OK…Where’s the Camera?

When I was in high school, my friends and I, in an effort to be ironic and deep, posited, “Are we all just Barbies in someone else’s dream house?” In 1998 the movie “The Truman Show” followed a man who had lived his entire life unknowingly on the set of a reality TV show of which he was the star. Some days I stop and really consider the fact that it’s entirely possible I am living my own version of “The Truman Show”.

This week would have been a humdinger of an episode. This week we had “a very special episode” on Wednesday when I lived through the nightmarish drama of a radiology field trip through my left breast. A finding on my mammogram turned into a 2 hour odyssey through the mammography and ultrasound suites at the hospital. In the end, the report reads, “probably OK, but we’ll see you in 6 mos to be sure.” Could be better, could be worse. I left the hospital and got into my car. It took a few minutes for me to be able to grasp the steering wheel since my arms felt like overcooked spaghetti. I felt like I had spent the morning lifting weights.

I made it home, but had to turn around and run out to purchase the makings of a basket to present to my son’s music teacher for teacher appreciation week. While at Target I saw no fewer than half a dozen people I know. I’m sure I looked like what the cat dragged in after the morning I had. I tried having a conversation with one friend but I was interrupted by a phone call from a woman with whom I have been discussing a business proposal. Unfazed by the fact that my daughter is having surgery on Tuesday, she pushed for me to come meet with her on Monday. “Time is of the essence,” she squirted into my ear. So, there in the middle of Target, I discussed my possible career moves, my mammography disaster and my daughter’s impending medical procedures. Attention Target Shoppers…is there anyone who didn’t hear EVERYTHING I just said? Please report to housewares for complete details on the freakfest that is my life!

After Target, I went to go retrieve my daughter from her playdate. On the way there, while on the phone with a friend, I missed a call from an unfamiliar number. Upon listening to the voicemail, I found that the surgical scheduler of the doctor with whom I had originally scheduled my daughter’s surgery, the same doctor whose office had rudely called me and told me that the accommodation they had originally agreed to make for me was no longer going to be made (long story) after which I had told them that I would find a new doctor (deep breath), had called me and chewed me out for cancelling the doctor’s insurance authorization which, she acknowledged, was my right, but that it would have been nice for me to call and let them know! WH-WHA-WHAT????? I called her back in an indignant furor and let her know that it was HER office that called ME and accused me of trying to circumvent the doctor (which I didn’t do), and then hung up on me when I said I was no longer interested in having him perform the surgery. I concluded the conversation in the foyer of my daughter’s friend’s house in front of the mother who I don’t know very well and who I am sure now thinks I am certifiably insane. Great.

I took my daughter to pick up my son and his friend. We arrived a little ahead of schedule and so we sat in the car waiting to drive around and retrieve the boys. A friend was walking by and so I caught her attention and tried to catch up. My daughter started yelling at me, kicking my seat and generally acting out. I was fully mortified by her behavior and apologized to my friend over my daughter’s cries of, “STOP TALKING!!!!!”
Upon returning home my overtired 5 yr old lost her mind, lashing out at my son’s friend for laughing at her. When I turned to him and asked, in an exasperated tone, “did you laugh at her?” the boy broke down in tears on my kitchen table. He lifted his head and wheezed, “I can’t help it…I laugh at everyone!!!” I now had a 5 yr old who was exhibiting possible signs of hydrophobia and an 9 yr old boy in the throes of a personal crisis that my daughter had incited. I went into my daughter’s room to calm her down. She sat on her bed sobbing and heaving and screamed, “YOU HATE ME!!” at me.  I said, “Why would you say that??” She screeched, “Because you made me sit in a hot car and that made me mad and now I have to say mean things to you because you made my day worser!” I did my level best to diffuse her. Eventually I made progress.  I brought her back to the kitchen to make peace with my son’s friend. It took some time, but we got there.

After the peace accords, it was time to drive to practice. I dropped the boys at the field and then started home to begin decompressing. About a mile from my house rain started hitting my windshield. Not dainty, misty rain. It was big, chunky, fat rain. You know the kind of rain I mean…it only takes 4-5 drops to soak your whole body from head to toe. I turned the car around and went back to the field. The sun came out. It was like the sun was giving me the finger. It was saying, “Eff you and your need to lay down and try to forget the hell of your morning!” And then I swear, I heard the sun laugh at me.

Eventually, my husband made it home with dinner and flowers in hand (awww). The kids were fed and then he took them out so I could have some quiet time. I pulled out my book and got into bed. I turned on my bedside lamp and started reading. I think I read about 5 paragraphs and the next thing I knew the garage door was opening. I looked at the clock, 8:44. My room (thanks to the lamp) was bright, it seemed like daylight. In my fog I started to panic. I heard the kids’ voices. OMIGOD! We overslept!! I jumped up. The kids came into the room. I blurted, “We overslept! We need to get moving!!” My son burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?” I cranked, feeling groggy and stressed.
“Mom, it’s nighttime!”
I must be on TV, right?

My Walkabout Heart

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”  Elizabeth Stone Quotes

 

I recently celebrated the 10th anniversary of my quitting smoking for real. In acknowledging this occasion with my husband, I accidentally outed myself for the months (ok, year and a half) of closet puffing I had done after I told him I quit. I confessed that my true quit date was the day I found out I was pregnant with our son. That one action, the cessation of a decade long bad habit in which I indulged, was a watershed moment. It marked the end of a life lived for me and my own needs and desires, and ushered in the start of a life lived (in great part) for the needs and desires of my children.

The first time I ever saw the Elizabeth Stone quote, it made sense, but I didn’t really have a context for it. My son has a free spirit. He likes to explore, he loves the outdoors and playing sports. Sometimes I see him fall to the ground during a soccer game and it’s like a dagger in my side. I watch him writhe in pain after a hit and it leaves me breathless. I fight every natural urge to run to him, sitting there, feeling his pain and anxiously waiting for him to stand up again. It’s the same way when I see him outside playing with his friends. I want to tell him, “stay with me where it’s safe” but I resist the urge to saddle him with my own fears. It is truly like watching my heart walk away from me and go peddling down the street. It’s like that feeling I have when I dream I’m falling. I want to stop it, but I’m completely out of control. Please let me wake up before I hit the ground.

Every time I see a parent on TV who has lost a child to some horrific predator, a piece of me crumbles. I can’t help but look at them and wonder what I would do. How I would cope. Could I even begin to cope? How does one go on when one’s heart has been torn apart? I look at my children and soak in their wonderfulness, the innocence that they have; the pureness of their souls. I try to imagine the darkness in someone who would exploit that. It seems no matter what we do, it is impossible to protect them completely from all the bad in the world. Our hearts are truly exposed, walking around in the open, vulnerable to injury with no adequate protection from danger. If harm comes to them, it will mean the end of our lives as we know them. How do we protect them and not scare them? Give them their independence and yet shelter them from the storms?

There are so many ways in which being a mom has changed me for the better, but it has also changed me for the worse. I have become fearful and suspicious. I see danger in every situation. From the coffee table to the mall, there are perils everywhere. At times I feel like Sleeping Beauty’s parents who ran through the kingdom seeking out spindles and destroying them. I, too, want to obliterate every possible threat to my babies’ safety. Nowadays it takes more than a cabinet lock and an outlet cover to ensure their safety, and as they continue to grow, the efforts required on my part will become greater. Every day for the rest of my life, my heart will wander around outside of my body and I will never again know the bliss of only having to worry about myself.

My Beautiful Mosaics

In reading an entry on sanemoms.com this morning, I sat for a moment with my future sadness. I have always known that my children would leave someday, fly the coop, so to speak, and go out to make their way in the world. What I hadn’t taken enough time to digest is that their absence in my home will leave a gaping wound on my heart. In her entry, Sane Mom suggests that, beginning as part of our bodies, our children physically take pieces of us with them. I know that the same is true on a metaphysical level.

My children are the most beautiful mosaics. They are composed of pieces of me, my husband, the experiences we share as a family, the happy, sad, and frustrating moments, the skinned knees, the bruised feelings, the triumphs and disappointments. From the day each of them entered the world, I have devoted myself to making sure that their mosaics were bright, colorful and full of texture. I have tried to craft a life for them that will propel them forward into their independence with confidence and joy. For nearly 10 years, my world has revolved around these precious people in whom my heart resides.

Looking forward to a day when they take their leave of my home, my stomach flutters. The knot rises in my throat and the tears collect in my eyes as I imagine a day when my home no longer echoes with the sound of someone yelling, “MOM!” and my lap is eerily empty of a warm and snuggling child. I never expected that motherhood would be easy, but I don’t think I adequately considered the fact that someday I would have to let my babies go. I have some years to adjust to that inevitability, but somehow I don’t think I’ll ever really like the idea.

What is Normal?

Our family consists of a home with two parents of the opposite sex, 2 children of the opposite sex, 4 cats (3 girls and 1 boy), 3 goldfish (of undetermined gender), 2 cars, 3 working TV’s, one video game console (wii), 4 working laptops (one just barely and another holding on by a thread), 2 smartphones and 3 cordless phones, 2 of which are almost always missing in action.

My house is “lived in” which is a euphemism for not always neat and tidy. I try, but don’t always succeed in keeping it neat. The above-mentioned children and cats generally contribute to the lived-in-ness of the home by leaving toys, clothes and sporting equipment around (kids) and knocking things off shelves and spreading them around (cats). It is normal in my house for a forgotten glass of water to be knocked over thus creating a puddle in which an unsuspecting pedestrian can step and even possibly slide across the floor. It is also normal in my house for laundry to be washed twice because it has been left too long in the dryer and has developed recalcitrant creases.

It is normal in our house to be constantly on the move between the hours of 3:00 PM and 7 PM most days of the week, sometimes later depending on the day. It is also normal in my house for my children to eat dinner seated at a table with both of their parents, and to consume a relatively well-balanced home-cooked meal at least 5 nights a week.

Normal noises in my house include a brother and sister arguing with one another, computer keys clacking, a television droning, a telephone ringing, cats screeching and meowing, a fish tank filter humming, baseboards creaking (fall/winter) or A/C cycling on and off (spring/summer), door alarms beeping as children run in and out of the house, and finally the sound of water filling bath tubs at the end of our busy days.

On a “normal” night in our home there are bedtime stories, hugs, kisses, and “good dream medicine”  (Rescue Remedy), and two parents who just about make it into bed before being completely overtaken by the exhaustion of being so normal.

Thanks to Social Moms for inspiring this piece…

Faulty Design

It seems to me that there are serious flaws in the way that God (or who or whatever you think created mankind) designed women. Actually, it's the way that mothers, in particular, are designed. I suppose for the average woman who has no offspring, current design works fine. Women who have chosen to procreate, however, are missing some crucial design elements.
First problem is the fact that the hemispheres of our brains do not operate independently from one another. I translate this design flaw to my children as “2 ears, 1 brain.” Now, if each ear had a hemisphere of the brain devoted solely to receiving input from that ear, being a mom would be much easier. At least for women with 2 children or less. This of course is because husbands also don’t realize the design flaw and insist on being heard at times the ears are listening to someone else (usually on the phone).
The second major issue I find is with the appendages. Only having two hands is truly a disadvantage. There are times when we need to pour a drink, apply a band aid, core and slice an apple, hold a baby and make dinner simultaneously. How can this be done with only 2 arms and 2 hands? Although, having extra arms and hands can only take you so far. Even with the extra helping hands, our range of motion is limited by only having 1 body upon which to mount said appendages. Solution? Cloning.
Last serious design flaw? Eyes only in the front. It’s been said for years, but truly, we moms need eyes in the back of our heads. How else can we be expected to properly monitor the goings on in our homes? The fact that we don’t automatically sprout 2 eyes in the back of our heads the moment we go into labor is unfortunate. Parenting would be so much easier if we could have a 360 view of our world,  to watch the children, sure, but also to assess danger as it approaches. Clairvoyance would be nice, but I’m not going to be a pig about it.
Despite the fact that having any or all of the above mentioned accoutrements would make my life easier, I am forced to recognize the fact that mothers with far fewer resources than those at my disposal have managed to do the job, and do it well, without them. I guess I can too.

Just, wow

One day, when I was just a girl, my mom gave me a book. I can’t remember if it was Frecklejuice, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, or Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself, but it was a Judy Blume book. There were so many of them I have lost track. I can vividly remember being in 5th grade and reading Forever and feeling like I was doing something so “wrong” reading that book about a girl losing her virginity.

If John Hughes filmed the truth of my young life, then Judy Blume wrote my truth. In the pages of her novels were the moments of my life, played out by other girls in other worlds. They lived my struggles, they knew my pain and my triumphs.

About 10 yrs ago I moved to Scotch Plains, NJ. Only later did I find out that this little hamlet in Central NJ was once the home of Judy Blume. Serendipity. The other day, I discovered Ms. Blume on twitter. Immediately I began to follow her and then (wait for it) I tweeted to her.  SHE ANSWERED ME! I had what, in this technologically distorted world, could be considered a conversation with Judy Blume. I didn’t gush at her about the fact that she shaped my childhood perception of myself, I didn’t ooze to her that reading all of her amazing novels is probably why I aspire to write myself, I did none of that. I asked her what elementary school her kids went to. What was I thinking???

But, Judy Blume “talked” to me!! Just, wow.

How Do You Know When It’s Worth It?

Usually, when it comes to food, I weigh the deliciousness factor against the caloric transgression and make an informed decision about whether I want to “go there.” Sadly, my standards are low and I generally go with “yes.” So, when it comes to a relationship, how do you make the judgment call? It can’t be about calories or taste (unless it’s a REALLY interesting relationship). I guess it comes down to pro’s and con’s and return on emotional investment.

Funny thing about social networking is that it has gotten me back in touch with a lot of people I had lost touch with earlier in my life. Some are people with whom I share a lot in common. Old high school friends with whom I empathize over the challenges of child rearing, or people who I look to for advice. Some of them are people who I find myself amused by but with whom I have no real deep connection. In the past week I have found myself wondering if there isn’t a good reason why some people drift out of our lives and if it’s always a good thing that they pop back up again.

I have been struggling to figure out how to sort through the people with whom I have re-connected on facebook and other social networking sites, and how to assimilate them more appropriately into my real life, if at all. My friends, the real ones, the ones who really know me, know that I value the relationships in my life. I will do anything for a friend and in return, I have friends who do the same for me. They may be people I play with on facebook to escape the harsh realities of  a bad economy, oil spills, tsunamis and nuclear disasters, but they are also people in whom I confide when I am sad, with whom I celebrate when I am happy and for whom I genuinely care. The greatest truth about my friendships is that there are few boundaries. The people with whom I share my true self are people who do not have many boundaries for themselves. My feeling on sharing is that it’s a two-way street and I don’t enjoy feeling like there are so many limits on intimacy that we never delve beneath the surface. I believe friendship and the sharing that goes on within the confines of a friendship are limitless.

“I’m rubber, you’re glue” Remember that schoolyard taunt? Well, for me, in the case of true friendship, “I’m rubber, you’re rubber.” Like the two mirrors placed opposite each other creating an endless series of images reflected back at each other, I feel like true friends synergize each other and propel each other forward. And that’s how you know it’s worth it.