Tag Archives: things in my head

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.

Party!

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Start line party

The aches and pains left my body after four days, the “I did my first marathon” high still comes and goes, and I have not taken down the Marine Corps Marathon course map at my office desk. My racing journey this year was not especially pretty, as much as it was insightful. But at the start line on race day, I was at a ruckus party with 30,000 other people. 26.2 miles? Puh-leez. We all knew how many miles it REALLY took to get to the start line.

I didn’t know if I would get here, but I’m on the other side now, I did it. I persevered through hours of physical stress to achieve this huge endurance goal, and I AM mentally strong enough to lace up my shoes and do it over and over again. Alone. That start line party was my graduation.

Do over please

Did I say it wasn’t pretty? There was pain and cramping during the second part of the race and lots of excuses after. I didn’t focus on strength training, broke my foot 6 months before the race, my training time was short, blah blah blah. But wouldn’t you know it I want to run another marathon—in addition to other 2014 racing goals. But I’m hoping this next journey will be different than the one I started out with this year.

Reminders

Reminders

 In the moment

My 2013 racing journey can be summed up in the two weeks before and after the marathon. My emotional state was that of a caffeine addict deprived of her morning coffee. Every day, for two weeks. At a yoga class during savasana a few days before the race, with tears streaming down my face I apologized to my many hurting body parts. Touching my thighs, hips, and legs, and feet, I asked them to hang tough with me for a few more days. Assuming the same pose on my yoga mat a week after the marathon, I tearfully thanked them for being strong and carrying me—literally—on this journey. Then as the endorphins and chemicals balanced out in my body over the next few weeks, Sarah Lynn aka my favorite yoga instructor, repeated a mantra of hers during class—to be accepting of where we are, what we’re doing, how we’re doing it, in the moment we’re in. I finally heard her.

When my body protested with exhaustion during the months of training, and I’d take a 7:30 nap before falling asleep at 9:00, I often asked myself (and the husband) why I often feel compelled to choose the hard road. No answer ever satisfied me. At the end of a rather tumultuous racing year which included letting my body heal, I had these fleeting moments of realizing that it’s okay not to know why, or what my journey is for. Only that I choose to go on it. I have to grab those fleeting moments. Tricky stuff.

 Ohm

So yes, I will be setting goals, and working hard to achieve them. My 2014 journey is to be in the many moments I will find myself in, and be accepting of all the outcomes.  At least that’s the plan.

  • Half Ironman.
  • Marathon #2.
  • Be kind to myself (see first two goals above)
  • Show meaning of true friendship to teen daughter.
  • Lift the clouds away from anxious daughter.
  • Run away with husband more often.

And may the racing goddesses be gentler to me next year.

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…

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.

Yoga on my mind

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Last week, I almost wept in my yoga class. Nothing hurt. No twisting, bindings or inversions (I’m terrified of inversions). No pulled muscles or ligaments. No injuries.

.

.

.

I’m hesitating as I write this, because I’m still grappling with why I fought back tears during the closing sun salutations.

I am relatively new to yoga. An injury last year was the final push I needed after years of saying, “when will I find the time?” Yoga is now a critical part of my running/triathlon training regime. It is a conduit to achieve more flexibility, balance and strength. Until about 3 months ago, yoga was simply a way to take care of my body, to ensure racing longevity. And in the 9 months I’ve been practicing yoga weekly, my body is thanking me. And now, it seems my mind wants some of the action too.

A few weeks ago, I found myself reverting to Shavasana at night when I can’t sleep. I also started to set my intentions before each run or swim just as I do before a yoga class. Then last week I found myself weeping in my husband’s arms when I got home from my yoga class.

Sarah Lynn, my yoga instructor and owner of Journey Yoga, is a very lively and active instructor – often playing music I would love for my running playlist. She’s passionate and energetic. If you’re looking for a quiet and gentle yoga class, Sarah Lynn is not the instructor for you. Last week, however, it was a quiet class. There was no music. No loud chatter, just thoughtful instruction. We were asked to simply engage or activate various muscles during the practice that would in turn elicit a reaction from other muscles in the body. Shoulders, back, legs, hands, arms, you name it.

During class, Sarah Lynn helped us with visualizations and regular reminders to breathe. And reminders that it’s okay to underachieve. That it’s okay not to work our muscles as hard as we possibly can. About half way through the class, my movements became more fluid, my poses were more balanced and strong, and my stretches were deeper than usual. Sweat was streaming out of every pore in my body. As we went through the last few sets of sun salutations, a tsunami of emotions moved up my feet and through my whole body. I wanted to sob. I almost did.

Why? I don’t really know. It took me by surprise. This practice was easy, yet so hard. The hard parts (consciously using all my muscles) made the balancing and poses seem easy, fluid and strong. On the drive home, so many images and emotions flashed through my mind — like fast-forwarding a movie. What continues to stand out in my mind is the journey to achieve my goal with running, racing, triathlon-ing… and all the training that exhausts me, frustrates me yet thrills me. But I don’t know what my actual goal is, or where my journey is taking me. Is it really okay to underachieve? Or not work as hard as I possibly can?

Oh this is cheesy as heck, I know. But I can’t shake how I felt that night. And I still don’t really know what it meant. Or why I think it’s supposed to mean something. Or anything for that matter.

But whatever it was, I think I may have started another journey.

Thank you Sarah Lynn.

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.