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Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

~ Discovering joy amid pain

Taking a Sad Song, Making it Better

Category Archives: Mothers & Sons

Thankful for the Promise of Tomorrow

03 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by purdywords in 30 Days of Thanks, 30 Days of Thanksgiving, Attachment parenting, Baby Boy, Blessings, Motherhood, Mothers & Sons, Parenting, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Uncategorized

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#30DaysofThanks, 30 Days of Thanks, Anxiety, Attitude change, Bad days, Challenges, Family time, Gratefulness, Gratitude, Healing, Inner peace, Living intentionally, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Peace, Seeing the good in every day, Seeking joy, Sons, Time

Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn’t learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn’t learn a little, at least we didn’t get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn’t die; so, let us all be thankful. ~Buddha

 

My morning started with a broken dish and burned bacon, unfortunately setting the tone for the rest of the day. Still, I’m thankful that I have a cupboard full of dishes and plates to use, and in the refrigerator plenty of food to prepare for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

I’m thankful that Baby Boy was eager, for once, to participate in his music therapy class. Today was the first time he showed delight in being there this fall session. He has a new teacher and is part of a larger, more boisterous class than the summer group. Accompanied today by his beloved Snoopy stuffed dog also aided in his comfort level.  Even though there are only two more classes left to attend before the holiday break, I was thrilled to see him relax and enjoy himself more. 

Additionally, I am thankful that I realized, albeit late in the day, that he had left his irreplaceable Snoopy behind and quickly thought to return to the local church where the music class is held. My heartfelt gratitude extends to whomever it was that found Snoopy unattended and placed him in a safe spot where we were able to retrieve him hours later! The tears that my Baby Boy shed in relief when he saw Snoopy broke my heart, and I’m so thankful we were able to find and take Snoopy home this afternoon. 

Losing Snoopy only added to the ill-will of this no-good day and the stress Baby Boy has felt over the past few weeks by enduring a litany of tests, procedures, blood draws, and hospital stays. Today’s scheduled blood draw wasn’t successful at all. After being stuck a few too many times, he was fighting every way he knew how to get that needle away from his tiny body. His wriggling, wrestling, spitting, and struggling to release my hold was too much. Crying profuse tears, my sweet son was overheated and sweaty, wounded and clinging to me in a panic. At this point in the day, I was overwhelmed by the heaviness of our ordeal and needing to keep it together for him. My concern and heartache for my son and his rapidly growing, elevated fear every time we pull into the Children’s Hospital parking lot now has reached a level that crushes this sensitive mama’s spirit. This afternoon, Baby Boy had enough. So, I begged the nurse to stop. Further stating that we would just try again another time. (Preferably with another phlebotomist.)

Yes, it has been “one of those days” at the tail-end of “one of those weeks.” And we all have them, that’s for certain. Thankfully, my monthly restorative yoga class is tonight because I am craving the deep release and stillness. My mother-daughter book club meets tomorrow afternoon, for which I am pleased. There will be ample time this weekend for relaxation and reading, as well. To top it off, the sun is finally shining again! Therefore, I am now going to take advantage of this high-five from nature and get outside with my kids fueled by the attitude of blessedness for having both the time and energy to do so, while looking toward tomorrow with a hopeful heart.

 

At the age of 18, I made up my mind to never have another bad day in my life. I dove into an endless sea of gratitude from which I’ve never emerged.  ~ Patch Adams

 

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Choosing Love in the Tough Times

25 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by purdywords in Change, Forgiveness, Inspiration, Love, Marriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons, Parenting, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Tough days

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Change, Forgiveness, Giving Thanks, Love, Love is a Choice, Motherhood stories, Positive change, Simplicity, Tough days

“Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.”
― 
Lao Tzu

 

I’ve been working on being content with what I have. Trying to fall in love again with my home. Trying to be happy with what I own, and being fine living without accumulating much more than what we already have. It’s a tough war going on inside of me. I see friends with bigger homes, houses cleaner than mine, their kids better dressed and well-mannered, enrolled in the greatest of sports opportunities, their lives seemingly soaring with perfection when my own seems a jumbled puzzle of trying times. I struggle with the balance of being fine with what has been given to me and what we work hard to maintain; what is being asked of me and what I feel I can manage with grace and balance, and it isn’t much.

I’ll admit my tendency toward selfishness gets the best of me many days. In realizing this awful truth about myself, I try to combat the inner-greed by turning my attention toward the practice of giving thanks daily. Over the years, I’ve retrained my brain in a way to instill a sense of gratitude, not loss. At first, I thought my efforts fraudulent; now I know that’s farther from the truth. What contemplation of blessings brings is a perception of will and a renewed mind, body, and spirit. A peaceful place of heart and a contentedness of spirit grows with practice. Amazing what a simple, “thank you for my good health, thank you for the kids I finally have, thank you for the husband I can’t even believe is mine, thank you for the goodness all around me” can do for one’s overall emotional and physical health.

What I’ve garnered from the practicing of minding grace is that my environment is affected by my natural discontented spirit. My home is a large source of contention, in this game, I’m afraid. Too often, I’m nervous when new friends are invited over for the first time, when family gather, even. My inner-critic feels fear of being judged for our ancient couch covered in a decade-old, faded Pottery Barn slipcover, the discount pillows strategically arranged to camouflage red marker and juice stains, all of the bargain Craigslist finds. Years ago, I used to be proud of my frugal nature, the knack I possessed for scoring the hidden gems at consignment shops and Goodwill. Deep down, I know I have nothing to be ashamed of, for this is who I really am—a delightfully frugal, sort of crunchy-kind of woman concerned with too much excess. Honestly, I’d be a nervous wreck having much nicer things than we own since my kids are still in that exploring stage, hard players, not too careful with a red marker in hand. They don’t care if our things don’t impress. So, I shouldn’t either.

“We need much less than we think we need.” 
― 
Maya Angelou

If I’m completely honest with myself and you, my patient readers, I’m not—at all—that unhappy with our place of residence. There have been countless wonderful memories made here, certainly some major heartbreak, but mostly the inner-workings of a family trying their best to live and love together inside the confines of a relatively small home. Most days, I like that we live among one another, that there aren’t too many places to hide away, that The Husband and I are teaching our children to be happy together. After all, what matters more than those we love?

What is restless, truly, is my heart. And when this cracked, pumping vessel of mine becomes restive—as it is now—I realize that the unease is due to a level of great imbalance within our family, something is off-kilter inside the four walls of our home. An imbalance that I can’t seem to tip back to level. Discontented in spirit is a personal defect I struggle with each and every day.

My initial reaction—when life becomes so overwhelming that it can’t be ignored—is that if I could just escape the confines of the instability here then the discontent will release its hold on my family and me, and we will be able to break free of the confines of the pain, the source of disruption, and all the troubles will disappear. In my right mind, I know that these issues we are grappling with will follow no matter the place and space, no matter what the numbers on the mailbox say, despite the size of the mortgage payments. Though, the fantasy of someplace fresher, cleaner, brighter, untarnished is a pleasant divergence from the reality of our messy lives. And so today, I remain stuck inside the walls and look for a resolve inside myself. For, we all know that the only control we have is over ourselves and our own choices.

During quiet times of reflection and prayer, I can change my outlook on the muck before me and merely choose love, stillness and calm, patience, and tender care no matter the trial set before me. It’s my choice. And the choice is yours for the taking, too, if you are brave enough to change.

“You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.” 
― 
Pema Chödrön

The focus now needs to be keenly set on love. And not just the mushy-gushy type of heartfelt sentiments, but the difficult, tough-love kind—the talking myself into loving when my heart feels like a stone, when my stubborn nature builds walls around me, when I’m just plain tired of caring. When The Girl retaliates by ingesting foods with her allergens that she knows will make her sick, yet deliberately sneaks down to gorge herself on these intentionally, I need to find the love to deal with her terrible choices and the patience to remain calm when she is sick and wheezing all day long—she, yelling at me, as if I’m the one who made her so allergic and sick, as if it’s all my fault. These challenging times are the times to have compassion for her, to see the plight in her eyes from the slight stance where she stands before me, too often screaming in my face, her pain and anguish shooting daggers at my heart. Even in these trying times, I choose love.

The focus now needs to be on remaining still—right where I am, exactly where I’ve been planted—because any slight movement might erase the magic in the moment—imperfections and all. For, when Baby Girl slides into bed beside me every night lately because of her fear of the dark despite a nightlight in every outlet, and the rising fear she feels of losing her almost-four-year-old self to the baby she once was not so long ago. Even when I feel the anger  in losing precious sleep because of her beside me tossing and turning, snuggling up to every inch of me like she’s going to lose me in the intensity of her fears, I choose to be still beside her in her fear. Even in the middle of the night when I have been awaken too many times to worsen me for the wear—most definitely then—I must find the love for Baby Girl in the morning as she remains cuddled next to me, so innocent and happy, and kiss her sweet porcelain cheek despite my wretched grouchiness. I choose calmness and love, because who knows how long my Baby Girl will want to remain so close by my side?

The focus now needs to be on patience and tender care—the kind that can mend hearts, minds, and moods—the type of uplifting calm and true presence of Love itself. So, when The Boy stays out late with his dad for a Cub Scout camp-out and at 11:00 PM comes home hyped-up on the thrill of Halloween excitement, animatedly describing the fun he had that night with his buddies, too jazzed-up to fall asleep, then suddenly, quickly resorting to full-on meltdown mode, startling his sisters awake—this is when a mindful patience is necessary. Certainly, when The Boy wakes up at his usual early bird time, clocking only eight hours of sleep last night, uncharacteristically grumpy during breakfast, head-strong and groggily resolved to build Legos this morning, speaking only in whiny retorts to his sisters who are annoying him a little too quickly today because of his sleep-induced edginess—this is when I still remain patient in loving him in the rough moments together and all throughout this jolted day. For my son, I choose love because he needs to know that he is deserving of my love despite his having a bad day, and that I will always love him no matter what.

Folks, my dad said it best when he turned to me, just before he walked me down the aisle to be married to The Husband, with tender concern in his eyes and stated, “Remember, LOVE IS A CHOICE.”  My late father’s words have remained within me, and make more sense now than ever before.

“All your life, you will be faced with a choice. You can choose love or hate…I choose love.” 
― 
Johnny Cash

Going forward, my focus remains inward with the intent of turning all the interior reflection outward realizing the swirl of imperfection in my family’s less-than-ideal traits are so delicately mirrored as my own personal deficiencies, though it can all be overcome in time by choosing love. Humble mom moment.

 

“However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.” 
― 
Henry David Thoreau, Walden

In Loving Memory, A Wave of Light

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by purdywords in Infertility, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, October 15th, Poets and Poetry, Tough days, Wave of Light

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2014, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood stories, National Infant and Baby Loss Memorial, October 15, Wave of Light

Surprised by Joy

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
IN LOVING MEMORY
October 15, 2014

Wave of Light

 

Making Time for Each Other: Giving Thanks Day Three (30 Days of Thanks)

04 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by purdywords in 30 Days of Thanks, Attachment parenting, Blessings, Love, Memories, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

30 Days of Thanks, Family time, Motherhood stories

Don’t wait to make your son a great man – make him a great boy. ~ Author Unknown

And mothers are their daughter’s role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships. ~ Victoria Secunda

This morning, I wanted nothing more than to linger under the white feather down comforter covering my always-too-cold body. My morning-tangled strawberry-blonde tresses were sprawled all over the pillows three in a line across the width of the queen sized bed that I share with my husband, and most nights with Baby Girl snuggled in between us. Daylight Savings Time did not allow for a grand morning sleep-in, unfortunately. Even with an extra hour on the clock, I was sluggish in starting the day. Commitments of Sunday Mass and Sunday school class for The Boy were calling out to The Husband and me to get our act together. All I really wanted to do, truth be told, was spend the chilly day in my pajamas, drink tea, and read from my Kindle.

Because I’m not a member of the Crawley family, I returned to reality and willed myself to get a move on. It helped that The Kids brought up breakfast to me (as is their sweet custom on Sunday mornings) before rushing through the rest of my get-ready-and-be-somewhat-presentable-about-it routine involving a lightning-quick shower and changing clothes a few times before comfort won over and I felt just alright about my appearance. By the time my menial transformation was complete, I felt equipped to manage The Kids’ dressing and grooming routines while The Husband stole a few moments to himself.

It’s becoming easier, the Sunday routine. For the less-hectic pace, I am thankful. More often than I would like to admit, however, I kind of long for the time I spent a few years ago sacrificing my own set beautifying pattern for nursing an infant just one more time before heading out the door to church. On Sunday mornings, I feel my arms at their emptiest.

For years now, The Girl no longer needs my help with dressing or self-care. She only looks to me now for verification that her outfit and hair are presentable. Lately, the only reason The Boy comes to me for any kind of help is because he’s been operating without the use of his right arm due to a bad fall off of his bike while I was away in Martha’s Vineyard. Next Friday, he gets the full arm cast removed and will be back to regulation speed in no time and needing my help less and less. The most assistance Baby Girl wants anymore is in wrestling on her always-pink patterned tights, or untangling the mess of a knot in the back of her curly, blonde tresses. She’s mastering buttoning, zipping, brushing teeth, and all other bathroom situations. Where does the time go?  It’s a scary thought–frightening, honestly–to think that one day I might need my kids more than they need me. Is that even possible?

Being that I’m a mom of three children of various ages and stages, it’s difficult to find time for myself, but even trickier to carve out time to spend with each child separately. Presently, Baby Girl gets the most individual time with me for the very fact that she is in school for only a couple of hours on Friday mornings. (I am more in love with my kids every single new day, but having two hours to myself every week has been life-altering. A huge change for me. No joke.) Anyway, when the complaints start rolling in that they need some “special mommy time”—complaints heard mostly from The Girl and The Boy—I remind them that I had daily alone time with both of them before the other was born. The Girl had a straight run of fifteen months with me all to herself between the time she was permanently placed with us and before her baby brother was born. And, since The Girl was in preschool most days by the time he was born, The Boy actually enjoyed twenty-seven months of mommy-son time before becoming a big brother. Now, I tell them, it’s Baby Girl’s time to have own succession of mommy-daughter time. When the grievances become prevalent, though, spoken loud and clear without mistake, I abruptly tune in and take note that now is the time to start making more of an effort to ensure that each of them gets a few minutes of my undivided attention daily.

Special, daily alone time with each of my three children is fantastic—even if it’s just for a few minutes to talk about their day, read a chapter from a book, or complete a puzzle together. What’s even better, though? Extra-special “dates” with each them.  Ever since the school year started, Baby Girl and I share a weekly lunch at a neighborhood Asian-fusion restaurant so she can eat her favorite dish, “Broccoli and rice, please. No chicken. Just broccoli and rice” as I enjoy a delicious cup of wonton soup and side dish of steamed mixed vegetables. The Girl and I have our time together monthly on a Friday when we make our way home from one of her routine doctor appointments. We’ll stop for a treat—a dairy-free fruit smoothie in the warmer months and hot teas when the weather chills—and we just talk and talk in the van as I fight against the traffic from downtown to our home. (Or–confession time–sometimes we just crank up the music on her One Direction album to pass the time away.)

A couple of weeks ago, I started volunteering in The Boy’s Kindergarten Sunday School class. Ever since, we have started a new trend of sharing lunch together while The Husband and the girls have their own lunch together at home. It’s a win-win. Today was an especially good date with my only living son. He pulled out all his charms, asked for many hugs, even held my hand a few times! I’m not naïve, I know that these “dates” might one day too soon become more of a treat only for me and more of a chore for The Kids to attend. But just for today, I am grateful for them whether we are just spending an ordinary day together or heading out for an extra-special treat.

Today, I posted on social media that “I am grateful for weekly Sunday afternoon dates with my son. His sweet nature and joyful disposition are contagious.”  My hope is that my children never doubt how much I admire each one of them and appreciate their interesting company. I hope they never–not for one day–question the joy that their lives bring to mine.

  • purdywords
    • Be Yourself! A Journal for Catholic Girls {Book Review & Giveaway!}
    • On Grief and Gratitude
    • Resting in the Stillness After Personal Struggle

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