The TRUTH About Motherhood

Category: Confessions

Three Tiny Rings

Today, I woke up and remembered that I should be snuggling a 3-year-old in my lap this morning. Celebrating with giggles, random hugs and sweet, baby voiced, “I love you”s. Instead, my lap is empty. The only things I have to commemorate what should have been are three thin stackable rings, the birthstones of the three babies that grew inside me once.
Two I kiss and adore and hug and cuddle into my lap every single day, one I never got to hold, not even once. I looked down at that ring a thousand times today, a secret for only me. Suddenly, these three little stackable rings are my most prized possession. They are not worth much money but to me they mean everything. They are tangible, right there on my finger to look upon at will.
Sometimes I feel like that baby was a figment of my imagination. My third baby is like a whisper that lingers for always in my heart; like the sweet smell that lingers after a breeze carries in the smell of fresh flowers on a warm sunny day. It’s a glimpse of happiness quickly followed by sorrow and only for a moment; never enough time to make it tangible.
For three years, I’ve spent this day alone in my head. There are always people around. Sometimes I wish there weren’t so I could wallow a bit in my sadness rather than pretending that the day is like any other day.
Every year on May 1st, the day I miscarried, I allow myself to feel my loss to my very core. Sometimes it hurts terribly. Sometimes not as much. But to do it again on what should have been the day my baby was born, feels overindulgent. I feel like making the leap from one day to two takes me from normal grieving to “weird” as if you can quantify grief.
I don’t know how this is supposed to work or when/if November 24th will feel like just another day. In actuality, nothing of distinction happened on that day. It’s just a due date that was printed on a scan of a baby that I never got to hold. But to me, that day is imprinted on my heart and I’m afraid it always will be.
Does it ever get easier?
2015/11/24
Back-to-School means Time to Get Back to Me
Summer was insane around here, packed full of traveling and the making of all the fun childhood memories but now it’s time to get back to me. It was awesome for the girls and us too. I love having them home but for me it was a little bit of the summer of Mom Interrupted.
My house looked like a cyclone hit it at all times. Getting work done felt like a covert opp because I was doing it after they went to bed, before they woke up and sneaking away for quiet moments at my keyboard while they were occupied with the Big Guy outside; all the while my heart was longing to be outside with them enjoying it. The mommy guilt was strong with me this summer, even though I was putting most things aside to be in the moment. It just never felt like enough.
I’ve noticed the older they get, the faster the summers go and more and more often I feel myself being torn between being their mom, his wife and my own person. I want to be happy and to be happy; those three components need to coexist in harmony. I need to be there for them but I definitely need to be here for me too. When the balance gets out of whack, my entire universe starts spinning off its axis. The truth is that one thing fuels the other and makes it better.
But how do I be there for them and still get back to me?
Being a good wife means a happy marriage, which means a stable, happy home for my children but none of that is possible if I am not happy with myself. So I have these three balls in the air at all times; my career, my daughters and my husband. Usually it is easy, I mean these are my priorities so 3 priorities are perfect until anything unexpected or extra comes up (which has been happening all summer) and then all the balls start dropping and I am jumping around like a mad woman trying to catch them before they hit the floor and shatter because obviously in my mind my balls are fragile. But my balls are strong; they are made of rubber. Anyways, enough about comparing my family to balls. The point is they are more resilient than I give them credit for and so am I.
But school has started back and I am writing in quiet from the hours of 8-2:30 and our routine is hectic but it’s manageable because we work together as a family to function smoothly. Sure there are hiccups but with everyone being flexible and having our priorities, life is easier. The thing that really keeps all the balls in the air is recognizing when one of us needs a break from the juggling or needs some extra TLC.
Every so often when things at the office get a little too hectic or my husband has a big project due, we all recognize that he might need a little more time to play Call of Duty and kill some zombies to decompress so I ask him to do less around the house during that time. Sometimes the kids get overwhelmed with homework and extracurricular activities, especially when they have performances or big tests coming up and that’s when they get extra cuddles, more understanding and maybe a pass on chores. And sometimes, I really need a day of quiet, to sleep in or just someone else to juggle all the balls for awhile because my arms are exhausted and this is when my family steps in and takes over; back-to-school is one of those times of year.
The girls are excited and anxious about starting a new school year with new teachers and new friends but at the same time, I am juggling all the balls and about 20 more and after a summer with just throwing balls and letting them fall where they may, this is near impossible and very stressful. I am in desperate need of a girl’s weekend in Chicago, a week at the beach or just a spa day.
Who am I kidding, I would settle for a day of no obligations; sleeping through the night without any interruptions and waking up on my own, a hot, relaxing bath, take out, no kids bickering and a back massage by the Big Guy. That sounds just about like perfection to me.
What’s your idea of the perfect back to me day?

Disclosure: I am a Wayfair ambassador but all opinions about how I get back to me are my own.
2015/08/21
Parents Guide to Surviving Back-to-School Induced Mood Whiplash
The first day back-to-school is today and yesterday my girls lost their minds. I never noticed this phenomenon before. Nerves are to be expected at back-to-school but full-on crazy was never part of the deal! Maybe it’s a tween thing or maybe I’m just noticing it but yesterday was the worst. Forget about my worries of avoiding the kindergarten hallway of death with mother’s strewn on the floor collapsed in puddles of snot and tears. Today, back-to-school can kiss my grits! Now, I know why all the parents in the 3^rd-5^th-grade hall just carry in paper goods like pack mules and never look back. No photos, no kisses or have a good day, just lots of knowing nods and exhaustion.
The tween has gone completely bipolar on me (and you know I don’t use this term lightly, takes one to know one and wow! She’s making my head spin) one second she’s smiling and hugging on me, cuddling in for dear life and the next, she is rolling her eyes so hard that I think she might have sprained something and crying, sobbing over boots that she begged for….that I bought. I thought that was a good thing. NO! I was dead freaking wrong because in tween brain that means I bought her stupid boots that she can’t even wear over her pants, with her skirts or until NOVEMBER! I’m such a horrible mom.
But she asked for them. Tough shit lady, you should have known better. Then she begins sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the Target. As I’m ready to check out and on the cell phone with my sister, like one of those assholes who doesn’t give a shit about other people’s hearing space, talking her off a ledge about the details of her upcoming wedding, the 10-year-old is throwing a full-on tantrum because I’m not buying all of the volleyball shorts and athletic t-shirts.
Why am I being so evil? Because I don’t think its pertinent to buy these things when 1) she hasn’t made the team yet 2) we are still trying to figure out how she is going to fit 5 ballet classes, 2 robotics team meetings, violin, cheerleading practice and games and MAYBE volleyball into the schedule. Did I mention that 5^th grade is a clusterf*ck? Be afraid, be very afraid. It’s the year of everything and ballet has decided that this is the year that my kid needs to decide to dedicate her life to it. She’s 10!!!!!! But more about that later.
The 8-year-old has been sneaking into my bed every night for the past 5 days under the guise of a “stomach ache” that mysteriously disappears the moment her head hits my pillow. It’s all nerves induced by back-to-school. I give her this because I get it but it’s school, not war! And in the past week, I have gotten next to zero accomplished because of making all the moments of summer count and all that jazz. It’s like every year the week before back-to-school, my girls try to climb back into the womb and at 4’8″ and 5’1″, they just don’t fit anymore but that doesn’t stop them from trying.
Between my children going completely insane, recovering from travel and impending travel, planning a bridal shower, a bachelorette party, being the maid of honor, while squeezing in a press trip, deadlines and oh yeah, did I mention trying to coordinate the most insane extracurricular schedule ever…I am feeling less crying about missing my babies today and more hell, yeah, finally some quiet time to work…in my house…alone…without the white noise of constant girl bickering.
Don’t get me wrong, I left drop off this year, just like every year before, missing my little girls. But this year, we all need some quiet alone time. The years are rushing by at warp speed and we just need some time to decompress from all the excitement and growing up. It’s stressful but at the same time, it’s exciting for all of us.
Is it wrong that I want to throw a one woman dance party followed by complete silence to celebrate back-to-school?
2015/08/12
That One May when My Face Exploded

You’ve all probably been wondering where the hell I went this May. Maybe? Maybe you didn’t even notice I was gone. It is May, after all. Like many of you, I went down the rabbit hole that is May beginning with May 1^st, marking the worst day of my life, and filled with non-stop obligations.
Yes, some were absolutely amazing like seeing my girls perform in their end of the year ballet showcase and violin concerts. I got the littlest one through first communion. I celebrated 6 years of The TRUTH! The Big Guy and I celebrated 16 years of friendship and marriage. Speaking of the Big Guy, he turned the big 4.0! Did I mention that the littlest turned 8? Also, we participated in the neighborhood’s annual garage sale and to bookend the craziness, last week Monday, I woke up with my left side of my face so swollen that my eye looked like it was drooping and melting down my face. My first thought, “Oh shit! All of this stress, I have Bells Palsy!”
I promptly freaked out, cried and headed immediately to the RediMed…all on the same morning that my littlest had a field trip to a nature reserve. Stress much! Thankfully, the Big Guy was on hand to step in and chaperone as I headed to the doctor to deal with what I was sure the beginnings of a stroke. Then my vanity kicked in, all I could think of was all of the traveling and conference attending that I was going to have to do with my droopy face. I hadn’t even the mental fortitude to think about my entire future.
I sat there in the waiting room with my face increasingly swelling, looking more and more like Rocky after a fight by the second. Trying my best to maintain my composure. Shaking, just a little bit but not enough to knock my purse out of my lap or anything.
I was the first patient they saw that morning After, getting a 145/90 blood pressure reading, in my mind confirming my suspicions that I must be stroking out, my doctor did an exam and said that it was an infection that was causing the swelling. I told her of my bells palsy fears and she asked me to move my face that was how she was “sure” that it wasn’t a stroke.
Nothing a 10-day supply of hearty, vomit and diarrhea inducing antibiotics wouldn’t fix up in no less than 10 days. Oh and the giant tumor looking bump that was sitting on my eyebrow that had developed over night, no worries, “It “should” go away with the infection. But if it grows or you develop any other symptoms or feel “weird” go directly to the hospital!”
Uhm, okay?
“The antibiotics should pull the infection to a head and it should burst on it’s own. If not, come back in a few days after the meds have kicked in and we will lance it!”
Uhm, okay? Did she know that this WASN’T a pimple? I’m getting more deformed by the moment and she wants to pop my zits.
She called the next night. My face was swelling even more and the thing above my eye was causing me to have blurry vision. I was beginning to look like the elephant man. “I am not a freak.” I was still not convinced that I wasn’t going to die or be permanently maimed.
The next morning, I put on my Wonder Woman panties and prayed the rosary (hey, you have to exhaust all of your resources) I went back in. Well, first I called my regular doctor who was out. Then I called the RediMed. The nurse was supposed to call me back but I had the girls’ end of the year ballet performance to attend that night and the line at RediMed usually runs 2 hours deep. So, impatience got the best of me and I headed out. By the time I got to the check-in window, the nurse was just sitting down to call me. Yep, I’m sure they thought I was a hypochondriac but one look at my face should have cured anyone of any suspicions.
I was feeling better but I was looking much worse. I was terrified at what might be happening. I was feeling awful from the 3X a day dose of Keflex, and every time I looked in the mirror I had a panic attack. I got a new doctor this time, the dad of the little boy in my daughter’s tap class. Embarrassing. My world is getting entirely too small.
He was very friendly and my blood pressure reading of 180/95 let him know that I was in full on freak out mode. He referred to the notes on my diagnosis from 2 days prior, examined my face and actually listened when I told him that the “tumor” on my eyebrow was not puss filled but was in fact a very small, almost invisible, chicken pock scar from when I was 11.It had always been there in my eyebrow but it NEVER did this before.
Upon further inspection, he confirmed it. We had to lance this thing. Apparently, the infection had caused something in the inner working of my face to become blocked and that caused the swelling. And on top of that, just beneath the surface of my chicken pock scar there was a teeny sebaceous cyst lying dormant UNTIL the infection which caused the cyst to grow rapidly. But that was not confirmed until after he lanced the CYST and realized that it was not filled with infection but instead some sort of cottage cheese substance. Oh yeah, I know, TMI! How do you think I felt? It was coming out of my face.There I was with my face looking like I had just gone 10 rounds with Stallone after finding Adrian in bed with Apollo Creed and this doctor/friend by association was on top of me on what had to be the most uncomfortable table on the planet, using his full weight to squeeze cottage cheese out of my already, extremely tender monstrosity of an inflamed cyst. He kept asking if I needed to take a break and was very surprised by my lack of screaming and crying at this barbaric tactic. I told him, “I’ve given birth twice. I’m good. Just finish.”
He said, “Well, now you’ve given birth three times. Let’s name it!” I was not amused. He apologized as he wiped the teaspoon worth of cottage cheese (his estimation not mine, as I was blind), blood and water from my head. He bandaged me up, sent me home and said, “See you tonight (at the recital).”
It was traumatic and I had to wear a giant Band-Aid to the ballet, which I’m sure has the ballet mom rumor mill speculating that the Big Guy beats me in between tap and ballet classes. Anyways, today my vision is completely restored and the tumor atop my eye is no longer and has returned to its previous tiny scar. It’s a little larger than before but the doc said it could be a couple weeks before it completely goes down. If not, there is always surgical removal.
So, today I’m telling you all about it because I’ve been on a weeks worth of Xanax, antibiotics, the bump is a blip and I can see again so I am not freaking out about stroking out. Now, I can laugh about it. But of course it all finished just in time for shark week to start. Damn you May, you started with devastation, filled with love, chaos, endings and a perceived near death experiences only to go out in a blaze of hormone migraines, cramps and moodiness. Thank God there is only 2 days left.
Hope your May was better than mine! I just thought y’all might want to know why I disappeared.
How was your May?
2015/05/29
Black on the Inside

It just happened. I just drove past the parking lot of my OB/GYN on the way to take my oldest to get a “purple” tooth looked at. It seems innocuous enough but I’m reminded of the last time I let my mind believe that nothing was wrong. It almost shattered me.
The place where I went to my car, all alone, after seeing the ultrasound that showed my perfect baby’s heart no longer beating. It’s the parking lot where I lost all of my humanity and I roared and sobbed in such a primal way that I was unrecognizable as human. I died a little that day. Something like that changes you forever.
The same parking lot that faces the hospital where I had to go that terrible morning when it happened. The place where time and space were suspended so slowly that I could audibly hear my heart breaking. I remember the entire thing felt like a heavy fog. I remember being angry that this was happening to me. I remember mourning what was being taken. I remember sitting there, silently praying that I wouldn’t wake up. The pain was all consuming. It hurt to breathe and facing my 4-year-old who so badly wanted a younger sibling, the same one whose tiny heart ached congruent with mine,was too much to bear. I was a broken failure and I felt every bit of it.
I just passed that place and I found myself driving, once again on a beautiful spring day feeling removed from my body. I’m trying to hold it together because my 10-year-old is next to me, excited to be in the front seat on this rare occasion. She’s excited about everything. She has no idea that I’m dying, right here beside her. Pushing down feelings, swallowing lumps and afraid to blink…ever again .
Oh no, the lump is growing. I hope I can keep it hidden from her, from everyone.This week. I dread it every year. But I didn’t expect this. I had no intention of driving by this building today, or ever if possible. The only thing that could make this moment worse is if that damn Christina Perri song, A Thousand Years, started playing like it did in those wee hours of the morning 3 years ago as we drove in deafening silence to the hospital to have our baby removed from my body, extracted from our existence. I hate that fucking song now.
But I’m here now. Headed for the dentist office to inquire about a little girl’s purple tooth when all I want to do is go home and cry until all the tears are gone. But they’ll never be gone because they replenish anew, whenever they are needed.
All I want to do is cry. I feel small and overwhelmed and utterly alone. I do talk to the Big Guy when I feel these small hurts getting too big for me to keep inside. He tries to empathize but the truth is even though we both lost something that day, I am the one who lost a physical part of myself. I am the one whose body failed. I am the one who had the extraction. I am the one who can never forgive myself.
The truth is 3 years later, he knows that this day is hard especially for me but it doesn’t effect him in the same way it does me and that makes me reluctant to talk to him or anyone about it. I feel like I have to whisper it so that the words are out but no one hears because if they do, I’ll get the look you give a child whose dog died and they want to talk about it…again. You feel pity and sadness for their pain but inside you only wish they’d stop bringing it up because it makes you uncomfortable.
The hardest part aside from feeling so alone in all of this is that while today is the day I grieve, tomorrow is my daughter’s first communion and the next is my husband’s 40th birthday. All I want to do is crawl into bed and stay still, shut the world out but instead I have to push my feelings down, put on a smile and entertain all weekend. I have to be happy for the people I love the most, the day after I feel sad for the one I lost.
2015/05/01
Grief is a Tricky B*tch

I wrote this one for me, to move through the grief that I still feel on occasion. I call them my emotional time-bombs and they go off without discretion. I wrote this last week, before I started feeling this crazy happiness high that I’m on but after I had a good, hard and ugly cry.Or maybe I should say, while I was having the ugly cry. It was cathartic, as was writing this out but I won’t be listening to any Joni Mitchell anytime soon, just to be sure. I’d like to hold on to the happiness for a while longer.
It’s almost May 1^st. You know how I can tell? It’s the lingering feeling of trepidation that I’ve been feeling. At first, I didn’t know what was causing it. Just the slightest tinge of sadness, floating around the edge of my existence; smoldering beneath the surface. I can feel it; the loss. It’s been three years, when does it stop feeling fresh?
Most days, I push it down. I try to forget to pretend that something’s not missing. I’ve stopped crying. And then other days, like today, I hear a song like Both Sides Now and my heart just breaks open into a million pieces and I bleed all over my keyboard. I can’t stop the flood of tears and I’m not even sure that I even want to. Life is sad sometimes.
Bad things happen to good people and it’s not fair. Not one bit. I’m an awesome mother. I would have been a great mother to my third baby. I would have loved him so fiercely. There wouldn’t have been a single day that he ever wondered or doubted it but we’ll never know, he and I.
This hole. It is not something that I will ever be able to fill at all. It will always be there and I’m not sure that I know how to feel about that. I look fine to everyone. They don’t know that I walk around feeling totally and utterly incomplete. Part of me is missing and it always will be. That’s the saddest part of all.
I think there are profound things in this world that can alter your life forever. I’m a survivor. There is not much that you can throw at me that I can’t move past. I refuse to be knocked down by life but this one thing, of all the shit I’ve gone through in my life, this thing, I’m having the hardest time moving past.
Grief is a tricky b*tch.
Every April, I walk around like an exposed nerve and it takes me a couple weeks to figure it out. I try to forget the hurt but I can’t. It will not be forgotten. It demands attention. This is how I commemorate what almost was. This is how I slowly fill the hole. I allow myself to acknowledge that it matters to me. I allow myself to be vulnerable to it. To give myself completely over to it. I allow myself to flood my keyboard from time to time and to cry so hard and so ugly that my face stings and hurts.
I miss all of the “what could have been”s. As I type this, I am painfully aware that my house should not be quiet and still. There should be a toddler running amuck, walking and talking and making my life fuller. I shouldn’t have this much time in my day. My lap should be filled and tiny giggles should be everywhere but there is only silence.
Every year at this time, I feel more alone than I should and the loss feels fresh. I recoil a bit but not enough to be noticed. This is my sorrow, my hurt to feel. I don’t want it to be a “thing”. We have so much going on at this time every year and I don’t want this to be the wet blanket on life. This moment is mine and mine alone. It makes me feel closer to the baby I lost, to feel the pain so I write it out.
I’ve never been the person who screams out in pain. I hold it in and I draw strength from it. That is how I survive it. I have to feel every single ache in order to get through it. Sometimes that does mean screaming and raging against the world in my own way, other times it means an almost catatonic silence. I’m not sure what it will mean this year. I only know that right now a song by Joni Mitchell playing in the background crept into my soul and brought me to my knees.
What is the expiration date on grief and how do I make this pain go away?
2015/04/21
The Starbucks Effect
Have you ever heard of the Starbucks effect?
I’m not referring to the theory that Starbucks will boost the price of your home, but that is a thing. I’m talking about the kindness of strangers.
“Do unto others as you would have them to do unto you,” it’s the Golden rule. I’ve heard it since I was a little child. It boils down to this… put out into the world what you want to get back. It’s karma for those so inclined.
In my 20’s I was self-centered, everything was about me. When I got married, I had my first experience of occasionally putting someone else’s needs and wants before my own. Then I had children and putting others before myself has become my full-time job.
Over the years, I’ve found myself doing more good but still that selfish little voice in my head kept asking, “When’s it my turn? When will someone do something nice for me?” I just sort of got tired of always giving of myself. Now that I think of it, I wasn’t giving so much as having it taken. I did nice things because I felt it was expected.
Then my perspective of the world changed, we moved to Chesterfield, VA and I was on the receiving end of several random acts of kindness from complete strangers. These women changed my perception of the world. For the first time, aside from my parents, someone was doing something kind for me with absolutely no expectation. It was so out of my ordinary that at first, I was suspicious. What did they really want?
I decided, then and there, that while I cannot control how someone else responds or reacts to my kindness or goodwill, I would live by the good rule because I’m responsible for my behavior. I can put all the good I want into the world but I had to let go of my expectation that the others would reciprocate, care or even appreciate my act.
Then, I had an epiphany. Who cares if they don’t appreciate it? I feel good when I do good so I’m doing good. I let go of the whole idea of putting good out there so good would come back to me and then it did.
I believe that our simple acts of kindness that we do throughout the day, they cause ripples and eventually we get caught in the tide of our own ripples so next time you find yourself deciding whether you should take an extra second to hold the door for a stranger, smile back at someone for no reason at all, give a dollar to a homeless person or share on an opportunity or helpful advice with someone who you think might be a good fit or need it, just do it. Don’t over think it. You can’t control what others do with the gifts you give but you can take joy in knowing you cared enough to give the gift and tried to help someone else.
I know everyone says this and I know many of us don’t immediately see the effects of our good deeds and that may leave you wondering, why bother? Let me tell you a little story.
I once received a cup of coffee in one of those Starbucks lines, when the person ahead of me paid for my latte. It was the first time this had ever happened to me and I had no idea this was a “thing” or that there was a “protocol”, so I took my latte, said thank you and was happy for the rest of the day. The more I thought of it, I realized that I should have paid it forward and bought the person’s behind me. It was what was probably expected.
Last week, I finally paid it forward. I ordered my Oprah Chia Latte, pulled up to pay and then said, “ I’d like to pay for the person behind me too!” Then I looked in my rearview mirror, and saw it was another mom. She looked exhausted and I saw myself in her. I pulled away feeling good. I felt good for rest of my day and it only cost me $4.50. I mean, who knew happiness was so damn cheap? I’m hoping that my simple gesture brightened her day, at the very least I saved her $5.00, right?
The thing is last week I got 3 new freelance jobs and scheduled an interview for another job. Maybe it was coincidence but I’d like to think that my little ripple has caught me in its tide. I put out into the world what I wanted so, guess what I did this morning (what I will be doing every Monday morning)? I bought another person a cup of coffee and I saw her smile in my rearview mirror when she pulled up to the window and she didn’t have to pay and THAT made my day. If I can brighten someone else’s day by such a simple gesture, why wouldn’t I do it every single time I can?
What random acts of kindness do you do when no one is looking?
I get that buying Starbucks for someone won’t change the world, but it might change someone’s day and that’s enough reason for me.

2015/04/13
I Love you More, A**hole

Dear sweet little girl of mine,
You steal my heart with every glance. You can be the sweetest, kindest, most loving little soul that ever lived and then you can not be just as quickly. I don’t know what it was that set you off this morning.
You had plenty of sleep.
I woke you in plenty of time.
You didn’t even have to wear a uniform today.
All you had to do was wake up, put on something you actually wanted to wear, eat breakfast, brush your teeth and go to school.
At 7:15 a.m when you finally came downstairs, you yelled at me because you couldn’t find the one pair of jeans that you wanted to wear (because the other 500 pairs are not “the One”) then you proclaimed that you wanted to take lunch.
Your hair wasn’t brushed. You were indecisive and sarcastic about your breakfast choice and you lost your mind over a pair of socks. SOCKS!
I am trying to make your lunch because you “HATE” the egg omelets that they are serving today. It’s 7:25 and in your haste and anger, you spilt a drop of milk from down your too-thin, already vetoed shirt. At which point you stomp off barefooted, yelling back to me at 7:27, “I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY MOM!”
I’m not. I’m REALLY not.
Your sister has dressed herself, eaten breakfast and brushed her teeth today. She has also assembled both backpacks and is now looking for gloves for you both. You still don’t have on any socks, nor are your teeth brushed as you dump your breakfast down the kitchen sink. It’s 7:35, we were supposed to have left 5 minutes ago.
Beloved child of mine, I know that at the tender age of 7-years-old socks, shirts and lunch seem like BIG problems but they’re not. I lost a job, there’s a blizzard outside, I’m trying to quit sugar, I have 47 grey hairs, I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs, I have bills to pay and it’s “that” time of the month. Please, stop tap dancing on my nerves. It’s taking every ounce of my strength not to shake you.
At 7:43, when books are being thrown about and feet are being stomped, I offer to brush your hair to which you roll your eyes at me. I roll mine too.
Your sister is standing at the front door, sweating in full winter gear, trying not to pass out while holding your backpack, violin and COLD LUNCH. As I brush your hair, I try to remember how sweet and kind you are when you cuddle deep into me every night before bedtime. I try to remember that beautiful glorious smile that lights up my life; your tiny voice whispering, “I love you, mommy” and the sticky love notes you leave me all over the house. I try to remember that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Then you grunt and startle me back to reality. It’s 7:45, school begins in 5 minutes.
You growl and mutter something ugly under your breath, I honestly can’t even remember what it was. I tell you how very disappointed I am in your behavior this morning. I inform you that you will be grounded from all electronics for the duration of the week. You begin to sob inconsolably. I’m not sure if it’s the loss of the electronics or my disappointment that has caused this outburst.
Finally, 7:47 a.m. we are headed out the door. You are annoyed at me that you will be late. I hold my tongue. As we pull away, you yell, “I forgot my ballet shoes.” Before I can respond, you begin to sob again.
“I’ll find them. Don’t worry.” You continue to sob.
We arrive at school, 4 minutes late. Before jumping out of the car, you unbuckle yourself, jump forward and hug me tightly, “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you more!” I say to both my girls, as the other one jumps forward and gives me a kiss and squeezes me from behind. It’s 7:54 a.m. and I am spent. Even after all of this, the saddest part of my day is watching you both walk away.
Love You More!

2015/01/14
Sleep in Heavenly Peace
I thought I had forgotten but it’s never far from my heart. I lied to myself and I believed the lie. Recently, I was at a family holiday party, surrounded by people who I love and love me, and there he was; my beautiful reminder. With his tender, sweet, barely 2-year-old smile, he tore the wound wide open. There should have been two 2-year-olds playing at the party but there is only one.
I sat in silence, with a vaseline smile plastered on my face, trying to mask the pain of the deep wound. Trying to remember to breathe. My eyes were burning but I dared not blink for fear that my secret might be revealed. I made small talk but I don’t remember a word that I said because I was so engrossed in my own inner monologue reminding myself not to cry; to be happy because I have so much to be thankful for.
In the background, I could hear my dear, sweet, amazing 1-year-old niece giggling and mouthing what might be words, or near enough. She is fully engaged. I am smitten with her. Simultaneously, the worn bandage that holds my heart together begins to pull and yank. So much happiness, only makes the emptiness that much more unbearable.
I fool myself into believing that I forget, then I punish myself with guilt but when I allow my heart to remember,to feel the full weight of what I’ve lost, it’s almost impossible in these moments. The moments that sneak up on you in the midst of your everyday life and cut you to your quick, reminding you that you’re not whole. That you will never be who you were before that day; that single moment that changed you forever.
Don’t blink. You’ll miss what’s happening because you’ll be blinded by what could have been. It’s hard to look directly into the sweet face of what should have been and know that it never will. I was overcome by anger, sadness, envy and then all-consuming guilt because I have more than I deserve.
Sleep in heavenly peace, my dear sweet one. I’ve survived another year without you, but you’re always with me. I carry you; I carry your heart in my heart; forever and always.
2014/12/17
The One Thing that All Mom’s Have in Common

No matter how hard we try as parents, sometimes we still have a parenting fail followed by the inevitable mommy guilt.
I stay-at-home with my girls. I have always stayed at home. There was a brief 6 month period while I was pregnant with Gabs that I worked outside of the home but other than that I have chosen to stay-at-home. I have worked from home the entire time but I have always been within an arm’s reach of my daughters when they were small.

I am the one who arranges everything just so. I make sure that birthday parties are exactly what they dreamed they would be. I am the one who plans vacations. I am the one make sure Christmas morning is everything they could ever imagine. I am the same person who pulls teeth, kisses booboos, wakes in the middle of the night for every fever and puke filled moment of it. I am the one who reassures them that there are no chickens or lemurs hiding under their bed.

I am the one who makes their favorite meal. Knows their minds before they speak and knows when to hug instead of lecture. I notice the innuendos. I see the trembling lips. I know when they are fibbing or scared or nervous. I know every crease and crevice of their face and every curve of their existence. I like being that mom.
I put broken hearts back together when daddy had to leave back to Iowa. I explained the unexplainable to toddlers and when they didn’t understand, I took the brunt of their frustration and held them as their tiny broken hearts tried to make sense of it all. I cried in silence after they went to bed that maybe I had made the wrong choice.
I’ve kissed the tops of their heads and rubbed their backs as they’ve fallen asleep more times than I can count. I wake in the middle of the night to make sure they are breathing and covered. I listen when they think I am not. I make their favorite meal when they least expect it and most need it. I cuddle randomly and with wild abandon. I tell them I love them like every day is my last chance.
I was there for their first word, first tooth, first step, first breath and first heartbeat. I always want to be there for everything. I want them to know that I am forever their soft place to land. It’s never just them against the world because I am always there beside them, when they need me.
I’ve never missed a ballet or tap observation, rehearsal or Nutcracker performance. I volunteer backstage. I’ve never missed a school party, field trip or mass they’ve participated in. I am their room mom. I drive on every field trip. Never missed a soccer match, swim practice or field day. I have scheduled my life to be there for those moments. For me, there is nothing more important.
I want to show them the world and teach them to live in it, proactively. I want them to go after their dreams and know that they can do anything. I also want them to know that no matter how old they get or how far they go, I am here. I am proud of them and they are loved beyond comprehension no matter where life takes them or who they become.
I’ve never missed anything…until today. Tonight, I sent my girls off to tap class with the Big Guy like I do every Tuesday evening. I take them to ballet on Wednesdays and we alternate rehearsals. Tonight, my little one asked me if I could go instead. I said no because 1) I have a terrible migraine but 2) I have to work the book fair tomorrow morning and I needed to get some work done tonight. Then 20 minutes later, I received a text that tonight was observation night. I’ve never missed an observation night; not in 7 years. I am the crazy mom with the camera, the phone and the video recorder but not tonight.

Tonight, I dropped the ball. Maybe it was the migraine. Maybe it was the girls being sick the last 2 weeks. Maybe it was the hurried rush of the weekend. All I know is that in that moment that I looked down and saw that text, my heart broke because I missed my first “FIRST” ever because tonight was Gabs’ first tap observation. So, I’m sitting here sobbing, feeling like the world’s biggest failure.
I guess every mother has this moment of reckoning. The moment that we realize that no matter how hard we try, how much we sacrifice or how much we want to we cannot protect our children from the world or be there for every moment. Eventually, they will have to do stuff on their own and we have to trust that we taught them and loved them enough to know they can and that just because we might not be there in person, our hearts are with them always but damn it still sure hurts missing those moments.

What was the parenting fail that you instantly wished you could do over?

2014/10/22