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.

Love Letter

I imagine, like most children, my son will someday ask me what he was like when he was a baby. Kids love hearing stories about themselves. I think these little anecdotes give them a sense of assurance and comfort. Although I have a blog full of posts and a website designed to share the journey of mothering my little O, most posts are about me and whatever trial or tribulation I am navigating any given week. So this post is different. I want O to be able to read this in years to come and know exactly what he was like on a particular day he shared with his Mommy. This post is a love letter to my O.

Dear O,

Days at the beach with you are just the best. The packing up of snacks, towels, buckets and shovels among countless other things are totally worth it. The hike up the dune, with you in my arms, to get to our little spot of heaven can be a workout. But again, totally worth it! The word “beach” comes from your perfect mouth. I put you down and you immediately run your fingers through the sand, taking it all in as quickly as you know how. I fill up a bucket with water as you plop yourself down and begin to dig. You are so happy.

We have your cousins with us today. You watch Will and Chris with idolization. Their young teenage selves splashing about in the ocean. You take my hand and say “ocean.” You want to be where they are. We wade in the slight surf and you squeal with delight as the water tickles your legs. You are laughing. Smiling. 1…2….3!!! We jump the waves with the help of Uncle Paul. He is taken with you, too. Who wouldn’t be? You are wonderful.

Our exodus from the beach must be highly planned. Everything must be pretty much packed up and ready to go prior to getting you rinsed off in the ocean. Once the sand is semi off of you, there is no putting you down. As we leave the beach you call out, “Bye Ocean!” “Bye Bye Sandbox!” I smile, as I climb over the dune because your sweetness is noted. I make the decision then to stop for ice cream at Handy Hill. Ice cream is your favorite and a treat is in order. You’ve been so good.

You are only in a diaper and your swim shirt. No shoes. Your sun hat still atop your head of long curls. I take you out of the car and you know where we are. You are excited. I order peanut butter Oreo ice cream in a cup for us to share. I carry you over to a picnic table and sit you down next to me. Your little legs swinging. Your eyes big with delightful anticipation. With one spoonful you smack your lips. “Dewicious!!” you say. We rub our noses together when I ask you for a kiss. And I know I am the luckiest Mommy in the world.

Days like this are wonderful and abundant. You make me laugh and fill me with moments of pure joy each and every day. Thank you, my sweet boy. I tell you, “I love you.” I ask you, “how much?” Sweetly and softly, as if in love yourself, you say, “So much.” I am undone. I am forever Yours.

Love, Mommy xo

Until next time, friend, 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

Toddler Madness

There are certain days my patience runs thin. My son is approaching his second birthday. He is in the beginning of the throws of what I am calling toddler madness. This might prove to be the hardest period for us, as his communication skills are still sparse. He says words, yes. But his ability to actually convey specific wants is unhoned, especially the more frustrated he gets. My failure to understand him just adds to his frustration and before I know it, he is in full on the floor tantrum mode. There is no reason or logic to this. It is absolute madness. Hence, my categorical name for this period we are forging into full speed ahead.

Rationally, I know there is usually some reason for these outbursts. He most likely isn’t even aware himself what it might be. And the speculation is vast. It could be that he is hungry. Thirsty. Perhaps his two year molars are giving him a hard time that day. Maybe his shirt is uncomfortable. Maybe….the list goes on. Or, where the real madness comes in, the outburst has no cause. It is not the reaction to anything at all, except the moment hits him and he decides to throw himself on the floor, kick and scream a little, and then, perhaps, get on with his day. Come to think of it…I feel like doing that sometimes. Maybe it’s not so crazy, after all. Hmm.

My pediatrician suggests no parental reaction. She always says, “Don’t encourage any behavior you don’t like by reacting to it.” I’m actually pretty good at being calm in the midst of his storms. Most of the time. It’s the days when the outbursts are mixed with incessant whining, that tax me the most. It’s hard not to react to the whining, though I give it my best shot. At home, I actually walk into another room. I also redirect his attention when he is calm enough. It becomes the hardest to deal with in the car. Both of us trapped in a small space. I can only turn the Hamilton soundtrack up so much.

Mothers who’ve been there…mommys on the same battlefield, I ask you. What do YOU do? And if you had a child who never threw tantrums or whined, keep it to yourself. I don’t even want to know that children like that exist. There isn’t enough Skinny Pop or Two Buck Chuck to get me over that. Thanks. I know every kid is different, but there must be some common thread for how to proactively deal with this “stage of development.” My saving grace at this point is that I am, in fact, an older mom and I have a degree of patience I never would have had 20 years ago. I’m not saying younger Moms can’t have patience. I just know I didn’t have it when I was younger.

The most ironic thing about this stage of “toddler madness,” is how fleeting the madness can be. I can have a morning like today, where the crabby-ness, whining and foot stomping outbursts seemed to have such succession it almost became rhythmic. And then 20 minutes before his nap, my child decides to lovingly stop time. He sits next to me on the couch, lays his head on my shoulder and lets me stroke his hair. For a whole 20 minutes! He may have actually purred. Just when I was ready to give up for the day, he indulges me in his sweet side. Sneaky. Unpredictable. All part of the glorious wonderful madness that is only just beginning.

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

A Mother’s Day

I’ve never been one for holidays created by greeting card companies. Valentine’s Day is the worst. My husband and I have vowed to never make a big deal of such a day. We believe all our days should be reflective of our love and commitment, and not for one set day because Hallmark dictates it. I know Mother’s Day falls under the same sort of quasi-holiday category, but I have to admit, I feel a bit different about it. To give it equal due, I feel different about Father’s Day, too. So hear me out.

I am not looking for what the advertisers or the media suggest I want. There is no bauble, gadget, or knick knack I am longing for. I don’t want all sorts of money spent on me. I don’t want a day at the spa or a day all to myself to be pampered. I don’t want a weekend away, a maid service to clean the whole house, or some cheesy overpriced greeting card written by some stranger. It’s so much simpler than that. What I would like to celebrate and have acknowledged, is the fact that I try every single day not to ruin the amazing child that by some natural miracle ended up in my care. I’d like a Mother’s Day.

What is that you ask? Well, hold onto your yoga pants. It’s a day where I can sleep uninterrupted for 8+ hours (without having to go to bed at 8pm the night before). I can take a long luxurious bath instead of a quick shower. I would be able to have a bowel movement…all by myself….in peace…uninterupted. Without Thomas the Tank Engine. Or whilst reading The Little Engine That Could. It’s a day that for a whole 24 hours I am NOT the person who touches or cleans up another person’s feces. (To be fair to my husband, he takes on the dirty diapers like a champ when he’s around.) And, most importantly, it’s a day that my husband showers me with words of encouragement and love from his heart. Oh, and he makes me breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now these last two requests actually happen on a regular basis in our home, but they are such a nice part of our day that it only makes sense to include them.

Now I realize that as simple as this day seems in theory, the actual execution of these requests may prove more than difficult. (Lucky for me, my husband is a rock star!) But, perhaps it might seem impossible for some mates. Hence, the bauble or some fancy high priced item. The mate thinks, “how can she be upset with me if I give her _______?” And she won’t be. I mean who gets mad at jewelry or a Coach bag? The retailers are surely happy. Hubby is happy because he dodged a mega parenting bullet. But most likely, it isn’t what she truly wants on this day. If she is anything like me, it most certainly is not.

So Hallmark, Zales, Pandora and all you other retailers and tall tale fabricators….you aren’t on my radar. I could care less about what you have to offer. I don’t know that any woman who stays home everyday with her toddler really wants what you are peddling. As I looked around the library today at story time, I saw the faces of other mothers that seemed to need what I am in need of. We all most likely just want to remember who we actually are. To have a moment to acknowledge our own worth unattached to the non stop job of caregiving. To have a few moments to think of/and for ourselves, all the while knowing that our most precious possession is being cared for by our most precious partner. It’s that simple.

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. Hope you get to have a rockin Mother’s Day. Xo thanks for reading!

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

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

From Gucci To Gerber

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

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