Seasons

I am unbelievably glad that it is the first week of October.  I am filled with happiness not only because my birthday is fast approaching and few things bring me joy like celebrating my birthday since I get to choose where we get pizza (which will definitely not be the cheap pizza that the kids love) and I get to have cake and champagne.

That would be reason enough to ring in the fall season.

But if I am being truthful, I am relieved that summer is safely in the rearview mirror.  It was the most difficult summer I have had in a long time.

Leading up to the season, we were faced with a string of complications. 

Marie had a confirmed diagnosis of scoliosis, and she needed to be fitted for her back brace.

I got braces on my teeth to prep for a tooth implant that needed to be done ten years ago.

Then there were ALL of the end of school events which relentlessly shoved us right into our summer routine.  This new schedule had me viewing the first few weeks of summer through my minivan windshield while chauffeuring the kids to swim, theater, gymnastics, and Lego camp.

All while Harrington was home for approximately 12½ days in June.

I felt disorientated and frustrated as I drifted further away from my center.

The cat was frustrated, too, and vented his feelings by spraying the walls with urine.  Also my underwear drawer because he really needed to drive home his point.  Message received, Scott Awesome.

We both dealt with this in our own way.

Scott Awesome went on Prozac.

I went to a yoga silent retreat.  One reason being that we couldn’t share the Prozac.  When I made a joke about sharing to the pharmacist, he did not laugh one bit.  I feared that he would call the authorities about a wild-eyed mother who appeared to be drug seeking the tiniest about of controlled substance through her cat.

I was desperate to take a moment away from my mom duties.  Although jail would give me a break from my kids, I don’t think it would have been as restorative as the preplanned yoga trip, which quite honestly, was life-changing and deserves its own post.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a few good memories that were sprinkled through the season.

Like the time we went to Myrtle Beach.  We played on the beach (when we weren’t dodging jellyfish).  We also ate Krispy Kreme donuts right off of the assembly line which was more magical than I anticipated.

Or the times we went to the park and they played so nicely with each other I thought that my heart would explode.

But overall, it was not easy.  Everything – life, writing, being a mom and a wife – it felt clunky and heavy.  I often wondered what business I had writing a book while mothering young kids. 

With all my mixed up feelings of guilt and relief, I ran towards the first day of school with the promise that balance would be restored.

Of course our transition from summer to fall was not smooth at all.

But because I am writing my book, I will need to talk about all the things like mom guilt and how much space I really allow myself to fill up in next week’s blog post.

How was your summer?  How’s your fall starting off?

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Since I am committing more time to writing my book, my blog might not be as active.

I have a newsletter that I send out 1-2 times a month.  You can sign up here.

You can always find me on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter.  I would love to connect with you there, too!

To Thomas on Your First Day of Kindergarten

Thomas started Kindergarten this week.  Three years ago, I wrote Marie a letter on her first day of Kindergarten which Huffington Post Parents just picked up!  I would love it if you clicked on over and let me know what  you think.

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Dear Thomas,

Today is your big day; today you start Kindergarten.  I feel excited for you because in my heart, I know that you are ready.  Your preschool teachers told me with full confidence that you are ready both socially and academically.

These observations delivered peace to me since I pretty much doubt every parenting choice I have ever made (except that time I bought you a bunch of mini maze books on Amazon to keep you entertained in restaurants and car rides.  You pretty much refuse to do anything that requires you to hold a crayon . . . except for those books.  So I felt pretty solid on that decision).

Your sister probably has very different memories of her time leading up to Kindergarten since she had me all to herself. 

You, my dear, did not get a lot of alone time with me.  This is the default of any child other than the firstborn.  But I also started to dabble in blogging, writing, and social media when you were a baby.  As a new career started to gain traction, my time was fractioned even more and my mom guilt began to grow.

When you stepped on that bus, I was not worried about whether you were going to make it in Kindergarten.  I was worried about if I did my best with you.

Will you look back and feel cheated during all the times we sat in front of the TV together, me on my computer and you on your iPad, while I graded assignments and squeezed in writing time?

Will you be sad when you think of all the times I phoned it in while playing Imaginext characters since I am the worst pretend play mom in the ever?

 Or will you remember the fun crafty things we did together like spell your name with Cheerios or the time you got to play with marshmallows while learning how to add?

Or will you remember all the fun times we played I Spy when I took you out for macaroni and cheese with a yummy dessert at Panera every Thursday after gymnastics?

I am not sure what memories will stick (or which ones you might share with your future therapist).  Sometimes I think back on the time we spent together, and I am proud of all we did.  Other times I look through the years leading up to your first day of Kindergarten with guilt-laden glasses and think I could have done more.

As you got on that bus, I prayed that the Universe will be kind with you.  Having been a member of the Universe for about 36 years and teaching in public schools for some of that time, I know that this might be too much to ask.  So I hope that I have filled your bucket enough that you feel loved and special regardless of any misfortune that may happen to you.

As you depart for this new journey, know that I love you deeply and you can tell me anything, ANY.THING. (even that you decided to throw your lunch away because you were too busy talking to your new friends to eat peanut butter and celery).

Love,

Mommy

Reliving a Life-Changing Moment: Listen to Your Mother 2014 YouTube Clips are Live

It is pretty rare that I am given the opportunity to relive one of the most pivotal moments of my life. 

I mean, I have a video of my wedding.  And although that is an important milestone in my life, it doesn’t capture the moment when I saw him after I returned from vacation and knew he was going to be the one I married.

I have photos of the day I became a mother, but I do not have a documentation of my best moments of motherhood. Moments when Thomas says, “No, I love you,” in response to my “Good night.  I love you.” or when Marie cuddles up to me at night time, something she would n.e.v.e.r. do during daylight hours.

I do, however, have documentation of the moment I started to change the way I view myself both professionally and personally.

That moment can be found in this Listen to Your Mother YouTube clip where I share my journey into motherhood if you can't see the embedded video below.

I have written how this experience has boosted my confidence with this new direction my life is taking: it has helped me to change how I look at myself as a writer.  It has also made me feel like a part of a team which has never happened before in my life.  (And let me tell you, if you have failed at finding a sense of belonging like I have, it is one of the most glorious feelings evah)!

A part from feeling more professionally accomplished, the guilt that I felt during my first year of motherhood has been lifted.  I released it, and I feel free. This part of my story is only a part of me; it no longer dominates how I see myself.

I want to thank Angela, Jessica, and Angela again for choosing me to be a part of this incredible experience.  I am also thankful for the talented cast mates that I met.  Please be sure to check out their stories here.

Thank you, Ann, for creating an opportunity for people to share their stories.

LTYM Wrap Up: The Truth Will Set You Free

For me, the early years of motherhood were isolating.  Being a stay-at-home mom definitely attributed to my feelings of isolation, but adding to that was Marie’s scary medical condition that I didn’t’ really understand.  My mind was clouded, which I thought was my new normal.  Turns out, I was probably suffering from PPD with a pinch of PTSD.

And I said nothing. 

I took a shower every day, put on my makeup, and then pretended that everything was fine. 

For eight years, I harbored feelings of guilt and confusion and self-hatred.

Until I let it all out at Listen to Your Mother in front of almost 300 plus people.

Speaking my truth was such a powerful experience; I’m still having a hard time putting it in words.  It felt exhilarating to go up there and share my story, but it was scary to feel that exposed.

Here is my exhilarated/scared face.

But most of all, I felt freedom - freedom from carrying this burden around with me.  I could almost see the energy of those words swirl up and out of me.

The freedom cracked me wide open.  In that space where guilt and fear dwelled, there is now room for positivity and light.  I am not afraid anymore.  I let go of fear – fear of being judged, fear of not being enough – and invited acceptance and peace.

Thank you again, Angela, Jessica, and Angela for this incredible opportunity, and thank you, Ann Imig, for creating a space where mothers can feel connected and support each other.  It has changed my life.

Here is the piece I read at Listen to Your Mother:

I held my breath, sharp and heavy in my chest.  My daughter sat calmly in my lap on the examining table, and I could feel her body, soft and delicate from low muscle tone.  The neurosurgeon reached for the dreaded measuring tape to measure the circumference of her head.  

 Every time I saw that measuring tape, I could feel the bile churning in my stomach.  We had been coming to this office for the better part of my daughter’s short life, all of eighteen months, and this appointment would determine whether or not she would need to continue under the care of a neurosurgeon or if she would be discharged.  I could feel the anxiety prickling my skin, but I clenched my jaw and focused on my daughter so she couldn’t sense that I was worrying.  My gaze was fixed on her head and then darted to the doctor’s stoic face; I searched for a clue - a grimace, a smile – anything that would reveal our fate. 

“Mrs. Rawlings,” he said indifferently, “based on the MRI and that her head growth has followed the same curve, your daughter no longer needs to be seen by me.” 

I exhaled for the first time in over a year.  I tried to wrap my mind around this closure, but the whole experience just seemed surreal. 

I never thought my journey into motherhood would include a side trip into a neurosurgeon’s office.  Just over a year and a half ago, I left my job as a junior high teacher (or fled, as some people might say, some people being me).  I was ready to experience my perfect natural birth plan perfectly.  I was ready to dive into my new role as a stay-at-home mom with all my lovely expectations of bliss.
 

But that did not happen.  I had an unplanned C-section and a baby born with a mysterious condition called macrocephaly, which is a medical term for a big head.  While I lay on the operating table, the doctor uttered, “Uh, do not be alarmed, but your daughter’s head is shaped like a banana since it was too big to fit through the birth canal.” 

What?!  Not be alarmed?!  If I wasn’t so drugged up on pain meds and exhausted from fifteen hours of labor, I might have had a more verbal reaction.  But I felt defeated.  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.  I come from a long line of perfectionists, and this, quite frankly, was unacceptable. 

As a perfectionist, I labored under the allusion that I could take command over my world.  When I wanted to accomplish something, I would zealously research the best path, follow each step precisely, and reach my goal.   

I approached life as a sailor charting her course; with the right map, I could get anywhere without fail. When I pulled my boat into the dock after successfully arriving at my destination, I felt invincible.  I was in control. 

Yet nothing made me feel more out of control than a failed birth plan and a baby with a scary medical condition.  Navigating through the medical and special needs systems was not my plan.  In my daughter’s first year of life, terms like hydrocephaly, shunts, and cerebral palsy were thrown around during her numerous doctor and physical therapy appointments.   

The responsibility of shepherding this precious little being through a situation I knew nothing about made my stomach and chest hot with anxiety.  I held my breath for the next eighteen months.I could feel myself cracking under the pressure.  Not only was I scared about her prognosis, but I was exhausted and distressed; my reality looked nothing like my fantasy, and in my book, that made me a complete failure. 

In these dark moments, I knew I had two choices: sink into darkness.  Or put my feelings on the shelf so I could focus on making sure my baby received the help she needed. 

It didn’t seem like much of a choice. 

So it began, a shift that happened with one little choice – to be present.This was difficult since being present meant I could not wade around in my worries; yet all I wanted to do was let go, jump in, and drown in the sea of my anxieties, but who would sail the ship safely to shore?I dutifully stayed at the helm, white-knuckling it the whole way. 

That day my daughter was released from her neurosurgeon, I wept.  Her ship was now safely docked.  The fear that I suppressed worked its way up, and I let out a loud wail from deep down in my belly.  I became unglued. 

I reached out to my therapist and made an emergency appointment for the next day.  There wasn’t much accomplished during those early visits, but eventually I began to work through the guilt that I did not enjoy my first year of motherhood.  I felt like a horrible mom.  I mean, who says that?!  Who says she did not enjoy her first year of motherhood?! 

I began to drift, my boat bouncing in the thrashing seas as waves of self-doubt and self-hatred overcame me.  How could I fail at creating my utopian version of motherhood?  How could I fail this perfect, little person as her life was just beginning? What I eventually would begin to learn is that ego and its expectations are what present the conflict of a peaceful life.  Once the ego lets go, reality can be accepted.

Luckily, I had little ego left.  It pretty much went out the window during the birthing process and nursing and being pooped on and spit up on.  But obviously, the shred of ego that was left was hanging of for dear life of that perfect picture of motherhood. 

With the same grit and focus I used to deliver my daughter safely through her struggles, I steered my own ship through the choppy waters. 

It was not easy to give up control of charting the flawless course, and it was not easy to accept anything less than my ideal vision.  But releasing control and perfection and dwelling in the moment offered a glorious freedom that I had never before experienced.

It changed me – I am now closer to the person I always hoped to be – kinder, more compassionate, less anxious. 

In the chaos of the unexpected hurdles of motherhood, there is a gift that lies on the other end of the struggles — the knowledge that the power of presence is a far better focus than the elusive quest for perfection.