Survival Mode

This photo popped up on my memories recently. It was taken three years ago. My son was using a breathing treatment. Again. Because his oxygen levels were low. Again. I had just given him a steroid pill to help with said oxygen levels and he threw it up. Again. While I was cleaning that up, he drew all over his legs with a marker.

Three years ago, I was surviving. That was it.

Gather around, friends, there’s something I want you to know.

You are amazing. And, what you’re being asked to do right now is bullshit. Your survival mode isn’t endless. It’s essential, but not endless. So, when we are done surviving, we must care for ourselves properly in order to thrive.

18 months after this photo was taken, I stopped sleeping. I had not healed what my family had gone through. And it caught up with me.

Today, with proper self-care. Sleep. Writing. And therapy. I’m healing. I’m less in overdrive.

But, I’m worried about the state of parents right now, and what we will experience on the other side of this pandemic. I’m concerned we will all wake up at 3 am wondering what the hell just happened to our collective families.

Keep surviving, yes. But, let’s lean on each other to heal. If you need to chat, I have coffee. Looking for a therapist? I’ll hook you up with the name of a good one. If you want to run, my legs are strong. And if you need someone to truly hear how hard it is, I will listen.

So, stop on over. The boy might still be covered in marker but he’s probably not puking.

Cheers, my friends!

Lane Assist

I bought a Subaru Outback just over a year ago. With it, came this amazing feature “lane assist.” If you’re not familiar, this feature maps your lanes and gives you a gentle nudge if your vehicle veers out of said lanes. I'm not a girl who gets too excited about cars. In fact, I was was once on SR22 insurance due to too many accidents. However, I find this feature to be quite literally a life saver.

It’s also a reminder each day of my role as a parent.

I remember telling a co-worker just after Nora was born that I always thought parenting was about making our kids into the best versions of themselves. But, once Nora was born, I knew she was already her best self. As a baby, I could see it in her eyes. I knew, through her eyes, my job was to map the lanes for her, and gently nudge her each time she was veering out of the them.

But, my job has gotten so much harder these last few months. My dear Nora is driving on roads that are unfamiliar to both of us. Kindergarten is in full swing. For us, this means her brain is going faster than a Subaru can drive. The lanes she has grown accustomed to staying in are expanding. She is seeking more control. She is falling apart and wanting to put the pieces back together herself. For God’s sake, her teeth are falling out of her mouth! Ha!

So, each morning I look into those sweet eyes and remember that my job is the gentle nudge. The lane assist. It’s not to drive the car for her (no matter how tempting). And while lane assist doesn’t prevent accidents, it helps keep us aware of the boundaries.

In short, kindergarten is hard.

And we can do hard things.

Cheers, my friends!

Mistakes

I think we were finishing up brushing her teeth. A long day behind us, I’m sure. Both of us tired with a million things running through our heads, I assume.

She turned to me, and with no warning said;

“Mom, sometimes I make mistakes. Then, I think about those mistakes later, and I feel weird all over my body.”

I hugged her!

Hard.

Then, I dropped to her level, looked straight in her eyes, and with the utmost sincerity said; “me too, my girl!”

Photo by Studio K Squared

We proceeded to talk about those mistakes. We talked about how they make us better. And, how we really can’t learn without them. And, we talked about how hard they are, and how weird they make us feel.

This is a big one for my girl. For me.

Because I’m not really at peace with my daily mistakes either. In fact, if I’m being honest, I immediately wondered what mistake I’d made that would lead to her putting so much pressure on herself.

So, I asked her to report back to me about her mistakes the next day.

She returned home from school proud to report back to me about the mistakes she made. We high-fived and celebrated the fact that mistakes are gifts - lessons tied with a messy bow.

The gift she has given me is the time to reflect on my own mistakes and truly learn from them. How grateful I am for her profound bravery to put her emotions into such meaningful words.

This girl, I tell ya, keeps teaching the "teacher"!

The After

It’s been a little over a year since we discovered Weston’s coconut allergy. And, not quite a year since we eliminated dairy from his diet. To say we’ve seen vast improvements in his sleep, well-being and behavior, is an understatement.

When I share the story of Weston’s health challenges for the first two years of his life, I’m always met with the comment; “did everything get so much better after you figured it out?”

And, the answer is; “yes!”

But also; “no!”

You see, after the hundreds of up-all-nights, the thousands of questions to the doctor, husband, friends and family, after we started sleeping again, after Weston started smiling more than he coughs, and after everything didn’t seem so hard, I realized I was changed.  

The After. Thankful our little guy is happier and healthier. Photo by Studio K Squared

And change is hard.

Last year, around my birthday, I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep, and I stayed awake for almost four hours. For no reason. Just awake. In a panic about how I would feel the next day with so little sleep. I’d been there {exhausted} before. Hundreds of times. For good reason. Because I was up all night with a sick child. But this wasn’t for a good reason. I just couldn’t sleep.

Then, it happened again a few months later. And, again, a few months after that. Then, once a week for many months. And, finally, many nights in a row.

So, I began to do an inventory on my life.

I noticed an electricity in my body at the mere sound of a cough. A physical reaction to a noise that had caused myself, and my family, so much pain.

I noticed relationships I once took for granted. Cracked. Strained. Not what they once were but not something evolved either.

And I noticed myself still in overdrive. Still regimented in my activities. Trying to control the uncontrollable.

Did life get so much better after we figured out what was causing Weston so much pain, and our family such heartache?

Yes!

But also, no!

Because, I’m learning, my friends, in the after, you’re left with the remnants of the trauma you’ve experienced. These remnants, they're gifts. But, it's up to you to find their place with the new you. 

A Blue Camaro

It happened again the other day. Heels on. Professional attire in place. I grabbed my coat to head out for a meeting. I zipped it up, and put my hands in my pockets for warmth (because I’m never put together enough to remember gloves). And there it was. I could feel the familiar outline. I felt the curves of the metal and the curve creep across my face too. My smile was uncontrollable. 

A small blue Hot Wheel Camaro was in my pocket.

I was so thankful to hold it. To smile for a second and think of my little man who never leaves home without a vehicle in his hand. While he spends his days at school, and I spend my days at work, we are connected.

These little reminders of my daily motivation, they’re everywhere. Sometimes it's a blue Camaro and sometimes it's a purple hair bow. They're in my coat pockets, purse, and under the seats of my car. Every time I find one I can’t help but smile.

This season of parenting is hard. There's never any time and I always feel I'm stretched too thin. But these tiny reminders, they help. They are quick examples of my why. Why I wake up before the sun rises, and close down my computer long after it sets.

This car is neither blue or a Camaro. It was another car. On another day.

I already know, one day, in the not-so-distant future, I’ll stop finding these reminders everywhere I look. The Camaro and the purple bow will be missing from my pockets, and the little people they belong to won’t be so little anymore.

So, for now, I smile with gratitude. And refill my coffee.

Cheers!

Getting Holes in Our Pants

Dear Nora,

The other day your cousin and brother ran outside to play. Their hair was wild from an all-too-short night of sleep, and their little bodies were still cozy in their pajamas.  

You stood back.

In judgment.

“They will get dirty!” you said.

“I know,” I replied. Lacking concern.

---

I came into your room quickly the other night after a long day.

I craved your smell and a brief conversation with your wise eyes before you drifted off to sleep. But those eyes were filling up with tears. You had gotten a hole in your pants earlier in the day.

“I was playing puppy, Mom, but then I got the hole, so I sat in the corner!”

Photo by Studio K Photography

My girl, please let your wild curls stay wild. Your spirit too. Let go of the rules (and the straightener you’ll someday discover) and explore your way off the beaten path.

Those gold stars you crave, they won’t define you. The reward you seek lies in the dirt and the holes.

I want to whisper. So you’ll hear. Those disapproving looks you receive for not fitting a mold won’t define you either. That mold says you should hug and smile and be pleasant at the beck and call of our society. I say, “screw the mold!”

I want to bottle up your anger. Your frustration. Because sometimes I have to keep you safe when you know exactly what you want and can’t capture it on your own. I’ve seen that anger and frustration tear you apart over the tiny details you crave for each of your imaginative ideas.

I’d give that strong-will back to you at 25, my girl, and let you put it to good use as you find your way on a dirty path. Your wild curls blowing in the breeze. A fresh hole in your pants.

To My Babies’ {Other} Mamas

I remember the first time it happened. I was dropping Nora off at her first daycare - an in-home center. Nora reached for the woman who ran the daycare and said; “mama!”. I could tell the woman felt uncomfortable. I didn’t.

When your child is small, they sometimes liken the word “mama” to love. "Mama" can come to be shorthand for the individual who cares for them, provides comfort and dries their tears. When Nora uttered those syllables, I felt comforted. I felt it was a clear sign that during those long hours while I worked, she was feeling loved by this wonderful woman.

Fast forward to a few more daycares, another child, and so many more “mamas”. As the season of back to school is upon us, I can’t help but reflect on what these teachers mamas have meant to our family.

Thank you doesn’t seem to capture it, but I’ll try

To the woman who walked the halls. I remember getting to daycare for what felt like the one millionth time to pick him up sick. You weren’t “his teacher” anymore. He had already transitioned to the next room. But, there you were all the same. Cradling him and walking the halls. So calm. So loving. I’m sure you were tired. I know I was. But, you pushed through that tired so gracefully and found an extra gear. Thank you for finding that gear for my boy. Thank you for loving my boy like he was your own. And, for ignoring my silent, tired tears as I took him from your arms.

To the woman who exuded pride. Sometimes it feels like our littles are the only littles who have ever learned to walk or count or sing the ABCs. It’s always nice when someone genuinely shares your pride in your littles’ accomplishments. Thank you for the countless texts and pictures of our little writer working tirelessly on her letters. Thank you for spending your own time and money to put together lines and curves for her to practice at home. Thank you for sharing my pride as she beamed with pride at all you accomplished and learned together.

To the man who changed her card to yellow. I hate to label a four year old, but honestly, sometimes you have to call a spade a spade. So, I'll say it. I believe my daughter to be Type A. To her, a green behavior card - the color that symbolizes a good day - is not enough. Every day must be a pink card day. Pink symbolizes exceptional, and that's certainly what she's striving for each day. But, sometimes, just sometimes, we all have yellow card days, don't we? And you were brave enough to call a spade a spade too. You switched her card to yellow knowing it wouldn't be easy on her. And, you took the time to talk her through it. And me too. We all learned that day that life isn't easy and we can't be great all the time. Except for you. You were great. Thank you for taking the time. Thank you for being brave with us.

To the woman who loved them no matter what. For over two years you cared for at least one of them. You laughed when they said funny things and shed tears when they were sick. You embraced them for the people they are - the crazy and the sassy. You saw the little person in the midst of all the big emotions no matter what. You made room in your arms for extra cuddles and became an extension of our family. Thank you. Thank you for making your lap a second home. Thank you for loving them for who they are - the good and the not-so-good. That's what mamas do!

Both Sides Now

My daughter is about to turn four.

I feel my Mom universe starting to shift.  This small person who I have the pleasure to call my daughter is becoming less toddler and more young lady. She hears things. Absorbs. Understands. She feels tough emotions and wants help navigating them.

I’m so excited to see the person she is slowly becoming beyond the fits and tantrums of toddler-hood. I also can’t help but already miss these days gone by. These days of chubby cheeks and forgetting the “y” in yesterday.

I feel I’m wandering through Joni Mitchell’s song Both Sides Now.

I see motherhood from both sides now.

I imagine this won’t be the only time I’ll feel this way. I imagine it will rush over me many times throughout my motherhood journey.

But, today, I’m moving out of the stage where kisses fix all hurt and into a stage where I must explain why it’s OK if she isn’t someone’s “best friend”. We’re done with diapers, cribs, and clothing sizes that end with the letter “T”! She asks what hard-to-define words like "bullshit" mean {Note to self: Watch your mouth!}. She watches closely as I curl my hair and asks me why I do so.

Yet, she still wants to live with us forever, marry her dad and grow up to be Adele.

Yup, I’ve look at motherhood from both sides now.

I’m realizing I don’t know motherhood at all.

A Two Year Mystery, Solved!

Please Note: This is a history of our experience. I am not a medical professional in any way!

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sleep-deprived. Barely back to work, and I made the decision to introduce formula to the little man. I believed all the hype about formula fed babies sleeping longer and I was willing to give it a try. So, I filled a bottle up, rocked my little guy and was optimistic about the sleep we were about to get. He no sooner finished the bottle before he literally puked the entire thing up.

---

Since that day – almost eighteen months ago – we have had slightly more sleep but many more headaches. Weston never did take to formula well. He threw it up consistently upon its introduction even at a 3:1 ratio of breast milk to formula.

In addition, Weston has endured countless colds that seemed to always escalate to include ear infections and low oxygen levels. We have gotten tubes in ears, own a nebulizer, and even put him on a twice-a-day inhaled steroid after months of low oxygen levels. And, sporadically in between all of this he has broken out in hives.

An example of one of his hive outbreaks.

For two years we have been exhausted. Confused. And, frankly, sad for our little guy who seemed to never catch a break.

---

A few weeks ago, I was excited to pick the kids up from school early and head to the park. Ever the smart mom (ha), I made sure I had a snack to keep any hanger at bay. On this particular day, we’d snack on Larabar brownie bites before hitting the park. Weston barely took a bite before he started whining. Nora responded by reminding him that if he didn’t eat his “chocolate,” she would. Weston responded by puking. I quickly cancelled our park trip and changed routes to head home. Weston continued to whine as we were driving and I turned around to check on him only to notice him once again covered in hives. This was clearly an allergic reaction and luckily these bites only have six ingredients.

Post Larabar hives on his face

As I racked my brain that evening and examined the pictures from all of the other hive episodes, I finally connected the dots – coconut. I had made muffins with coconut oil, given him coconut milk during one episode and now finally these brownie bites were dusted with coconut flour. But, I still couldn’t get right with this being our answer because why in the world had he always reacted to formula as well?! I finally looked up the ingredient list of Earth’s Best Organic Infant Formula and the sixth ingredient listed was “organic coconut!” And, because we tried just about every formula under the sun, I looked up countless others’ ingredient lists and found coconut in every single one.

His reaction following coconut milk

Cue: Mom Guilt!

---

I write all of this down and share it today so hopefully it helps someone else. I can’t help but think “if we would have just known!!” Of course, he wasn’t sleeping because his belly hurt. And, while I nursed him for ten months, I certainly supplemented and so wish I hadn’t. Maybe if we would have known I could have just nursed, maybe he wouldn’t have had to go through so many rounds of antibiotics for ear infections or the countless other medications due to his respiratory issues.

So, we live and learn. I’m thankful we’ve now connected some dots and our little man is back to smiling. And, I’m so grateful we can proceed by eliminating coconut from his diet with very little effort. Finally, I hope this story helps some other tired mama out there!

Cheers, all!

Dear Nora James...

I can honestly say that at three years old, you are one of my absolutely favorite people.

I don’t mean that I like you because you’re my daughter. I mean, of all the people I’ve come across in my life, I’d choose you to be around!

Want to know why?

You’re Funny.

You say hilarious things all the time. You told Weston’s friend at school that “your brother needs a little space!” You were insistent that we’d have a purple cake with a rhino on it for your birthday, and think you can only “giddy-up” while wearing sparkle shoes. But, beyond the funny things you say and do, you have a sense of humor that is dry and off-the-wall. I appreciate it so much!

You Listen.

You ask your dad and me how our days were during dinner. Then, you nod your head as we talk about our experience and ask follow-up questions. Do you know how rare this is? There are so many adults who don’t take the time to truly listen. And, at age three, you do! How cool is that? 

You are an Amazing Sister.

Your entire demeanor and tone changes when Weston is around. You bend down to look him in the eye even though he’s not much smaller than you. You offer to share your birthday presents with him and yell from the other room that you’ll be right there when he’s crying. The genuine care you show for him makes me happier than you’ll ever know.

You know what you want and you won’t stop until you get it.

I’ll be honest, sometimes this is a hard one as your mom! I’ve never met someone as stubborn as you. You don’t back down when there is something you want. And, while at three this can be frustrating, I know that this drive will serve you well in the long-term. 

You have vision!

You go to great lengths to tell me about the things you want. You leave no detail out! This can (and does) often include the shoes you think you should wear for a particular activity and / or how you think we should proceed with a family adventure. I often think it’s my job to just keep you safe on your quest toward your vision!

But, ultimately, Nora James, I hope you know that for three years you have been loved. Through every smile, tear and frustrating-as-hell moment, you have brought so much joy to your dad and me. Today, and every day since you were born – I love you and I like you!

Cheers, little lady!

What I've Learned

I recently wrapped up a blogging opportunity with St. Luke's Birth Care Center. As we said goodbye to that blog which brought a diverse group of mom voices together, I decided to share what I’ve learned as a mom so far.

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

Of that diverse group of moms, I represented a voice of a working mom. I work full-time outside of my home and am a mom to two kiddos who are seventeen months apart.  I’ve been a mom for a whole two and a half years so it’s safe to say I don’t have it all figured out. Even so, here’s what I know to be true…

We’re More Alike than Different.
Sure, you can fit me into a box based on my quick intro above. But, truth be told, I’m not very different than a stay-at-home mom with five littles. We all suffer many of the same battles and laugh at the crazy things our toddlers say. What binds us together is the desire to make the best decisions for our families.

It’s Hard.
This parenting thing, it’s really hard! I literally have no idea what I’m doing. I make things up every. single. day. I’m simultaneously exhausted from never having enough time and bored by the monotony of it all. I pray I’m picking the right battles, setting boundaries and loving them enough to see them grow into emotionally stable, happy and successful adults.

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

 Stay on Each Others Sides.
My husband was insistent that my daughter couldn’t draw with a pen tonight. It’s a fairly reasonable rule. The pen isn’t washable. She’s two. Accidents happen. But, if I’m honest, I would have let her color with the pen. Will Nora ever know this? Of course not. Above all else, I choose my husband’s side. We are partners and that means we stay on each others side even we disagree. The conversation about why we disagree can happen later. After the kids are snoozing. But, in front of them, I want them to know what it looks like to be a party of a supportive partnership.

I Could Have Used Six Months.
I don’t have the answer for this one, but I know we can do better with parental leave. I was lucky. I took around twelve weeks off after the birth of each of my children. But, truth be told, I could have used six months. And, six months is an arbitrary age that feels right to me. I have so much to say on this subject but I will sum it up by saying this; I could have been better for everyone. With a little more time at home following the birth of my children I could have been better for my children, husband, employer and self!

We Need Others.
We need each other. We need the mom who has been there and done that. We need the mom who is completely different than us, and the one who is quite similar. It truly takes a village. Whether we find our village though online communities such as this one or offline activities, we need to lean on each other. We need to put away our judgement and righteousness and be there for one another. Because, we’re all doing important jobs and we can’t do them alone!

We Can Do Hard Things

Recently, my daughter was having a hard time doing something. The something is beyond my recollection. My mom stepped in to see if she needed help. My strong, stubborn daughter proudly explained to my mom; “Grammy, I can do hard things!”

Photo by Heart Shot Photo

I often tell my kids that we can do hard things. Usually it’s in regard to putting on our own shoes or opening a particularly tricky container with a cap. I remind them its okay to get frustrated but not to give up.

My daughter is two. My son a mere fourteen months. As it stands today, I don’t know what their dreams are. Well, outside of finding the one thing in an entire room they shouldn’t get into and destroying it. But, I do know that beyond their intellect, education and drive their ability to persevere when things get tough will help them accomplish their dreams.

We can do hard things.

The thing is, this isn’t advice. It’s a mantra.

It’s what we have to tell ourselves when we’re frustrated in the middle of the night when the baby is crying and we don’t know what to do.

It’s what we repeat when making important life decisions – career choices, daycare solutions and navigating relationship dynamics.

The words enter our heads on mile seven of a long run and hour seven of a long day.

It’s what we say when we can’t get our shoes on and when we can’t find our footing.

It’s the repetition and realization that we can step-up when things get hard that will hopefully resonate. I hope by repeating it to my children while they are young, they will ultimately be reminded of these simple words as they get older and the stakes get higher.

Cheers!

A version of this post previously appeared on St. Luke's Birth Care Center.

 

How Do I Freeze Time?

It’s almost 2017. We have tiny computers in our pockets every day. A photo exists of my children on almost every day of their lives so far. We have cars that drive themselves and video chatting is the way to communicate with family near and far. So, why have we not figured out how to freeze time?!

It’s no secret that the past year has been a relatively hard one for our family. Weston has kept us on our toes and Starbucks in business. But, lately, I’ve looked around and found myself wondering (knock on wood, please); is this getting easier?

The other day as I was getting ready for work, I could hear the kids playing together. (I love that sound!) Pretty soon they were adorably walking into my bathroom holding hands and laughing. Of course, I quickly grabbed a picture. I barely finished snapping the photo when Nora announced; “Mom, Weston threw some things in the potty!” To which I quickly replied “WHAT?!” And she answered; “Don’t worry, I got 'em.”

Sure, enough, those cute hands were all wet!!

As crazy as it sounds, I wanted to freeze time. I wanted to freeze time in part so I could sufficiently wash little hands and objects that had landed and been fished out of the potty. But mainly I wanted to freeze time because their sweet innocence in playing and assisting each other melts my heart. I know these are the moments we are going to want back. Even the potty-water-soaked ones!

I'm doing my best. I’m savoring, laughing and smiling at every turn. But, can someone please figure out how to freeze time already?

Cheers!

A version of this post previously appeared at St. Luke's Birth Care Center.

Something Happened While in Our Jammies…

I love Thanksgiving! I think part of my love has to do with the guaranteed long weekend. I love that you get the holiday out of the way and still have three days off to enjoy! I loved it even more this year because my two year old was all in. She and her brother helped me make turkey centerpieces as well as place cards for everyone who attended our Thanksgiving dinner.

More than anything I love the sentiment of this holiday. Gratitude is important to me. It’s something I try hard to instill in my children. Since each of their births, I have thanked them every night for being mine. Surviving infertility to get to parenthood instills a certain amount of gratitude toward the experience. So, almost instinctively since becoming a mom I have whispered a thank you to my children each night. 

The thank yous started out sounding something like; “thank you for being my girl.” Today they have grown to sound more like “thank you for being so brave today” or “thank you for sleeping last night” or “thank you for going to the grocery store with me.”

We spent the Friday after Thanksgiving in our pajamas. We ate leftovers and decorated our house. We played in a home-made cardboard box tunnel and had a dance party in our living room under the lights of the Christmas tree. As we concluded a relaxing yet productive day, we all said good night. Then, something happened. My two year old kissed my one year old goodnight and said “thank you for such a fun day, buddy!” And, I cried!

Yup, she’s all in. No turkey centerpiece or fill-in-the-black Thanksgiving exercise could convince me of this more than those simple words. In that moment all the guilt from being a working mom, a mom who gets distracted, is short-tempered and strung a bit too tight, washed away. She’s picking up on something in our house, and it sure looks a little like love. I hope it’s the kind of love, gratitude and appreciation that is felt all year long.

Happy holidays, everyone!

A version of this post previously appeared on St. Luke's Birth Care Center.