Category Archives: Parenting

The Summer of Collected Memories

23 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Acceptance, Blessings, Change, Coronavirus, COVID-19, Family life, Inspiration, Intentional Living, Memories, Motherhood, Parenting, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Perspective, Rest, Seasons, Simple Living, Simplicity, Stress & Anxiety, Thankfulness, Travel

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“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” – John Lubbock

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/32939-rest-is-not-idleness-and-to-lie-sometimes-on-the

Facing a litany of summer let downs due to COVID-19, I became insistent my family, in our conscious efforts to slow down, mask up, and stay home, would still have a long list of positive memories. Oversimplified and less monumental than summers prior, it was imperative we gathered a collection of sweet, tangible experiences of our own to hold and enjoy. But, first, we would allow ourselves the space to mourn our personal disappointments: the canceled annual vacation, refunded summer camps, no pool days, declining offers to gather, not visiting loved ones with vulnerable health conditions, avoiding crowds and community, only attending virtual mass, and sorrowfully missing our friends and family. Then, we would rest and appreciate the slowness, embrace this time of stillness and isolation, and despite the litany of mourned losses, we would find a way to make the best of it—together. Although, at the beginning of this summer experiment I had rampant doubts about how we would pull it off, I believe we exceeded our goal and succeeded in our efforts to “discover joy amid the pain.”

Once virtual schooling came to a halt, my husband and I scoured Airbnb for in-state cottages and cabins to our liking, in our modest price range, and declared 2020 would be the season of locating the quaint and hidden gems nearby. The fruits of this idea did not disappoint. Intentionally, we spaced our bookings apart so we would have one adventure to look forward to every month of the summer. We filled in the downtime with ease by including treks to local parks, camping in our yard, gathering for family game nights, and letting the days unfold on their own. The choice to have a combination of planned getaways and unscheduled stretches of time spent at home attributed to a quite happy and wholesome break. By allowing ourselves the occasion to branch out toward sections of the state we’ve not visited before, and returning to the areas we favor, we discovered newfound delight in local exploration and realized ourselves more in awe of our awesome state and enamored with the town we live in.

Another unexpected advantage to the pandemic summer was the making of an outdoor retreat tucked away in the woods on the property where my husband grew up. Frequently when visiting my father-in-law, we’ve walked the area together—especially in the winter months when the overgrowth has fallen and our boots can crunch atop the frozen earth. The freedom we found this summer allowed my husband and children to embark on a project together, and they set about clearing out a more direct path from the house to the forest, lining the grassy lane with bits of wood and rock, and making the connection between the house and back property a more delightful experience for everyone involved. Now the children can roam and run free between the yard and faraway wood without the distress of thorny entanglements or fear of getting lost. The joy in carving out this special place has allowed us to share with our kids the type of summer fun we fondly remember having—hot summer days spent in outdoor intrigue, hours gone investigating the natural world, making outdoor revelations on our own, and finding a piece of oneself that can only be uncovered under the shade of a tree, breathing in the fresh air, one’s skin soaking up some Vitamin D. The chance to gift a piece of our past to our kids, to allow them to encounter for themselves the unhinged joys of a simplified and rural encounter, was an unexpected blessing of the summer—a highlight all of us agree upon.

Creating this hidden world for our family to treasure was also an opportunity for peaceful reclamation. Shielded from the cacophony of worldly anxieties, the forest cover has comforted and cocooned us as we dealt with the stressors surrounding and threatening us on a daily basis. Within the personalized hollow, we could forget it all for a little while. We hung up our hammocks between the trees as our Boy Scout practiced and refined his outdoor skills, our youngest daughter worked to identify plants and wildflowers and took polaroid pictures of whatever drew her eyes into focus, and our youngest son walked the length of logs, climbed atop piles of dirt and debris, and gathered sticks and rocks. Nearby, my husband delighted in working to improve the nature-given space, and I indulged in a new novel, read between the camp chair and a hammock, and wrote in my journal. We lit fires and ordered pizza for dinner, looked up at the sky and marveled at the blue, and listened to the symphony of sounds of rural Ohio as we bathed under the light filtering through the trees above us.

A few weeks ago, my kids donned masks on their faces and strapped backpacks to their bodies, climbed the stairs into their school bus and chose seats near one another, then waved good-bye to my husband and me as they drove off to the start of a new school year. I see a difference in each one of them and it’s not just their sun-kissed cheeks and golden highlights, not just the inches and pounds added to their frames, not just the new shoes and crisp uniforms. I believe the difference is apparent because they’re shining from the sound interconnectedness between them, made stronger from the calmness and maturity they’ve gained, are restored by the ability to be resolute and resilient in anxious times, and fully renewed from having spent a season seeking joy in the minuscule moments of life.

A new time has emerged now, and I’m looking forward to what discoveries await us in the autumnal season. I know there will be more silver linings to weave into our familial story, sweet memories to create together, and small, not insignificant, moments to cherish. As 2020 comes to a close—thankfully so—I’ll spend the next few months measuring the milestones, maintaining the closeness, and continuing to make the best of this unprecedented time by demonstrating to my kids how gratitude is possible even on the worst days and remaining intentional about reminding them: all we have is today. So, let’s live it well, while we can.

We have grown dull toward this world in which we live; we have forgotten that it is not normal or scientific in any sense of the word. It is fantastic. It is a fairy tale through and through. Elephants? Caterpillars? Snow? At what point did you lose your wonder of it all? – John Eldredge

https://www.outofstress.com/finding-joy-simple-things-quotes/

Encouragement in These Uncertain Times

16 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by in Acceptance, Change, Coronavirus, Family life, Lent, Motherhood, Parenting, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Tough days

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“I plead with you—never, ever give up on hope, never doubt, never tire, and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.”

― Saint Pope John Paul II, Pope John Paul II: In My Own Words

 

The rapid spread of the Coronavirus is a pertinent reminder to all of us just how quickly life can change in a blink of an eye. Collectively, we have been affected in a myriad of significant ways as our lives, plans, and security seem to be in a downward spiral and we are required to adapt at lightning-flash speed to the newly formed policies and procedures. I’m praying that the fluctuations enacted in your personal lives, places of employment, educational settings, and where you call home will soon lessen in their level of overwhelm; that you can find peace in the peril; and, especially, that your families, children, loved ones, neighbors, and friends are all protected, remain healthy, provided for, and stay safe. This is a tough time, but not impossible to get through.

Yesterday, my family and I watched mass from the comfort of our office/sitting room. At the last minute, our parish priests put it together so that our congregation and beyond could still participate in 9:00 AM mass when it wasn’t possible to be physically present. This was such a blessing, and I know so many other parishes are enacting similarly televised masses and services. In his comforting homily, our pastor reiterated: “prudence, not panic.” In full-disclosure, my anxiety has risen with the crest of this virus, and my tears have abundantly flowed with the crash of each new wave of change and regulation. However, my pastor’s calming mantra is aiding in my ability to keep steady.

It all feels scary and epic, doesn’t it? With the threat of illness always there, looming like a dark shadow hanging over us like a cloud of doom, it’s difficult to remain in the present, in good spirits, able to count our blessings above the burdens, as we anxiously await the worst that could come. I think it’s perfectly alright to be afraid and share those feelings, as I’m doing here.

What’s helping me? Being intentional about instituting longer walks in the fresh air, touching base with close friends and family, and trying to not plan too far in advance are a few suggestions that are helping me to reign in my feelings of fear and overwhelm. I know that when the threat of things out of my control allows panic to set within me, the fear of the unknown unnerves me to the point that I feel I’m unraveling at the seams, and the inevitable changes continue to roll in like a thunder, I can and should acknowledge how unsettling it is and allow myself to feel the fears and cry the tears. Then, I can and will turn to my faith, my journal, and my resources (husband, therapist, close confidants) to help calm my nerves and keep me grounded in what I can control: my choices, my responses, my thoughts, and my actions.

Part of the necessary changes that have me conflicted and unsure of myself? Honestly, the unknown timeline, the stretch of possible scarcity, the chance that one of my closed loved ones will be afflicted with the virus, having my children home with me full-time for the foreseeable future, my husband now working from home, and the upheaval coupled with the multitude of challenges to my routine and schedule of priorities. I know that each and every one of you can relate in your own unique and personal way. No matter how much I will relish the time together, rewriting priorities and accepting the inevitable in a time of crisis isn’t easy. Time is of the essence, so I’m breathing through my reluctance, allowing room for the changes, hoping for positive change, and praying for the blessings to unfold.

So, what is helping me embrace all that’s happening? Having a tangible plan in place, making daily lists, setting a loose schedule, being open to new ideas, a stack of books to read for me and the kids, devising and sticking to a meal plan, and realizing that this time at home will most definitely define all of us this year. On the positive side, it will unknowingly sprout newfound ways to grow closer together, slow us down to a pace of calm and restoration, and allow our hearts and minds to be open to unexpected opportunities for enjoyment and making memories to cherish.

Inspired by the shared Facebook post of one of my friends, I helped my kids write a couple of lists to help them during this time of transition and great change: “Things to do when I am bored” and “Everyday work”. Each of them came up with what they thought they needed to do and what they’d most like to do to help pass the long days ahead. Some of their ideas included:

(When bored)

  • Practice their respective sport skills (soccer, lacrosse, flag football)
  • Play with kinetic sand or play-doh
  • Play a card game or board game
  • Roller skating in the garage
  • Jump on the indoor trampoline
  • Paint
  • Lacing cards
  • Build LEGO
  • Puzzles
  • Paper crafts, drawing, coloring
  • Listen to music
  • Write a story
  • Lift weights
  • Read in my bed
  • Ride my bike or scooter
  • Play with dolls or stuffed animals
  • Play in the backyard
  • Write letters
  • Make a bracelet
  • Crafts
  • Paint nails
  • Chalk on the walk
  • Write stories
  • Read

(Everyday Work)

  • Make bed
  • Fill water bottle and keep hydrated
  • Take a walk
  • Homework
  • Practice dance recital routines
  • Exercise and stretch
  • Read
  • Sport skills
  • Chores
  • Boy Scout rank advancement and merit badge requirements
  • Keep bedroom clean
  • Math facts, Word Ladders
  • Trumpet practice
  • Speech therapy practice
  • Have fun!

When possible, I am adding to these lists:

  • reading aloud or listening to classic and humorous tales together as a family
  • catching up on family movies we usually save for summer break
  • keeping music on in the background to lighten the mood and lessen the feelings of loneliness
  • joining together to tackle some spring cleaning projects
  • FaceTime with family and friends
  • sending out drawings/postcards/letters
  • a camp-out in the backyard when the weather warms up a bit

We’ll also put out the hammock soon, plant some seeds, go on some local hikes, watch video posts by authors and illustrators (Mo Willems, Jason Tharp, etc…), check out the Cincinnati Zoo’s Home Safari, and more.

For myself? I’m prioritizing: sleep, daily walks, reading, healthy meals, exercise, cleaning and organizing, adding more breaks throughout the day, checking the news only once per day (not at night), keeping therapy appointments, and taking a weekly detox bath.

Yet, what happens when the kids are feeling tired and bored and nothing on their lists satiates their deep feelings of weariness? What to do when they begin to really miss their friends, family, and teachers? What if they burn out on having enough family time? What if their resolve breaks and their own fears overwhelm their young minds and hearts? What can I do when I’m craving nothing more than a big chunk of alone time or am in need of friend time for myself? What will happen if supplies and patience run low?

Certainly, it will happen folks. All of it—the messy, the hard, the big emotions, the monotony, and the frustration. Uncertainty and fear will ebb and flow. Therefore, we must plan for these unmistakable fragile moments, too. No doubt, with a little foresight, empathy, and compassion, it will be alright. We have it within us to reset, reassure, relax, and restore our loved ones in their pain, confusion, doubt, worries, and stress. We can share in it all, give one another grace and space, and move forward in faith over fear.

Together, we can acknowledge that this entire overhaul of our lives is difficult, but we can be there for each other in a multitude of creative and meaningful ways. We can increase outreach to one other, share our abundance, connect over social media, check-in with loved ones, give helpful suggestions, spread love and stories of goodwill, and do not hesitate to ask for advice and help for ourselves and loved ones. Phone a friend, you know?

We will—all of us— get through this strange and indeterminate time, and arise stronger, closer, wiser, and hopefully, more compassionate toward one another than ever before for having gone through such a time as this. Hold yourself and your loved ones close. And remember: Be wise. Be prudent. Be watchful. Be kind. Be safe. Be flexible. Be open. Be forgiving. Be at peace.

 

I’ve found that there is always some beauty left — in nature, sunshine, freedom, in yourself; these can all help you. – Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

Resting in the Stillness After Personal Struggle

03 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in Acceptance, Ash Wednesday, Blessings, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Family life, Forgiveness, Journaling, Lent, Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Rest, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, Suffering, Thankfulness, Tough days, Truth of Heart

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Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.” 
― Charlotte Eriksson

“Slowly, simply, silence, stillness” was my Lenten mantra, my focus, my goal for the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter morning. A lofty goal, yes. Yet, I was convinced this intentional journey would yield the peaceful rewards I was seeking in my personal life. Of all my Lenten fasts, in comparison to all my past sacrifices, in judging the level of self-denial I’ve deliberately imposed on myself, this year’s “halt of self” has been the most challenging in refinement of my mind, body, and spirit.

Do you trust the silence? Or, are you a skeptic of stillness, like I tend to be?

Have you found a way to rest in the stillness? Do you ever allow yourself the chance to rest your weary mind and bones?

Do you welcome in the peace? Or, are you prone to catastrophising out of innate fear?

Have you lived out loud, with joy and freedom from the chains of your mind? Or, do you lurk along in misery, always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The last three years, for me, have felt like an ultra-marathon, filled with hills and valleys of tears, running at a snail’s pace, feeling completely lost and unprepared for the race set before me, as I carried a weighted pack on my shoulders, trudging through mud, falling down too many times that I’ve lost track. Over the last few weeks, I have seen the finish line in sight and I’m eager, yet still so apprehensive, to finish the race and rest in the notion that the biggest fight of my life thus far, is finally done. I am having a difficult time accepting that the grueling miles I’ve run have amounted to much more than having run a race I was thrown into, without adequate preparation. Now that my desperate pleas and prayers seem to be answered, it’s difficult to switch gears to a place where it’s time to rest, recuperate, recover from the incredible feat I have just accomplished, emotionally.

For so very long now, I have carried that burdensome cross of mothering a struggling child without a compass, my headlamp dimmed, my resolve shaken and trampled on. Yet, here I rise. The truth is the only way I’ve survived the mountainous terrain of my parenting journey is that I’m finally allowing myself to let go of control. Though fears still grapple me with super-human strength, I am diligent in practicing how to breathe through them, pray through them, write through them, and further unloading them in dialogue with my amazing therapist, trying to leave them in that space between us, not letting them drag me to the floor once I return home.

I’ve practiced a lot of self-forgiveness as I’ve fallen flat on my face and the need to forgive and seek forgiveness will remain a focus in my life. Despite my missteps and mistakes, I can recognize that I am loving as best I can today, and have let those circumstances, hardships, and some relationships to just be, freely flying away to where they need to go—even if that means far away from me where I can no longer enact any type of chance to insert my will, my advice, my vision, or my control.

The most humbling lesson I’ve learned in the last three years is that it’s okay, preferable, actually, to let go of perfection and preconceived notions, allowing God to do His job, and to just love—myself, others, my family, strangers, my friends, and enemies—right where I am and right where they are, without expectation nor conditions to that love. Truth be told, it’s a difficult, often heart-wrenching choice, challenge, and cross to bear going on in love when you feel so beaten down and defeated by the compounding hardships of life. But, going on in love and patience, staying mindful to live each day as best as I can, choosing better than before, these new choices and changes only feel strange and unnatural for a time before the transformative lightness is shining from deep within my heart, mind, and soul, changing me for the better.

Slowly, simply, silence, stillness. This has been my Lenten focus and will remain my prayerful path going into the Easter season and throughout the remainder of this year. Hoping for heartfelt and mindful changes for you, me, and the world abound. Be at peace, friends.

“Whenever there is stillness there is the still small voice, God’s speaking from the whirlwind, nature’s old song, and dance…” 
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

Thankful for the Promise of Tomorrow

03 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by 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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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

 

Lighting the way for those children lost too soon, never forgotten, remaining forever in our hearts #waveoflight2017

15 Sunday Oct 2017

Posted by in Catholic Parenting, Change, Infertility, Love, Memories, Miscarriage, Motherhood, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, October 15th, Parenting, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Personal health, Perspective, Prayer, Seasons, SIDS, Suffering, Tough days, Wave of Light

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“There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.” ~ Charlotte Brontë

 

A flicker of light,

a ray shining through,

cast out the shadow of loss inside my heart

warm the chill of remembrance within me.

 

Annually on October 15th, grieving parents around the globe light candles that illuminate their homes in solidarity, united by brilliant luminance and the heartbreak entrenched by the grief over the children they have lost prematurely or in early infancy. The seven o’clock hour on this day, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, ignites the sorrowful hearts and minds of those whose lives have been tragically impacted by the loss of a child from miscarriage, stillborn death, and SIDS.

It’s alarming to read that ten to fifteen percent of all confirmed pregnancies will end in miscarriage. (Source: https://www.marchofdimes.org/complications/miscarriage.aspx)

Even graver, to learn that over 23,000 babies each year are stillborn. (Source: https://www.marchofdimes.org/complications/stillbirth.aspx)

A grim report from the CDC states that 3,700 cases of SIDS were confirmed in 2015.(Source:  https://www.cdc.gov/sids/data.htm)

“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” ~ A.A. Milne

 

Most every year, I write about my shared grief on this day. (You can read my past blog posts related to miscarriage here.) Miscarriage and baby loss has affected me distinctly and most profoundly, and these incredibly difficult experiences were, in fact, the initial driving force behind starting this blog years ago. Writing through the lingering grief in hope of discovering new sources of joy in motherhood, my intent in offering up these deeply personal stories of mine was, and still remains, rooted in wanting to reach a grieving mother (or father) at the right time in their own journey of grief founded in miscarriage or infant loss out searching for understanding, compassion, and hope. Some brave voices and compelling stories of strangers, comprised a sorrowful circle of mothers who had known loss like I had, were discovered by me in quiet desperation for answers, community, and reason. Through the melancholic melody of their words, these women offered my grieving heart comfort, validation, and most importantly, hope. I only hope my stories will be the same beacon of light for someone in need.

On that note, I would like to recommend a few well-written blogs penned by authors, much like myself, gravely affected by the loss of their own children:

https://www.freckleeyefancy.com/

http://www.glowinthewoods.com/

https://grievingoutloud.com/

“Write hard and clear about what hurts.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

 

Tonight at 7:00, my family and I will be lighting a candle to honor and remember the six children we lost in miscarriage, our angels: Agnes, Julian, Max, Catherine, John, and Francis.

“It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

 

Please join me in this special lighting ceremony, from wherever you read, to keep the light of remembrance aflame, and honor the hearts of their grieving parents and families.  #waveoflight

 

“Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” ~ Buddha

 

From Darkness to Light

07 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by in Adoption, Attachment parenting, Catholic Parenting, Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Parenting, Parenting a Child with Special Needs, Writing Goals

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“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” 
― Albert Camus

When tragedy falls upon us, how do we respond? When tremendous joy is off-set by excruciating trials, which wins over your heart? When your faith in God is tested daily and you feel your mind darkening and your heart hardening, how do you bring yourself back to a place of light and peace?

Lake Michigan's rocky shore.

Lake Michigan’s rocky shore.


These are the challenges of my current days. This year has been filled with the joy of welcoming a newborn son—the most joyful, sweet boy, and the pain of The Girl’s myriad of disorders, special needs, and past traumas affecting her ability to function in a normal place—one far away from our loving reach. My silence on this blog is time spent away caring for my family in a way I never imagined I would have to do, facing enormous decisions that debilitate me on my strongest days, and inviting forgiveness and healing into my heart and home, often, on a moment-to-moment basis.

Always in the back of my mind is my  commitment to writing and what’s pulling me away from my writing goals. So, I’m figuring out a way I can continue to write about this whole mess of a year–wading in the murk and turmoil, despite the incredible challenges, changes, and triumphs, amidst the melancholic tragedies–and trying to not forget or dismiss the golden moments, too. My hope is that I can discover a new way to write it all down in order that my words will count for something and resonate with a kindred spirit living a similar dichotomy of joy and pain; that my wordy reflections bring about peace and hope, shedding light and love back into the world.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Sunset on Lake Michigan

Born to Write

10 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by in Motherhood, Parenting, Writing, Writing routine

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“If a story is in you, it has to come out.” ~ William Faulkner

Remember my little blog post last week about setting and keeping writing resolutions for the new year? Well, 2015 got off to a rough start. A family member was in the hospital. Wicked weather caused us to have two snow days the week the kids returned from Christmas Break. The Girl’s incessant inability to self-regulate her moods equaled a string of rough days turned into even worse nights wrought with constant monitoring, counseling, and emotional drainage for all of us to deal with and decompress from. To cap off the hectic week, Baby Girl suddenly became stricken with a stomach bug yesterday afternoon not five minutes after I left her and The Boy with a brand-new babysitter so I could get The Girl to a much-needed appointment with her therapist. Although the worst, I hope, is over, I’m still in care-taking mode.

How many words did I actually write this first week of the new year, you ask? Not many, but some. More than I thought I would get done given the upheaval around here, to be truthful. I’ll take that as a victory despite the fact my good intentions and scheduled writing time were thrown out the window.

On a brighter note, today I’m able to make up for last week’s lost writing time. Since I’m (gladly) stuck at home caring for my sweet baby, (it’s freezing outside anyway), I’m writing at a leisurely pace and have already logged well over my daily word count goal!  Additionally, I’ve been able to research upcoming writing contests and submission guidelines for a few pieces I’m intent on polishing for possible (hopeful!) publication.  The Girl is with her caring and capable respite provider all day, so the lack of chaos is helping me to think more clearly even with a head foggy due to lack of sleep from staying up with Baby Girl throughout the night.

This is life–chaotic, unpredictable, often cold and tiring. Much of the same can be attributed to the motherhood journey, personally. I’m learning to live, write, and parent better despite the trials that smack me in the face. My writing will follow-suit. It may be a bit fragmented in the beginning, but I’ll get there in the end. This I know, I was born to write.

“I think if you feel like you were born to write, then you probably were.”
—  Lena Dunham

In keeping with the theme of writing goals for 2015, The Writer published quite the motivating article about how to be successful at keeping your writing resolutions this year. Well worth the read, you can check it out here.

Happy Writing. Happy Mothering.

Choosing Love in the Tough Times

25 Saturday Oct 2014

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

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“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

The Gift of One, Simple Day

12 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by in Change, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Love, Motherhood, Parenting, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Seasons, Stress & Anxiety, The Husband, Tough days

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Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.  ~Pooh’s Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then to rest afterward. ~Spanish Proverb

(Blog post authored by purdywords)

My family is in our fourth week of the school year, fall soccer is well underfoot and Baby Girl is officially a lover of all things ballet. The kids are happy, yet I’m barely staying afloat with all the expectations that come after 3:00 PM in a bustling household being taken over by Friday folders and signed papers, homework battles and fundraisers to promote, attempting to cook nutritious meals that match a delicate balance of life-threatening food allergies with a hint of young-kid pickiness. In a matter of two days, our weather has gone from the humid and sweltering 95 degrees to a cool and tolerable 65–perfect. Under the cloudiness, I’m no longer worried about applying sunscreen, but digging out sweatshirt layers for each little arm I clothe, reheating soup and warming pasta noodles for the bellies I’m charged with feeding. How quickly the seasons of life change before our eyes.

By the time my three hit the sack near 7:30 PM, I’m ready to climb into my own bed. But, alas! The dishwasher died a few weeks ago, so The Husband and I have been spending our nights finishing chores, exhausted from the days’ work and the arguing and tantrums that have become second-nature with The Girl. Honestly we are still climbing our way back from the emotional upheaval The Girl has been putting us through, her pinnacle reached only a few weeks ago when we thought we had nowhere left to turn. Yet, her tides finally crashed and she’s regained some of her level of normal—not a new normal, not a peaceful normal, yet a normal that is tolerable by comparison. Still, The Husband and I remain on guard for the next crest of high emotion and turmoil. We’ve not quite recovered from our tumultuous summer, and the residual effects remain in pieces of our every day.

Recognizing that I might be reaching burn-out, The Husband responded in-kind and for the first time, I felt no guilt for accepting his offer. So, dear fellow moms, please listen. When your husband offers you the priceless gifts of time and space, you graciously accept. For, he may know you better than you know yourself.  The peace and quiet, calm and rejuvenation of just one day may be enough to carry you through, strengthening you for the journey ahead. No, I didn’t book any fancy spa treatments (although he told me to). No, I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, really. However, what I did do was finally make the time to see my doctor for a physical (it has been two years!) and then treated myself to brunch. I came home and opened all the windows in the house, ignored the breakfast dishes in the sink, and climbed the stairs into my bed for an hour-long nap. I read, prayed, and stretched. For lunch, I ate leftovers. I signed on to my computer with the intent to write for the first time in—I’m ashamed to say—more than a month and that is just what I did for the last hour. A homemade decaf chai tea beside me warmed my body in the chilly afternoon air, and the spicy scent and simple beauty of a burning pumpkin-scented soy candle warmed my senses with a calming peace. In less than an hour, I will retrieve The Boy from his bus stop, and together we’ll drive a mere ten minutes to pick up the girls from our care provider. Today’s afternoon drive will be different–I feel the change churning inside of me. For the first time in a long time, I will be rested for the journey before me, beginning with our Friday night soccer games, a restful peace remaining with me for the days ahead.

 

 

 

Grateful for Strange Moments of Grace: Days 9-17 (30 Days of Thanks)

17 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Catholicism, Change, Fathers & Daughters, Memories, Past, Peace, Prayers, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

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In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:—feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love…. ~William Wordsworth, 1798

Fate, Chance, God’s Will – we all try to account for our lives somehow.  What are the chances that two raindrops, flung from the heavens, will merge on a windowpane?  Gotta be Fate.  ~Robert Brault

Have you ever been given a mesmerizing glimpse of the past? Perhaps, you had a chance encounter  in your dreams that upon waking you felt like you had experienced the hand of the Divine working through your mind and in your heart? Have you ever seen the past in someone else’s eyes?  Well, I have. Something so wonderful and unexplainable happened during my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard in September. It is still one of the strangest moments of my life. And ever since, I can’t seem to put the encounter out of my mind or figure out the meaning for why it happened.

My mother, younger sister, and I attended Saturday evening mass together at the charming and quaint Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Oak Bluffs. It was not a packed crowd that evening, so we had plenty of space in our pew. It was a beautiful night, and my mom and I were both so pleased we had made it to Confession right before the beginning of mass. It is still one of the most profound, memorable sacramental moments of my life. Nonetheless, the Confession was mild compared to what was about to transpire about halfway through mass.

As the congregation stood together in prayer, I noticed my younger sister bow her head down and let out a sigh. As I glanced her way, she opened her eyes wide and whispered, “Look over there,” jilting her head to the right.

“Do you see that man over there? Do you see him?” she asked with in a panicky voice. “He looks just like dad! Look at his profile. And his nose!”

Be still my heart, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was right! It was our dad. It couldn’t be, truly, since he had died from small cell lung cancer eight-and-a-half years prior to our vacation. We stood with eyes transfixed on this man, this spitting image of our father. It was unreal and seeing him felt so strange.

As we continued to steal glances at this stranger, we realized that not only was the man the exact likeness of our father, but he seemed to embody all of our father’s gestures and quirky traits. He was exactly what I envisioned my father would have looked like if he could have lived beyond his fifty-seven young years and be with us on the Vineyard that very night. Tears begun to sting my eyes. It really was that profound.

It’s strangely emotional to feel such affinity for a complete stranger. For a brief moment during this incredible mass, I felt a pang of jealousy toward the woman sitting next to my father’s doppelganger. Obviously, it was his loving wife, but I did not like her sitting there next to “my father.”

It was a confusing mass. I couldn’t stop staring at this man. I studied every mark of his freckled, wrinkled face. His eyes—oh my goodness!—his eyes were the same shade of brown! The same almond shape, even! When the man turned to the left, I could see that he had the same droopy skin fold over his eye that my father had! His hairline, the largely pointed nose, the thinner lips–all of his physical traits–right down to his attire–was my dad to a tee. If this wasn’t enough, I about passed out when he rested his face in his hand with the pointer finger up near his temple—the same restful stance my father had for as long as I can remember.

When the strange man arose stiffly from the knees to make his way to the altar to receive the Eucharist, I was startled furthermore. His posture was as my father’s had been—a rather tall gait, slightly bent shoulders, longer arms than you would have expected on such a build, with a walk that seemed more like a glide as he set about on his way toward receiving the Lord in Communion.

Was I imagining all of this? Surely not, if my sister saw it, too. She was the one who first noticed the man. And my sister is lovely, but not one to spark with emotion even over strange encounters such as these.

Trying to get myself to pay attention to what was going on during mass, to prepare myself to accept Communion with reverence, to stop staring like a fool, I shook my head and willed myself to look away. I couldn’t. All I wanted to do was catch another glimpse of this stranger who took on my dad’s physical body—and to somehow meet him, touch him, even. It was clear I was having some kind of bizarre overtaking of my faculties in the presence of God and this stranger.

All of a sudden, appalling feelings of anger overtook me. Horrifying thoughts passed through my clouded mind–thoughts that convinced me my father had never died years ago. In fact, I let myself venture that what really had occurred was that my father was truly sitting in that pew in front of us, that he was attending mass, too, but ignoring his real wife and two of his children! Because instead of dying, I said to myself, my dad had actually left us all to mourn his death while he has enjoyed a leisurely life on Martha’s Vineyard for all these years gone! I was enraged!

I have no idea how I thought my dad would have pulled off this kind of illusion, but for a moment, I was convinced. Convinced! The audacity! See, there was no other explanation to the phenomenon of the man sitting ahead of us at mass, the one who looked so much like my father.

Trying to get a grip on my emotions before I stood up for Communion, I came to my senses, realizing that my ill thoughts were nothing but the result of purely wishful thinking on my part. How easy it would be to forgive my father for such betrayal if only it meant he was still alive and well and that we could embrace and talk once again. Forgiveness would be easy if only I could have my father back in the flesh.

After Communion was over, I wanted nothing more than the rest of mass to end–and swiftly.  I have never wanted or needed to rush through a mass before. But this was no ordinary mass. Once the priest gave the blessing, and after he and the altar servers made their way down the middle aisle toward the front of the church, I left my belongings where they lay in the pew and headed straight toward the familiar stranger. I needed to talk to him, ask his name, find out for myself if he knew me, too. If I didn’t take the opportunity to approach him then, it would feel to me like the entire moment never happened. And I could not take that chance.

I’m not sure if my sister and mom were beside me when I went up to the man, or if they held back in our pew to watch their crazy sister and daughter take a chance charged only by pure emotion. However, I walked right up to that strange man, and gently touched his arm if only to get his attention. When he turned to me he, of course, smiled my father’s smile with my dad’s teeth!

Being that close to the man overwhelmed me like nothing ever has. With my right hand over my heart and choking back the tears that were pouring from my eyes, I managed to say, “Excuse me sir. Uh. Hi. I’m so sorry, but I must ask you your name? It’s not John is it?”

“No, dear, it’s not,” he replied, a little confused by my asking.

“Oh, well, I have to tell you,” I continued, convinced I was staring in the eyes of my aged father, “you are the spitting image of my late father. It’s overwhelming, really” And this is when the trembling began.

“Oh, your poor thing,” said his kind wife as she placed her wrinkled hands over mine. I could not believe I was carrying on like this before a set of strangers!

“My sister, mom and I saw you a few pews in front of us and we haven’t been able to keep our eyes off of you since. We can’t get over how much you look like our dad. It’s unbelievable!” I managed to tell him through tears that were borderline deep sobs by this point. I was completely beside myself with emotion.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” he said to me with a tear in his eye. “He must’ve been a wonderful man.”

“He was, he was,” I agreed as I wiped my tears away and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“God bless you dear,” his wife said before they were on their way. The man looked back at me once more and smiled my father’s smile. What a gift.

Still with hand over my heart, I let the water works flow and took this chance meeting as a sign that my dad was with us in spirit on that trip. So, I wrote his name in the memorial book at the front of church before my mom, sister and I headed out to enjoy our last night on the island along with my older sister who was waiting for us outside and had her own bizarre encounter story to share.

Maybe my dad needed our prayers that night. Maybe God wanted to unite us all in a divine moment. Maybe it was purely coincidence without any deep meaning attached to it. Who knows? What I do know is that in some fateful way, we met my father once again in the face of a stranger and it was a moment filled with sadness and joy–one I hope to never forget. Strangely, it may have been the best part of the vacation.

Has fate ever touched you so deeply? When have you been overcome with emotion by a chance encounter?