Choose Yourself: An Introduction to Self-Care

If you move in certain circles, you may already be familiar with the term self-care. You've seen the #selfcaresunday hashtags and you may even have a balanced routine that includes taking time out to meet more than your own basic needs.

If you're where I was – oh let's say 10 or 11 years ago – you're thinking you can barely take care of all the people who depend on you. Yourself? You're the afterthought and you're probably poised somewhere between locking yourself in the bathroom for a good cry and having a full-on nervous breakdown. You're doing it all...maybe you're stuck at home with your kids all day. You're cleaning house. You're shopping and running errands, and changing diapers and washing clothes and kissing boo-boos and listening to endless stories about Pokémon and hearing about the lovely lunch and adult conversation your partner had with co-workers while you were stuck at home feeling your brain dissolve. Maybe you get out of the house for an hour or two to take the kids to a playgroup where you gorge on Goldfish and apologize to your friends for your unwashed hair and stained t-shirt, but you never really get the interaction you want with your new mom friends because you're all constantly interrupted. Maybe your story is a little different...throw in a career, rushing to pick kids up from aftercare, make dinner or grab fast food, get everyone to practice or help with homework, then crash into bed after one too many glasses of wine. The end result is the same.

You feel broken and depleted and sometimes you don't remember who you are anymore. You feel as if the essence of the woman you were before you had kids has vanished. And you feel like maybe that's how it's supposed to be. You've bought into the myth that the only way to be a good mother is to sublimate your needs for those of your child. 

I am here to tell you that this is absolutely not true. And if someone had told me this, I might not have wasted a decade or more hating myself, hating my life, falling into depression and letting the wounds in my marriage fester into wounds that could only scar over rather than being fully-healed.

September is National Self-Care Month, so this seemed like the perfect time to introduce those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept to the idea that you matter. Yes...you! And if you're not already, it's time you started devoting a little bit of time each week to yourself. (I was going to say every day, but I know some of y'all aren't ready for that.)

The first thing I want you to do is find a quiet place where you can be alone without kids or your partner for 5 or 10 minutes. In fact, here's a trick my friend K just taught me if you want to steal 20 and go get into a bubble bath while we do this exercise.... Tell your husband and kids you're having tummy troubles and you'll be in the bathroom. Lock the door, run a bubble bath, light some candles, put on some soft music, and ignore them when they inevitably come knocking. I'm not even kidding about ignoring them. If you're a single mom, you may have to wait until they're in bed, but do take a few minutes to do this exercise.

Now...close your eyes and think about the days before you were partnered up or had kids. Who were you? What did you love doing that you don't do anymore? And don't be ashamed of what you find there...we all...okay a lot of us...loved drinking and partying and having a wild time. That doesn't mean you have to do it now, but let yourself remember what it felt like to be purely yourself without worrying about what anyone else thought. Are you running a 5K or marathon? Reading a book in a quiet room while sipping tea? Did you feel most alive while hiking in Colorado or the Smoky Mountains and sleeping under the stars? Do you miss loving your body and the way you looked in certain clothes? Or having highlights in your hair? Do you see yourself sitting on the porch of a beach house laughing with your girlfriends until your snort or cry? Is there something you love doing that you quit because your partner doesn't enjoy it? Or something you love but you're worried your friends or your partner will mock you for? What makes you feel like the happiest version of yourself?

Okay...once you've got that image, the next step is to figure out the steps it takes to get you there. It won't happen overnight. Trust me.

It took me years to work up the courage to reclaim myself. In fact, I'm still discovering parts of myself that I buried. But, we're all always works in progress. the important thing is to start where you are and figure out what self-care looks like for your personally. For me, it meant taking care of my physical well-being which is closely tied to my mental health.

I was never very body confident. But after having kids it was even less so. I was ashamed and embarrassed and hurt every time my husband averted his eyes from me. But finding time to exercise felt impossible if I was going to be a "good mom" and on all the time. Part of my definition of being a good mom meant keeping a pristine house and while it wasn't June Cleaver perfect, I did okay. And honestly, while I did a yoga class once a week and occasionally walked, I was never an athlete. But there were two things I craved after having my first son: adult conversation and to feel attractive again. Through playgroups, I was able to cobble together some human interaction and eventually I met women who became life-long friends. Figuring out that I loved physical activity and where my passions lie took a lot longer. And some trial and error. But, what I was able to do, was to express to my partner the deep sadness and longing for the parts of me that were missing. And while it was difficult to ask for help, I did eventually let him know that I needed him to take care of his own kids one night a month so I could meet up with my girlfriends for a girls' night out free of children. And I made the decision to invest in myself by joining a gym and working with a trainer. My kids were in school and preschool by this point so that helped. But, I'm telling you, Mama, make time while they're little if fitness is something that matters to you or if you're struggling with your body image. I was amazed how wonderful I felt after each workout. Tapped out for sure, but stronger, healthier, and over time far more confident than I had ever been. And I wish I hadn't waited so long to care for myself.

Because here's the secret no one tells you.... When your spirit is depleted and you feel like you're nurturing everyone around you but you're not taking care of your own needs, you have less to give. It weighs on you and you get short and angry and frustrated and feel put upon. You start to resent the people you love who depend on you. And eventually, you will end up physically and emotionally wiped out.

So, if it's physical activity you crave, find a gym with childcare or sign-up with a Beachbody coach and access their online workouts and do one every day while the baby sleeps. Laundry and dust bunnies will be there later. Your sanity might not. If you want to get outdoors, ask your partner to commit to watching the kids one Saturday or Sunday a month while you go for a hike or go kayaking or whatever it is that makes your heart sing. Join a book club or Bunco group or the choir at church. Take a cooking class or pretend you're not feeling well and hide in your room reading a book. If you're single or you have a partner who refuses to help out because he works, find a girlfriend in a similar situation and trade childcare. If your parents or sister lives nearby, ask them for help. Or save $10 of grocery money a week and hire a sitter once a month so you can get out of the house and do something for yourself. Recognizing that you are a human being with needs of your own is nothing to be ashamed of.

Looking for smaller ways to start? What's your favorite type of music? Do you listen to it every day? Or do you only listen to crappy children's music? Next time you're in the car, crank up that Led Zeppelin or John Mayer or Ludacris or Sam Hunt or Miley. A bad word in a song isn't going to scar your kids and you'll have a chance to influence their future musical tastes.

Or maybe you feel more like yourself when your hair is washed and you have on makeup but you never find time to do it. This is a case where you may need to rob Peter to pay Paul by sacrificing 30 minutes of sleep in the morning. But whatever it takes, if being clean and having a little color on your face makes you feel good, then get up and do it. Shower and throw a little BB cream or tinted moisturizer on, put on a coat of mascara, and a tinted lip gloss and you're good to go. And don't let anyone make you feel ashamed for taking care of yourself. You'll be a better, happier mama for it and your kids will see that and, in turn, they will be happier.

So...what does self-care look like to you? I'd love to help you map out your path to a happier, healthier you. 

Post your answers in the comments below. Then, like Belle of the Blog on Facebook and follow @belleoftheblog on Instagram and you will be entered to win a free bottle of Young Living Stress Away essential oil. 

Teach Your Children: Regaining Control of Your Household

Between my attempting to work a little more and volunteering, Scott's traveling for work and hectic  schedule of long hours and the occasional night or weekend on call, Brendan's daily homework grind, and all the rest of our rat race, we've run into a bit of a discipline void.

Brendan, always my challenging boy, has been pushing every button I own and testing all the boundaries, which I will admit, are always a bit loose. As Alexandria over at Before the Baby Wakes put it, I subscribe to a Free to Be Us parenting style. I've tended to err too far on the side of not wanting to crush my child's spirit. Right up until the point where his spirit is really pissing me off and I blow up. Not good.

In thinking about how and why things have gotten so out of control, I see clearly that it has been my lack of consistency in disciplining and setting rules.

Because of Brendan's dyspraxia and all the associated frustrations he experienced before we had a diagnosis, I learned, as did he, that sometimes it's just easier for mommy to give in and perform the task at hand for the child. It can make things go a lot faster when you're trying to get out the door. Unfortunately, kids don't compartmentalize so well and now there are lots of things that my 8-year old should do for himself that he still wants or expects me to do and when I refuse, it turns into a huge power struggle.

We're also dealing with his smart mouth. I've tried reasoning with him on the issue, telling him it's unacceptable, rude, he hurts my feelings, etc. At my wits' end, I've been tempted to pull out the hot sauce or the soft soap and use them when he sasses, but instead, I'm regrouping.

Today, I made a list of our house rules and the consequences of not following those rules. I made it as a reminder for myself as much as I did as an instructional tool for the boys. I have a real problem with deciding in the heat of the moment what an acceptable punishment for a particular misbehavior should be. I figured if I define it for myself and let the kids know what will happen if they talk back or fail to pick up their toys when I ask, it will be easier for all of us and lead (I hope!) to a calmer, happier  household.

I'm also reading John Rosemond's Parent Power and hope to get some new insight from that.

I just hope it's not too late.

What discipline challenges have you faced?
How did you fix the problem?
Do you feel that you were successful?

Words: When Children Learn Words They Ought Not to Know

"Mom," the conversation began, as oh so many do these days. I can tell from the tone of Brendan's voice that he has something important to tell me.

Usually when a conversation begins this way, it involves the newest cool trick he has learned in Lego Star Wars for the Wii
or some super-awesome-fantastically amazing-so-great-it-must-be-bought-today Star Wars toy.But not this time.

Now, let's pause for a moment... I bet you're thinking that whatever was coming my way was something that I was utterly unprepared for. And any other day besides today, you would have been right. I so did not see this coming. But thanks to fate, luck, the perfect alignment of just the right celestial bodies, and my super-awesome-fantastically amazing-so-great-I-don't-know-what-I'd-do-without-him husband, I was ready.

So, the conversation continued, "Mom, some of the kids at school told me and Peter that there's a word called fuck and that it's a bad word. But I don't believe them because I've never heard that word before. Peter didn't believe them either."

I must have stood staring at him for a full 10 seconds, mouth agape, completely in shock. In shock, not because my angelic-looking six-year old just dropped the f-bomb, a word, by the way, that I didn't learn until I was in fifth grade (Thanks, Renee, for corrupting me!). Well, at least not entirely because of that, because honestly, it was pretty shocking.

No, I was in shock that he'd never heard it. While my husband is someone always in control of the what he speaks, an artist and master of language who doles out his words carefully, with the precision of a Vegas dealer and rarely utters a cuss word unless it is demanded by the situation, I have the mouth of a sailor. More or less. Well, at least I did until Brendan came along.

Then, I took great pains to dial it back. I had no idea how successful I had been because I have only been aware of the times when I've missed the (effing) mark. Like the time we were watching The Simpsons and Homer yells "Dammit!*" And Brendan, in a burst of glee and triumph shouts, "Mom! That's what you always say!"

My daze of shock and awe over Brendan's discovery of this new verbal device was cut short as he pulled me back to the moment with his persistent questioning. "Well is it?"

"What?," I responded.

He gives me an exasperated sigh and hand gestures that demand my attention as he asks me again, "Is fuck a real word?"

And so, there I was, in the middle of the kitchen having one of those real-life teaching moments with my son, thinking, "I am so NOT ready for this. Not ready for my baby to be learning such bad words and who are these bad children who are teaching him this?" when I realized that I was ready.

Instantly, I flashed back to the evening before when Scott and I were sitting in bed and he read me this article. Can you believe that? Less than 24 hours earlier, my husband reads to me a random, but very funny and insightful, article from a dad dealing with exactly the same situation I found myself in? What kind of awesome luck is that?

So, I turned to Brendan and said, "Yes, honey, that is a real word. And it's the worst word you can possibly say. There is no word worse than that one and I hope that you'll choose never to say it to anyone. And by the way, who told you about it?"

He looked at me as if he had just learned the coolest thing in the world, saying, "Wow. I didn't know. I'm sorry I said it and I won't say it again," which I guess, is about the best you can hope for in that situation. I'm sure it will come up again. I just hope I'm lucky enough to have read someone else's witty response to their child the night before so I'll be prepared when it does.



*For some reason the bastardization of "damn it" to "dammit" bothers me. A lot. But when I hear Homer saying that line, I believe he's actually saying "Dammit!". So, that's what you get folks. Even if, technically, it's wrong.

Great Moments in Parenting

Generally speaking, I think Scott and I do a pretty great job parenting our two sons. We are loving, supportive, encouraging, provide structure and discipline to their lives. Every now and then, however, we have our moments when we go slightly off the range and our words or actions in relation to the boys might be called into question.

Sometimes, thanks to my short fuse, I think I'm just one perfect mom who never makes mistakes away from a call to DCS. Like the witch lady in the waiting room at Scottish Rite's Therapy Center who looked at me in horror and disbelief when I groaned loudly and exclaimed, "Beckett, I am so mad at you right now!" after Beckett stood in the middle of the waiting room and peed all over himself and the floor and then says to me, with a smile on his face, "Mommy! Pee!" In my defense, he had been potty-trained for over a month and it was the first day of his now-week-long potty strike and the fifth time that day he had wet his pants and found it amusing. So, while it should not have been put on public display probably, I do feel my frustration was warranted.

That negative moment aside, the questionable things we say and do are, as often as not, just plain silly. Like the time I told Brendan that he had to brush his teeth because the tooth fairy would not want his teeth if they were yucky and had cavities. When he pressed me on what she did with the teeth, I told him she makes necklaces with them and only wants pretty teeth. Whether he has nightmares about a Tinkerbellish lass with a ropeful of children's teeth dangling about her neck or not, I couldn't tell you, but it did – at least for a while – make him an avid proponent of dental hygiene.

Then there's the story Scott told Beckett last week when the wee one was on the verge of a meltdown because he didn't want to go to preschool. Seeing Beckett's bottom lip start to quiver when I said, "It's time to go to school," Scott took quick, evasive action before the four winds of the toddler apocalypse started to blow in full force. He said, "Beckett, you have to go to school today. This is the day the monsters come to help Mommy clean house."

Monsters? Instantly, he had Beckett's attention and mine. "Yeah. While you're at school the monsters come and they wash the walls for us. But they're kind of scary and you wouldn't want to be here while they're here."

"Oh. Otay," Beckett replied and that was that. He looked a little befuddled, but he acquiesced and came downstairs calmly and was ready to go to school. And it hasn't come up since.

I was duly impressed with Scott's quick work in diffusing the situation and even more impressed with his creativity. Which really should be no surprise considering the fact that he's a musician. But then again, I am a writer, but not nearly so quick off the cuff.

Now, however, I am dying to know about your parenting highlights? What are the funniest, weirdest, silliest, dumbest things you've said or done with your kids and how did they work out? Please share....

Sorry for 2009: The Things I Never Knew About Parenting

Dear Mom,

Wherever you are out there in the Cosmos, I want you to know something.

I'm sorry.

For twenty odd years or maybe longer, I've been carrying around what amounts to a whole set of deluxe Samsonite, packed tight with my anger and hurt toward you over all the ways I felt that you let me down. I'll spare you the whole inventory, though I suspect in the spirit world, assuming there is one and you are there, that you know all this anyway. And you're probably laughing your ass off.

One of the items that topped my list was the fact that you never let me do anything as a kid. No sports. No dance lessons. No music lessons other than church choir. Not even Girl Scouts. I have been so pissed off at you for years because I felt like you didn't give me a chance to discover any of my gifts or talents. I had always assumed you didn't do these things with me because we were poor and you couldn't afford it. I realize now how expensive these things are.

But now, I also see that the expense lies not just in the actual cost of the activity, but also in the time it takes to do these things. The hours spent sitting at practices waiting for your child, time at games. Time to go buy uniforms. And on top of all that, there is a limit to how much control you have over any of it.

Unless you have volunteered to coach the team, be the den mother, or organize the event in some way – which admittedly, is even more of a time suck – you have zero control over when you'll be there or for how long.

I see now, that working two jobs and making less than $30,000 a year for most of my life, you had little opportunity to give me the kind of childhood I wanted...the one I am now trying to give my boys.

I know now how much it sucks. God. It sucks.

I have been livid for a month now that our stupid Cub Scout meetings are at 6:30 p.m. on Monday nights. Pick the worst day of the week and then plan a meeting for supper time. An hour long meeting that not only interrupts our dinner hour, but runs into our bath and bedtime routine. Thanks, Boy Scouts of America.

The thing is, I remember you serving as den mother for my cousins Troy and Trevor when they lived with us when I was little. It seemed like those meeting were later in the night, but that might be a four-year-old's memory of such things. Who knows? I just remember you did it for them, but not me. And I never understood that.

I think I do now. You were obligated to care for your brother's kids and he wanted them in Scouts. By the time I was old enough to do anything, you were working two jobs to make ends meet. And by the time I was in high school and old enough to get myself around, I was working after school and on weekends. It was too late.

I wonder, I still wonder even today sitting here writing this, how my life would be different if I had taken dance or been in Girl Scouts or played a sport. Would I be more confident? Would I believe in myself more? Would I be athletic and not have to worry about my figure? Would I be a master at sales making six-figures a year because I had learned to sell Girl Scout cookies so well? Who knows?

But I have to stop being angry at you over failing to give me those opportunities. I know now what a sacrifice it is to give your kids those things and I know you had very little to sacrifice, either in time or money or self. I still think you were self-absorbed and selfish and that played a big part in your unwillingness to give me more. But, I also know that to some extent you were just doing the best you could.

And I'm sorry that I've carried this anger – and at times a very strong hatred for you – around this long.

Now I know how hard it is to be a parent and to give of yourself. I know how very little there can be to go around sometimes. I hope I am making better choices than you. I hope my sons never have to even contemplate whether or not I loved them or wanted the best for them. I hope they never look back and think "my mom was so selfish." As much as I hate some of the things I have to do or choose to do for my kids – like dealing with a screaming toddler while his brother is in a Scout meeting – I do them because I hope and pray I am helping my sons become smarter, more confident, happier, and more well-rounded young men who can look back some day and think "Wow! I had a great childhood. My parents really loved us and went out of their way to give us the things we needed to succeed in our lives."

You weren't able to do that in the ways I might have liked. But, I hope and choose now to believe, that you really did do your best and give me all you could in your way.

So, Mom, once again, I'm sorry for being pissed off at you all those years. I love you. And I forgive you.

Dawn

That's Me Trying: The Movie Little Children and a Revelation

I saw the movie Little Children early Saturday morning. For some reason, I was awake at 5:30 a.m. when it came on and I got caught up in it.

Let me preface the rest of this post by letting you know there may be spoilers in here, so if you plan to see the film, you may want to stop here.

Scott had seen it before and liked it. I wasn't sure I wanted to see it. With the primary focus of the film being on a stay-at-home mom (Kate Winslet) who is dissatisfied with her life, I thought the film might hit a little close to home. Making it even creepier? The fact that my friend Jean has told me that I remind her of Kate Winslet.

The movie was hard to watch for a variety of reasons, but primarily because I did see bits of myself in Winslet's character, Sarah.

Sarah is a stay at home mom and kind of a failure. She has her Master's in English Lit but never finished her Ph.D. She's in kind of a loveless, passionless marriage. She has a little girl, but she's so absorbed in her own drama, her own ennui, that she can't take joy in the wonders of the world, the profound and beautiful moments of her own life that are right before her.

When the movie opens, Sarah is at the park with her daughter on a playdate with three other moms from the neighborhood. They're all very WASP-y and Stepfordy. I do kind of think the director went a little far with it. There's a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, one dressed in pink, one in yellow, and one in pale blue. And they're mean and judgmental and you know they all talk about each other behind one another's backs.

They help Sarah out begrudgingly and with lots of snide little comments about how she should make a list for herself when she realizes she has forgotten her daughter's snack at the playground. And naturally the child is melting down and humiliating her mother because she feels neglected and she wants her snack.

I related to the mousy Sarah so much in that scene. Her disheveled appearance is a stark contrast next to the ironed and button-downed, if not stylish women who surround her and that combined with her scatter-brained inability to create a successful park outing for her child reminded me of myself in a couple of ways.

I mean, I'm not always like that. But I have had my moments. I just went on a playdate with my not-yet-potty-trained two-year old to a friend's house and forgot diapers. Fortunately, when he needed a change I was only four doors down and could walk home for a diaper while my friend watched Beckett. And when I'm around the well-groomed beauties in my neighborhood, I always feel a little...um...mousy and disheveled? Even though I know I'm not and I actually try to look good most of the time unlike Sarah who is of the pretentious "I'm too intelligent for make-up and a hairstyle" ilk. I live in a neighborhood with an unusual amount of beautiful and well put-together women. But I digress.

Thankfully, that level of screwiness is about where my similarities end with Sarah. Sort of.

Sarah ends up having an affair with Brad, a stay-at-home dad she meets at the park. All the stay-at-home moms in Sarah's cohort have their collective eye on him, but Sarah somehow gets his attention and they begin an affair that ultimately culminates in their plan to run away together.

There's a lot of other things that happen in the movie and I won't bore you with them. I will get to my point here though.

The biggest way in which Sarah fucks up and is fucked up is that she can't get out of her head. All she can do is stew in her own sense of tedium and neglect until she meets Brad and then, almost instantly, the two of them get swept up into each other's lives, scheduling daily playdates for their two small children just so they can see each other. This gives her a break from the monotony of her life, but it does not get her out of her own head, nor does it make her in any way a better or happier person.

The thing is, I know what it's like to think that you're going to get married and have kids and have this perfect little life and then realize that you've not only put any other dreams you had on hold, you've up and abandoned them completely.

Although, I think in Sarah's case, having a child was a convenient excuse not to finish her dissertation and thereby avoid "real world" responsibilities. Except, guess what? Having and raising a child is very much of the real world and requires a completely different set of skills than teaching English Lit.

The thing that pained me most about this movie was how little Sarah was capable of connecting with her daughter. She simply could not get out of her own way to be able to engage with the child on any level short of taking care of her basic necessities. At one point, she tries to pay a neighbor who has been caring for the little girl while Sarah is out conducting her illicit affair with Brad, and tells her neighbor it's "for your trouble," ignoring all the sweet, generous comments the neighbor makes about what a delightful little girl Sarah has.

I know there have been times when I am guilty of those same crimes. There have been times when my worries about life, the stresses and anxieties of the world, my own sense of being lost or having no sense of purpose or wondering what my purpose is keep me locked inside my head, unable to do more than make sure everyone is clean, safe, and well-fed. But, I am very much aware of this fact and am fighting daily to make sure that I am present and engaged as fully as I can be in life, thankful now for every moment.

And that is where Sarah and I differ. Sarah seems to have no sense of being disengaged. Not really. She seems to believe that the "life" she has created with Brad, with both their children lurking around the fringes as a convenient excuse for their relationship, is real and she takes great effort to sustain it, yet she can't be bothered to stop staring at her reflection in the mirror (almost literal navel gazing), long enough to greet her daughter whom she has not seen in 24 hours.

There's a lot not to like about this movie with it's unintentional humor, annoying voice-over, some bad acting, and really, really annoying characters. Still, I'm glad I saw it; glad I saw myself in it a bit. It made me realize that while I may be imperfect, at least I'm here. And at least I'm trying.

Sea of Teeth

Not only has summer flown by, but it has brought a host of changes.

Both my boys grow and change and become increasingly more...human every minute of every day. Right before my very eyes.

In the span of a month, Brendan has lost his first two teeth; teeth that seem as if they came in yesterday as I massaged his tender gums with cooling gel and froze binkies for him to suck on.

Beckett has gone from baby to little boy overnight as well, it seems. Two weeks ago I pulling my hair out and trying to schedule an appointment with Babies Can't Wait to have him evaluated for a speech deficit because at 31 months old, he's still not speaking in sentences. Then, on Thursday of this week, he just pops out with his first sentence, telling me, "Mom, I have a poop." Meaning, of course, that he had a dirty diaper.

Then, he told me to "Put the lid down." Since then, he has added sentences to tell us that his brother is mean, to ask me to stop doing something he didn't like, and to direct us all to do his bidding.

He has also become less tolerant of having his big brother take his toys without asking and more demanding and grabby himself. Preschool should be fun!

Fear of having a burgeoning bully on my hands aside, all of this rapid change in the boys is very exciting. I love seeing them grow and learn and become more confident and more of who they truly are every day.

It's far to easy to get caught up in life's daily minutiae and miss the miracle of it all. I may not always express it and I know that my penchant for falling into depression can mask it, but I really am amazed by the joy that is to be found in creating, living with, mothering, and just being around these little people, who still live each and every moment fully. What a fantastic experience!

All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth: Searching for Meaning in Life's Milestones

If my life were a movie, in it, I would be standing there, holding my newborn baby. I would blink and then a sweeping, spinning rotation of the camera would highlight images of Brendan as a baby, then a toddler, then an older boy. It would all be beautifully shot, with sunlight glinting and glaring through a canopy of spring and autumn leaves. In an instant, I'd open my eyes and see standing before me my college-aged son, handsome and smiling. It would all take place in the blink of an eye.

That's what my life feels like today.

To me, it seems like yesterday that I stood inside our church, holding him as the priest poured holy water over his tiny little head and anointed him with chrism. Sunlight streamed through a skylight at the very moment the priest anointed him and shone on his peaceful, sleeping face.

I remember holding Brendan in those first few weeks of his life, overcome with emotion and feeling unworthy of this gift I had been given by God and thinking that he was not just a gift from God, but was of God, an extension of the Creator, embodying everything that is good and holy.

That moment that stands out so vividly against a blur of 2:00 a.m. feedings, diaper changes, and hormones feels like yesterday or last week, not six years ago.

Yet, here we are. Summer 2009. And my baby has his first loose tooth.

When he discovered it last night, I was really excited for him and a little panicky because I'm not sure what the going rate is for the tooth fairy and I knew I had no cash. I was hoping it wouldn't come out for a day or two more.

After that initial reaction, it only took a few moments for sentiment to overtake me and bring me here, to this place where it feels like it's all going so fast. Too fast. Where I feel like such an ungrateful heel for the times I've complained about lack of sleep or lack of place and space and lost identity. Where I wish I had never lost a moment of joy to depression or fear or sorrow.

So what to do? Let it go. That's all I can do. Any time spent on regret for the mistakes of my past would just be more wasted time. All I can do is embrace the here and now. Be here. Be present. Be positive. Roll with the punches and do the best I can. Love my boys. Love their dad. Love myself. Just keep livin'.

And figure out how this whole tooth fairy thing works.

Like a Virgin

Well, after several months of not blogging, not writing very much of anything that wasn't a marketing brochure or magazine article, I'm back.

Not sure if anyone gives a damn. But I'm back. I want to write for me, about things I care about and I've decided to commit to it.

I've been thinking about it for a while now, missing this part of who I am. This past weekend Scott (my husband, if you're just joining us.) and I were in NYC for a friend's wedding and I had the chance to see several dear friends that I rarely see or talk with anymore. Two of them asked about my blog, and one, Chris, had some really great feedback for me on my writing. I chose to take those interactions as signs that I need to be writing this blog and that I need to focus on the issues of parenting and married life and my passions that are truly near and dear to my heart.

So, now, it's off to a meeting for Kindergarten parents about the Cub Scouts.

See you tomorrow. I promise.

The Weight

Sometimes the only way to get moving is simply to pick up one foot and put it in front of another. So...here goes.

The last few weeks have been so full. I feel like I've been jammed into my existence with barely enough room to breathe. Instead of writing, when I've had a free moment I've been trying to find something – prayer, meditation, hypnosis – that can take away the anxiety and stress that keeps me rigid and fearful and blind to the joy of this life.

I miss writing in this way.

I've been writing for work. And I've given a lot of thought to some creative writing that I want to do, although I haven't actually put pen to paper in that regard.

I miss writing in this intimate and meaningful way. I miss sharing the things that are challenging me and shaping me and hurting me and encouraging me.

Like the fact that I am incredibly worried about Brendan and my heart is breaking as I try to figure out how to mother him. He's so challenging right now. Defiant and frustrated and frustrating. He's not loving school. He tries hard and does really well in class. But getting him to do his homework is killing me. Like pulling teeth. For both of us.

His first parent-teacher conference left us shocked and terrified as the teacher suggested he has a fine motor skills delay. She told us how sweet and intelligent he his, but suggested he is falling behind because he lacks the fine motor skills to write and draw as well as the other kids. She suggested that he be evaluated by the school's occupational therapist, but then told me on Friday that the paperwork required is too extensive and that we should have him looked at sooner rather than later. I had already called our pediatrician and scheduled something at the Children's Hospital anyway.

I can't help but worry. I am terrified over what it might mean. Combined with his resistance to doing homework, his lack of interest in reading, and his stubbornness, I am so worried about his ability to live up to his potential, to become or achieve success and happiness in life.

How do you get a kid to enjoy homework? How do you make someone love reading if they don't? What do you do when those behaviors are so foreign to your own beliefs and way of thinking and living that you can't understand it and find a way to motivate your child?

I never imagined myself in this situation. Although it sure seems I've found myself saying that a lot these last few years.

I want the best for my son. If only I knew how to help him achieve it.

Let's Get It Started

Well, hey, y'all.

Wait. Are those crickets I hear? Am I all alone here after abandoning my post lo these many days, nay weeks?

I just haven't been able to get it together to write. I feel mentally fatigued. Lost. Wondering why I write and if I actually have anything of value to say. I was thinking about just walking away.

However, A. has a post on her blog that hit very close to home for me. I feel like I've been treading water in a sea of stress and dismay related to behavior problems (Brendan's and my own) and my inability to balance my part-time job, my duties as a wife and mother, and my desire to have a life that isn't solely consumed by cooking, cleaning, and child rearing. At least this blog gives me an outlet and keeps me connected with like minds – shoot, better minds! – and allows me space to figure out my purpose in this world.

Anyway, despite wondering how I can balance my need and desire to write and remain relatively honest with myself and you all with an apparently growing need not to offend or upset anyone else, I've decided to give this another go. I've thought about taking the blog private so that you'd have to register to read it, but that just seems too depressing. I might then find that no one actually gives a damn. I don't really want to do either of those things... Force readers to register or find out what a pathetic loser I am.

Or I could suck it up and be me, whoever that is.

So, I thought I'd start with a layout change. Unfortunately, I screwed up saving some of my links. If I've left you off my blogroll, please forgive me. I added the blogs whose urls I knew off the top of my head. If yours isn't there, it's because I'm going to need to find the url and add you. It's not that I don't love you to pieces!

Alright. Here we go. Again.

'Night, Y'all.

Boys Will Be Boys

This article pretty much confirms my limited experience raising children and highlights one of my biggest fears as the parent of sons.

For all the failings of the educational system over the past several decades to reach out to female students, it appears the ship has turned 180 degrees to the point that boys are being shut out.

I've been reading this research for a few years now... The lack of tactile experiences, the focus on test scores that requires endless sitting still in the classroom, the focus on teaching facts and figures at younger and younger ages while eliminating any experiences that teach the joy of learning, e.g. art, music, group activities.... These are all cited as central to the fact that more and more boys each year are diagnosed with ADD/ADHD when, in fact, they are just being boys.

We are trying to force kids to do things at ages four, five, and six, that their brains are not physically capable of doing. And it's worse on boys because their brains mature more slowly than those of girls.

And it's really easy to turn that all into a big joke, but ultimately, the joke is on us as a society. If we crush the self-esteem of a generation of little boys, tell them there is something wrong with them when they're simply being who and what they are, what kind of men will we produce.

I'm terrified of what this school year will bring.

But, I'm really glad there's research going on in this area and that others are noticing. I'm glad that a mainstream publication like Parenting is talking about it. I just wish it would trickle down to our educators. My fear is, however, that the ability to dose little boys with poison to the point that we zombify them and make things easier for our largely female teachers, is such a temptation that we will never recover.

Summer Days

It is difficult for me to believe that what passes for summer today is in any way related to the summers I knew as a child. Although many of my memories are blurred around the edges, others remain pristine in their clarity and I play them out in my mind like an old home movie.

There I am, riding my bike around the neighborhood or to the park, alone. I'm probably nine. I ride my bike to my friend Neece's (pronounced like niece-y, short for Glenice) house and then we go to get a couple of other friends and soon a group of four or five girls tear through the neighborhood, pedaling as fast as we can, pretending to be Charlie's Angels or the Dukes of Hazzard.

I see a blanket of sunny days with brown-skinned arms and legs that would merit being told I was brown as a biscuit. Mornings spent helping my grandmother in her garden followed by afternoons of playing tag or shadow tag, kickball and baseball with my cousins and the other kids our age in the neighborhood. A box elder tree, mailbox, a stone, and a silver maple tree served as our bases. After lunch, we'd walk to the store where 50 cents bought a Coke and a candybar or pack of Now and Laters or a pack of candy cigarettes. The afternoons bled into evenings of running around in the yard catching lightning bugs and putting them in a mayonnaise jar with holes poked in the metal lid. Then, we'd sit on the porch and eat watermelon, spitting seeds out into the yard. Or maybe my aunt and uncle would show up and we'd pile into the car, barefoot and giggling and go to the lake where we'd grill hamburgers and skim stones as we watched the sun set.

And with the exception of helping my grandmother in the garden, or having a meal prepared for us, or interacting with the clerk at the store, or being driven somewhere, there was nary a grown-up in the picture. We were self-sufficient. And trusted. And confident and competent. Because our parents trusted us and trusted the world we lived in.

Now, at five I wasn't riding my bike through the neighborhood or walking to the store or park alone. But I was walking across the street to my friend Scotty's house. And I was playing outside for hours on end by myself. I'm sure my grandmother poked her head out once in a while to make sure I was still there, but she wasn't hovering over me, making sure I was engaged and entertained in something constructive. I didn't have a summer reading list or daily flash card time. I was free to imagine and be and create my own worlds where I was a race car driver or a mommy or a veterinarian or a doctor. I climbed trees and sang songs and chased the dog and had the opportunity to be a kid in ways I didn't always get to.

We blame video games and TV for our kids lack of activity and creativity; the rise in obesity, and all the rest of society's ills. But really? Isn't it our fault? We're the ones cowed by fear of bad things happening to our children if they're out of our sight for an instant. And we're the ones who either don't have the time or the inclination to get up and get out and do things.

I'm not saying I do. Clearly, I'm sitting here typing and sounding off on a perfectly gorgeous sunny morning. But, when I finish my coffee and Kashi, I do plan to get my boys outside today. At least for a while.

I may not be able to recreate my idealized summer, especially since school begins August 11 (thanks Mr. President for your stupid NCLB). But, I want to do my best to create some fun memories for these guys and to allow them the opportunities to make their own memories as they become capable and secure in their abilities to do so.

We're All In This Thing Together

I spent a much-needed evening with my girlfriends last night, playing Bunco, laughing, talking, eating delicious food, and drinking rum punch.

I got a little of that patchwork mothering and gave some myself. Today, I feel as if a reset button has been punched and all is right with the world. At least my tiny piece of it. Sadly, that much can't be said of the world at large. I am saddened about what a tragic week or two it has been in the world at large.

Here, though, on this tiny plot of earth, for this moment at least, I feel safe, happy, loved, and loving.

I'm done acting like a spoiled brat.

All the kids who got into that class deserve to be there. Maybe especially the more challenging ones like E., the jumping-bean of a boy who can't sit still.

I thought a lot about the fact that just a few months ago I didn't even want to apply because I was worried that it would harm Brendan socially because he'd have the same classmates for the next six years. I thought about the fact that his best friend, Kush, also didn't get in and I hope they'll get to be in the same class next year.

Like I said, we all end up where we're meant to be. Somehow.

Brendan's teacher reaffirmed this belief this morning when she said that no matter what class he's in he will succeed and do well. It made me very proud and happy to hear the confidence in her voice when she said that. And looking across the room at E., as he climbed into the middle of the table where his classmates were trying to draw, I hoped that he, too, would thrive and find success where he lands.

Birthday

My baby is one-year old! I can't believe it. In the blink of an eye, this last year has vanished. Where did it go? I feel like I barely had time to catch my breath.

Beckett has been everything you could hope a baby would be. So sweet. So beautiful. An excellent sleeper. I just love him so much. So much. And he has given so much to our family. I love seeing the way Brendan is with him. I love the way Beckett looks at his brother and laughs at everything he does. I love seeing how sweet and confident Scott is with him.

Having a second child does wonders for your confidence as a parent, I think. I second-guess myself so much less now.

I've been wondering if Beckett's calm and easy-going disposition has more to do with who he is or with the fact that we know what we're doing now and aren't terrified of breaking the baby.

When I found out I was pregnant with Beckett, it was a surprise. We hadn't started trying. But I'm so happy we never had the chance to try. I can't imagine having any other baby. This one is perfect and I can't imagine my life without him now.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.

Better by the Pound

One of the most fascinating things about being a parent is the manner in which you quickly become an expert on things you only need to know about for a relatively brief period.

For four years now, I've been relatively obsessed and opinionated about diapers and pull ups. I know more about the subject than I ever cared to know or imagined I would. It began when Scott and I were debating the pros and cons of disposables vs. cloth diapers. We came down on the side of disposables because I, ultimately, decided I didn't want to be chained to the washing machine and because the jury's still out on which has a worse environmental impact. And, of course, now in Georgia with the water crisis we're facing, disposables make a lot of sense.

Ever since making that decision, I have tried every diaper on the market. Okay. Not every diaper. But certainly all of the major brands and most store brands. When Brendan was a newborn, I started going through all the diapers we received at showers. First, I tried the Pampers. Hated them. They had a really overpowering perfumey smell that made me sick, especially when mixed with other smelly things.

Next, I tried Luvs. Too leaky. Finally, I tried Huggies and had a winner. I stuck with that brand for a while, but then got lured into trying store brands to save money, but I couldn't stand the chemical smell and plastic feel of the store brands. I figured if it was uncomfortable for me to touch them just to put one on, it had to be misery-making for a baby. I went back to the Huggies brand and stuck with it until Brendan was potty-trained.

Of course, every baby's different and I've found that what worked on Brendan hasn't necessarily worked for Beckett. Huggies have been the leakiest on Beckett by far. I've found myself almost exclusively using Pampers which no longer have that disgusting perfumey fragrance. Unfortunately, I didn't even give Luvs a chance this time. That is until I got an unsolicited sample pack in the mail a couple of weeks ago.

I say sample pack, but it was actually a full-size 42-diaper pack of Luvs new Bear Hug Stretch diapers. And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Both to receive free diapers in the mail (because, really, as a mom to a baby is there anything more exciting than free diapers?) and by how great they were for my baby.

As I said, every baby's different and these diapers really seemed to fit Beckett well. He has chunky legs and I've heard that he looks like the Michelin Man on more than one occasion. I had been buying diapers one size above his weight range just to get them to fit around his thighs without cutting into his sweet legs. The Luvs Bear Hug Stretch, though, have some extra give and stretch in the legs and provided what seemed to be a much more comfortable fit (hence the name, I suppose). And, because they were the right size, there was no bunching in the bottom or around the waist.

I didn't have any leaking problems with them. No weird smell. The only thing I didn't like was that sometimes the tabs tore off when I was trying to fasten the diaper. That was frustrating, but overall I was really pleased and decided I should give these diapers a chance. We'll have to see how it pans out in the long run...If Luvs can go the distance with my chunky boy.

All this said, I would like to give one piece of advice to the Luvs ad agency and/or marketing department. Your commercial with the little boy humping his teddy bear is awful. It creeps me out.

Other than that, I've turned the corner on your product and will definitely be buying Luvs in the future. Good work on the changes.

You Gotta Feel It

Sometimes my heart aches and breaks and I feel crushed beneath the weight of emotion when I think about Brendan. He's my darling, intensely feeling child. I swear he lives and breathes with every fibre of his being. He's sensitive beyond what any one person should have to endure and I often find myself thinking about Wordsworth's poem:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The Winds that will be howling at all hours;
And are gathered up now like sleeping flowers –
For this, for everything, we are out of tune.
It moves us not.
Great God! I would rather be
A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blowing his wreathed horn.

I guess I feel like Brendan is so connected to this Earth, so present to every moment of his life, unlike 99 percent of us. He feels everything so deeply, the joy and the pain. I worry about the pain. I worry when he takes responsibility for the pain and well-being of others.

Of course I want him to care about other people, especially his brother. But I worry when he worries about protecting others. And of course, when he hurts, I hurt. And he seems to hurt very deeply.

He sat in my lap and cried for 30 minutes yesterday when I told him about Mao. I'm actually thankful he reacted that way, really. It shows that he has the ability to love animals and understands they are important parts of our families. I think his reaction in that instance is perfectly normal.

But I worry about his reaction to other things over which he has no control. He overheard a news story about a day care center in Tennessee that was closed by the state after investigators found a 4-month old boy with a pacifier taped in his mouth. I don't generally let Brendan watch the news, but I was watching CNN at 6:00 a.m. when he wandered into the room and heard the story. The reporter stated that the boy might have died had they not arrived when they did. Brendan was very upset and asked why someone would do that.

How do you explain that one?

Several days later he came back to me and asked me what he should do if one of their babysitters ever taped a pacifier to Beckett's mouth and locked him in the bathroom! He was so worried.

Naturally, I explained that we know all of our sitters very well and they're all friends of our family and he should never worry about that. I told him that if a sitter ever did anything wrong or told him not to tell his parents about something that happened that he should tell us no matter what. Then, he asked if he could call me if we weren't home and tell me and got all worried over not knowing how to use the phone. It was so very sad.

I promised I would teach him to use the phone. (As an aside, I have tried teaching him before, but he has shown zero interest up until this point.) I told him not to worry and that no one we know would do that sort of thing -- that only bad people would do something like that. And I thought we were okay.

Then, the day before yesterday, he asked me if bad guys have mommies. When I said that they did, he freaked out! I mean, on the floor kicking and screaming, "No! No! No! Bad guys don't have mommies. I don't want them to have mommies!"

It just broke my heart.

What do you do with a little guy who is so sensitive? How does he survive in this world? This big ugly, scary, heartbreaking world?

I Get Weak

There are just moments of pure bliss in this life. Rare, fleeting moments, but moments so amazing the beauty of them can feed your soul for days or weeks, even, as long as you choose to hold onto them and allow their purity to infuse your being.

Last night I had the great fortune to live one of those moments.

While Scott played guitar in preparation for his next show, I lay on the floor sorting through pictures from Brendan's soccer game, just enjoying the music. A couple of songs in, Brendan comes out of his room and stands outside our doorway, listening. When he saw me peeking around the door at him, he smiled the biggest smile and ran to me, arms outstretched. I asked him why he wasn't in bed and he said, very seriously, because I just love you and wanted to be with you. I put him back to bed and returned to my laptop. After about 10 minutes, I hear his door open. A surprisingly lengthy time later – maybe 30 seconds – he appears at our door, but doesn't come in. Again, I ask why he's not in bed, and he very sweetly and shyly says, "Well, Mommy, I just love you so much and I really want to be here with you and I just can't control myself.

He was so very earnest and sweet. I held my arms out and he threw himself into them and gave me the biggest, sweetest hug.

I know he was playing me, a bit, wanting to stay up past his bedtime and hear his daddy play guitar. I know he was just curious about what goes on after he's asleep. But it still melted my heart and made me feel incredibly blessed. Looking at Scott and Brendan and seeing how much alike they are, my heart felt like it would burst from the overflowing of love I felt for my beautiful husband and this amazing little child we made together.

Sometimes, I feel like the weight of my love for Scott and our sons will crush me all the while it sustains me. I spend so much time worrying about them, worrying about losing their love, worrying about not being worthy of their love in some way.

Maybe that's why these moments when I am simply in the moment, feeling and being, and not doing anything seem so beautiful and prized.

I mean ultimately, I know that my fears are meaningless. I need to simply be in this life and enjoy every moment of it, the beauty and the mess of it all.

One Big Holiday

I thought that once school began, I would become a blogging fool. Unfortunately, (or maybe it's actually a good thing!) I simply haven't had time. My seven hours of "free time" each day seems woefully too little. Every minute gets eaten away with something.

Of course, I am enjoying more one-on-one time with Beckett who seems to be enjoying it immensely. He has suddenly decided to speak, crawl, and learn to stand all at the same time. Of course, his mad burgeoning skills mean he is sleeping less, but unlike big brother, he (thankfully) has not had any truly sleepless nights. It just means he's waking once around 11 p.m. and going instantly back to sleep and then getting up for good around 6:30. I can't complain at all. And, naturally, I'm overjoyed that his first word was mama. Brendan went for da-dee as his first word, followed soon thereafter by 'nana which meant banana. Mama came very late to him for some reason. I think he even said uh-oh and ba-ba for bottle before he said mama.

Beckett seems – if it's possible – more verbally advanced. He said mama on Friday, butter, which we interpreted as brother, on Saturday, and then – and I promise I am not making this up – something that sounds an awful lot like I love you on Saturday as well. He has repeated each of these several times, so we're thinking they're not just flukes. And if you repeat the words to him, he says them back.

So, in addition to that excitement, I have been working very hard to find work and think I have done so. I had two interviews last week. One was for a PR job with the (okay don't laugh too hard) National Singles Association. The other was ghost-writing for a headhunter who has a regular column in several business publications.

I will be doing the second one. I started yesterday, brainstorming on topics we could write about. He will get all the credit, but I will get a paycheck which actually matters more to me right now.

I also have several other irons in the fire with respect to work and hopefully I can pull some of them out soon. We shall see.
Scott has a show on Friday at a local coffeehouse and wine bar called Java Monkey. I'm excited about that. He has two other shows coming up in September as well and I'm working on a few other things.

If you happen to be in Atlanta and read this, come by Java Monkey on Friday night and say hi. And, of course, check out my darlin's music.

I'm leaving out a ton of things that have been happening, but I need to get supper going. Scott will be home any minute and I haven't even started yet. Zoinks!

Apron Strings

If you saw and loved the movie She's Having a Baby way back in the early '90s or late '80s when it was released, then you probably love the soundtrack as well.

After searching in vain for the out of print collection for a couple of years, I finally got a copy last night. Jeremy and his wife Teresa came to Scott's show with their little cutie Nathan last night and J. brought me a copy of the soundtrack plus a few covers/remixes of songs on the album. Very cool.

As always, one song stood out among the others and tugged at my heartstrings, bringing tears to my eyes. It's always the same one, although I realize that over the years the reasons the song touches me so deeply have changed.

Here are the lyrics:


Apron strings
Hanging empty
Crazy things
My body tells me
I want someone to tie to my lonely
Apron strings

Apron strings
Waiting for you
Pretty things
That i could call you
I want someone to tie to my lonely
Apron strings

He'd look just like me when I was young
And I wonder as the days unwind
Will he have your eyes or mine
Then i wake up to my
Apron strings
Cold and lonely
For time brings
Thoughts that only
Will be quiet when someone clings to my
Apron strings

And i'll be perfect in my own way
When you cry i'll be there
I'll sing to you and comb your hair
All your troubles i will share

For apron strings
Can be used for other things
Than what they're meant for
And you'd be happy wrapped in my
Apron strings

I don't want to talk about the reasons that song moved me when I was younger; they've passed away, changed, been forgotten about. Now, last night, as I played the song over and over again about four times on the drive home, always crying at the lines "and I'll be perfect in my own way/When you cry I'll be there/I'll sing to you and comb your hair/All your troubles I will share," all I can think about his how happy I am now to have someone, two someones, clinging to my apron strings, but how much happier I am to see my friends – many of them – who have struggled to get pregnant, stay pregnant, adopt, and become the parents they knew they were meant to be, finally hold their own children and have them cling not only to their apron strings, but to heartstrings as well.