advanced maternal age

Back In The Saddle

Well, hello! It has been quite a while, friend. My hiatus from writing just might be over. I have taken a long enough pause to re-group my thoughts, to step away from the rage inspired by ridiculous politics, and to muster the courage to feel that, somehow, perhaps, my words might actually matter. It has been a long needed respite. If you have stayed with me through this nothingness, I’m truly grateful. I couldn’t expect it of any reader. If you are new to my musings, I invite you to go back to the beginning. Take the journey which will lead you to where we are now – an advanced maternal age mother (now of three years) navigating her way through preschool pandemonium. I have matured in my mothering, but the certainty of it all still eludes me. I feel I am now wise enough to know the uncertainty will most likely never go away.

I have not stopped thinking about writing. It has always been at the forefront of my thoughts this past however many months. I’d have to go way back to see exactly how long it has actually been since my last post, but I think it was last May. Even before that, my posts were becoming few and far between. After a gut wrenching election cycle, the state of our nation was really getting me down. It felt like I couldn’t not make every post about something political. That isn’t what I had set out to do. Also, I began teaching voice and acting at a fantastic arts academy. It takes up quite a bit of time for prep work. Time I used to use to write. The teaching has now expanded, which is brilliant, but again, I only have so much time. I chose to let this go for a while. Did I mention that I have matured and realize that I can’t actually do Everything?

I feel ready to give voice to this next phase of motherhood, however tight my time may be. My little O is no longer a baby. (That is super hard to say!) He is 3 1/2 years old. He is tall and full of personality. He has the energy of the Energizer Bunny and the mood swings of Sybil. He is funny, emotional, and all over the place. He is imperfectly perfect. I don’t want to miss chronicling this time in our lives because I am crunched for time or because I get lazy. This blog is ultimately for him. So here I am. Back in the saddle.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. Remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. My current life story! Lol. Thanks for reading. 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

Back 2 School

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As the end of summer approaches and the days become shorter, my Facebook feed is overflowing with posts rejoicing in the fact that children are finally heading back to school.  There seems to be a collective sigh of relief among mothers of school age children, as if the school year couldn’t start soon enough.  As a first time mom of a two year old, I am not there yet.  The back to school fervor is obviously not on my radar.  But it makes me wonder what it’s all about.

I am sure there are mothers out there, who adore having their children home with them for the summer.  I just haven’t caught their posts about it.  Maybe they are too busy making homemade organic Popsicles to spend time on Facebook?   I mean, there are moms who enjoy their summers with their kids at home, right?  When I was growing up, my Mom always looked at Summer as magical.  Didn’t she?  At least she seemed to enjoy it.  Perhaps even loved it.  There is no denying that it was a different time then.  The world was a simpler place just some thirty years ago.  I’d like to hold onto my illusion that my mom actually enjoyed having us out of school for the summer.  When I think about it, most of the neighborhood kids would spend summer days at our house because we had a pool.  My mom would essentially be the den mother to all the kids on our street.  There was never a complaint from the other mothers.  Huh, that’s not surprising.  I think the back to school sigh of relief was around back then as well.  I also surmise that my mother was a rarity among her friends.

The thought of sending my O to school for full seven hour days at the age of five, sends my head into a spin.  And then I hear moms of older children talking about the failing education system and lack of emphasis on the children being active, and it makes me want to homeschool our guy.  I want to take him away to some Nordic country and have him schooled there where they play outside for hours each day.  When did the idea of learning through play become invalid?  Maybe this is why some parents seek out Montessori schools? Maybe regular public schools are mostly a type of glorified government daycare?  They shove them through, make sure they pass a specific state test, and mind them for nine months out of twelve each year. Could that be true?  And if it could be, don’t we want more for our children?  Oye! I’m digressing.

I guess what I want to say is that I can’t imagine a time when I will want to send O away from us for seven hours a day.  I understand the importance of doing so, but I can’t imagine liking it.  But then again, I am a newbie.  You seasoned moms are rolling your eyes at me about now, and that’s ok.  I admit I don’t know what it will be like down the road.  I just know that even now, when the days are tough, I don’t will them to pass any quicker.  Time is going by fast enough, thank you very much.

I say it again and again.  I feel that being an older mother gives me an advantage on contentment.  I am not wishing the time away so that I can get back to my life.  This is my life.  I am living it.  Perhaps it took me living so much of my life to know that this time is the best time.  Every choice and action of my life has led me to this place and time.  And I guess I am wise (and old) enough to be oh so grateful.

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

 

 

 

It’s The Best

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Like with anything in life, there are positives and negatives.  This week I want to focus on the positive. The topic: Having children over 40 and why it is the best (in my opinion).  Don’t worry, I’ll also share with you why it is a drag (in my opinion)….just not this week.  This week it’s all about how incredible it is to have a child when you are in your 40’s!

Let’s face it, if you have had a child at 35 or over, you’ve most likely heard all the terrifying warnings and reasons not to.  My first prenatal visit at age 43 was colored with all sorts of possible doom and negative what ifs.  I chose to filter out the gloom.  While I was educated about the risks, I kept the information out of my mind and body.  One of the best things about having a baby in your 40’s (in my opinion) is that you can.  So many women struggle with conception.  If you can get pregnant naturally (or with help) over 40, well, that’s something to celebrate!

All new mothers hear the polite advice from well wishers, time and time again.  My son is 2 and I still get it.  “Enjoy every minute! It goes so fast!”   Well, the main reason I think having a baby in your 40’s is the best (in my opinion), is that you actually do enjoy every minute.  Even when it’s hard, there is a baseline of joy that just can’t be beat.  There is a patience I possess that, for me, has come with age.  I’m certainly not saying that women having children in their 20’s and 30’s don’t enjoy their children.  I can only speak from my experience as a 20 and 30 something.  In my 20’s and 30’s, my life was all about me.  The pace of my life was all about me.  The choices I made were basically all about me.  And I wanted it that way.  I lived my life fully and with purposed abandon.  I travelled the world, fell in and out of love and enjoyed freedom from most responsibility.  It was how it should be for someone at that stage of their life (in my opinion).  Conversely, with the birth of my son came profound responsibility.  And at the age of 44, I welcomed it wholeheartedly.  Someone younger might think my life now is a bore.  The Veuve doesn’t flow as freely (or at all, come to think of it) and my bedtime is often before the curtain used to go up.  The things I possessed and the adoration I sought are not barometers for bliss.  My god! I thought a new pair of Gucci shoes equaled happiness.  Silly girl.  All those things are well and good, but they are not the stuff of life.

I get to do this parenting thing with a full awareness that it goes far too fast.  I don’t wish time away like I used to.   I get to be mature enough to share with my baby, my patience and my understanding of what true happiness really is.  I get to not only enjoy his process, but have the emotional maturity to understand that he is his own person, and that while he is our whole world now, we will not always be his.  I am old enough to know he will have to fail to succeed.  I understand there will come a time to let go.

Anyone who has hit the 40+ mark understands what I am saying.  I’m not saying you don’t have moments of doubt anymore or that you don’t feel like you are screwing up a lot of the time.  That is the nature of parenting in a nutshell. But there is a level of surety and confidence that I bring to my parenting, to my life, that I did not possess in my 20’s or 30’s.  It makes me a better mom.  And THAT is the best thing about having a child over 40 (in my opinion).

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

 

Slow Down, Mommy

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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

 

 

 

 

Turning Two

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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

The Way Of Life

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I lost my Aunt Anneke this week.  It wasn’t sudden.  She was battling cancer for some time.  But still, the finality of any passing startles me, nonetheless.  I am grieving.  Not so much for her, as I know she is pain free and was most certainly welcomed into heaven with open arms.  She was a wonderful, strong, loving woman.  Her full bodied, lasting hugs were her trademark that I will cherish in my memories of her.  I am grieving for my uncle who was left here on this earth to do the unimaginable.  To go on without her.  It breaks my heart.

It’s funny that I should have such a bond with this man.  He came into my life when I was in my twenties.  He had been estranged from my mother and most of our family for all of my young life.  His acute alcoholism kept him away from us for years.  After he had gotten sober for good, he came back into our lives and I’m so grateful.  Oh, the stories he would tell me over a cup of coffee at my parent’s dining room table! I just adore him despite the fact that we could not be more different.  Our views on pretty much everything are diametrically opposed.  Yup, everything.  But his heart is true, his words are real, and he is just my Uncle Ronnie. The fact that he has a special place in his heart for my little O just makes me love him all the more.  And now he is alone without his wife, his partner.   It is the way of life.  He would tell you that.  But it is unthinkable.

The landscape of our family keeps changing.  My parents, aunts and uncles are in their seventies and eighties.  Several have passed already.  Actual distance of siblings and cousins has created emotional distance, as well.  It is what happens as you get older, I suppose.  I guess I just wish it wasn’t happening quite this soon, for O’s sake.  I rationalize, as an older mom, that my family is also older.  But he is never going to know, or at least remember,  many of the family I love.  It is then, that which is understood in my head is not so accepted in my heart.

I don’t believe I actually have a point to make with all this.  I think I just wanted to talk about my family.  I appreciate you letting me do just that.  I know this isn’t exactly one of my typical mommy blog posts.  But then being a new mom at 46 isn’t exactly typical either.  Having a child late in life comes with all sorts of pros and cons.  It is so odd watching family become elderly (or succumb to age) while I witness all the newness my son experiences.  It is the biggest bag of mixed emotions I’ve known yet.  Immense joy colored with the occasional stroke of sadness and grief.  I’m sure it is the way of life for most older moms.  It was certainly something I didn’t think about before becoming a mother.  I suppose, thank God there is the joy.  Such joy!

Thank you for reading and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Xo

My Name Is Mommy

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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

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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

Where Is My Village?

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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