ritual,” my son pushes his way into the downstairs powder room, book in hand. “Hi!” He likes to announce himself as he enters pretty much any room. He is uber curious about anything having to do with the potty, so he is instantly intrigued. I’m like, “buddy, mommy needs some privacy.” Of course, this request has no affect on little O. He is at this point climbing over me to get to the toilet paper. I somehow direct him out and keep the door ajar enough to keep an eye on him.

No sooner than I sigh, he is back. This time pushing his Thomas the Tank riding toy into the tiny room like a bulldozer. There is barely enough room for the two of us and the heavy door that swings into the room, let alone a push toy singing songs of Thomas and his friends. I drop my head into my hands. This is my life. My glamorous life. Pooping in front of my child and Thomas the Tank. All Aboard!

I share this moment of Too Much Information, because I need to know….it happens to all of us who are home with our children, right? We ALL don’t have privacy, correct? I’m sure there are moms and dads who have the means to have an au pair or a nanny to assist….but for the most part, the breech of privacy is universal. Right? Cause if it isn’t, what am I doing wrong? I can’t seem to justify locking myself into the bathroom for vanity’s sake. Do you know what kind of havoc could occur in the five or ten minutes I might not have my eye on our little explorer? It is not a viable option. I am left to think my only recourse is to grin and bear it.

I can only imagine how our lack of privacy will expand as O gets older. But the truth of the matter is – I’ll take it. If it’s part of the deal of getting to raise this little guy, then, by all means, pooping with Thomas and friends is a small price to pay. It just strikes me that we stay-at-home parents really have some odd things that just become our normal. You just don’t think about it until you are in the moment. I guess our sense of humor and our incredible love for our child gets us through everything.

Here’s to parenting and a lack of privacy! Cheers! 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

Touching Hearts

“The passion of touch warms the heart.”

My yoga teacher said that last night in class and it stuck with me. It made me think about how we, as humans, need to be touched. It isn’t learned. It is instinctual. And it isn’t a sexual thing. Sometimes we just need to be hugged, rubbed, or caressed. Simple as that.

I see it with my little O. He can be playing, happy as a clam, and he will walk over to me, come in for a hug and then go about his business. It’s like a vitamin for him. I believe that I can’t hug and kiss him enough. Especially at this age, when he still wants me to. He needs it. It’s clear. It makes him happy and secure.

I don’t know if that need evaporates when we get older, but the context of touch certainly changes. It becomes something we are super aware of. If we mistakenly touch a stranger, we are embarrassed and apologetic. We are taught that touch is something we only do with people we are close to…and then it changes to something romantic and becomes gender related. Women can hug other women, or a man. Men generally only hug women they are romantic with (or related to) and tend to shake the hand of another male. Shaking the hand of someone, while technically touching, doesn’t quite have the warming effect a hug provides. Do men really need less “contact” or is that just what society tells them? Whatever the case is, physical contact, human to human is pretty limited these days. It’s strange and sad, really.

When was the last time you hugged someone? I mean really hugged? Not a polite hug. That, to me, is a glorified handshake. It’s like the “air kiss.” Pointless. Well, not pointless, but you know what I mean. I’m talking about a true full body, 4-8 second hug? My Aunt Ellie always gave me great hugs. She would say, “touching hearts” while we were in a full embrace. She’s been gone almost five years now and I can still feel the warmth of her touch. Granted, we were very close. But I would venture to say she made many other people feel just as special as she always made me feel. I’d like to be more like my Aunt Ellie.

I’d like to teach our little O the value of the human touch. I want him to know the power of a hug and the profound meaning a simple hand on one’s shoulder can have when someone needs support. I’d like him to seek contact with people, rather than communicate via virtual means. And yet again, the only thing I can do is be an example. He will choose his own way doing what he is comfortable with. I guess, as parents, our job is show him the possibilities. Our house is a home of affection. We not only shower O with hugs and kisses, but we are always showing each other affection. Touch is good. Touch is important. It lets us know we are loved and alive. That our life matters to someone else. It makes us feel safe and secure. What was that Diana Ross song? “Reach out and touch….somebody’s hand…make this world a better place…if you can.” Totally throwback time and totally corny…but so true! In yoga class it was more hip…..but the sentiment remains.

So until next time, go on a mission to touch someone (and yourself, if the spirit moves you but THAT’S a whole other post) and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Namaste! Xo

Mommy vs Trump

As I look out the window, there are snow flurries falling. The existing snow is peaceful and reverent, reminding me that there are, indeed, four distinct beautiful seasons where we live. We are so fortunate. My bowl of wasabi peas and taro chips helps my mind crunch around today’s topic. I wanted to avoid being political. Lord knows, my husband wishes I would. Poor guy. Invariably, our dinner conversation turns to the latest debate (or circus act) or, as of last night, primary results. I take in so much information every day and have no one but my 20 month old to discuss it with. So obviously, my husband walks through the door and is usually bombarded with my thoughts on the presidential race. Sexy, right?

Alas, I cannot abstain from a somewhat political post this week. Who am I kidding, it’s full on politico. It consumes my thoughts at the moment, and the best way to alleviate that is to write about it. So….warning: You may not agree with me. And that is fine. But I need to ask some serious questions of people. Because WHO becomes president of our United States DOES matter. Not just to us who are old enough to vote, but to our children and our grandchildren. It matters a great deal.

Yesterday, the state of New Hampshire gave the Republican primary win to the most severely unqualified (not to mention uncouth, and unkind) candidate on the ballot. Am I shocked? I suppose I am. Am I dismayed? Absolutely. Am I sort of sickened? Well, yes, I am. What does this say about us as a country? I mean, holy cow, this is for REAL, people. What does it say to our children when the brash, bigoted, foul mouthed bully rises?

I make no secret that I consider myself a liberal democrat. But if I happened to be a republican, how could I vote for the likes of a Donald Trump? He isn’t really a republican. In fact, he is pretty much killing the party and everything being a true republican stood for. He, of course, wouldn’t know the difference, because he hasn’t educated himself with the history of the party, nor does he seem to care about it. But if you are a republican, how do you vote for a candidate with no content to his character and no actual plan to “make America great again” whatever that means? The demagogue/buffoon has no place as the leader of the free world. This isn’t for entertainment. It puts in jeopardy people’s lives and the credibility of our nation.

People want to blame President Obama for their hardships, but it’s those same American people who elected a Republican controlled Congress who would not work across the aisle. And they are angry? At what? Their lack of foresight? Did they not think this political gridlock would become the norm? It seems to me that Trump’s appeal is based on anger and fear. His entitled, thug-like bullish behavior somehow resonates in people who are seeking a quick fix to their problems but who don’t want to shoulder any responsibility or take any part in being part of the solution. In my opinion, Mr. Trump embodies everything dark and dirty in the cliche of the Ugly American.

You really failed, New Hampshire. I’m just grateful my O isn’t old enough to ask questions about this election. The election process was always something I was proud of, as an American. I remember watching the inaugural ceremony when President Obama was sworn in the first time. I remember my father being so moved, he wept. I remember thinking, “Wow, we’ve come a long way!” I remember feeling proud to be an American. Not today, New Hampshire. Not today.

Until next time, when I swear I’ll talk about lotion making or fluff sandwiches, 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

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