Hey babies- well it’s been a week since Fred was evicted; still waiting on pathology, but the good news is that it’s gone and I am healing. This week has been hard for you. Big One, you keep asking: but why did you need the surgery? And what was in your neck? How did they put your neck back on? Oh sweet boy. You both seem most offended that I can’t pick you up and carry you, but you are very cozy sleeping in bed with Papa each night and watching dessert after dessert magically appear at our front door. Friends and community are all the things; we are lucky sweet ones. And through it all, Christmas has managed to arrive to our home; the tree is up, the stockings are hung, the tinsel is on the mantle. You are both delighted and awed, the Christmas hype is officially here. And I love that you love it all so much.

I feel so conflicted at the holidays, Christmas is my favorite time of year, but I always feel a little sad somehow too– and this year, I have a whole lot of time to sit and feel all the feels about it. My childhood memories are beautiful, warm, fuzzy feelings opening presents and eating m and m’s from the bottom of my stocking. Phone calls to cousins to compare loot and the whole afternoon spent with family, popping Christmas crackers, donning the crowns within. But then there are later years, and moments that are harder to look back at… which are not my story to tell here, but shifted something down deep for me. Then came the year that I swore it all off and spent a wild and fun Christmas in Cambodia with friends, in a hostel, eating pad thai. I needed to leave it all behind that year and break out of some shell that I felt was closing in. It did the trick. I got a tattoo in Bangkok that New Year’s Eve; as a terrorist’s bomb exploded on the other side of the city and I vowed, against all else, to really be me, to go out and do the thing I was afraid to do. That year I moved to Guatemala. The next Christmas, I met your Papa.

I keep finding myself thinking about all of the things we need to do and see and buy; to make sure that your Christmas is absolutely perfect. Which, of course, is exactly the thing that I vowed NOT to do to my children. To focus on appearances, to just make sure the icing on those cookies was perfection, with toys stacked to the ceiling. It is ok to have the memories (good and bad), to acknowledge where we’ve all come from– and to just focus on making this year what it is. A time with family and friends. To be thankful for good health and all that we have. I am going to just keep saying it out loud until I really believe it. Old habits are hard to let go of.

I think the biggest gift we can give each other is the gift of honesty. It’s ok to want awesome presents. It’s ok to be annoyed at all the people. It’s fine if you get a little grumpy with relatives. Christmas is hard for a lot of people. Your cookies can be ugly and your ham overcooked. There’s a reason ugly Christmas sweaters are so popular.

I love you buddies. And the only promise I make is to make this Christmas ours; messy, loud, full of love, imperfect.

xo

I am watching the incessant barrage of coverage on protests surrounding the death of a young black man, shot by a white officer who was not indicted. I am flashing back to 25 years ago when I watched the same scene unfold in my hometown when a young black man (child, he was 16) was shot by a white officer, not convicted. It’s been 25 years and we have a black president, but this still happens day in and out. I have no way of explaining that last statement to you.

We absolutely, if nothing else in life, must put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. And if you can’t squeeze into those shoes because you can’t imagine how they could possibly fit– then you must trust the person in the shoes when they tell you “we are scared for our babies because they are black and therefore might get killed, even with their hands up. Killed by the people sworn to protect us.” You. Must. Trust. Them.

As a mommy, I am terrified for the mommies in Ferguson, and all the Fergusons in this country. I am in awe of their bravery for showing up and I am scared for them tucking babies in tonight. As little boys, I want you to NEVER know fear like that– and you probably won’t. Last night, Big One, you experimented with calling 911 and the nice officer on the other end took the time to talk to you about why that was not ok– police officers, in general, are good, brave people who you should look up to. When did this all get so convoluted and sincerely f’d up? I don’t know. There are some seriously unfair things happening and I can’t explain it.

What I can do, is show up. What I can do, is speak up if I see or hear something unfair. I can point out the GREAT irony in the news story of the white “granny with a gun” I saw today; had she been black? Not sure the ending would have been as cute. I can also point out with horror the supporters of the “open carry” law who stroll around with giant guns strapped to their backs in local stores and restaurants. Are they black? Oh no sirs, definitely not, cause THAT would cause a stir and, sadly, probably more.

People are really, truly angry and scared. I do NOT care if you cannot imagine yourself in those shoes you hear? You trust the damn people in them because they know. They know their truth and the truth is that it is not safe to be young, male and black in our country. This is horrifying. Be horrified. And stand up for your friends. If I teach you nothing else, let it be this.

xo Mama

Hey babies, wow! This has been a whirlwind of a week and I am unwinding with a glass of Malbec and some cheese and (gluten free) crackers… just soaking it all in. I also may or may not have just gotten back from a Target trip. Like, an epic one. What? Towels are utilitarian. Even the cute little monogrammed guest bathroom-y ones.

Today brought more Fred conversations and news and the realization that, actually, we need a second opinion. I don’t want to give Fred more than his 15 minutes of fame (as he is surely well on his way out of the spotlight, he will NOT stick around), but I do want to tell you that in the face of uncertainty, you can most definitely count on the goodness of people. “Look for the helpers” because they are sure to be there.

The world we live in is a crappy one at times– but when you are handed a shit-sandwich, BOY does the universe spin on her heels and shock the bejeezus out of you. This news isn’t even what I would consider, like, news, but people have SHOWN up for me and for us in ways I couldn’t expect. Today I had a totally unrelated doctor appointment, but of course told him about what was going on, and oh, did he happen to have an opinion?

He looked into my eyes and said “Get it out. Now.” And he talked to me about his practice (dermatology, of all the things! I should have hit em up for some pity botox…), and “if this was his daughter” and then, THEN, he scribbled his cell phone number onto a prescription pad and said “You call me anytime. If you are in a doctor appointment and don’t know what to ask, or feel stuck, you CALL.” My eyes filled with tears of grace. He really humbled me with his just over-the-top sincerity and obvious “IN-ness” that he was feeling about me and my weird case of Fred and such. He was squarely on my team. A team I didn’t know I’d be assembling 10 days ago.

Babies, there’s always a lesson, so 1) look for the helpers because the kindness is surely there and 2) take something from your shit-sandwich and turn it into lemonade. Or gold. Or rainbow unicorn hair. And 3) pay that GRACE forward. I have always tried to be someone who does kind things, things that are a little above and beyond, humble, and sincere. But NOW, now that we’ve had our little brush with Fred, I am trying to turn it into a mission to be the first damn one in the Paying It Forward line of life. And the Target line. Cause sometimes, that Nate Berkus and his perfect towels are aggressive in their need to come home with you.

xo

I didn’t tell many people this week that I had a biopsy on a mysterious and fast growing lump (whom we shall call “Fred”) in my neck. That the doctor said the word “cancer” and then stuck three fine needles in my neck to draw out cells and send them away to see what they were. I didn’t tell many people that I woke up every night this week around 2 am with a panicky pit in the space right below my heart. That I ran harder and faster than ever before in a 5k the day after that biopsy, even though my neck still hurt, needing to prove with every step that I was healthy and alive.

But the people I did tell, a few of them said “oh that’s an easy cancer, the EASIEST.”

So that, right there, that phrase? That’s the wrong one. Cause it made me think “oh so I might have the GOOD kind of cancer? High fives all around! Excuse me while I fist bump and eat cake over here with my ROCKIN maybe-cancer!”

I know they meant well- I know they were protecting themselves with this statement, totally re-assuring themselves that their loved one (me) would in all likelihood be fine. I know this, because I did it once. Someone I was very much in love with, really at the precipice of falling in love with (which is almost worse), got cancer. And my reaction was to say, out loud, to him, over and over that my Dad had the same thing and it would be FINE. His treatment was quick and easy and cancer would be a breezy walk in the park, almost a vacation. Like Hawaii, with maybe one less fruity drink.

This week, I remembered that moment. And got it. GOT IT. That was a shitty, shitty thing to have said to someone just diagnosed. So, now having been on both sides of this conversation, here’s what might be some of the right things to say:

1. I love you and I am here.
2. How can I support you?
3. Do you want to talk about it? If not, that’s ok too.
4. Do you want a glass of wine? Yes? I’ll keep em coming.
5. I know you don’t know what you need right now, but say the word and I’ll make it happen.

Those are just options. Not law. But better options than “that’s totally the easy cancer.” Cause that is a little bit bordering on the “silver lining” syndrome I am super not fond of. And this is my opinion, so take it how you will… though I suspect I am not alone in this.

And for the record, we got the great news today that Fred is benign. I’ll need surgery at some point, but there were no apparent cancer cells in those samples and THAT is the easy cancer– the NO CANCER.

I wondered where they were that first game day. The family I had sat next to for all of the interminable practices over the last several weeks. The family with the other reluctant Tiny Tot Soccer player. The family with the other 2-year-old who played with ours. The mom who allowed said 2-year-old of mine to rifle through her purse and eat the rest of a bag of chips she had. The mommy I chatted to about starting kindergarten, her thoughts about wanting to leave the south to go home to the snow, about how our kids were more interested in us on the sidelines than soccer itself. Where were they?

Fast forward 10 days and the coach catches me on the sidelines of our second game. She knows where they were. They were with their boy, their 4-year-old Tiny Tot Soccer player, as he took his last breath just a day after suddenly getting very ill. He took his last breath on the day we wondered where he was. I doubled over and leaned my weight into my knees. I grabbed you Big One and held you too tightly. You squirmed away and searched my face. I plastered a grin on my face as a tear snuck down my cheek… and then wriggled your squirmy boy legs into shin guards and socks. I watched you (reluctantly) head out to the field and thanked GOD you were here and reluctant and squirmy. I couldn’t breathe.

Losing one of you is a fear I carry like a thousand bricks pressing on my heart at all times. I constantly worry– and use worry as a talisman. “If I worry enough about it in advance, there’s NO WAY it will come true. It’s the thing I DON’T worry about that will happen.” Lest we be caught off guard. This has allowed me to not at all live in the moment and given me yet another full time job. I alternately pray and worry, just the right combo to keep you safe. It worked through each of my pregnancies with you and dammit it’ll work for the next 75 years.

Except for that Tiny Tot Soccer player’s mommy– it didn’t work. What, did she not WORRY ENOUGH? I am very sure that was not the case. And in turn, I have been forced to face my most terrible fear. This shit just HAPPENS to people. Kids die. That sentence makes me tremble.

Today, I wrote a card to his mommy and I made sure to write his name over and over, to bear witness to the fact that her sweet boy was a real living being. That he had a NAME. That he was not just a 4 year magical figment of her imagination– a dream gone terribly wrong that she just cannot wake up from– no, a real baby boy she loved and rocked and nursed and gave life to. I also sent her my friend Anna’s book, Rare Bird. Reading that book, no STARTING that book, terrified me. It’s the story of her coming to understand her life as she mourns Jack, her boy that she lost 3 years ago. I have sobbed through the entire book, but also see so much light. I am also learning that there is not a thing I can do to guarantee that my sweet babies are mine until MY dying day.

This is a realization that is incredibly hard to bear. This is also a realization that has kicked my ass into breathing a little more deeply when I just want to rage: when bedtime goes horribly wrong, when Little One says “no I DO IT MYSELFFFF” for the 345th time, when you just. won’t. eat. Because I still have the great honor and gift of parenting you in this world.

Soccer mommy friend- I cannot begin to understand and I would never, ever, say anything as trite as “silver lining” or “learning from your experience”– cause I would give back all of this profound work my psyche is embarking on to give you YOUR boy back. To give Anna HER boy back. Take back this damn knowledge and all the gorgeous symbolism and the lessons we’re learning. Please, someone take it all back.

So I just read this and it took my breath away. What is that thing that’s buried most deeply? What is that thing that I am afraid to let out? What is the unsafe choice I can’t or won’t make? I say and really believe all these things all the time; like, if you have art in you, or a prayer in you, or electricity in you, you must let it OUT. So, am I doing this? Or am I perpetuating the “be a good girl safety net” that I was raised in? I mostly know that I have made some rebellious choices; my marriage, tattoos, picking up and moving to exotic locales. But when it really counts, and I day-in-day-out fantasize about being a dance teacher, starting a non-profit for migrant workers, finally training to teach yoga… I get sucked back into the safety zone.

What am I teaching you by doing this? What.

 

 

Ok Moms, so I see it all the time- people posting on Facebook “my kids. my everything.” And there’s a part of me that’s like, oh yes, so much yes; they are the sun that rises, the rainbow that glimmers, the sweet apples of my eye and loves of my life. They are. But.

I think it’s a little dangerous to call your kids your “everything” and “my world.” First, it might be an indication that you’re raising narcissistic monsters; do you SAY that to them? Do they think they are actually everything? Second, you should not be the sum total of your children. You should also be your own hopes, talents, dreams, career, etc. I think that children need to see their parents pursuing something important to understand that they are one player in this game of life– not the everything.

This year, I started regularly running and going to zumba– exercising 4-5 days per week and essentially taking myself out of the home, when I already work full time. Sometimes I feel horribly guilty about it, but mostly I realize that I am doing something good for myself, which is in turn good for you. I am giving you a good example around physical health and body image, as well as showing you that the earth does not revolve around you and that Moms are people too. We have lives and hobbies and should be free to pursue them, and in fact feel totally fine with pursuing them. It’s what makes us who we are, and what’s going to make you into the awesome people you’re growing into.

So, maybe, let’s stop the sweeping statements about our children being our everything? Or just starting sharing things that are meaningful to you… that are not your children? Just a thought.

My goodness. It has been absolutely forever. I don’t know why sometimes I write and write and write… and other times, I just can’t quite get there. Here. The last few months have flown by in an absolute blur of life. We bought our first house. I ran my first 5k (and then another). Little One– you had pneumonia. Big One– I registered you for kindergarten. 

I want to tell you all the things. But mainly, really, I want to tell you that tonight… I feel like a good Mommy. Which, even though I look freaking awesome on paper, most of the time, I just feel like I am not enough. Or I am too much. But either way, not quite there with the Mommy thing. We’ve spent the last two days together; beach day (playing hooky, fun!) and museum day today. I watched you get knocked down by waves and laugh and laugh. And exclaim with excitement when you made it “rain” at the museum. I know I see you every day. But sometimes, I don’t actually, see you. I move you through the motions of what needs to get done and smile (or not) and just grin and bear it. I am, most likely, being too hard on myself, but most days just feel like I am wound so tightly I could burst. And sometimes I do. Burst. 

So I am really going to try to get better at this whole writing thing again. Because when I write, like when I run and dance, I am able to breathe a little more freely. It’s like when I haven’t done yoga for a long time and then I do again and I am like “ohhh right! There are my lungs!” It’s that. Only– you two. There you are. 

Right now, you are both blissfully tucked in your beds… it’s quiet in our house and from where I sit, I can almost hear your baby snores. 

I am, actually, too hard on myself, and I so hope you do not inherit this (you probably already did)… but I want to say THANK YOU for letting me grow and change and work constantly to become who I need to be. ❤