Tag Archives: motherhood

BIG APPLE

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All I had to do was take Saleha to New York. Not to Africa. And not to Haiti, where I recently saw firsthand what abject poverty looks like. It was in New York, where she learned that she can help poor and hungry people. It is a big leap for a privileged first-world teenager, who was in New York to celebrate her birthday by eating good food, shopping and sightseeing. A teenager–like thousands of others who walk on this planet in a bubble with their heads bowed to their personal electronic devices.

It started that first night with a full belly when she decided to give her leftovers to the first homeless person she saw. Twenty steps later, a very grateful woman took it, her sign declared she had three hungry children. As we walked away, Saleha declared…

…I feel bad.

Well, do you have money?

Yes.

Why don’t you buy her a meal?

Saleha’s offer was graciously turned down repeatedly. Dejected, she walked away.

One day, several conversations, many meals, and a few leftover packs of food later, I asked what we should do on our last day in New York.

I want to spend my money to buy food and give it to the homeless. And I want to find that woman.

My heart ached and soared. An antidote to the weekend of loud screaming lights, wafts of cloying perfume, hours of shopping, and the constant sightings of posters with half naked bodies promising many things. And a soothing healing balm to my own personal wounds inflicted by the teenage verbal and emotional rocks she sometimes throws at me.

After a gluttonous Sunday brunch, armed with bags of sandwiches, off we went to Central Park to find hungry homeless people.

Food

Some were easy, some were not. And we never found that woman.

This is complicated.

It sometimes is, my love.

 

When we got home, she churned ideas with a friend and they are off to pretty solid start on easy ways for people to donate money to Dimes for Dining. With the cash, they are going to make food, and I will drive them to personally feed hungry people on the street. And maybe it won’t be so complicated for right now.

So it was the big city in America that did it. Not a faraway small city with mountains and rivers of trash. It was in New York that she connected with the hungry and homeless who were surrounded by wealth and obscene overindulgence.

For her, and for now, I guess charity does start at home.

ROCKS.

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It’s impossible to prepare for parenthood. Yes you can anticipate the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance on kids as they grow, making sure they are safe, healthy and happy. Easy stuff. But who can honestly anticipate the acute heart break that eventually settles in your soul as these babies turn into little adults, and learn how to navigate the world. It’s the stuff that was written in small print when you bring these wonderful creatures into the world. And you can’t walk away from it.

I give life lessons and love willingly. I also have to be strong enough to receive the mental and verbal rocks that get thrown at me, and have to be resilient enough to either avoid them, or if I’m hit, stand back up and continue giving life lessons and love.

When those rocks come hurtling at me out of nowhere, I have to dig into the recesses of my parenting brain and execute defensive maneuvers. This could include verbal tactics to help illuminate and broaden the small, self-absorbed world of a teen. If the claws come out and further attack ensues, I implement a containment plan: Punishment.  And because their world is so fucking small, their life resumes rather quickly. The rocks get put away, claws retracted. I on the other hand, nurse my wounds for days. My whole body permanently tattooed with more invisible battle scars.

Rinse and repeat.

There’s nothing clinical about this job. It comes with strong emotional and physical bonds. It’s not for the faint of heart. We don’t have armor to be emotionally safe from the havoc of a growing child. The love we feel for these creatures is all consuming. Yesterday I had a fleeting moment of wondering what it would be like to be child-free. Or at the minimum to be free of the anguish, pain and heartache once reserved for the comparatively flighty world of dating.

I need to invest in some serious padding, because I am committed to this job forever. I also need to invest in some self-control because after all, as the husband reminds me, these creatures we love so much are not in control of their emotions. Which makes it all the more important that we stay in control of ours.

And I do so love these creatures.

Overflow.

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I’ve deliberately avoided putting my fingers to the keyboard for months. Any and all threateningly powerful emotions have been very neatly put away in a box. I’m experiencing an overflow. And they are all demanding attention. Kabanga. Newtown. Boston.

Boston. Running has taken me on a journey I never knew I could or would want to take. Running allows me to be free from whatever I choose. I meditate when I run. Running taught me about pain and the meaning of being strong. Racing is when I get to be with thousands who share my joy and my pain. It’s a time to celebrate our collective journey. It is a time to contemplate and enjoy where we are, how we got there, and hopefully where we will be going next. I can’t imagine running this weekend’s race or any other race without thinking about Boston. I can’t imagine what my journey will be like this year when I run in my first marathon in October. I’ve lost something—like dropping a glove in the throng of runners at the start line. I can’t retrieve it.

Newtown. When children are killed, they become my own. And those other children who witnessed the massacre? They were mine too. For a long time I was a grieving parent mourning the loss of my child. I was a parent shielding my child from the scarring images that forever will burn in her head. Saleha said to me the night of Newtown, “Mama, please don’t imagine you were a parent of one of those kids.” I told her I couldn’t help it. She said she couldn’t help it either.

Kabanga. When I arrived, it was so different, yet so… familiar. It took me a few days to realize that I felt like I was home. The landscape, the small kampung-like houses, and the people’s wonderful hospitality and generosity. But every day at the school I was with children with bleak futures. We all did as much as we could, realizing that each evening when we left the children to go back to our safe and clean house, many would sleep in rooms filled with stench from an overflowing sewer. And wake up to armed guards, not hugs from moms and dads… But each day, we did give hugs and love. As much as we could. But. How dare we complained about a missing toilet seat in our bathroom. How dare we complained about that smell that permeated everything we wore. How dare we complained about not having anything to do. How dare we complained about ANYTHING.

Sometimes, there just aren’t answers to the sadness. Okay. Back in the box. For now.

Sister Power

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Last night during dinner, Saleha gave Lily some advice on what to do when some girls in school make her feel bad about herself.  Girls who make her think she’s not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough.

Start with the little things. Remind yourself of the things that make you feel confident and good about yourself. Then sit up straighter, and walk tall.

Sometimes these words mean the world when they come from a big sister. Times like this I am reminded why I was so happy when I found out I was going to have two girls. And why I always wanted a sister. This is girl power. This is why women need each other when we are adults and why girls should be taught young to prop each other up, not put each other down.

Saleha also shared something else she learned in middle school.

Try this. Think of something about yourself, write it down on a piece of paper. On the other side, write “it’s okay.”

It was hard for Lily. She wrote things like “I’m fat, I’m not pretty…”

But that’s all not true Lily. My friends think you are pretty.

Compliment from big sister! Big eyes, jaw drop, huge smile. Wow.

At bed time, Lily tried again after I turned off the lights.

I’m really scared of roller coasters. And it’s okay. I’m not as pretty as some girls. And it’s okay.

I’m terrified of roller coasters too my love. And it’s okay.

Saleha did have one more piece of advice at dinner.

Tell those girls you can run faster, you are strong, and you can do more pushups than any of them.

That’s right sista. When in doubt, show them how you can kick ass.

A phone call

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It was too long to txt.

That’s what my daughter Saleha said after she got a phone call from her friend Evelyn as we walked in the door from a school concert. Evelyn called to tell Saleha that her grandmother died. Some things, I guess, are just too long, or too complicated to txt. Or maybe the 😦 emoticon wasn’t enough. Or maybe Evelyn needed to hear a voice—Saleha’s voice. I will never know. But what I do know is she called. And Evelyn gave me hope.

 I’m sorry Evelyn

It will be okay

I’m so sorry your grandmother died Evelyn

I knew of Sharon’s death earlier that morning from Evelyn’s parents, good friends of ours. So I knew what Evelyn’s call was about. I listened to the conversation, saw the look on Saleha’s face, encouraged her to go on, gave her the thumbs up with each time she offered Evelyn comfort.  

I didn’t know what to say

But she did. For the first time ever, Saleha had to console a grieving friend. Grandma Sharon lived with Eveyln’s family for more than a year while receiving cancer treatments. The whole family entered that world of living with illness and possible death—a place we’re all familiar with, but often not from first-hand experience.

Saleha’s cell phone rarely leaves her side. At 7pm each night she has to put it away–along with any other electronics. No emails, no more Google chats, etc. That’s the rule. I’ve been trying to show Saleha that it’s important to know how to communicate by talking, and not just from that safe txt-ing place.

Well, last night, Evelyn showed Saleha that sometimes friends need to hear a voice. And I hope Saleha learned that sometimes, friends just need to know she’s there to listen. So many lessons with one short phone call.

Sharon, I will listen to Elton John all day today…

My Adventure

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In a day I go on an adventure. I will be traveling to Kasulu, a village in Western Tanzania. No safari, no SUVs, no smiling bands of tourists. Just me and 6 other friends. We are traveling on behalf of Asante Mariamu, a non-profit organization formed by my dear friend Susan Dubois to help people with albinism in East Africa. In Kasulu we will be spending time at the Kabanga School for the Disabled. We are taking with us supplies for people with albinism, and visually and hearing impaired children. We will help improve various parts of the rather run-down school, teach people with albinism how to care for their skin, launch the first ever Albinism Awareness Day in Kasulu, and capture more stories to raise awareness.  This will be an adventure of a lifetime for me.

In the last week, I’ve been waking up feeling quite ill. In the last month, my stress level related to this trip has gone up. This is an incredible opportunity, a wonderful mission, a great cause. But this ache in my chest lingers.  I haven’t been able to nail down why. But now I know:

Cave woman

I am hardwired to care for my two babies. Yes, even at ages 12 and 8. And yes, even if I have the most capable husband and father to these big babies. I’m hardwired. I’m leaving them and traveling to an unknown place, and may find myself in unsafe situations. This act is causing ruckus in my psyche, and the logical side is losing the battle against the strong, hardwired cave woman/mama bear instinct to protect my babies. I’m fleeing the nest. My babies need food and shelter.

Direct line

iPhone be damned. What good will it be to me if there is no wireless connection? And no, I don’t need it to post my pictures on Facebook, check in, or tweet about what I had for breakfast. Not having a direct line to my family makes me uneasy.

What if I don’t come back?

I was startled when I said this out loud to my husband Scot a few weeks ago. Very startled.

So why am I going?

Because it’s the right thing to do and I want to go. And I’m going because I can. I’ve been handed this opportunity to go beyond my usual comfort zone and do some good for people who are not my family or close friends. It’s time I got off my ass and the comfort of my chair. It’s time I got off the Internet, the reach of social media, and touch some real people. Look at them directly in the eyes and talk to them.  Learn a new language. Make some  lifelong connections with people. People who perhaps cannot imagine owning a smart phone that can connect me with my family thousands of miles away, instantly. But only if I have a wireless connection…

Please learn more about Asante Mariamu, and why I feel compelled to leave my family for a week to be with the wonderful people of Kasulu, Tanzania.

Advice for my daughter

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Last night after an evening at Saleha’s school’s Spring Concert, I inadvertantly got her worked up and mad. All I did was ask a few questions about the performance. She was upset that earlier in the week during the school-time performance, kids were falling asleep during the orchestra program. She was so ticked off at her orchestra director for his music selection. BORING. She was mad as hell that he invites suggestions on what to play, but disregards their input. She was angry that the band director and her band kids composed a song to tell the world that band is better than orchestra. Saleha was pissed off that she is often the one voice among many who has to defend classical music.

My oh my. So this is one of those teaching moments us parents have to grab and run with right? I hope I passed the test.

“All the kids say that music is not going to take me far in life.”

Did you know there are studies that show that music actually helps students in areas like math?

“Yes, music is like fractions.” (She went into a complicated rapid explanation on how she breaks down music notes to keep time and rhythm)

Huh.

“I wish we would play more modern music in orchestra so kids wouldn’t fall asleep.”

But you love classical music right?

“Yes, but I was the only one in Spanish class this week who thinks classical music is cool. Everyone else thinks it is boring.”

You know if you ever want to stop playing violin because you don’t want to, I would never stop you. But I hope you never stop playing because other kids say it isn’t cool.”

Silence

You feel bad because you have to defend yourself all the time, ya?

“Ya.”

This is just the beginning my love. It’s going to get harder. You should always be true to yourself.

Silence.

Saleha, I believe there are two things that bring the world together. Food and music.

Smile.

It’s hard to explain why you love your music, right? And if you meet someone from Russia, China, Germany, or anywhere in the world, they may not speak English. But if they can play the piano or violin like you, they can share the same love you have for music. And it will bring all of you together. You don’t have to use words to communicate. It’s like music is a language understood by everyone in the world.

“So what you’re saying is music is part of the International Baccalaureate program?”

It sure seems like it, doesn’t it? You tell that to those IB kids in band and in your Spanish class.”

Grins.

Tomorrow do some research on studies that have been done on how music helps students with learning. And next time you have to defend yourself, you will have the facts. Maybe you can also somehow use these findings for the school science fair next year.

Eyes get huge. (Can see brain working in her head)

Good night my love.

“Good night Mama. I love you.”

I love you too.

Advice from my Daughter

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Yesterday Saleha asked me why I seem so mad lately. I told her I wasn’t mad, just trying to cope with many things in my head and life – work, family, responsibilities, etc. She had lots of advice for me:

 You worry too much about Lily. She’s got lots of extra time in the mornings to do her homework, so maybe she doesn’t have to finish it all in the afternoon, and she can play. She’s fine – just feed her and buy her clothes and she’ll be happy.

 Well I don’t know about that.

 She’s a good kid. Don’t worry so much about her.

 Then she painted a picture for me:

It’s like you’re in a big hole. And you’re trying to dig yourself out. But instead of digging to get out, you’re too busy fixing other problems in the hole, so you can’t get out.

 What kinds of problems am I trying to fix at the bottom of that hole?

 Feeding us, taking care of us, worrying about us

 But I have to do those kinds of things Saleha, it’s my responsibility

 But you still don’t have to worry so much. 

 Huh. She may be right. Is my life really a big hole that I can’t get out of? Then I told her that lately I’ve been trying to find my lost sense of humor, something I haven’t had in a while. She laughed. Later when we continued to talk about this at bed time, I was overwhelmed by her observation:

You try too hard Mama. We’re all fine. You don’t have to try so hard.

I then told her that Worry and Guilt are my constant companions and have been since she was born. She had this to say:

 What are you guilty of?

Since I started working again, I feel like my head is so full of stuff, that I don’t have enough space to be a good and patient mother

When you get home you should flush your head and get rid of all the stuff. That way you’ll have space. So what are you guilty of?

 I always feel that I don’t do enough for you girls, or spend enough time with both of you.

 I know how to fix that.

 How?

 Let’s go away for a weekend. Just you and me. For one or two nights. Then Dada can do the same with Lily. And we can switch.

That sounds like a fantastic idea.  (Long thoughtful silence) I’m really happy we had this conversation.

 Me too. I love you.

 I love you too Saleha. You ARE my guardian angel.

 Yes I am.

Marathons are for Mothers

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Being a parent is like training for a marathon. Or at least I think it is since I’ve never run one (more on that some other time). You must build stamina and endurance, think positive to push for that extra mile, and don’t let the bad training days get you down. Because crossing the finish line is priceless. But where is the finish line for parents?

Lately, my mother marathon training isn’t going well. My mental endurance is tapped, my energy level is low, and I’ve hit a wall. My consistent effort to do the right thing is met with consistent resistance, and I am tired of being labeled the bad guy for trying to teach my kids to be good. 

Go away, GUILT
I also have a cloud hovering over this mental exhaustion called GUILT. She follows me like a shadow, appears in the shower with me when I take that extra-hot-water-minute, or sleep in on the weekends past 7. GUILT doesn’t allow me to peacefully do what my conscience tells me to, and she doesn’t allow me to dole out tough love without quickly stabbing my heart. Ah GUILT. My constant companion since my first child was born.

I do turn into a psycho bitch occasionally when I reach the point of no return. Playing the lawyer and defending my actions with my kids can get tiring. After a tennis match of arguments, it eventually will dawn on me that I don’t have to defend myself to them – and bloody hell, I’m doing this because I love them. So I lose it, and sometimes, I lose it big. Then GUILT slaps me hard. Sometimes, I want to stop this mother marathon training. Sigh.

Love, love, love
But here’s the thing — I love my two girls so much, and cannot imagine my life without them. Every day I do my damned best to make sure they are well fed, clean, safe, healthy and happy.  Every day I try to teach them to be kind and respectful. Every day I try to read their minds and actions to make sure they are happy inside, no matter what the outside says. Every day I try to listen to their words and be sure I understand what they really mean. And every day I try to make sure they know that I love them, especially if we say many angry words to each other. It’s just that on many days, I simply don’t have the energy, patience or wherewithal to DO all these right things (SHUT UP GUILT).

What would it be like to have just one day without the cares of being a mother? And be free of the worry, the responsibilities, and of GUILT. It could be like my rest day when I don’t train.

Till I die? Really?
So how do I train for this mother marathon? I know many other mothers (and fathers) go through this daily. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier. Or strengthen my mental endurance. Recently after yet another battle, my teary apologetic younger daughter asked me why I decided to have children. I said I wanted to love a child or two, and because the world needs more good people. Is that my finish line? When I can witness what kind of people my children turn out to be? 30-40 years from now? Or right up till I die? That’s a long time to be training.

I clearly need to increase my stamina and endurance. I need to introduce a new element to my training regime to shake things up.

HUMOR! WHERE ARE YOU?

Why I do more

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GETTING SHORT
I started running because I was getting shorter. At my annual physical before my 40th birthday, I measured an inch and a half shorter than the previous year (and many years before that). It messed me up. Somehow in a fog of rationale I thought, “If I’m not 5’ 6”, then what else am I not?”

So I started walking, then running. Last time I ran was 20 years before that. Within 6 months, I ran my first 5K with 2 other girlfriends. We had shirts that said “Shut Up and Run.” Before long, I ran a half marathon. Oh, and in addition to the 5am runs, there came the 5am swims and biking in the dark. Now, 4 years, 20 running races and 6 triathlons later, what next? More it seems.

MORE PLEASE
Lately, I’ve been struck (and a little confused) by my desire to keep doing more. To battle my perennial image and weight issues, I lost 15 pounds to prep for the 2012 race season. I am getting stronger and leaner thanks to P90X, and running those hills seem easier. I’m still trying to kick the last 5 pounds or so, but heck, like most women, I’ll never be happy with what the scale says.

But where am I going with all of this? It would be so much easier to NOT do all of this. Sometimes the 4:45am wakeup calls just feel really bad. And I am often tired and cranky by 3pm. And forget sleeping for 8 hours a night. What do I want from all this? A marathon? A half Ironman? Run faster? Swim faster? I am at least 10 times more physically active than when I played team sports in high school. I am in great shape, and I’m healthy. And core, yoga and stretching – are all part of my weekly workout routines. Why doesn’t it feel enough?

MIDLIFE CRISIS
A friend recently said I am going through a midlife crisis. I will be 44 in a few months. So far this year, I have signed up for a 5 miler, a 10 miler, a half marathon, an Olympic Tri, and a Sprint Tri. I will probably do another Century Ride, a few shorter races and hopefully get in the Army 10. Hmm. I DO love how I feel during AND after a run. Swimming has boosted my running in so many ways. And I feel bad ass when I finish a triathlon. Racking up my bike and getting my transition area ready is nerve wracking AND exciting as hell. Open water swimming scares the crap out of me, but I’m hoping to overcome that this year. I love it all. Is that all there is to this? That I love it? I just don’t know.

I do know that I’ve learned a few things over the last 4 years:

• I can do more than I think I can
• If I force myself to run when I don’t want to, I feel really good when I’m done
• There are really good running days, and there are really bad running days
• I thought I was strong until I started yoga
• Stretching is essential to prevent injury
• I love my chiropractor
• I am lazy. I don’t want to expend more effort to increase speed or distance.
• I CAN apparently work out an hour a day, 6 days a week.

Mostly good eh? Oh, and one more: I found another best girlfriend, with whom I never would have done any of this. We push each other, wake each other up for stupid early morning workouts, and have had many heart to heart talks (not related to running, biking or swimming) during, before, after and in between those workouts. I love her dearly for what she has become to me, and for showing me what I can become. Yes Beth, I can squat lower apparently.

BECAUSE I CAN
So what is the lesson here? I do all this because I enjoy feeling strong and bad ass? And because I can? I guess so. Because before long it won’t be my choice. One day, my body is simply going to say, “No more!” I had a taste of that last year and it was a very unhappy and stressful time. I just need to be happy with what I have achieved so far. And go for more. Yes?

YES!