Most mornings I wake up and imagine I must be some sort of rock star.
I feel like I'm constantly hungover. There's usually vomit. I may or may not be topless. My body aches. And I never know where the bruises all over my body came from.
Yes, I just posted a close up shot of my bruised thigh.
I wish I had attended an epic party the night before, but it's all the result of a toddler who likes to sneak into our bed, a baby who still nurses at night, and walking into various objects/furniture at 3am when woken by the crying baby. What's worse is that Ben doesn't even have teeth yet. All the photos I have of myself from the first 3 years of Lucas's life include bite marks on my neck and arms. So I have that to look forward to!
Still, these marks indicate an active life with children and I don't need to be self conscious or explain them to anyone.
This #tbt is one that I've thought long and hard about. It's not the picture below that I want to talk about, but what happened in the years beforehand that lead me to this place. Sharing this post is probably the hardest thing I've done thus far on this blog. I honestly don't know how some of my readers will react. Please know I am OK.
Rich was one of those music friends who gave me a sense of belonging- he was everything to me during those formative teenage years
I often count my blessings that I am not a teenager in this day and age. I cannot imagine what life would be like growing up with Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and whatever other social media sites/apps exist. I barely made it through middle school and all I dealt with was playground taunting, handwritten notes and three-way phone calls.
Around the end of 4th grade I began having issues with weight and self esteem. I can vividly recall moments during those preteen years where my appearance was ridiculed and mocked. As a ten year old I learned I had "gross blubber belly", I was "fat", "fake" and "ugly". It snowballed from there and I began to hate myself. I'd refer to some of my diary entries but I shredded all of those in my 20s. I read them while cleaning out my room one day and had to destroy the evidence that I ever felt so terribly about myself.
As a young teenager I didn't know who I was or where I belonged. I tried to shadow the people I thought were cool and as any unpopular kid can tell you, that usually doesn't work. I wasn't finding my place in middle school and my self esteem was dropping further. I knew I was a joke. I heard it. I saw it. I felt it. It's an experience that stuck to me and won't ever leave.
I hit rock bottom in eighth grade. I won't go into details, because quite frankly, what would that accomplish? But I will admit that I seriously contemplated ending my life. I felt worthless and couldn't see how I would ever belong. Something stopped me from taking action and I will never forget that moment, sitting at the kitchen table, when I realized I was worth the struggle and that I would find my place.
I'm sure it's no surprise that when I entered HS, I found the place I needed to be- the choir/band room. The friends I made through my musical endeavors lifted me up without even knowing it. To you all, I simply cannot express my thanks for being there. Of course there were typical teenage-drama moments, but I knew these kids were my "family" and would be there for me. I never felt that desperation that haunted me in eighth grade once I found my place in music.
I share this story because times are so different for kids now. Rumors once whispered on the playground are now posted on the Internet for all to see. Kids are ridiculed by acquaintances and Internet-strangers alike. My heart breaks for children who grow up where this is the norm.
One of those kids is an 11 year old named Michael Morones who was viciously bullied. Rich, my date to the junior prom pictured above, is producing a benefit concert for a foundation set up in the wake of the young man's suicide attempt. He's 11 years old and felt his only way out was to end his life. This tragedy is immense and some good must come out of this heartbreaking situation. Please visit these websites to read about the Michael Morones Foundation and the Broadway Battles Bullying Benefit Concert on April 14th. There will be many talented Broadway performers and I'll even be singing in the choir.
But most importantly, treat each other well and instill kindness in your children so that no family has to endure what Michael's family is experiencing.
A timely post has not been a top priority these past few nights. Wednesday was a perfect example of why we can't have it all. Or at least why I can't.
I just got home from the final dress rehearsal for Wizard of Oz. With Ben. And he hasn't slept in 8 hours.
What am I doing? How can I give 100% of myself 100% of the time? It's just not possible.
Tonight I showed 50 high school students how having a baby changes everything. I had an arsenal of supplies- a chair, two carriers, a stroller, toys, food- and none of it mattered. Ben wanted my complete attention and I couldn't give it to him. He somewhat tolerated the setup in the beginning, but by the end he was in a complete meltdown that lasted through most of the car ride home.
The students were great and they tried to entertain him, but it became increasingly clear that I needed help with the makeup & hair as well. I delegated responsibilities to the students, which is one of the more difficult things I've done.
I don't ask for help. Ever. So the fact that I asked teenagers to help with my son and my responsibilities as supervisor of hair and makeup really upset me. And neither went exactly as I wanted, but missions were accomplished.
So as I looked at the clock when I pulled into my driveway, the gut reaction was to berate myself for not getting it all done tonight. My gut reaction needs to be "you seem overwhelmed, why don't you call someone and ask for assistance?" I need to be kind to myself not only in regards to physical appearance, but also life in general.
When I was younger, my friends frequently commented on the roundness of cheeks. One friend in particular used to tell me I looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid. In hindsight I'm sure she meant it in the kindest way possible, but when you are an overweight kid who is already self conscious, it's hard to take any comments about your "round" appearance in a positive way.
I think I grew into them as I got older.
Wait, was this post about my enormous cheeks or my enormous nose?
On three separate occasions in the past two days, Ben began to panic as he was falling asleep. The first time I was exhausted from feeding him, so I leaned down and put my cheek to his. Almost instantly his body relaxed, his breathing slowed and the crying stopped.
Physical contact with his mommy's face was all my baby needed. Those chubby cheeks that embarrassed me as a kid were now comforting the chubby cheeks of my perfect little boy. Cheeks that looked just like mine.
It's amazing that the human touch can be so powerful. Maybe I am supermom after all!
I always thought I had "the look" down pat. When students misbehave, I just give them "the look" and they get it together. If my husband starts making fun of me or gets on my case, I just raise my eyebrows and he backs off.
Tonight I inadvertently took a picture of myself giving "the look" toward Jim as he had a conversation with his brother. It turns out people weren't backing off because of my serious expression.
Apparently they were shocked by my ability to age 10 years in just a few seconds.
Well at least you can't see my crow's feet.
Wow. I had no idea my face did this. To be fair I'm on my 4th or 5th sleepless night (I've lost count at this point) and I had done some demo makeup on my face for the play tonight and didn't wash it off very well. But no matter what, the truth is that I am getting older.
I never thought much about my skin aging because I wear sunscreen and take care of myself. Plus, I still get occasional adult acne and old people don't get acne! I guess I'm going to have to confront this. Do I start to seriously invest in the anti-aging skin care products or do I take my lines for what they are- signs of a life well lived?
I don't know that I can definitively answer this question, but my gut response is that my lines are beautiful because they are real and they reflect my experiences. I wouldn't be doing myself any favors by erasing the evidence of the passage of time.
This is my face. This is me. This is honest. This is beautiful.
I'm drinking a glass of wine and reflecting on the past few days. I might need the bottle.
Don't you ever think about leaving me alone with them again
If it could have happened it did- the kids got sick, there were accidents, meltdowns, and messes. But guess what, that is life. This is what we go through. Humans are unpredictable. The best laid plans don't always go the way we want. Today I wanted to have a play date, make crafts, bake brownies, take a walk into town- none of that happened, not even close! But, the kids are clean, the house isn't completely destroyed and there is always tomorrow.
I'm not "Supermom". I need to stop trying to be her. I do the best I can and I need to accept that it's OK. I also do not need to parent on my own- I am so lucky to have an amazing partner and he and I get it done together. In his absence I realized that I am not taking care of everything, which I am sure I've thought at some point. We function as a team and I am so grateful for our partnership. He even seems happy to be close to me when I haven't showered since Friday and I've been puked on over a dozen times in the past 24 hours.
Lucas loves to take selfies. We will name this one "The calm before the storm".
They are both plotting my demise.
Tonight my kids put on a clinic. There was puking, screaming, crying, singing, shouting, new imaginary friends, explosive diapers. Really, this was one for the record books.
I tried my best for the first hour and a half of the 2+ hour attempt at getting the kids to bed, but I finally lost my cool. It was when Lucas and Carrot (his large stuffed carrot) couldn't get comfortable on the floor in Ben's room while I was trying to put him down. Apparently Carrot was really upset and I made him so very very sad. That was it. I screamed to Lucas that he needed to "knock it off" and told him to go to his room to cool off. Within minutes Thomas and Friends were yelling "knock it off" at each other and I realized I was beat.
As adults, we have plans. As children, they ignore them. When you're a kid in a bathtub filled with bubbles and your mom is paying attention to your little brother, why wouldn't you splash as much water out of the tub as possible? When your mom isn't sticking to your normal bedtime routine, why wouldn't you put on a dramatic display with your stuffed vegetables? It's not that I didn't try, I just couldn't do it alone.
I have trouble admitting that I need help. I like to take care of myself and the things around me without asking for assistance. It's a bad trait of mine that I hope the kids don't pick up. My husband has apparently figured out a way to help me without me even realizing it because after this weekend away, I am in awe of him and how we work as a team- and I didn't even realize it! But, that realization also comes with a downside for me. I had to ask my parents for help way more often than I wanted. I am embarrassed that I couldn't handle it all on my own. They watched the boys this morning while I went to work on the makeup for the play and when I came back my mother had done the dishes, made chicken soup, Lucas was playing with my father and Ben was napping. Cue internal meltdown. Why couldn't I accomplish this?
No real answer here, just a stream of thoughts. I had to come back to this post this morning because both boys had a bad night of sleep and I am not quite sure where I was going with it. I guess I'll take the high road- my boys are fed, clothed and happy (Lucas is in that weird toddler-smile phase) and I am relatively clean. Good job team!
So I'm going to make today #tbt because I've had a realization.
I'm a very lucky woman. Not many folks in my position would be saying this. You see, my husband is currently in Key West at a bachelor party. I'm home with the kids and let's just say that they didn't hear my plea for a good night of sleep last night.
I haven't been looking forward to this weekend. I could go into detail, but I'm pretty sure you can figure out my issues. Most importantly, I just miss my husband.
I love this candid photo from our wedding (Thank you Dave & Amy Lau!). He is my best friend- My everything. On August 18, 2007 we took vows that we believed in, but couldn't quite comprehend until our marriage began. Who could have imagined that "in good times and bad" and "in sickness and in health" would come into play so quickly? He is my rock and I am his.
Sometimes I lose sight of this. It's so easy to get caught up in work, the kids and whatnot. I was so frustrated over this trip because I felt it was inequitable. Don't get me wrong, I still do feel that way- I want a "girls trip" to someplace sunny and relaxing. But in the past two days I have been reminded of something I take for granted. I have an amazing husband. Our house is missing him right now.
So almost seven years after this first dance, our relationship has grown more amazing every single day. No, it's not perfect, but it is real. And it is beautiful.
And our family can't wait to have him back for Dance Party!
This is me tonight, March 20, 2014. And yes, that is a mouth guard- don't judge. My sweatshirt is also 16 years old- I bought it the week I was accepted to Rutgers.
Yes I know, the photo isn't exactly throwback, but the shirt is. Just go with me, it's been a long day.
Why am I smiling this much? I must be delirious.
The main point of this picture is that I successfully put both kids to sleep- by myself. My parents did come over for a bit to back me up, but I endured the CIO (for those who aren't familiar, that stands for cry it out) with Ben. I got Lucas to sleep. And I'm in my own bed- alone.
So tonight, I'm typing up this post on my phone and will share it tomorrow. My computer is downstairs and quite frankly, I don't want to get it. I want to turn out the lights and go to sleep. Hopefully these kids will let me. I earned it!
The pity party is over.
After my confession last night I decided that I could sit there and beat myself up or I could get back to work and start refocusing energy on my health and well being.
I chose the latter.
I've moved on to "gym selfies".
Today could have been bad. Last night was another stellar production by the all-night performance ensemble that lives in my house. Therefore, I did not make it to a mom group I was planning to visit at my gym. However, I did make it to the gym for a workout after my nap and coffee kicked in.
I went in with a plan. I thought, what do I want more than anything right now fitness-wise. I want to run long distance again and with improved speed. I got on the treadmill and knew I only had half an hour, but I was going to make it count. I did speed work for the first time in a while and it felt fantastic! Then I went over to the weight area to work on arms and when I glanced in the mirror to check my form, I could see the return of some definition in my upper arms. Hooray! Also I'll be retiring these pants as they are officially too big! They may or may not be maternity pants, but it's still a step forward!
I only had 55 minutes to work out because of childcare, but I made every minute count. I am so proud because I've walked this path before many times and I don't usually turn myself around the next day. Sometimes it's taken months for me to pull out of a negative space and get refocused. I have a lot of my friends and readers to thank for that. Many of you reached out to me last night and today and your encouragement means so much.
Thank you.
After last night I resolved to get a picture that did not involve one of my children. Today I visited rehearsal for the musical my district is putting on, so we could do some planning for the makeup and hair. My lovely assistant, Samantha, took this photo for me (while also holding Ben- what talent!)
This is my "work husband". My actual husband probably doesn't love this term, but I'll use it none-the-less!
The best part of this photo is that I have an almost identical picture from my wedding!
Our friendship is something I treasure so much and to see how we still banter and make each other laugh after 10 years is incredibly heartwarming! How many people are so lucky to do what they love for a living and with one of their closest friends? I am thankful everyday for the opportunity to work with someone who brings out the best in me both professionally and personally.
While my face is absolutely lit up as I talk to Keith, I've got to confess that I'm totally criticizing myself as I look at this picture. And I know I need to give myself a break. The truth is, this is the first time in a while that I've seen myself from afar. It's hard to look at and I know I shouldn't be, but I'm frustrated with myself because I am 8 months past giving birth. I am going to the gym. I have given up dairy. Why can't I get back to my previous level of fitness? I don't want to make excuses like nursing being a priority or I'm just getting older. I was able to do it last time, I should be able to this time.
It's really uncomfortable for me to see this. But that's what these 40 days are about, right? I've got to find the beauty here. Maybe the beauty is in being honest with my feelings about appearances and insecurities. I've had them all my life. I need to own up to them in order to move past them. So here it is- I'm incredibly insecure about myself and I'm going to use these remaining 26 days to work on getting over these destructive feelings.
Wow, it only took me two weeks to get to the heart of the matter...
I promise that every day I am thankful for, grateful for, amazed by and in love with my children. That being said, as I've embark on this photographic journey I am beginning to realize that my life pretty much revolves around them.
Who is this crazy woman and what is she doing to me?
This is another one of Lucas's candid shots of mom. I was making silly faces and sounds at Ben and I promise he was enjoying the entertainment. This looks like a great moment, doesn't it?
What the photograph doesn't capture is the tantrum that followed when we took my phone away from Lucas. And for the second time in two days I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him to knock it off. I was smart and removed myself from the situation and in the end, we were able to salvage the night with some great bedtime story reading (Steam Train, Dream Train) and singing (I'd Like to Live on the Moon). But I have to admit, I was fuming for quite a bit. I still might be.
I love my children and I wouldn't trade parenthood for anything, but that doesn't mean it's not exhausting. Just like anything in life I guess, if it isn't one thing, it's another?
When Lucas steals my phone and takes pictures of me, I can see that do I have a ton of fun with my family. It almost looks easy! But that's the view from the outside. From the inside, I'm constantly in doubt that I am somehow screwing them up. Every parent feels that way, don't they? That's how you know you're doing it right- you want to be better. Or is that just what we tell ourselves?
Last night was the first time since we became a family of four that "everyone" slept through the night. It probably goes without saying that I woke up frequently, wondering why no one was crying for me! Hopefully this is a new trend in our house.
A trend I would like to move past is the one where I keep my pajamas on until it is beyond acceptable to wear them.
Who wears leopard print pants and a heart covered Rutgers shirt at noon?
Not the teenage babysitter- it's lazy mom.
It's not just the fact that I keep them on. They are mismatched, most likely covered in a combination of pee, spit up, milk, food and snot. Yes, unfortunately I'm serious. Don't worry, I do throw them in the washing machine- and usually forget to put them in the dryer. But still, it's not a very glamorous lifestyle. You could argue that I should just dress myself nicely anyway. The pile of 10 hand wash shirts in the laundry room tells you that's just not an option. At least not as frequently as I'd like. This morning, one thing led to another and before I knew it, it was almost noon and I was giving an unplanned bath to Lucas (don't ask why...) After a lot of splashing, crying over shampoo and figuring the perfect temperature of the water to rise soap out of hair, I finally had Lucas out of the tub and was drying him off when I grabbed him and started to tickle him. His face says it all-pure joy! We are both so happy to be giggling on the bathroom floor, carefree and enjoying the spontaneity. I could have chosen to be frustrated with the fact that I needed to stop what I was doing to clean him up or I could enjoy the additional mommy/son bonding time. I chose the later, and I'm so happy I did.
When I workout at the gym or run a race, I always envision myself as a bad ass athlete. I imagine I look strong, lean and graceful. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or a photograph and come back to reality.
Pilates is fun...and slightly awkward looking.
This isn't to say I'm not proud of this photograph or the strength I'm displaying. It's just a reality check that physical fitness is hard work and I shouldn't expect to look like a photoshopped model in a fitness magazine mid squat. I'm not working out to look attractive. I'm working out to be strong and healthy. After two traumatic pregnancies/births via c-section, my abdomen was in rough shape. I had something called diastasis recti (beware- the image on wikipedia is of a infant and may look painful) and was having a difficult time with the postpartum recovery process. I happened upon the Reformer Pilates class at my gym and after 8 sessions, my muscles have returned to their proper location. My instructor, Nellie, has been a huge help in my quest for strength and I've signed up for another 8 sessions. I chose this photo because it depictes a huge improvement for me. Eight weeks ago I did not have the abdominal strength to elevate my hips/lower half like that. Yes, I'm still carrying some padding around the middle, but I can feel the strong foundation I'm building. I've stopped focusing on "getting back in shape". I'm in the shape I'm supposed to be in as a nursing mother, recovering from a major surgery. I'm trying my best to live well in this body and enjoy the beauty of it at every phase of life.
Our usual Fridays consist of ordering or making pizza and watching a movie with the kids. Tonight we decided to shake things up and take the family out to dinner. Clearly we needed to get out of the house, because even though that is one of the most stress inducing things you can do with two small children, it sounded like a fantastic idea. We drove into town and picked the place closest to our parking spot...
I'm pretty sure I'm sleeping while standing and holding a baby
We walked into the restaurant and requested to sit in a section where the noise from the kids would be least offensive. Little did I know that Ben would choose tonight to learn how to shriek like a banshee. I could feel the condescending gaze from the people around us as we tried to shove food in his mouth, bounce, sing and "shhhh" him into a calmer state. I should also mention it was 7:30, the time that most competent parents put their kids to bed, not take them out to dinner. Thankfully Lucas was the most well behaved he has ever been.
In the midst of Ben's screaming, my husband and I started to meltdown. I thought we must be the worst parents for taking our kids out to eat at a pub so late at night. We briefly contemplated canceling our order and making a quick exit, but we rallied and made it through the meal- it helped that the waiter brought us our beers quickly (and upgraded mine to a 16oz). There was a lot of one handed eating and I don't quite remember what I ordered/ate, but we did it. In the end the meal cost $60 as opposed to a $20 pizza, but we both agreed that it was worth the $40 dollars to rise to the occasion and have a sense of accomplishment!
This was a huge parental self-esteem boost during a time I think we needed it. We calmed Ben, Lucas used his manners (and didn't have a potty accident) and everyone ate their meal. Is it me, or do Friday nights take on a whole new meaning as we age? I remember when my husband and I would rush home after work and catch a train into the city or drive out to visit with friends. We'd dress up, go out and then do it all again on Saturday night!
Tonight my husband asked me if this is what I signed up for when we decided to have children. It's 11pm and he is sleeping on the couch, the kids are in bed and I'm ready to join them. Instead of having a leisurely dinner and drinks at the bar, we pretty much swallowed our food whole, ran to the car and I'm now drinking herbal tea that supports my milk production.
Yes, this is what I signed up for. This is what I want. It is a beautiful, albeit exhausting, life and I'm thrilled to share it with him.
A little #tbt for today... In the bottom of a box in the back of my closet, there is a black running tank that I wore when I ran my second half marathon. It still fits and was barely worn, but I don't take it out and I won't throw it away. In fact, aside from the crowd of onlookers at the race, only three people I know have seen me wear this shirt. There were many special things about Philly ING Half Marathon in 2009. First, my original plan was to run in under two hours, a goal was training well for. Second, I wanted to raise money for the lung cancer alliance to honor my mother-in-law who had just been diagnosed. Third, I had a special guest run with me.
This team completed 13.1 miles
My husband and I were thrilled to finally have what we believed was a viable pregnancy in the late summer/early fall of 2009. I asked my doctor if he thought I could still run. Considering I had been training for months and I had run the distance before, we decided I would just be smart and pay attention to my body. I desperately wanted to complete the race because of the training I had put in, but more importantly because of the fundraising I had done to honor my mother-in-law. I made this running shirt, being the giddy and excited mom-to-be. I was 7-8 weeks pregnant and was so excited to one day tell my child about the time we ran our first half marathon. The race was tough. If I wasn't puking, I was peeing. I ran glacially slow and finished in over three hours. The runner in me was disappointed, but the mother in me was proud. We saw the heartbeat of our baby later that week. We found out we lost our baby the next month. I hid everything in the house that I associated with our unborn child. I didn't want to run. In the back of my mind I felt responsible. Was I so selfish for wanting to run while pregnant? I became miserable, angry and scared. We went on to have two successful pregnancies, but also two more losses. I was so scared to run or walk- basically if it increased my heart rate or made me sweat, I wasn't going to do it. Despite my desire to hide everything about the lost pregnancies, I just couldn't throw away the shirt. It was all I had of my short time as the mother to this baby. It was baby's first half-marathon. I wanted to share this because I was so ashamed for so long. I believed that I caused this loss and would be judged by others for thinking to run while pregnant. Yes, even as I type this, I know it is a ridiculous thought, but it is my truth. Every life has a purpose. That life lifted us all up during a time when our family needed it. That life accompanied me and led me on a difficult journey. That life is waiting in heaven with Grandma & Grandpa to greet us one day. And that life brought us Lucas. I never knew this child, who in my heart I believe was a daughter, but what a beautiful sacrifice she made for our family.
Daylight Savings was on Sunday and I am still adjusting. Obviously I've had a lot on my mind but I have been wide awake until 1:00 am every night. I think part of the issue may be that we are working on sleep training Ben and I am incredibly anxious. I keep waiting for him to wake up screaming at any moment, so I cannot relax. He does stay asleep for a while and has woken up around 3:00 am most nights, but I still need to feed him because he's on the small side. So that gives me 2 hours of sleep before I'm up. And since I'm so tired, I usually have my husband bring me Ben so I can nurse him in bed. Anyone who has done that knows it may be easier to lay in bed, but you don't gain any quality sleep. Needless to say, I'm not the most stable person right now.
When I start to miss out on sleep and get anxious like this, I also tend to stress out about the things I am not accomplishing. Today I had plans of doing some laundry, cleaning up my bedroom, and going to a play date & the gym. I also hoped to get in a nap since Ben and I spent most of the night awake.
As you may have guessed, most of these things did not happen.
But as you may not have guessed, I didn't meltdown over it! I went to the play date even though I was about two hours late. Luckily I've made some amazing mommy friends who completely appreciate what each other are going through, even if we are all very different from one another. I showed up, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, fed Ben, chatted while the kids rolled around and left an hour later. That hour was so important. I could have stayed home and been annoyed that yet again I had to cancel, but instead I got my butt in the car and went.
Speaking of my butt, I haven't been to the gym this week. I'm giving myself a pass and will resume again tomorrow. However, I decided I was still going to get in a "workout". Baby lifting, squatting with a baby, planks over a child- who knew all the exercises you could create by just adding a baby or toddler. And of course the nightly dance party, too. Was this as satisfying as a 5 mile run? No. Am I chiding myself for my poor form in the above picture? Sort of. But, I tried.
And some days that's all I can do. My best today might be nothing compared to my best tomorrow. Or tomorrow could turn out to be even more difficult. I don't know. What I do know is that I held that plank for almost 2 minutes and Ben giggled most of the time.
I'm showing my boys that I value myself by making time to do the things I need- connecting with others and taking care of my health. Laundry and cleaning the bathroom? That's another story...
Before I get to today's post, I just want to say how much I appreciate the kind emails, messages, phone calls and comments. I'm completely surprised by how well this blog has been received. However, I want to make sure that it's understood I'm not looking for this to turn into "40 Days of Tell Me I Look Good"! (I must admit I stole that line from a very close friend who I discussed the blog with today). I thoroughly appreciate the sweet messages, but this is by no means supposed to be a pity party for my lost youth or pre-pregnancy body! I just wanted to put that out there- I hope I'm conveying my thoughts clearly.
I love a good pair of shoes. There was a time I would only wear heels but now it's mostly slippers, sneakers or Uggs. I'm fine with that, because frankly they are way more comfortable and easier to walk in. Another one of the benefits is that my heels now have a longer shelf life.
These heels have literally carried me through some very difficult times.
I've worn these shoes on many occasions, but some of the more poignant moments have been wakes and funerals of loved ones. Today these heels sunk into the soft muddy ground at the cemetery and standing became even more difficult than my weak knees were making it. We were surrounded by the graves of children. It was almost too much to take.
For a number of reasons, Ella's passing has hit me hard. No parent should ever have to bury their child. I could elaborate, but I don't think I need to- it's a universally excepted belief, or at least it should be.
During the service today, the priest spoke about the sanctity of every life and that each fulfills a purpose. I'm sure he was more eloquent than that, but you'll have to forgive my fogginess about the homily. While I cannot recall the specifics, I was moved by his words. I was also especially moved by the music.
My husband tells me that one of my best qualities is my ability to empathize with others. I don't just sympathize and acknowledge an emotional hardship, I put myself in that person's shoes and imagine that experience as to help them through the difficult time. I think this goes to the core of who I am.
However, empathizing also means that you may understand a person's emotions because you have gone through a similar experience. I will not pretend that I have suffered a loss like this, and I would never equate my experience with the passing of Ella. However, when staring at the tiny casket, when surrounded by the headstones marking the graves of innocent children, I became overwhelmed with grief for my friends, their families, the families of these unknown babies and for myself.
My two boys are not my only children. I have been pregnant numerous times. From that first positive pregnancy test, I became the mother I knew I was meant to be and nothing would stand in the way of me protecting that life. Except, it isn't always up to us, is it? I have seen a tiny beating heart on the screen of an ultrasound only to have it stop a few weeks later. I have received the phone call that informed me a pregnancy was no longer viable. I have walked into a hospital pregnant and left without a baby in my arms. I have become so connected to pregnancy and child loss that I think I've crossed over from empathy into something much deeper.
I think empathy is a beautiful thing. It connects us to people and the world around us. It reinforces a sense of community and love. It breaks my heart to have had to empathize with the family of Ella Grace.
Please visit this site to learn more about the campaign my dear friends Regina and Jason have started to honor their daughter.
This week will be tough, so please understand should these posts seem a little different than previous ones.
If you are around me and I begin to panic about having nothing to wear, please run far, far away. This is warning that I am about to have a full-on anxiety attack. I don't mean this as a female stereotype of the woman surrounded by piles of clothes exclaiming that she needs new shoes. I have anxiety and sometimes it is severe. If you know me personally either you are already aware, or it comes as little surprise. I've always had difficulty making decisions and focusing on the issue at hand. When I am in the throws of a very stressful situation I usually rise to the occasion, particularly when there is a group of people relying on me (coworkers, students, family, an audience). But there are times where I become paralyzed and completely meltdown.
When I look back at the times I have panic attacks, they almost always center around my closet.
In my anxious haze, the closet gets blurry.
Now I know that I have clothes to wear. My closet looks empty because I'm in the process of transitioning from pregnancy to my normal self. I don't like to purchase a lot of in-between sizes because it seems like a waste. After all, I only really need a few items since I spend most of my day in casual clothes that are easy to clean spit-up and mashed peas out of.
Today however, I had to chose something to wear for the wake of the infant daughter of one of my most treasured friends. I will not go into specifics, as it is not my story to share, but it is obviously a heart-breaking situation.
I had nothing to wear.
Seriously? That is what was running through my mind? I stood in front of my closet and broke down. What could I possibly wear to cover up the broken feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to punch someone. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I got so angry at myself for caring about the clothing, but the truth of the matter is that it really didn't matter what I wore. That wasn't the issue. I was grieving, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be strong for my friend and show her I could be a rock and would be supportive- not an overly emotional pile of hormones and anxiety. What was wrong with me?
I promise I tried, but finding beauty was very difficult today. Writing this post is very difficult today. I've stared at the computer for hours. I barely slept last night. It seems silly to write anything at all.
So I decided to focus on the beauty of friendship. I love this friend like family. I want to absorb all of her pain. I want to make it right. But I can't. All I know is that I will be there for her every step of this journey. Because she is this precious child's mother and she will always love and grieve for her baby. And I am her friend and I will always love and grieve with her.
My oldest son, like most toddlers, has a fascination with technology- particularly the iPhone. He and Siri have become quite close through their frequent conversations, which often result in my husband or I diving to intercept the phone before a call goes out to an old acquaintance or ex co-worker. My son's ability to navigate our phones is impressive and a little frightening. A week or two ago he snagged my phone off the nightstand and ran into the bathroom where I was having a conversation with my husband and took this gem.
He proudly showed me and told me I looked beautiful. I rolled my eyes, told him thanks and tried to wrestle the phone out of his hands. Once I got the phone and redirected his attention on his Thomas trains, I set out to delete the offending photograph. However, something stopped me.
This is how my son sees me. This is a picture of his beautiful mommy. Why should I delete this moment from our memories? One day he will tower over me (unless he got the short genes, which is probable) and I will no longer be the center of his world. I don't say this in a crazy-helicopter-mom sort of way. This is how life progresses and I will accept this as graciously as possible. But right now to this brilliant, hilarious, kind and perceptive three and a half year old, I am everything. And this picture will remind me of that fact and carry me through when he's 16 and wants nothing to do with his parents!
Have you ever heard the term "Bitchy Resting Face"? There were a series of funny videos/fake PSAs a year or so ago to raise awareness of the phenomenon of women who look hostile or judgmental at rest. I'm pretty sure I suffer from this. I've heard hundreds of times that I should smile more. Random people on the street have told me that I should smile. I wonder, do I need to be happy to look happy?
When I asked my husband to snap a picture of me this evening, I was struck by the fact that in nearly every photo he took, I had the same "bleh" expression. Yes, we had another really bad night of sleep, but overall I had a wonderful day! I sorted through the photos (about 20 in all from the day) and chose the one that best demonstrated the look I always try to avoid.
I tend to get consumed by things. Movies, books, conversations, music, my own thoughts. When I drift off my face relaxes and I often look irritated or annoyed. That couldn't be further from the truth! In this picture I am working on character sketches for makeup design for the HS musical. Even though I'm currently on maternity leave, I will still work on the musical production in the town where I teach. I love being a part of theatrical world. I wish I was still performing or perhaps even directing, but for now HS makeup designer is my role. I look so intent on examining the point of pencil and to make sure I get the right blend of color on Dorothy's lips (Wizard of Oz).
It's really important for me to do this well because it's the only "work" I've done outside of the home in over a year. I think that's what I love the most about this photo- I'm not "mom" in this picture. I'm a creative, artistic and accomplished individual who is doing something other than feeding, burping, wiping, changing, cleaning or washing. I struggle with this aspect of staying home and while I treasure the time with Ben, I really appreciate the opportunity to do something other than parent. So, despite the "Bitchy Resting Face", I'm actually happy with this moment!
Today a friend from high school came to visit during her lunch break. We have stayed in touch via Facebook and just had the realization that she drives past my house everyday on her way to work. She told me that she recently started doing her own French manicures and asked if I would like one- um, yes please!
I used to faithfully get my mani and pedi every two weeks and kept my hands looking beautiful. At first it may have been a subconscious attempt to get my boyfriend to "put a ring on it". Then once he did, I needed my hands to look presentable at all times. Oh, how times have changed!
To put it all in perspective, for birthday last year my husband got me a gift certificate to a local spa to get a manicure and pedicure. The gift certificate expired one year after purchase. He bought it on my birthday, which is February 12th and I used it on February 11th. Clearly, I do not put much thought into my hands anymore!
Just to clarify, this is pre-manicure from my lovely friend!
Gone are the lovely hands with strong beautiful nails. They are brittle from being used as a teether. They break easily, because I never remember to take my vitamins. They are scarred from various kitchen accidents. They are often covered in marker from some project with Lucas. But I love my hands.
I love how they comfort my children, prepare a meal, practice piano, lift weights, and tap along to music. I connect with the people around me by using them, not by them looking pretty. I use my hands to hold my husband in the middle of the night because that's the only time we aren't "dividing and conquering". I hold the hand of a friend who has shared devastating news. I wave hello to the man who rides his bike up and down Route 27, waving at everyone he passes. I hold Lucas's head in my hands when he looks into my eyes and tells me he loves me.
My hands are beautiful.
Tonight I implore you to use your hands to hold someone you love. Remember the feeling of touching their skin, the electricity that moves between two people. We don't get to hold our loved ones forever and we should never take their physical presence for granted.
Today I began to clean out out drawers in my bathroom and took stock of all the beauty products I use. I was amazed at the number of "anti" products I own; anti-aging, anti-stretch mark, anti-celulite, anti-frizz, anti-wrinkle. And then there were all the concealers that promised to hide flaws and miraculously transform my imperfections...
This is just a small sampling of products aimed at improving my appearance.
I attempted to take a photo of these and realized that I was wearing the same head scarf and sweatshirt from last night. While I'm all about being honest here, I decided I should probably shower (hence the towels). And continuing the honestly, this is one of a handful of times in the past 7 months I have showered two consecutive days.
Full disclosure- I don't plan on throwing these all away. I mean, a product that promises to reduce razor burn and my shaving frequency is OK in my book! I can continue to use my CC cream and still recognize that I don't need to "hide" anything about myself. I do think I will start looking for products that celebrate what I have instead of trying to cover it up, but who knows if that type of marketing exists!
On to the beautiful parts of this picture. BEN!!!!! Look at my beautiful baby! It's hard to believe that my preemie peanut has filled out so much. He's growing like a weed and I am responsible for that! Nursing has taken a toll on me, but with his dairy allergy and difficulty with formula, this is what works best. And it's a wonderful experience. I've also got a great set of "Mommy arms" from picking up, holding, carrying, tossing and playing with the boys. And I can really rock a towel on my head.
I recently posted on Facebook that I was going to give up putting so much thought into other's perception of my physical appearance. I have recognized that pregnancy, childbirth, motherhood and sleepless nights have left me with permanent marks, scars, and dark circles. I received an overwhelmingly positive response from friends, so I decided to share the next 40 days publicly.
Today I am beginning a journey where I hope to learn to appreciate myself for who I am at this moment in time. I will share a photo each day and write about the beauty that occurs in that snapshot. I want to love who I am now as opposed to lament who I am not. I want to redirect my energy into being strong, healthy and kind.
So, for Lent I am giving up the past. I will never be 25 again, but I am 34 and I am going to live in this body, in this moment and take care of myself and the people around me.
This was taken on Wednesday during our nightly family dance party-more of these to come! Our favorite song right now is "Happy" by Pharrell Williams. My initial response to this picture was "I look like a hot mess"! The head scarf covers my frizzy hair, the shirt is on inside out and and I'm wearing baggy pajama pants.
Taking a new approach to this picture, I can see that my hair is frizzy because I didn't blow dry it after my shower- instead I cuddled my baby, who is in the midst of teething. My shirt is on inside-out because I rushed to get dressed to get in a short session of Pilates, which has helped me to regain core strength. My pants are baggy because I am healthfully losing the "baby weight". Most importantly, my sons are enjoying a musical moment with a carefree mom who was not thinking about sucking in her gut or posing for the camera. Instead, I sang along and made my boys smile. That's beautiful.
