Mother’s Day is here again and with it come sweet memories of new arrivals, sleepless nights, and watching your little ones grow up and move out into the world. Motherhood is the toughest job you’ll ever love.
I remember when the adoption of my eldest daughter came through and I was finally going to be a mom after many years of heartache. I went to church that morning and the priest asked the mothers in the congregation to come forward to receive a flower, celebrating their important role in society. I quietly sat back in my pew, watching almost every woman in the church walk down the aisle to receive their blossoms. It didn’t occur to me to join them. My then-husband prodded me and said, “Hey, you’re a mom! You need to get a flower.”
At that moment, it dawned on me that yes, indeed, I was a mother. The reality hit me with a resounding thud. Through the endless official documents and interviews and too much time waiting, the idea that one day a child would call me ‘Mommy’ had not sunk in. But our daughter was on her way. Soon, I would hold our newborn infant in my arms and breathe her sweet baby essence.
A baby. My baby. My daughter was arriving through the magic of adoption. I found it tremendously challenging to shrug off the lingering sense of being a fraud as I cautiously navigated my way down the center aisle of the church, feeling I could get called out at any time for being an interloper. “Hey lady, where’s your kid? Sit down – you’re not a mom!” But I knew in my heart I was. I took a deep breath and gratefully accepted my pink carnation from the priest.
After a few weeks and a very long flight to the other side of the globe, all my dreams would come true. And they did. In wild ways I never expected! Days before my adopted child was born, I found out I was also pregnant with a surprise baby. True story! And what a surprise she was. After years of fruitless fertility treatment, this child appeared out of nowhere to take her rightful place in our lives next to her beloved sister.
My two young daughters instantly became the apples of my eye. Life is exhausting and chaotic with one new baby in the house, much less, two. But it was a labor of love – I had the children of whom I dreamed – children that were never supposed to exist. When you’re told you’ll never have a family – but the universe throws a miraculous curve ball at you – it’s hard not to gape in wonder. I literally felt thankful every day. I was doing all the mundane things I never thought I would do – singing lullabies, warming bottles, changing diapers. Nothing exciting but everything I wanted in life. I was at last a mom. Eventually those little girls began calling me “Mommy”. I cried the first time it tumbled off their lips. But just like that, I was Mommy! So much magic, so many blessings, so much love.
My neighbor, Susan, stopped me on the street one day and brazenly asked me what kind of drugs I was taking. What was she talking about? Susan explained, “Listen, I know you have two babies in your house, and you’re sleep deprived and miserable, yet I see you walking up and down the street every day with that heavy double stroller and you’re glowing! You must be on something to smooth over the bumps, right?” I was at a loss for words. How could I begin to explain that I’d found wonder and purpose in my daughters’ eyes? I shrugged, gave Susan a smile, and kept on walking. If she didn’t understand now, she never would.
‘Mother’. Often the moniker is taken for granted, but never by those who have struggled for it. You earn the title of ‘Mother’ and when you work hard for something, you appreciate it more. It’s a fact. I have never gotten over my good fortune in becoming mother to my brilliant daughters. They make me proud every day.
Mother’s Day holds a special place in my heart. On this day, I remember the sad, dark years when I was swept into the chaos of fertility treatment and despair – and I whisper a prayer of thanks to the universe. When my children appeared in my life, the slate was wiped clean, and the crushing pain evaporated as though it had never existed. Being mother to my vibrant and hilarious daughters hasn’t been easy, but it’s been wonderful, filling my life with laughter. I can honestly say motherhood has made me a better person – stronger, more compassionate, more loving. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful, rambling journey.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandma’s out there, and to anyone who assumes the demanding and rewarding role of mother in a child’s life. You matter. And you make the world a better place. Have a fabulous day!
Category: adoption
Rainbows, Unicorns, and Muppets
Why do I love the song, “The Rainbow Connection”? I don’t know, I just do. It strikes a chord in me. It’s simple and earnest. Not trying to be anything but what it is – a ray of hope in a challenging world. The Kermit the Frog version is adorable. The song was actually written for “The Muppet Movie” so, honestly, how deep could it be? But somehow those words and that gentle tune move me every time I hear them – the innocence, the joy, and the optimism.
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And what’s on the other side?”
The Willie Nelson version is my favorite – the coarse but strangely vulnerable way Willie caresses the lyrics as though he’d pulled each word out of his old, weathered heart. Something about hearing that grizzled crooner sing about love and dreams…. It rocks gently in my heart like a creaky front porch swing from which you have gazed at the stars, night after night, year after year, farther back than you care to remember. It’s a wistful ballad about finding that elusive love at the end of the rainbow. Do you still believe in it? Love, I mean. Do you?
“The lovers, the dreamers and me…”
Do you believe in love? And not just love, but romantic love. Whether you are married or in a relationship or in between engagements, ask yourself that and answer from the heart. You know – love! The kind that fills your heart with champagne bubbles and allows you to skate through life with rose-colored glasses. Everything is better, happier, more beautiful when you are in love. I believe in it. I do. And I think the writers of that lovely, whimsical song do too.
“Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices? I’ve heard them calling my name.”
Sometimes late at night, in between dreams, voices from the past call you to remember. Remember! Remember those moments that have long since evaporated into time, yet arrive to haunt you if you give them space. Remember? Yet the whispers of the future pull you forward impatiently, like the ocean tides. This life-long tug of war can be exhausting especially as we grow older and memories pile upon us until we can’t draw another breath.
You must surrender to the whims of the tide or it will tire you out and pull you under. Don’t fight it! Accept life for what it is. As Monty Python’s boys say “Life’s a piece of shit if you really look at it.” So, don’t look that closely. Wear those rose-colored lenses and laugh so hard you cry. At everything! At life. At anger. At fear. It’s impossible to see clearly through tears. But maybe life looks better a little blurry?
“Rainbows are visions but only illusions and rainbows have nothing to hide.”
What I wonder is this — at what point does someone settle in and refuse to move forward? At what point will a person simply give up and choose not to continue – continue with life, the routine, the game, the same old-same old? And how do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?
“How are you doing, Mom?”
“It’s 5 o’clock and all I want to do is sleep.”
“It’s still early. Why don’t you watch a movie?”
“Don’t nag me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
Sleep, sleep, perchance to dream. But some people don’t dream happy, cotton candy dreams. Some are tormented by the shoulda- woulda- couldas in life. There are no do overs and hindsight is 20-20. How does life sometimes veer off the tracks so badly? How does someone get so beaten down they want to throw in the towel?
“How are you, Mom?”
“Just woke up from a nap.”
“Why don’t you go for a walk?”
“I’m too tired.”
The indomitable 55-year-old woman she once was would be disappointed in the forlorn 85-year-old version. The world is against her now. She wakes up exhausted, never quite finding solace in the pillow through those long, dark nights. Never quite finding joy in the morning light. Life is no longer being lived but simply endured. She’s the crabby old lady living down the street.
How did my once-glamorous mother become this? The clothes are “schlepping” clothes. Why bother dressing up? She’s not going anywhere. Not trying to impress anyone. She mends the ripped knee and wears them still though she has 10 pairs of brand-new trousers in her bedroom.
“Why don’t you give those away and wear the new ones I bought you?”
“These are still good.”
Still good. But why? The Depression mentality. Yet she doesn’t have enough years ahead of her to wear them all out.
“Okay. Still good. Yes…. “
Please don’t give up! She’s giving up. Surrendering. My heart breaks every time we speak as she whiles away her days sorting through endless junk mail instead of writing the book she threatened to write for decades. I want to read that book! She has so much wisdom to share. She was a fervent trailblazer for women – a role model to so many. Don’t waste time, Mama! You don’t get it back.
She exists in a quiet melancholy – not happy, kind of sad, a little angry. Disappointed. Life never turns out the way we hope it will. So much sorrow. The weight of it all pulls her down. Where is the person I used to know? So strong, so wise. Fierce. Time steals that passion, like a thief in the night, and ever so gently, our loved ones are spirited away. God has a funny way of taking matters into his own hands and we rarely understand why.
“Who said that every wish would be heard and answered, if wished on the morning star?
Such power in faith. Make a wish! Maybe the wind will catch the thread of your desire and spin it into something bigger than all of us? I wish… When I am an old lady, I shall wear my hair long. I shall thumb my nose at the world and sport high heels and red lipstick and beautiful clothing. I shall laugh and sing and dance until the sun sets on my final hour. I want to wrestle the last breath out of this life before I take my ultimate bow. I refuse to live my last years in a hazy twilight. I want my life to sparkle. Ever notice how a shooting star gets bigger and more beautiful just before it disappears into the heavens? Like that.
“Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it. Look what it’s done so far.”
If I’ve learned one thing during these years I’ve spent on earth, it’s that it’s all about perspective. The glass may be half empty or half full but that the glass is refillable! Again, and again. You can reinvent yourself today. It’s never too late. It breaks my heart to see my sweet mom trade living for existing. The young, spirited her would have never approved. But the old her doesn’t give a damn.
“What’s so amazing that keeps me star gazing….”
“Expect a miracle,” they say. Define miracle, I ask. If you look too hard, you’ll never find it. A watched pot never boils. Why is it so easy to help those we don’t know and so difficult to help those to whom we are close? Too many hidden feelings. Too much sorrow. Too much suppressed resentment. In the old days, children were to be controlled as parents attempted to mold them into perfect little adults. It was rarely successful. Parents and children often became estranged once the kids were old enough to move out. The parents represented discipline and restriction. If you were raised in that sort of world, how do you suddenly become friends when you are both adults? Parents are still disapproving. Still disappointed.
Though far from being a model mom, one thing I seem to have done right in life was to forge a strong relationship with my children. I mean, I’m still the mother and ultimately make the big decisions, but it’s not a monarchy. I listen to my kids and try to make decisions to will benefit us all. Sometimes it’s hard and I’ve messed up too many times to count. But we laugh. We laugh! We like being together. We always have fun and grow a little closer every day. I’m eternally grateful for that gift. It’s the magic Kermit the Frog sings about in the song.
“We know that it’s probably magic!”
Magic. Laughter. A fond touch. A warm smile. All the things that make us feel loved and valued. They are all here. I’m not a great mom, but I’m a good mom. And that’s enough.
“I’ve heard them calling my name….”
Sometimes those voices from the past call out to me, reminding me of everything I was, and everything I’ve become: fragile yet strong, vulnerable yet tough. Eternally hopeful. That’s me. Always seeking that ineffable connection – “The Rainbow Connection” perhaps? Maybe that’s the secret? Connection with others is the only way we can keep going in this world – arm in arm – hand in hand – the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And what’s on the other side?”
Fleeting Moments
Can you believe our kids’ have finished their last day of school for the year? Goodbye hallowed halls of learning! They’ll soon be moving on to all the joy (and stress) of the next. Like a train that only slows slightly but never actually reaches the station, we are propelled from one school year to the subsequent. Take a deep breath. We have about 2 months to prepare ourselves mentally for the next transition.
If your kids will be entering junior high, God help you. There are far too many hormones running rampant within those classrooms. Middle school is simply to be endured, with the quiet knowledge that high school is better, and a tiny bit of maturity can work wonders with most kids.
For parents whose children are approaching their senior year of high school (and yes, that does include me), get ready for an emotional rollercoaster with college applications, SAT tests, and the joys and sorrows of getting accepted or rejected from schools. Hold on tight! It is going to be a doozy. This is our last real summer with our kids, because next year they’ll be college bound and already have one foot out of the nest. Enjoy it. It’s going to go fast. They’re on the brink of adulthood and chomping at the bit to get out there and see what life has to offer them.
The choice of college is everything. It really is a massive decision. College is a place where kids put all the pieces together and begin to take shape as young adults. If they go off to a college across the country, that’s where their new friends will be and new opportunities. They may decide to stay in that part of the world after graduation. They may meet their future partner in life. The people that surround them will have a profound impact on the way they think and how they see the world. This is big. Help them to choose wisely.
Wishing you a wonderful and restful summer break. Go do great things with your kids! Or nothing at all. Sometimes the best vacations aren’t long journeys to exotic places, but simply the short jaunts where you spend lots of time together, laughing. So, laugh! And give them lots of hugs. Enjoy these fleeting moments. You don’t get them back.
Summer Daze
Remember the summertime of your youth — that seemingly endless expanse of time between the end of a school year and the beginning of another? The time just rolled over onto itself. The days felt long and leisurely. There was always time to play with a friend, make a wish on a dandelion puff, eat a wedge of watermelon, or just stare at the clouds in the sky. The innocence of childhood was a wonderful thing. Summer was a time to dream of the future, of the great things you hoped to accomplish in this amazing journey called life.
Stacks of books were checked out of the library. Remember books? Not books that you were required to read, but books you wanted to read. Books about other people’s remarkable lives and fantasies and ideas. Books to inspire. Magic! Plans were hatched to climb mountains, sail across seas, or explore foreign lands. Nothing was too big or daunting for a summer daydream. If you could dream it, you could do it. Of course, this was ages ago, long before every child on earth seemed to be issued a cell phone at birth.
Kids don’t read much anymore. Well, not books, anyway. Kids spend most of their time reading their tiny screens, barely looking up to process the life going on around them. Parents give their children phones to appease them and keep them quiet. Kids used to be noisy and demanding and curious. That curiosity was healthy and manifested itself in a thousand questions to their parents about everything under the sun. The questions have been silenced now. Why ask questions of your parents when you can just ask Siri? But have you thought about what kind of answers they are being given?
The tech industry has literally taken over our minds and the minds of our children. The tiny screens are winning. We are programed to constantly be on our phones and to turn to our phones for our every need. Got a question? Ask Siri. Need directions? Ask Waze. Want to order food? Text UberEats. There’s a remedy for everything on the tiny screens, so why look anywhere else?
Control our minds and we will be controlled. It sounds very conspiracy theorist, but honestly, have you ever seen anything like this? Kids that hang out together are staring at their phones instead of talking to each other. They seem to have lost the capacity to interact with one another. They suffer from deep anxiety and depression. They constantly compare themselves to others on social media. If they don’t get enough likes on a post, they are despondent. What they achieve in life doesn’t matter unless it’s posted online and met with approval. Cyber-bullying is real and suicide rates of our young people has skyrocketed in the past 10 years. Why isn’t anyone doing anything about this?
Instead of seeing the devastating effects of tech in our lives and trying to change things, we seem to have sunk even further into the quagmire. Books have been almost completely phased out of school along with paper and pens. Kids can’t write in cursive anymore and very few can tell time on an analog clock. Kids are issued computers so they can continue to stare at screens all day, every day. And the ever-present smartphones are a daily fact of life for our children, from the very small to the very tall.
Recently at a family restaurant, I witnessed a large family with grandparents and aunts and uncles and kids sitting around a table eating dinner. The phones were there too, even in the hands of the smallest child in the highchair. His mom passed him her phone to keep him occupied while the grownups chatted. You see what’s happening here?
In the old days, that child would have been included in the conversation, perhaps passed around to the relatives with love and amusement. All of this would have contributed to the socialization of the child. But that didn’t happen. A tiny screen was placed in his hands, and he was placated, silenced, sedated, starting early on the road to addiction to devices. Because we are all addicted. From small to tall. Our phones ping and we look. Why? Because we are programmed to look. We must look. We can’t help ourselves, and our children are exactly the same.
But what are we missing out on because of our phones? Life, just life. Sometimes I wish these magical phones would simply go away – disappear! What if we woke up one morning and the phones were gone? We would have to learn again how to exist in this world on our own — how to read a book, how to have a conversation, how to tell time, how to read a map, how to daydream. It sounds marvelous, doesn’t it?
It’s not too late to make changes for your children. Maybe for the summer, you can put their phones away? Unplug, disconnect, turn off. Give them a chance to be children. Let their brains wander and be free, instead of being shackled by the invisible chains of technology. Remove the tiny screens and let your children experience life – the joy of summertime! It’s more important than you think.
Merry and Bright
I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Nonetheless, I respect the virtues of a beautiful morning. There’s something incredible about seeing the sun slip gently over the horizon and cast brilliant golden light onto the dark earth. It always overwhelms me with a sense of possibility. A new beginning set before us. A second chance. Hope.
You’d think someone with such a great appreciation of those fleeting morning hours would bounce out of bed each day with abandon, but sadly, that’s not the case. I’m somehow cursed to be both a night owl AND an early bird, staying up reading or tapping out stories on my computer until the deep hours of the night. Morning always arrives far too soon, and those glorious rays of sunshine offend my eyes and drive me to plunge ever more profoundly into my pillows, in a desperate quest for the last few moments of precious sleep.
Through the years, I have tried to change my schedule and make myself into a virtuous morning person. Morning people always seem to have it going on, don’t they? They thumb their noses at the night and gloat about their many achievements already completed by 9am, when those exhausted owls finally abandon hope of further sleep. I find that deeply annoying and yet, at heart, I must admit I do believe morning people are indeed more productive than night dwellers.
When I wrote my first book, I got up at 5:30 every morning and drank copious amounts of coffee until I completed the manuscript. It was the only way, as my nighttime mind was too often cluttered with the debris of the day to focus on the work. The shimmering silence of a new day provided me with a profusion of clarity. It was a gift, and I took advantage of those fragile hours at dawn until the deed was done, always taking time to peek out the window at sunrise to catch a glimpse of the new day’s glorious arrival.
But as soon as the final word of my tome was written, I bade goodbye to the early hours and fell back into my usual nocturnal routine. We, as humans, are intrinsically flawed, and this love of night and slothful sleep is perhaps my greatest weakness. Oh, for the New Year, I aspire to embracing the wee hours of the morning once more to raise my level of production in 2023! I will try. We all can dream.
On this fine morning of Christmas Eve 2022, my eyes flew open early, when the day was still quiet and golden. A small voice in my head whispered, “It’s Christmas!” and so it is. A smile drifted over my face, and I felt a twinge of childlike delight in my heart. Christmas. I love Christmas. Since my youth, it’s been a moment of magic and joy. I found it remarkable that every family around the world was touched by this elusive elf, clad in red velvet and snow. The excitement was almost overwhelming for little me.
That ethereal quality still lingers in my heart. Christmas! As a sensible adult, I understand that not everyone celebrates this holiday, but I get a quiet thrill from knowing that Christmas has transcended the constrains of the religious and is now considered a season of its own. The Season of Christmas! I love that. A season of joy, no matter your beliefs. The Christmas Spirit is available to one and all. It’s all about love and yours for the taking. How wonderful. And it starts today.
Honestly, as an adult and a parent, Christmas Eve is more about finishing up those last-minute chores for the big day – wrapping gifts, writing cards, preparing festive food, and driving kids to the shocking chaos of the mall for last-minute gifts. It’s hardly a day of rest and daydreams. And yet, when my eyes opened on this Christmas Eve morning, I was awash with the joy of the season. Love. Hope. Possibility. Magic. It’s all there.
I watched the sun cast her gilded rays over the mountains this morning and chase away the darkness of the rest of the year. That’s gone now. Christmas. I put on the soft strains of my favorite holiday music. Christmas. I whispered, “Thank you,” aloud to the day. I get to celebrate another Christmas with my loved ones. Amazing. Christmas. Life is the greatest gift of all, isn’t it? And I’m still here, after all this time. What a blessing.
Merry Christmas to you! May it be both merry and bright.
The Chipped Bowl
In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.
We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.
All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.
The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.
Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.
Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.
The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.
Happy Holidays to you and yours.
Homecoming
As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.
A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.
As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.
I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.
A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.
I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.
The Now
I woke up the other morning to shocking news. My sweet friend Julie’s wonderful, talented husband, comedian David Arnold, had passed away unexpectedly at the terribly young age of 54. I still can’t believe it. David was healthy and well and it was thrilling to see his career lighting up in the last few years. He became a star. His final bow was taken suddenly and all too soon. I am devastated for Julie and her beautiful, young daughters. Such a loss. Hard to wrap your mind around it when David was healthy and well and indeed, larger than life. Unimaginable that he could truly be gone. People in the limelight always seem somehow invincible, don’t they? But in the end, we are all mere humans.
My close friends know I am slightly obsessed by the ‘Now’ of life. We tend to make plans for the future and neglect the ‘Now’. We say to ourselves, “I will be happy when ….” We look to the horizon and let the present moment pass us by, unnoticed. But what if your future doesn’t extend for another 40 years? We just don’t know. Why do we so often neglect our happiness now, in anticipation of a bright future, when actually, ‘Now’ is all we truly have?
The loss of this bright, promising comedian is such a tragedy. This dark moment serves as a reminder to me to kiss my loved ones today. Make bold decisions today. And seek happiness today. Because today is all we have. God bless the Arnold family at this deeply sad time. RIP David Arnold.
Wrestling With COVID
You wonder where I’ve been – COVID! To the other side and back. And it’s truly as horrible as they say. I know I should be grateful for the two vaccines and one booster for making my symptoms so much more mild, but as I’m in the throes of it, I ask, mild? Really? My symptoms have been anything but mild. I squint at my keyboard as my eyes have become incredibly painful and light sensitive.
My bout with COVID hit me like a freight train. Headache and extreme exhaustion, chills, and actual teeth-rattling shivers. I went to bed and was awakened, blazing hot, with a 102-degree fever, body aches, and a headache that was impossible to fathom. I knew this was something bad. I’ve never been so blindsided by a flu. I took a COVID test and watched with horror as the truth was revealed – two lines. Positive! Oh shit. Those damn little spiky cells had somehow wormed their way into my body and were wreaking havoc. Shit shit shit.
What do you do if you have COVID? I didn’t even know. Suddenly it seemed everything I touched was full of those awful spiky bastards. It was kind of terrifying. How was I going to avoid giving this to my daughters? Or my cats? But there’s no one to take care of me, I realized. Such is the sad reality of being a single parent. Everything is manageable until you get sick and then – then – well, everything goes to hell. I’m so scared my daughters will get sick, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent their exposure except wear a mask and isolate as much as possible, as we live under the same roof.
So, COVID? What are the basics? First, I googled it, as we do. Rest, fluids, blah blah blah. That’s for a mild case. I called the doctor – a stroke of brilliance from my stormy mind. The headache has been unrelenting. The doctor put me on some new drug called Molnupiravir. It’s not yet approved by the FDA but I said let’s give it a try. My symptoms progressed as the first day wore on to include heavy chest and nasal congestion, a sore throat and cough. Crazy. Everything just snowballed upon me. And that headache! You know it’s bad when you’re lying in a pool of pain casually wondering if you might gain any relief from a hole drilled into your skull? That’s next to agony. But my 800 mg Ibuprofen tablets were doing little to relieve anything.
The doctor prescribed antibiotics and steroids to reduce the swelling in my bronchioles and to kill any secondary infections. I still feel sick. My joints hurt like they are arthritic, I’m coughing deep, heavy coughs, and my skin is incredibly sensitive to mere touch. I keep telling myself that this too shall pass, but it’s hard to believe when you are in the middle of it.
My friends have come to my rescue, texting and calling to cheer me up. One wonderful friend picked up my antibiotics and food for my daughters, and dropped them to my door. #Grateful. Yes, grateful, indeed. I find myself falling asleep and then waking at odd hours of the night. With the strange hours come deep thoughts that ring true: Actions speak louder than words. You can say whatever you want, talk is cheap. It’s what you do that matters. Friends who show up for you. Family who shows up for you. Whether it was calling to say hello or a sweet text wishing me speedy healing, each one mattered to me. It means something if they reach out and means something if they don’t. So many people have died from COVID. It’s not a stretch to call it ‘life-threatening’. It is, and that’s scary.
I, like so many, often struggle with the reason for us being on this earth, living this life. The vast ‘Why’s?’ never seem to have an answer. Is it a divine plan? Or a crazy mistake? Does our life here on earth mean something? Or nothing at all? Why are we here, mere specks of dust swirling in a vast universe of darkness and light? How did we all happen upon this life on the third rock from the sun? And why do we matter? We will never have the answers to these questions.
But it is true that the journey in this world is certainly more difficult for some than for others. And kindness seems to be the remedy for that. Compassion. Caring for each other. Because we are all walking different roads and sometimes a helping hand or even just a smile can lighten the load for another. Is that so hard to do? Be kind, and people will treat you with kindness. Or not! There are some difficult souls out there who will never see the light, but that doesn’t mean you should stop. Don’t become bitter. Be kind.
And have fun! We are a society that works too hard and spends too little time enjoying ourselves. We work ourselves into our graves, and what a waste that is. Take time to smell the roses. Quite literally. I make myself stop and smell beautiful flowers that I come upon. It’s these little joys that make up a patchwork of happy memories in your life and provide a soothing balm during the tough times.
Lastly, be with who you love. Don’t give up if you are in an unhappy relationship and assume that’s simply your path and your burden in life. It’s not. Get out! Make a change. Pursue happiness. You only get one shot at this life, why spend it with someone who doesn’t bring you joy? Don’t let the constraints of society dictate your bliss. Follow the light. Seek love and joy. Find the person that makes you laugh and makes your heart sing. They may be just around the corner. Seek them out! And try to find a splash of delight in all you do.
That’s all I’ve got for tonight. Stay healthy, my friends! And be happy.
Reflections on Motherhood: The Gift of Time
My youngest daughter turned 16 not too long ago. Sweet 16! My goodness. Where does the time go? I looked away for a moment and my daughters grew up, like lanky sunflowers sprouting towards the blazing sun. How can she be 16? I remember being 16. Was it really that long ago? And where did my sweet little girls go, dressed in tulle and ballet slippers, clutching their expensive American Girl dolls? Time crashes by, like waves on the sand, washing away the fragile present and replacing it with an uncertain future. What will tomorrow bring? We don’t and can’t know. Such is the nature of life. Motherhood is always changing – indeed a role fraught with both deep joy and deep pain. Often, we don’t know one until we have experienced the other.
‘Mother.’ It’s a powerful title. Mothers have been celebrated since the beginning of time. In many cultures it is the mother figure, not the father, that rules the universe. The ancient Greeks celebrated Gaia, the mother of the mythological Greek Gods. It is the mother who brings forth life in the world – what could be more powerful than that? The mother represents strength and intelligence, but also gentleness and love.
The word ‘mother’ has easily worked its way into our vernacular. We refer to the earth as ‘Mother Earth’. ‘Mother Nature’ is the force controlling nature, the weather, and all living things. Your ‘mother tongue’ is the language you grew up speaking and your ‘motherland’ is the land of your birth. No one can deny the incredible influence mothers have had over the course of history in every country and civilization.
Motherhood means different things to different people. Your perception is molded by your life’s relationships and whether you are a mother yourself. Some women become mothers easily and never give it a second thought. Some must struggle to become mothers, chasing the dream of a child through doctors’ offices and adoption agencies. Still others have it thrust upon them unexpectedly. Regardless of its origins, motherhood is a journey that turns our lives upside down and makes us do and feel things we never expected.
Nothing can prepare you for the moment when a child is placed in your arms – the sudden rush of love and emotion and the awesomeness of the new responsibility in your life. All at once you can’t remember your life before this child arrived. You can’t envision a life without this little person. A once-freewheeling life grows more regimented, simply by necessity. The lights of the city pale next to the draw of the creature comforts of suburbia. Before you know it, you’re a minivan mom, navigating preschools and play dates, and each day of your life tumbles headlong into the next. Where does the time go?
When my children were still quite small, a friend with older children in college came to visit me. She remarked on the many paintings and clay sculptures that adorned the walls and surfaces of my home. I laughed and commented that there would “always be a constant stream of children’s artwork in my home.”
“Oh no,” she corrected me. “It does come to an end.”
I was taken aback for a moment, but my friend was right. My children would eventually grow up and stop giving me handmade creations and drawings. The adorable little misspelled notes would stop. The tooth fairy would end her nocturnal visits and Santa Claus would become a happy memory of years gone by. The very idea brought tears to my eyes. As exhausted as I was from the daily struggle of raising my young children, I loved every minute of it. Like all good things, I thoughtlessly assumed it would go on forever. But I was mistaken.
There’s a song by Luke Bryan called ‘Fast’, that speaks of how quickly life speeds by. “Sixty seconds now seem more like thirty,” he croons, as he sings about his desire to slow things down. The song strikes a chord with me. As we get older, the seasons start to pass with alarming momentum. As winter melts into spring, we can’t help but wonder where the time has gone.
Time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace when we were young and had our hopes and aspirations before us. We daydreamed about growing up and playing with the big kids. Our birthdays couldn’t arrive soon enough. There was always something in the future that beckoned to us until suddenly we were adults, and in a flash, the magic of childhood was gone.
Very often we are so wrapped up in the minutiae of life that we neglect to take note of our present moments. The sands of life gain momentum as they sneak through that hourglass. I don’t want them to slip away unnoticed.
On my birthday and over the holidays, my children often ask me, “Mom, what do you want? What do you need?” I am always stumped. Do I need anything? Not really. But this year, it occurred to me that there IS one thing I would like: the gift of time.
I’d like to take time with each of my children to look into their eyes and tell them I love them, always and forever. I’d like to hear their silly jokes over and over and have them write me funny notes. I’d like them to paint me a picture, scribble a poem, and sing me a song. I’d like to hear about their hopes and dreams. I’d like to wrap them in my arms and whisper in their ears and smell the sweet scent of their skin. I’d like to hold onto a little shred of time with them for just a moment longer, to enjoy the here and the now as fully as I can.
My advice to all mothers, old and young, is this: May you enjoy precious time with your children. Take it, grab it, hold onto it, and love it. Enjoy the present, for it is truly a gift.
Musings of a Super Mom 