People

During this time of isolation, I've looked back at blogs I wrote just a week ago. I was stunned by how quickly our lives all changed.

Movies, TV, and books are suddenly not as relatable, since the drama in them seems to pale in comparison to our reality right now. In moments where I forget this is all happening, the wake up call that it actually is, stings. It seems so hard to believe that it is actually as bad as it is. In order to keep my head from flying all over, I am constantly bringing myself back to gratitude. There is still so much that is wonderful. I am so happy to have this time with my family. I know there are and will be more moments, where I don't feel as excited about it, but I am right now. I always said how time passes so quickly with children and that I wish I could slow it down. Wish granted, with consequences indeed, but granted none the less.

What I am missing most already is the people I love. Simply upon hearing I couldn't see my friends, makes me want to be around them even more. Yes, technology is amazing, but not quite the same as real people. Before any of this began, there were friends I just saw too little of. Now, I am thinking about how when we all can again, I would like to see friends that I haven't seen in way too long. In the meantime, I am going to focus on some shout outs and stories of people I love. I have taken for granted that our friends are always going to around when we are ready and not that any of them are sick or dying, but I don't want to wait for anything more dramatic to happen to tell them how I feel.

Scot, for a long time, a long time ago, was someone I spoke to everyday. He and I were so close. We shared a passion for life, fun, and anxiety. Fortunately, we never freaked out at the same time, and were actually a strong support for one another. He and I met through another close friend, and we conncted right away. He was in a long term relationship, and I was dating way too many people. He was someone stable in my life when very little was stable. We would play tennis together, listen to music, watch movies, take hikes, draw, create music, go out to eat, and one of my favoites: we would ride our bikes down crazy hills screaming. We both had the ability to feel things so deeply. The lows were so low, but the highs were amazing.

As the years went by, we saw each other through some tough times. He was there for me when I broke up with the last boyfriend that I said I would ever date. After seventeen years he and his girlfriend got married, and when they spilt up shortly after, I would like to think I was a support to him. We have not seen each other in over five years, and as far as I am concerned that is unacceptable. He got married to an incredible woman, and they are so well matched. They have two beautiful daughters, who I haven't met yet, also unnaceptable. They now live in Nashville where they can focus on her job as a cardiologist/singer-songwriter, and his job as a singer/songwriter, producer, and parent tobtheir girls.

After that last brutal break up I had, when I swore off ever having to break up with someone again, I dedicated time to being with close friends and doing things I loved. I met Scot up the street from my apartment to play tennis at the court in the park. As we sent the ball back and forth, he told me he wanted to set me up with someone I already knew. It took a lot of convincing from him, and from myself to agree to go, but I did and I am so glad. He set me up with David and I am forever indebted to him for that. He also knew I would not go on a date without him, so we made it a double date. So many memories from Scot that make me smile. Even now, in the face of all this sadness, he makes me laugh. I think he is a brilliant artist and a wonderful person. Here is his latest work of art.

The Tooth Fairy

My husband and I went out for dinner a few nights ago. It is rare for us to do this during the week, but my parents were visiting so we had them stay with the kids. When we returned both kids were fast asleep in their beds. I kissed their foreheads and went to bed. The next morning was a school day, so bright and early with the sun we all began to wake up to get ready. Before I could get out of bed, my son comes dashing up onto my lap. He begins to tell me that he lost his tooth before he went to bed. He didn't want us to know, or Grandma and Grandpa to know, because he wanted to see if the tooth fairy was actually real. My heart sank. How was I going to get out of this one? Time had run out to save face.

I began to plan in my mind, how I was going to get him to swear he would not tell a single friend at school that day. Could I convince him that the tooth fairy had overslept and would come again that night? Could he be convinced that the tooth fairy had a very busy night with too many teeth to collect in one night? As I came up short on saving the day, my sadness rushed in. As I looked up his face, I saw a smile. I was confused and unsure what to say next, but I didn't have to, because he was so excited. He explained that the tooth fairy was real and that she left a note, a bath bomb and five dollars. He was so thrilled to read me what she wrote. I could hardly believe it, my eleven year old daughter is actaully the real tooth fairy. Or as far as I am concerened, an angel.

Despite the arguing, bickering and whining between my kids, they truly love each other. They take care of eachother, and when one hurts, the other one feels that hurt. The other night, my daughter was upset and crying and I was trying to get my son to bed. As I laid next to him, he suggested I go to her and give her a hug. When I am walking and holding each of my children's hands I feel full. I feel like I have all the love in the world and I am so grateful. When I see my two children holding eachother's hands, my cup runs over, and I am complete. For that moment anyway. It usually doesn't last long, but it is magical when it does. Realizing that my daughter cared enough to give her own money to her brother, so that he wasn't let down by the tooth fairy, I felt proud. I felt happy and relieved too, but I love how they love each other.

When there was a moment that morning that I could thank her, without her brother noticing, I did. I hugged her and told her how grateful I was for what she did. She smiled, and then quickly responsed with "You owe me five dollars." Fair is fair, and I will pay her back. I owe her a lot more than that though.

Meaniacs

Mean-iacs is a silly word we use in our home to describe someone when we think they're being mean (think maniac meets mean). Sometimes though, we use it when referring to the kid's "friends" at school, when they say unkind things. This year my kids have been coming to me more often than in years past with complaints that kids at school are being mean. I know it is just the age and phase they are in right now. A second grade boy and a middle school girl might be two of the hardest ages. Kids can be mean. I have seen it in my own childhood: I was mean at times, my kids have been mean too. No one escapes it, and it's a phase of childhood that hasn't evolved much. What has changed though is my approach to helping my kids.

When my daughter was little, I read books about empowering her to tell her peers when they upset her. If a friend said something upsetting, she was taught to tell them that what they said wasn't very nice, or to let them know they hurt her feelings. Another approach I tried was just listening, validating their feelings and then letting them navigate the next steps on their own. I also tried to guide them when they came to me, but stopped asking it about the issues the day after. I didn't investigate or interrogate them. The issue may have been upsetting the day before but it might be over for them, even if I am still upset about it. No matter what I did though, no single response I have equipped my children with ever really worked.

This year my daughter, who has always been on the diminutive side and never been bothered by it, is bothered by it now. She doesn't wish she was taller, she just wishes the girls who have been making comments about it would stop. She has asked them and they apologize but then they do it again a few days later. My son is experiencing just some typical, age-appropriate bout of snarky, but it is frustrating none the less. He will share news on joining Cub Scouts, or skiing his first black diamond run and a kid will say something like "who cares?!" He doesn't cry about it at school, but he comes home hurt. I have been trying to support them with my arsenal of tools, but now it's time to toughen them up a bit. I am giving them sarcastic comebacks, and I didn't think I would ever use it with my kids, but my inner Queens is coming out.

When I was nine, I was hanging in the basement with a few kids from my neighborhood. Allen, a kid my age told me I was too slow to run with all of them. Without saying a word, I stood up and punched him in the gut. This accomplished nothing good in the moment and I actually got hurt when I was punched back, but I stood up for myself and Allen never said anything like that to me again. I am in no way telling my kids to punch, hit or even touch anyone on the shoulder. I am going to suggest though that they start speaking up and out a bit more. They are smart and quick and when all else fails -- try something else. If someone asks my daughter how the weather is down there, she should tell them its hard to breath because they are taking up all the air. If someone responds to my son with a "who cares?" he should tell them he does. If they don't stop, I will suggest they walk away, but maybe just maybe kids will learn when to stop being hurtful. Maybe I take it even harder than they do, but I know they aren't too happy with the tools they have had so far. I have to give them a few more options though before they turn all bridge and tunnel on their friends.

What's Best

When my daughter was a toddler, I was friendly with a group of moms who bought into the LA scene so much. It took me a while to realize that we didn't have much in common beyond the fact that we all had babies at the same time. It went from being a great support to have women going through the same challenges of motherhood together, to feeling like I was back in high school, hanging with the snooty click. They were all so serious about getting their babies into the best preschools. They had clear ideas of what they wanted for their children and what was the "best." I eventually came to my senses that this group was not for me, but I learned that this city feeds off of impressionable people. If you are in the market for a preschool in this town, there are books, coaches and classes that make you feel like if you don't choose well, your child might not get into college one day.

That experience made me so frustrated. I was determined to find a reasonably priced, clean, fun preschool that didn't have a curriculum that included Singaporean math for my then three year old. I decided that I loved play based Waldorf, Reggio styles, and so I set off on a mission. I found a great place and started her a few days a week in the summer just to get a feel of the school. During week two, the school announced they were moving and my whole plan collapsed. I had to find a plan B, and quickly. I ultimately chose a pretty low frills preschool, that wasn't defined by any one style. It was reasonably priced and set in a beautiful park near my house. Convenience wins, every time for me. It wasn't at all what I had planned on but it ended up being wonderful.

When it came time to plan for Kindergarten, I once again had an idea of what style of school I wanted to send her to. The only problem though is that my plan didn't match her. I wanted her to play, sing songs, and sit in a circle. She loved letters and begged me to teach her how to read when she was four. She was eager to learn in a more academically driven environment and I had to let go of what I wanted. My idea wasn't a fit for who she was at the time. Time and time again I need to be reminded of this as a parent.

Last year, at the end of first grade for my son, I learned that one of my daughter's favorite teacher was moving into teaching a second grade class. I loved this teacher because she was outside-the-box, and had a unique way of teaching. We are not allowed to make requests to the principal, but I couldn't help myself and I begged. She had explained that the classes had been made already, but she assured me I would be happy with who he got. I assumed she placed him with the other second grade teacher that was a bit more eccentric and had her won style. I was hoping for someone who tailored their teaching to each individual style. When I finally saw who he did get, I was so upset. The teacher was a nice person, but she didn't fit any of these alternative styles. At that point we had to accept what he had and hope for the best.  By the end of the first day of school, I saw a change in my son. He had gone off to school scared and crying, but came home so content and happy about his new teacher. I was once again wrong about what I thought my kids needed. His current teacher is exactly the right fit for him. She is calm, gentle, kind and patient. She is also solid, clear and a fantastic teacher. She provides the right balance of structure and silliness. The class listens and respects her and she listens and respects the class. I have been so pleasantly surprised at how well this year is going for my son. He is excited to go to school each day. I love that I was so wrong about what I thought was best for him.

Turn it off!

There are days when I drive home from running an errand, picking up the kids, or coming home from teaching and I park the car — but I can't get out. I look at the bags, papers and backpacks and can't seem to figure out what to grab first. When I go grocery shopping, I take so many trips up and down, emptying the car and then putting away groceries only to find I left my purse in the car. The idea of coming home after being out should offer me a sense of calm but often it is anything but. I take a moment before planning my tactics for getting out of the vehicle with as many items as possible. Once I finally get in the door of the house I have the even bigger challenge of putting away everything and then actually dealing with the people in the house who live with me.

School days often feel like I am a contestant on "Amazing Race." I wake up and immediately the clock is ticking in my head. Breakfast, teeth brushed, 5 minutes of mindfulness (HA!) ten minutes of yoga, directing traffic in and out of the bathroom between a tween and a seven year old boy, bed making, sock finding, homework finding and if I am lucky, I will be fully dressed and have time to read a two minute news summary of what is happening in the world. It is truly an adventure and one never knows when an obstacle like a meltdown might occur. It keeps it all so exciting!

It's quiets once I drop my kids off at school. I can actually hear my heart beating back into it's normal rhythm. It all seems so peaceful...until a text comes in asking me if I can please compose an email immediately to help find volunteer coverage for the next day's art class at my son's school. Or I might turn around and find the puppy has chewed the couch cushion I had out to dry from when she peed on it the night before. I might even notice that there is a hamper full of clean laundry that I must drop everything for to start folding at that exact second. I can't seem to stop myself, and the race is on because pick up is at 3!

This past weekend we went away for three nights. The first day away I was having withdrawal symptoms. I couldn't turn my head off. I kept worrying that I should check my phone in case I missed an urgent email or text. I was sure that being away would make my workload bigger when I returned. What was I forgetting? Who forgot a project was due, a bill paid, what lunch did I forget? Then finally with a bright sky reflecting off of beautiful white snow — I relaxed. I managed to let it all fade away. I had nothing that needed to be done in that moment but to breath in and out. It took me almost a full day to get to a relaxed place. When we finally went home, it took me this whole week to get back into my normal pace. This is a good thing. Life is not a race. Yes, we have to get to school and work on time, but you only get points deducted if you are late. You don't win anything in real life for being first.

It Hurts When Your Kids Hurt

When my daughter was a few months old, I was nursing her as I took a bite of a sandwich. A piece of the roll fell into her hair and I felt I had let her down. Here was this tiny helpless newborn just trying to nurse when this foreign crusty thing falls on her head. She suddenly looked so vulnerable to me and in a haze of hormones and sleep deprivation, I began to cry. I was responsible for letting a messy piece of bread tangle in her downy locks. Of course, this is the most harmless thing I could have done, but the weight of my responsibility dawned on me in that moment. By the time I had my second child, I was a lot less precious and actually once had to throw up over his head when I got sick. Oh how time changes you, but being a parent can weigh heavier on your heart than I ever thought it could.

When I was pregnant, I tried to prepare myself for the reality that parenting would not always be easy. I thought of all the scary things that my husband had as a child. He poked at a wasp's nest and got stung all over his arms. He surfed into huge rocks and emerged bloody. He fell ending up face first down a hill on his skateboard resulting in a bright red racing stripe of a cut down the middle of his face. Then I thought of his three sisters. One stepped on hot beach coals as a child, badly burning her foot. Another suffered from scoliosis. The youngest ran back crying from climbing a tree with her arm dangling out of its socket. My sister and brother had their own slew of incidents and accidents. A sweatshirt zipper scraped my sister's eye, her leg broke in several places after a three story fall, my brother needed surgery after a martial arts injury and he once needed to be airlifted off the side of a mountain when he couldn't hold on anymore due to altitude sickness. Both my in-laws and my own parents had to survive not just one of these incidents but all of them.

When I was nine, my parents had a scare from me. I had a lump by my neck -- it was discovered by a teacher. I remember resenting the call she made home alarming my parents. My father took me in to the doctor the very next day. After getting examined, the doctor left me in the room to go talk to my father in his office. He left the door opened just wide enough for me to see my dad cry for the first time. Upon arriving home, my mother, who usually is pretty even, seemed rattled as she handed me a bag packed for the hospital. My parents were told my symptoms pointed to Leukemia and I stayed in the hospital a few days until an x-ray pointed to an extra cervical rib. We were all relieved to go home (I'll never hear "spare ribs" the same way again).

The past few months have been trying for my daughter. She had a tough time adjusting to middle school, she experienced anxiety in new and unwelcome ways, and she kept getting sick. She missed one day in the beginning of the school year, then another, then three here and two there, and each time it was for the same exact symptoms. In between she feels herself and has even grown to like middle school. She just seems to last a few weeks before her system runs out of steam again. In the midst of this, she auditioned for her school musical. There were eighty kids trying out and sixty got called back to dance. She got a call back and had to learn, what she described as a complicated routine. Dancing is not her strong suit and she came home feeling like she probably didn't do so well. She also came home and fell asleep. She got sick again and missed the next day of school. I knew in my gut that something was not right and brought her back in to the doctor again. Much to my chagrin, in order to get tests done, I have to wait to have an additional phone consult with a specialist. I have spent hours on the phone on hold. I learned I have new skills though, so all wasn't lost. I can take a whole shower, shave and wash my hair all while the phone sits on the side of the tub dangerously close to falling in and still be on hold when I am done.

Yesterday we learned that she did not get into the play. When we found out, it was if someone took a rope to my waist and pulled me in half. I wanted her to have this positive experience. I stayed stoic and wanted to let her have her own reaction. I know all about helicopter parents, snowplow parents and all of those clear the path type vehicles. I am guilty of jumping in too soon and trying to make my kids feel better, when sometimes they need to just feel. It is hard to watch your kids on shaky ground and not know if I should lend a hand, or let them fall.

She took the news okay. She said she kind of figured since there were sixty kids at the call back and they could only take less than half of that. She also knew she didn't dance that well. She got a bit weepy when she realized a few of her friends got in together and she was sad not to be in it with them. We don't have any answers on why she is getting sick so often, not yet anyway. My hope is that it is just something like she is low in iron, or vitamin B, or that she needs to eat more or less of a certain food and boom, problem solved. I don't love this wait and the combination of anxiety mixed with a very active imagination, results in loud negative concerns. As I try my best to quiet my mind, I also have to put on my best "its all good" mask for my sweet girl. She is on a bit of a roller coaster these days. Some days she is exhausted and emotional, and others she is strong and spunky. I can share with her how painful it is to see her hurt, but I can't show her how much it stops me in my tracks. One of us has to show the other the path to moving forward. One little step at a time.

Monday Morning!

Last night, as I went to say goodnight to my boy, my husband asked me to turn the space heater off in his room when I walk out. It's been cold lately and we put a little heater in his room just to warm it up. My husband set it to high and then I went in to cuddle before saying goodnight. Well, I fell asleep with him for a little bit and when I left an hour later in my groggy state, I forgot to turn it off. At 3am, my son calls out to me. When I walk in his room, he is shirtless, blanket less and asking why his room is so hot. Fortunately, these machines are safe and work well; unfortunately, my son was sleeping in a sauna-like room. I apologized and when he asked if he could sleep in my bed with me, my guilty conscience said yes.

My husband has been at home with us lately, which is great, but after over a year of my son taking his place in my bed when he has been gone, we have gotten used to cuddling nights. Last night he crawled between the two of us and we all went back to sleep. My husband got up early and when my son woke up, he turned to me for a hug. For the next hour, we talked, sang songs and played silly games all while we stayed in bed. This is rare! We are off our schedule due to winter break and luckily we have no where we have to be most days this week. Monday mornings are typically the most difficult day to motivate us up and out of the house. Today, I happily took my time. I thought about little tasks I had to do today. I wondered about the timing of getting groceries and a running a few other errands. I wanted to make some plans for fun activities for the kids so I didn't want to linger in bed too long, but there was no way I was going to cut short this one on one time with my boy.

He talked about school and confided in me how scared he gets when he has to explain his work out loud. He talked about his teachers and why he loves them. He explained how great Fridays are because they get extra recess time. He sang the song they are learning in school and taught me all the words and hand motions. He asked what "Watermelon Sugar" by Harry Styles was about and I confessed that I had no idea. We then wrote our own lyrics that made more sense. At one point, we were talking about so many different topics that he turned to me and asked "What were we just discussing?" I couldn't help but giggle at his use of the word "discussing." In that moment, staring into his brown eyes, I took a mental picture of the moment. His cheeks still round, and his mouth a mash up of mostly baby teeth with a few adult ones sprinkled in front. His hair soft and tousled from sleep, his skin still baby soft. This little boy still wants to hug me and still wants to be hugged. He still asks to sit on my lap and when he needs to will cry in the crook of my neck. Almost without warning, he hopped out of bed to start his day. I stayed behind a few minutes more just to saver how full I felt. With a smile on my face I slowly got out of bed.

I don't know how many more mornings I will get like this one. Mondays are my least favorite day of the week, but this one was wonderful. When we are off from school, I feel like we all get closer. We let ourselves truly slow down. My kids have more time to spend with each other and I see them bond during vacations in a way they don't during the regular school year. We make plans as a family and the four of us spend concentrated amounts of time together. We have a whole week more off and I am looking forward to every second we have. Next Monday certainly will be more challenging when we have to get up and go to school again. I hear in some other countries, in addition to sick days, children are allowed a few free days to travel or just be together with family. I would love to start a movement to have that here. I might get a few more mornings like today, and that would be worth it.