Training wheels please…

Being a mother is hard. There, I said it. I won’t even touch being a wife today…cause I’m still figuring that out too 😉

As an emotional over thinker, it’s even more difficult because I’m constantly second guessing myself (along with everyone else), taking everything to heart (and I mean personally), and always trying to foresee every possible consequence or outcome of every word, action, or situation…which is IMpossible.

From the moment my daughter was born, I felt the weight of it on my heart and conscience…the responsibility of her life, her happiness, her comfort and well being, as well as the expectations I have for myself to live up to: as the mother I always wanted for myself and that I saw myself being…and of course, the expectations I assume every one else has of me; the things I imagine they would want me to say or do, my daughter to say or do or be. It’s all very overwhelming and at times a bit too much for my sensitive self to take in. I am hard enough on myself as a person, let alone as a person responsible for another life 😉

This week has been a doozy, not just as a mommy but also with a lot of personal changes and adjustments. I started back on the 10 week program with Farrell’s. I am in the 5am class because it works best with my busy schedule, so I now get up at 4am rather than 5:30 or 6 as I’m used to. And since my husband now gets up later, I’ve been staying up later with him until 10 instead of going to bed at 9…so sleep has been less and I’m tired from the new workouts. I’m thinking I’m going to have to go back to 9pm bedtimes if I expect to stay awake and sane for the next few months 😉 I also started back at DMACC, taking 2 online classes and one night class, which is two days a week after work. I’ve been trying to read over all the syllabus’, class outlines, and assignments for the next week, post to the message boards, and just get used to being in a classroom environment again (totally weird since I’ve been used to online classes for a couple years now) while working around my normal work schedule and duties…it’s been stressful. I’m a little concerned about the workload since I’m taking both Literature and English, which are heavy in reading/essay writing but…I enjoy both so I’m hoping I will find a way to manage them well. We’re still settling into our new house; unpacking, fixing things, decorating, and just trying to get it to feeling more “normal” or like a home. Most nights and weekends are spent doing that. Then comes the everyday stuff like laundry, dishes, house work, etc. With the new house we want to be sure we stay on top of things so I’m getting gentle reminders about them and taking them not so gently. Doing laundry for two adults who workout (that’s two outfits and pajamas) AND a five year old can be tough to keep up with, especially on a super tight schedule. I’m tired, I’m a little stressed and overwhelmed, my nerves and emotions are bruised and sensitive, I feel overweight and icky and my clothes don’t fit…and it’s just kinda crazy. I’m just trying to stay focused, calm, and not freak out 😉

Then there is my 5 year old daughter, Cadence, who is in Kindergarten and had to start up at a new school herself. She’s my main concern this week. Much like her mommy she is a very emotional, sensitive little person..who takes everything to heart and is a people pleaser. Over the past month she had to deal with packing up all her things in her old bedroom and not having access to a lot of her favorite toys or activities until we moved, saying goodbye to all her new friends she made at her previous school, being bounced around between grandma and grandpas and mommy and daddy while we move, do repairs, etc. She’s had to entertain herself and hear a lot of “Not right now” or “Maybe later”. We celebrated Christmas and then after break she started back at the new school, seemingly excited but showing little signs here and there of being stressed by breaking down into tears over the silliest (in our eyes) of things. Our schedules are new, EVERYTHING is new…and we’re still all adjusting. Yesterday I got a call from her teacher…one of those calls any parent would hate to get: Cadence has been struggling to keep her hands to herself and was seen by a teacher going up and kneeing a girl in the back of the leg out of nowhere, and this wasn’t an isolated incident I guess. Her teacher just hadn’t wanted to say anything in hopes it was just a first week adjustment issue…but it’s now carrying over into her second week and she’s concerned. Cadence has told her she just wants to get their attention but she’s clearly doing it in the wrong way. I also found out she’s made several trips to the nurses office complaining of tummy aches, although she’s not running a fever or throwing up…what the nurse and I both agree sounds like nerves…and again, what daddy and I believe may be attention seeking.

I forget, in all that is going on in my own day to day, that she too has feelings, she too is impacted by all this crazy, and probably struggles much more with it all being 5 and little and confused. I cried when I got off the phone with her teacher. In part because I was disappointed, didn’t understand why my sweet little monkey would be wanting to hurt others, and worry others won’t understand or know how wonderful she is and not want to be her friend…but also, mostly, because I feel like it’s my fault; like I could have prevented this, like I haven’t been attentive enough during this transition…I completely overlooked her feelings in it all. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling, sigh.

We sat down and talked last night. I tried to make sure she knew how important it is that she is honest and open with what she is feeling, what she is going through, what is happening in her day; that mommy and daddy are here, that we care and want to help her, but can’t if she doesn’t talk to us, which she wasn’t comfortable doing because she was afraid we would be mad. Sometimes we will get mad, but we will work through it…and we will always love her. We role played some situations: wanting to get someones attention by using our words (not our hands), what we should do if the person doesn’t seem interested or doesn’t want to talk/play (because they won’t always want to, and that is okay), what to say/do if we start to feel mad or sad or scared and who to go to (because it’s okay to take time to ourself to be alone or to ask a teacher to talk it out). I wanted her to know how completely unacceptable hitting or hurting others is…but also wanted her to know how much we love her, how smart and kind we know she is, and that regardless of “getting in trouble” or making mistakes…we will always love her, no matter what. She lost her iPad privileges and access to some of her things. She has a play date scheduled for this weekend, it will only happen if we hear a good report for the rest of the week. Tough but also unconditional love…that’s what we’re trying here.

I am new at this. I have never been a mother. I am learning as I go..and most of the time there is a whole bunch of other shit going on that I’m having to juggle and wrangle and figure out…but what I’m realizing is: she is most important. She comes first.

I have looked forward to being a mommy my whole life. From the moment I found out Caleb and I had made magic and I had a little bean in my belly, I was filled with a glow and love and excitement I have never experienced. I used to waddle through the skywalks on my lunches, big old baby belly guiding the way, smiling to myself because I was just so stinkin giddy and happy. *tears tears tears typing it. But I’ve also taken it incredibly seriously, lots of times too seriously (because I do that with everything damnit) and that’s been a tremendous struggle because I know it not only effects my own sanity and heart but that of my girl and family.

So (deep breath)…with a little bit of a heavy heart, sparky-fritzy brain and really sore butt and arms from my workouts this week hahaha…I’m moving forward, a little cautiously. I’m going to try to take the gentle reminders about laundry and vacuuming and not leaving things on the kitchen table…gently (without breaking into tears or freaking out by yelling things like “I ONLY HAVE TWO HANDS DAMNIT”). I’ve already thrown and cleaned up after a pitty party by expressing how I “can’t do anything right” etc…waste of time and energy, suck it up buttercup 😉 Caleb’s favorite term is HTFU. I’m trying honey…thanks for hanging in there. I’m going to try to manage my time better. I’m going to try to keep up on all the day to day. I’m going to try to be positive and organized. I say try because that is the best promise I can give right now. Take it or leave it. But mostly, I’m just going to consciously not say things like “Not now” or “Maybe later” and be more patient, more attentive, and more present with my little monkey…because she deserves it, she needs it…and I know with all I’m feeling, it’s what I would want or need from someone, especially my mommy.

Still learning. Figuring it all out one second at a time. Raw. Always forward ❤

Our own monsters…

A friend shared this blog post this morning:

The Bully Too Close to Home

I cried at my desk at work and had to blame it on my cold.

Since I found out I was pregnant I was filled with this sense of purpose, not only to be the best mother I could be (ie: better than mine was for me) but also to raise the most healthy and perfect little person I possibly could (better than I was and am). That is a lot of pressure, on myself and my little girl.

I’ve gone over and over and over in my head all the things my mother and father have ever done and the impact those things have had on me as a person. I’ve compared them to the upbringing of my husband, his stories and the impact they’ve had on him. I judge, critique, and analyze other parents to the point of driving myself crazy…because I don’t want to get it wrong, I want to get it all “just right”…perfect. That is a lot of pressure to put on not only myself but everyone else. In the end, we all suffer.

I can’t really even begin to describe my childhood or upbringing. It’s such a fucked up combination of love and anger and imbalance I wouldn’t know where to start. I even have a hard time computing it all myself most of the time. One moment I recall a loving, fun, bubbly mother letting me do her hair and makeup, letting me crawl into bed with her because it’s “just us, best buddies” against the world…and the next I remember a drunk, drugged up crazed woman dragging me out of bed by my hair screaming about cigarettes or hitting me in the face calling me a “snotty bitch” and asking who I think I am. With my father it’s either bike rides to the park, falling asleep on his chest on the couch or visiting him in prison, waiting for him to never show up for birthdays or catching him doing drugs in a friends bedroom. I’m not sharing this for pity or sympathy or using it as an excuse. I know I have a choice on how I deal with that. I know I’m an adult now and am responsible for how I use that. But I also can’t deny that it doesn’t effect me, that it isn’t hard, and that I do allow it to mess with my head and my heart. I am weak. I’m not perfect. There are times this shit comes crashing through my sunshiny positivity bubble and I’m left a wreck. I let it do that, me. And that again feeds the beast that is my confidence, my motivation, my happiness…the love I have for myself…the love I have left for everyone else.

I have alllllways been a people pleaser. Always. I want everyone to like me, everyone to be happy with me, everyone to approve of me, etc etc etc. I set these impossible standards for myself that just can’t be met. I have such great expectations of how I or others or things should be that when they don’t measure up…I’m crushed. And this compulsion to be perfect causes me to in turn want to raise a perfect little girl. If my daughter isn’t polite or behaving well, what will others think of ME? If my daughter isn’t smart, healthy and kind what kind of parent am I?! Everything is a reflection on me as a mother or as a person. Everything. How my husband or daughters treat me or see me. How my friends treat me or see me. It feels like it’s all a measure of me, of my worth, of my character. Sigh. And my daughter…that poor girl hasn’t stood a chance from the moment she was born…the shoes she is trying to fill continue to grow at an impossible rate that she can’t keep up with. The same goes for me…and probably everyone else I know.

Reading that blog post this morning felt like someone stripped me down, shoved me out in the middle of the world and shined a big bright spotlight on me. I’ve been there. Right there in that situation where my daughter is needing compassion and love and attention and I’m too busy or distracted to give it so she is left defeated and confused and hurt. Isn’t that so sadly ironic?! That in my constant battle to achieve perfection and create the perfect little person, I’m being the exact opposite of what I want and would expect me to be?!

Last night my daughter, husband and I all piled into her bed to read the last assigned chapter of “The Borrower’s” for her schools reading program. It had been a long day. I was stressed about a laundry list of things and frustrated with others not going my way or how I wanted them to so was already cranky. My daughter, being 5 and having just had a few pieces of candy as a reward for something or other was understandably antsy and distracted and not paying attention to what I was reading. We had gone through this the night before, where mid chapter she couldn’t tell me what had happened in the story or answer any questions I had asked. So tonight I got upset, closed the book and said we weren’t going to read if she wasn’t going to be respectful and listen. She begged me to keep going and I said no, kissed her goodnight, and left her crying. She opened her door a few minutes later all teary eyed, poked her little head out, and sheepishly said “I’m sorry”. I snapped “Go to bed Cadence” and this led to the door being shut as she sobbed uncontrollably. My husband got upset and told me that was uncalled for, that she was trying to say she was sorry; he went to console her. I immediately knew I had made a mistake but instead of saying that I got angry at him for “making me feel like a terrible mother”, cursed, and spent the rest of the night alone with a glass of wine. There are so many things wrong with what I did, I can’t even begin to start to pick it apart. I’m ashamed of it. Tears fill my eyes just typing this. But the bully in me snaps “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re the one who did this. Cadence is who you should be feeling sorry for.” And I do. I feel sorry that my little girl, who has inherited my people pleasing and sensitive little heart, felt like she wasn’t good enough, like she had disappointed me, or like she had done a terrible thing simply because she is 5 and wasn’t paying attention. What broke my heart even more was the big puffy red eyes that greeted me when I finally went in to comfort her and make sure she knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, that I loved her, that I understood…that I was sorry…

The thing that confused me most about my relationship with my own mother was how she could fly off the handle one minute in a fit of rage and hit me, call me names, etc then come in crying 5 minutes later, sobbing through apologizes and begging me to forgive her. She always apologized but by the time I was 15 those apologies didn’t mean anything because I knew within the hour or the day or the week she would do it all over again and we would replay the horrible cycle of lashing out, feeling guilty, and taking it back. It broke my spirit, it drained my faith and trust in others, and I have a feeling it altered my own perception and ability to understand the true meaning of an apology, of learning from my mistakes and owning up to them, of what a normal healthy relationship is like. Now, looking back on that, I realize how I am falling into that pattern with my own daughter (as well as others)…the very thing I’ve always fought so hard to NOT do…and it hurts. I know it’s not as extreme as my mother, but my mother didn’t start out that way either…it gradually got worse over time…and I want to catch it, and stop it before it reaches that point. Again, I don’t want to raise another “me”…I don’t want Cadence looking back and fighting those same demons. And I want my apologies to mean something.

So within the last 24 hours my little bubble has been burst. I’m re-reading that blog post, going over all this in my little head, and feeling pretty heavy and deflated. It’s easy to see the negative in it all, to look back and dwell on the hurt and the faults and the “shoulda coulda woulda”s. What’s hard is using all that to learn, to improve, and to move forward without putting so much pressure on myself that I crumble beneath it. As my husband said “No one is perfect. We can’t expect it from ourselves or each other or Cadence.” Sigh.

So I guess my mission is to work on loving and accepting myself, cutting myself a little slack, and finding a healthy balance between self-evaluation and self-deprecation, analyzing my past and using it to grow or allowing it to prevent me from growing, and also understanding the difference between pillars of character to build from and impossible expectations to come crashing down from trying to reach. I am always always open to learning…I need to do so more graciously, gracefully, and peacefully…for myself and those I love.

I am not perfect. I never will be. No one is. No one should be. I shouldn’t strive to be better than someone else or my past, I should strive to be the best I can be…the happiest, the most loving, the healthiest inside and out…for me and for my family. I need to fill my own love cup before I can try to pour into that of others.

I want my daughter to feel good about herself, to love herself, to be happy…I shouldn’t care what others think of how we achieve that or how we get there. This whole mentality of “keeping up with the Jones'” isn’t just monetary anymore…it’s about an image, and that’s ridiculous and impossible…and it goes against everything I believe, everything I preach, everything raw and real and true…

Humbly bare. Always forward ❤

Getting heavy in hope of enlightening…

This is a heavy opinion piece, so please tread lightly with an open mind and do so at your own discretion…

Every September 11th I am filled with mixed emotions…I’m overwhelmed with images of death and destruction, my heart breaks for those who were lost and the families that are still left with a gaping hole, I ache for the firefighters and police officers and other volunteers and survivors who have to live with the raw footage that is seared into their memories, I’m sad and feel lost for the Muslims and others who now suffer the backlash, I’m angered at the blind and hateful finger pointing. But I’m mostly confused by how I want to be moved by the way we all came together at that time, and still do on this day, as a country, as a people, as brothers and sisters of this land, and the pride we felt and demonstrated for our nation…yet struggle to, because it has also ripped us apart, divided us, and filled our hearts with hate, fear, bigotry, judgement, blame, and so much more in the wound it left. And it feels like we are now separate from the rest of the world, floating amongst ourselves in a lifeboat only made for “Americans”, looking over our shoulders and through binoculars with cynical, accusatory eyes at anything coming our way. It makes me sad and mad and confused.

My news feed is filled with images of the towers burning, flags waving, the city now as it is with ghostly images of the Twin Towers in the forefront. The news has montages and recaps of that days events and the years that have passed. Most people are reflective, respectful, humbled, empathetic, and proud of how we have made it through, how we came together, how we are stronger…others act like hateful bigots and post propaganda about Muslims and “towel heads” and terrorists taking over our government. It makes me sick. Have we forgotten our history as a nation, as a world, as a people?! Have we forgotten that hate and violence and tragedy comes in all shapes and sizes; from all races, religions, ages, sexes, classes?! Do we not remember the Holocaust? The slavery trade? The true story behind Thanksgiving? The mother who drowned her five children?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Caylee_Anthony

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kidnappings_of_Amanda_Berry,_Gina_DeJesus,_and_Michelle_Knight

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/September_11_attacks

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oklahoma_City_bombing

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villisca_Axe_Murders

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Manson

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Yates

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/05/24/utah-brothers-killed/2358131/

http://www.nbcnews.com/id/41319561/ns/us_news-crime_and_courts/t/police-army-officers-wife-kills-her-mouthy-teens/

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/08/12/man-child-dead-after-shooting-at-ywca-in-new-hampshire-police-officers/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boston_Marathon_bombings

Those are all horrific stories of death at the hand of another. And they all happened here, throughout different times in our history, on our soil, by the hands of Americans against other American sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, co-workers…strangers. These people took lives, it didn’t matter what weapon they used, who the victim was to them, or the other people it effected…they murdered another human being and now there is loss and pain and anger.

September 11th was a terrible, heartbreaking, world shattering day. It is one that we will never forget, and I truly hope we don’t. I hope we remember it and the memories of those people we lost. I hope it forever changes us, just like I hope all things that happen to us or that we cause to happen changes us. But it’s how it changes us that worries me. We can either look through tear filled, wild, chaos blurred lenses that muck up our point of views and rob us of all reason and be on the ready to attack or cast out any sign of a threat…or we can try to lead peaceful lives as compassionate, empathetic, tolerant  human beings ready to help, not hurt.

September 11th isn’t about a terrorist or a bomb or an airplane…it’s about human beings with a sickness of the mind. Only someone sick and devoid of all reason could be so careless and destructive. Not all mothers kill their children, not all men kidnap and torture young girls, not everyone who owns a gun or an axe uses it to hurt and kill others…just like not all Muslims are terrorists, not all terrorists are Muslim, and not all attacks against us as a nation come from other countries. We cannot allow September 11th to define our history; past, present, or future. We cannot allow it to overshadow all the other tragedies that happen…here or elsewhere. We also can’t allow it to be lost among the rubble of them all either.

We aren’t only a “Nation”. We are a World. We are living beings on one small Planet in this one small Universe among a huge and powerful and greater Unknown. You are my brother, my sister, my roommate, my teammate…my partner. We are all partners in life. We are co-workers and housekeepers alike. We must take care of each other and our home. If someone is sick or suffering, we must find a way to help them…how, we have to decide together, because we are a family…all of us, a unit.

A doesn’t like that B worships God, well B is sorry but B certainly doesn’t mind if A is Buddhist. Why don’t they just agree to disagree as long as it isn’t hurting anyone?

C doesn’t like mustard in her potato salad, D thinks it isn’t potato salad without mustard. Make your own potato salads C and D, who cares?! It’s friggin potato salad for crying out loud!

E likes other letter E’s, F thinks that’s gross and wants to make a law banning E’s from loving each other. E thinks F is weird for liking E, but says “Hey! Whatever tickles your alphabet F. I’m cool with it.” Why can’t F do the same?

We bicker and bully and picket and send in petitions about the silliest things. They get us all riled up. They turn us against each other. We get all red faced and angry. We wave our hands and slam our fists against desks. We take it to court. We publicly shame each other. We spit in each others food. We fill paper sacks with poop, light it on fire and throw it at each others front doors. We throw eggs and meat and produce in protest. We slash tires. We spit in faces. We make bombs. We buy guns. We plot against each other…

Stop. We are the enemy and the problem when we could be the sparkle and the magic and the hope. The boogieman comes in all shapes and sizes and hurts in many different ways. We need to stick to the basics: don’t hurt, don’t steal, don’t lie…

I think I got off track here…or didn’t…I don’t know.

I know we have to be cautious, I know bad things happen, I know we have to be realistic and not idealistic…I have a daughter, I’ve been forced to accept these things. But in having a daughter I’ve also realized that we can’t let the world harden us or rob us of our compassion, our curiosity, our wonder, our ability to love blindly, or desire to connect and make friendships. We are in the process of teaching her the concept of “Stranger Danger”…there is no picture I can show her of who to avoid or steps I can take to protect her 100% from all danger or potentially harmful situations. She only knows not to leave with anyone other than mommy, daddy, grandma, grandpa or her kindergarten teacher Ms. Carry and that if anyone tries to take her, hurt her, or touch her “special” parts, she is to scream “You are not my mommy/daddy!” or “Help!” and kick and run. She doesn’t see her classmates as “black” or “white”, they are Glen and Nevaeh and Isabella. She doesn’t care that Nevaeh’s parents were immigrants or that Glen’s believe in God, she just knows they are nice to her, they don’t push her or take her things, and they are fun to be around. We could learn so much from our little ones.

I am sorry for September 11th. I send love, hugs, wishes of peace and good memories, and most of all the gift of forgiveness and healing to the families and all who were directly impacted by this event. I think about them more than just this once a year, I hope they know that…just as I think about those lost in the Holocaust, the Native Americans, all the casualties of the wars that span our times and lands, and all else who have suffered. I think of you. I cry for you. I wish for peace and love and change for you. This is my wish for us all on this anniversary. That we see it’s not just about one event or one boogieman…and it’s not just about us. Most importantly, that we learned something from it, they didn’t die in vain, that we took something from both their lives…and their loss.

I am not trying to be disrespectful or hurtful or insensitive. I hope I have made that abundantly clear. If it is taken that way, I am truly sorry, and can only say it wasn’t intended that way. We are each open to interpret things as we wish. I cannot control how you receive me and my words, only how I deliver them and the intention behind that delivery.

On that note, here are some stories that I have encountered recently that uplifted me and gave me hope, I want to leave you with hope as well, in each other…in the sparkle…always forward ❤

http://theactivepursuit.com/seconds-to-spare-father-and-son-surge-to-dramatic-ironman-wisconsin-finish/

http://www.upworthy.com/a-boy-makes-anti-muslim-comments-in-front-of-an-american-soldier-the-soldiers-reply-priceless?g=2&c=cur1

http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/08/29/hope-for-spicy-families#.Uh-isajrVhs.facebook

And one I’ve shared before, but that says so much: