Go Ahead...Laugh...I Can Take It!

I recently got a shout out from one of the greatest websites EVER (in my humble opinion) www.kindovermatter.com.  Amanda writes, 

"Hi Beautiful You! Whether you're a writer or reader, I'm super excited to share these new series with you! 

Jo Anna & I will be sharing nearly every week & the Kind Kindred series will still be shining every Monday, as usual, but the rest of the series will pepper every month!

The first post will be next Thursday in the Laughter Lover series! (Do you remember the Granny Panties story Logan shared last year?! Oh yes! It's going to be SO FUN!)"

Ah yes...my "Granny Girdle Panties" story.  Who could forget my utter humiliation??  WHAT???  You haven't read the Granny Panties story????  Well, by all means....PLEASE do! Have a laugh on me I can take it!  Click the link below!  

http://www.kindovermatter.com/2011/09/laughter-is-best-medicine-granny.html

Omniscience: A Parent's Dream?

I have recently been working on a novel; my first endeavor into fiction.  Writers are readers at the heart of us, and so it is no surprise that I have been reading all I can find on the "hows" of planning and penning a made-up story. The other day I was reading about the merits of different points of view.  You know, 1st person as opposed to 3rd person.  To be honest with you I had not even considered writing this story in the 3rd person.  I am an essayist first and foremost and it is just so natural that I write in my own voice.  This book that I planned on writing, (OK if I was being TOTALLY honest here,  I'd tell you that I have already STARTED writing the book but have gotten stuck, hence the frantic reading and researching...) anyhow, while writing this book, I planned on just embodying the protagonist, being her so to speak, and then telling her (or rather my) story as if it were happening to me.  Telling it that way just seemed natural to me, the essayist.  However, after reading and reading and reading and reading about the two points of view, I am rethinking my plan for the book.  Writing in the 3rd person seems to perhaps be easier when writing fiction because the narrator is of course omniscient, being able to know all, see all, hear all, and ultimately show the reader all that is happening.  An omniscient story teller can anticipate what might be coming down the pike and even forewarn those that have decided to turn the pages of the precious book.  

During my point of view research, I learned that my definition of the word omniscience was flawed.  I have always thought that it meant "all powerful", but instead I learned that it is simply having infinite knowledge.  Infinite knowledge is something that our children, when they are younger, rely upon us to have.  In fact most small children would believe that their parents WERE in fact absolutely omniscient.   As they get older however, somehow we lose that omnipotence and our teens, according to them anyway, gain it. 

It got me thinking.  To be omniscient, all-knowing, all-seeing, preeminent..how handy would that be for us, Mudders?  To know what is coming around the corner, a couple of years down the road, to know whether or not our decisions are the right ones--with the power of omnipotence we could perhaps help to prepare our children, heck even ourselves for the future; for the twists and turns and raging storms that families have to plod through.  I am not nearly suggesting that being omniscient would cause me to try and change events because I am a firm believer that every experience is meant to mold and shape who we are, but to tell you the truth, I am pretty sure omnipotence would allow me to plant my feet in a firm wide stance to keep me steady when those winds do blow in.  Having your legs cut out from beneath you, and falling on your rear end (even if it IS well padded) feels horrific, no matter how many times you tell yourself that you gain strength from strife.  And while I am all for spontaneity, I would have liked to know about...well...I would have just like to have known that certain things would happen to my family.

Because I am from a small town, and because I openly write a blog about the difficulties that often come with motherhood, I am sure that it isn't news that 2012 has been a nightmarish year for me, Logan, the mother of two boys.  And while I am lucky that things with Ila have been idyllic and blissful, life-changing even, I have not spoken much of my sons because I am so disillusioned by what has taken place over the past 7 months.  For their sake, I will not delve into the nitty gritty details, but it would be safe to tell you that neither boy is living with me any longer.  It would be safe to say that not living with me also means that I have seen very little of them in seven months.  It would be safe to say that their absence has sliced an extremely large chasm into the very soul of me.  It would be safe to say that a little omnipotence would have and would be nice.  To have seen this coming.  To have known that I'd be without them for the several thousand reasons that have arisen that keep them from me or me from them--being a little prepared might have made the sting a little less, the resentment a smaller boulder in my solar plexus, the tears less prevalent.  The untethered feeling that I have had these past seven months, the lack of a compass has plagued me, and I wish with all that I have that I had been omniscient--that I would have known that someday, they'd be gone in this seemingly final way.

And there again, omniscience in the here and now would be such a gift because not only would I have been able to foresee these last disastrous months coming but I would be able to know with certainty that this situation may or may not get better and plan accordingly; steel my heart against any further hurt or keep it open for that someday that we'd be a family in the strongest sense of the word.  Well meaning friends say with a fortitude that I don't possess that those sons of mine will come back someday knowing that I had tried my best parenting them.  They are so sure, these friends of mine, that the hard work that I put into trying to be the best mother I could (even if some of the decisions were wayward) will cause them to come back, to want to be part of our lives again in a healthy familial way.  (Does that even exist?  Perhaps that is fodder for another post!)  


A good  friend of mine disagrees with my wish for omniscience.  He thinks that I may be still leaning on  my flawed definition of the word--hoping that being "all powerful" would somehow keep the immense disillusionment and hurt at bay.  He is a firm believer in fate, and reminds me that having the real definition of the word--the power of knowing all --wouldn't be able to change the past days, weeks, or months--no power in the universe would be that strong...and maybe someday looking back on all of this I will understand why it took place.  After all, using the past to make decisions about the future is truly the ONLY way to be purely omniscient.  

I Have Always Been a Fantasizer

On the day we arrived at the Cape, we walked over a bluff to give my daughter her first look at the ocean. As it came into view, her blue eyes grew to the size of baseballs and an audible gasp breathlessly pushed one word out of that sweet mouth, “Wow!” she whispered.

I have always been a fantasizer. I am sure that there is not one human being who knows me who is shocked by that statement. If I analyzed my tendency to live outside of reality, I would have to tell you that it started as a child; a very young child. My fantasizing began as innocent conjuring; imagining situations which if true would earn me the elusive approval of my parents. Growing up, it was apparent very early on that succeeding in a public way like winning a contest or being the best at a sport or activity instantly got the attention of good ol’ mom and dad. Alas, during my childhood it was my perception that I came up short in many areas. I wasn’t the prettiest. I wasn’t the smartest. I most DEFINITELY wasn’t the most athletic, and because I was just sort of mediocre or imagined myself to be, it seemed I also came up short in the parental attention department. And so I began to fantasize; imagine situations where I was the best and the brightest, winning accolades, standing in the front of the line with the trophy in my hand.

CONTINUE READING HERE:  www.hilltownfamilies.org/2012/07/03/fisher-42

Who's in Charge of Making Me Happy?

Are you guilty?  I know I am.  Relying upon outside sources, people, places, accolades, to "make" me happy?   In the words of Dr. Phil, "How's that workin' for ya?"  It isn't for me.  It never has worked in fact.  I mean it is an impossible situation we set up for ourselves.  No person or place can make us truly happy.  It always ends poorly especially when it is a person or people we rely upon for our contentment.  No one, no one in the world is capable of being happiness in totality. And yet I have continued to look outwardly for satisfaction, for feeling whole.  But it was just recently while following the same ol' pattern that it dawned on me that all of those annoying quotes like "I am in charge of my happiness," or "I am in charge of my mood and today I choose happiness," are really and truly true.  I am not sure why or how or where but somehow it dawned upon me that pining over the approval or attention of someone-anyone-is not the way one should go about finding happiness and contentment, because when things don't go the way we'd like with that friend or relative or colleague we resent them, as if...as if they could possibly be different just because WE need them to be in order to feel fulfilled.  How utterly self absorbed of me.  How utterly unfair.  And so to all of those who "let me down" by not providing me my much needed happiness (read dripping with sarcasm) I owe you an apology.  Here it is:

Dear You,

I am selfish.  I wanted your life to stay the same so that you could go on filling that empty cavern in my soul.  As long as you were lonely and I was lonely, as long as THAT remained a constant, then "we" would continue down the path of mutuality.  However, I've grown to love parts of you; your creativity, your wit, your ability to cry and feel deeply, your amazing intellect.  And if that is true, if my heart and soul have developed an adoration for who you are, then wanting you to stay stagnant, needing you to remain a lonely soul so that my soul remain full is a loveless act.  It is egotistical of this friend, this mother, this woman to have such treasonous thoughts.  I am certain that I don't want to be that person.  

And so dear friend, sweet city-street-soulmate, I would love to have the chance to be gracious when the last time we spoke I may not have been.  If I had another chance I'd tell you that I am truly happy for you and your prospective future whether it includes me or not. Look how far you have come in such a short time!  Your life is full of passion.  Work is thriving.  Lessons have been learned, and now it seems you are moving towards a life less lonely.  Instead of wallowing in my perceived loss, my love and respect for you demands that I rejoice in your good fortune, in your happiness, in the wings that you are unfurling.  

You have given me much during our time.  Your encouragement and validations, your swift kicks when needed, your willingness to listen and really "hear" what I was saying somehow made me feel special, understood and yes...less lonely, much less lonely.  But most importantly your absence for whatever reason has taught me perhaps the most valuable lesson that one could ever learn; the pain of missing you, the agony of waiting for that approval, acknowledgement, for the ping of a text or a buzz of a message forced my hand, forced my heart.  The waiting....waiting for someone to fill my own soul was ludicrous.  The only person responsible for my happiness for my fulfillment is me.  I could spend my life pining away for a time when your company was completely mine in some perfect manner that somehow would hopefully deliver me to the land of happiness, or I could unfurl my own figurative wings and fly towards a horizon that holds an overflowing abundance of self-love, personal fulfillment, and good old fashioned contentment.  

If I was being honest, I'd have to tell you that I haven't a clue how to even take off with my fledgling wings, let alone soar over rainbows.  But I am going to try and spend my time not waiting for happiness to come to me, but instead to start my quest to seek  it out with the winds of change at my back.  

But some things will never change.  I will always root for you.  I will forever believe in your endless talent.  I will continue to hope that your definition of family will evolve and grow.  I will want only the best for you and of course, as I have said numerous times, I will  be here whenever, if ever you need me. Just text me.  I'll listen for the ping.  Just message me.  I'll hear the buzz.  And if that time never comes, just know that I am forever grateful  that you were part of my life. without you--I would never have known that happiness, contentment, pure satisfaction starts within me.

What You SHOULD Be Told This Mother's Day

May 13th is Mother's Day.  Mommies world wide will be receiving the token card, dandelions picked from the front yard or lilac bouquets cut from the backyard bush.  There will be breakfasts in bed and dinners out.  Some moms might even get to put their feet up for the day, or attend a spa to relax.  (Good lord...decadence!)  Moms with teens may get a quick kiss on the cheek as they dash out the front door.  For single moms or moms who are in circumstances in which no one will remember the day, they may have to honor themselves...which leaves me feeling sad.  But then I remember, whatever happens on Mother's Day...because we're moms...it will be enough, or at least we'll tell ourselves that because the lot of us are strong women.  We do our job because it is honor and our duty.  We certainly don't do the hard work in order to be rewarded on this one obscure day.

For me, this Mother's Day is a milestone of sorts. THIS Mother's Day will be my 18th Mother's Day, and that actually means that my first child will be graduating high school.  He is considered by society to be an adult.  Many of the people that I work with and acquaintances of mine (through my children of course) are experiencing the same type of pairing.  Their's may perhaps be a bit different.  Four Mudders that I can think of will be experiencing their last Mother's Day with a "child" in the home.  Their son's or daughter's graduation marks the end of their direct parenting journey as their last offspring or only offspring will walk across that stage and out the door onto bigger and better things.  And oh, yes, of course, once a parent, always a parent...but...it is different when they are gone.  The teenage years have prepared us for the fact that we are no longer even a blip on their radar, but that blip will be much fainter it seems when off chasing their dreams and lives and wonders, stretching their newly free limbs.  It is as it should be.  All moms would say...it is as it should be.

So Mother's Day is our day, and graduation is their day.  That is the way the world sees it.  However, this year, I want to see it a little differently.  Not just for me, but for all of Mudders.  When or if we get those cards, flowers, dinners out, or a quick text that reads, "Hpy Moms Day 2 U", I am not highly convinced that they, our children, are even aware of what they are saying "Happy Mother's Day" for, except for the fact that the calendar indicates it is the day designated for that phrase.  And so for the all Mudders and especially the Mudders who have children graduating this year, I want to tell you, reassure you that I know, heck, ANY mother knows of the things you have done, the sacrifices you have made, the needs you put aside, and for all of that I want to thank you.  I want to honor you.  I want to let you know that I know even if there is no one else around who will tell you, I believe that when it comes to your children, you have made the difference.  You have done what you should have.  You have worked hard.  It is time that someone tell you how important, good and necessary the things were or are that you did on a daily basis, and it is high time you know you are appreciated for those things.  So an open letter of thanks and joy to you dear Mudders.  Happy Mother's Day, for real.

Dear Mudder,

Remember when you were pregnant and had those back aches, head aches, knee aches, hip aches but you wouldn't touch a pain killer so as to protect the new life growing inside you?  For that dear Mudder I thank you.

Oh and who could forget the labor pain, leaking boobies, sore whooo hooos, long nights spent rocking a screaming infant.  Who could forget the milk stained, spit up stained, baggy tee shirt and sweatshirt ensemble that you wore for months on end even though before being a parent Macy's was your best friend.  For your ability to put your child over your need to be fashionable, I thank you.

For all of the parent conferences that you attended, for the lists you made, the questions you asked.  For all the homework that you helped with, the late night Walmart runs to quiet a panicked child who forgot to do a project, for all the instrument practices that your tired and shell shocked ears endured, the teachers that you communicated with, for the birthday treats that rivaled Martha Stewart that you were determined to make even though your fingers and brain were weary from a long day of work, for the passion that you had for your child's education, and especially....ESPECIALLY for the vitriol, rolled eyes, perhaps even names that you got called because of you unwavering expectations that your children do their best in school, ALWAYS their best.  Mudders, you should be proud.

For those things you did behind the scenes that no one knew about.  You know what I am talking about...maybe you whispered into the best friend's ear of the girl your son liked that he was too shy to make the first move.  You and I both know that that little nudge is why they are together today.  Don't forget the constant encouragement you gave him or her.  When they sing that solo, are asked to join an exclusive group of performers, when they smack that ball over the fence, when they succeed beyond their wildest dreams, don't forget Mudders, don't forget that your persistence and steady reassurance and confidence in their abilities helped them to get where they are.  Others may not give you a bit of credit for your part in their successes, but dear Mudders being the purveyors of your children's dreams, that is nothing to scoff at and so I honor you.  I honor you for being, as the song says, the wind beneath your children's wings.

Thank you Mudders.  Thank you for all the little things you did to make your children's lives special; the memories you helped to create, the traditions you established.  Those vacations to the ocean, to Disney World, to Universal Studios.  Scraping and scrounging and foregoing that class you've always wanted to take in order to have enough money to stay in that hotel with the cool pool.  And OH the holidays, the sewing and gluing and searching for the absolutely have-to-have Halloween costume.  The lunches you gave up to dash over to the elementary school to watch the Halloween parade.  The Christmas trees you trimmed, the gifts you wrapped, the over-the-top plans you made on their birthdays so they knew they were special and loved and cherished.  What were you thinking when you undertook that castle cake?  Oh the hours spent on those themed cakes!  Those traditions, those holidays, those vacations will be memories that they will have forever, long after you have left this earth.  Perhaps they will continue those traditions and so in a way...your influence will last and last.

For the sleepless nights you endured. For the fevers that you cooled.  For the throats that you soothed.  For the hours spent in hospital rooms.  For the books that you read.  For the promises made and the prayers said, for your determination to be a better mom than the one you learned from, for your persistence in the face of even the most daunting challenge.   For ALL that you did because your children deserved it...for the love that you freely gave even if it came in the form of some hard lessons, for the molding and the shaping, for the muscle fatigue from the chiseling, for those lean times when you went hungry so they could eat, when you went without so that they could have.  Mudders for all you have given unconditionally, I honor you.  I revere you.  You are appreciated.

Hindsight: Parenting the Second Time Around--Hilltown Column

Damn!  I'm doing it again!  Anyone else ever go through this?  Any suggestions would be appreciated!  Click the link below to read this week's Hilltown Column.   




http://www.hilltownfamilies.org/2012/04/03/fisher-37/

Problems Bring Gifts

Richard Bach once said that "Every problem has a gift for you in its hands."  A year ago, 6 months ago, 1 week ago I would have rolled my ever-luvin eyes at that quote.  I would have made some sort of disgusted grunt noise that came from way in the back of my throat.  I would pushed Richard with a scoot of my hand so that he could step aside and let me get to the solvin'....because that is all a problem was to me something to endure until it got fixed.

But then I experienced something that perhaps Richard Bach had at one time experienced as well; a problem that couldn't be solved, one that couldn't be fixed--at least not in anyway that would feel entirely satisfying.  Swimming in the mire of the in-between I was unable to reach either shore--the one where I stood before the levy broke and the one ahead of me that would provide me some sturdy foundation with which to stand upon again..  The exhaustion, the constant thinking, the anger, the sorrow, the bewilderment dangled from me like iron anchors and pulled me into the deep, dark abyss. I was drowning.

One night, while in full self-pitying mode, I decided to distract the running reel of "woe is me" by visiting Pinterest.  (If you don't know what that is...I will warn you that it is HIGHLY addictive, but please do visit.  Of course, visit AFTER you read today's post.)   While working on my "Quote" board (so very original...I know) I came across Richard's quote.  It stopped me in my tracks.  My immediate reaction was scoffing, eye rolling, throaty grunts, but then...but then....something made me stop.  Something made me read it again, and again, and then once more.  Something made me look at each word strung together like a strand of Christmas lights, and in a moment of illumination it occurred to me that perhaps--perhaps--I could begin to look within my current conundrum for the gift it might be offering me.

Starting the next morning, I began to live differently.  The problem didn't go away (it still hasn't), but what did go away was some of the anger, the helplessness, the groping-around-in-the-dark-for-a-path kind of blindness. It was replaced by a curiosity.  If this Bach fellow was right, then somewhere, somehow, some gift would reveal itself through the chaos, above the noise, around the walls built high. The search was in itself a  distraction from the wallowing, however, the gift didn't reveal itself right away.

As it turns out this gift, my problem's gift, had been here right from the beginning, but I was too overwhelmed with despair to recognize it, to greet it, to experience it.  I am thankful to Richard Bach and his wise words that I was able to open my heart's door to welcome it.   It finally became obvious to me in the midst of a compassionate "talking-to" by a long time friend.  She had come into my classroom to drop off a letter of recommendation that I had asked her to write and to inquire about my state of mind.  She heard--through the grapevine--of the things that had been heaped upon my family plate as of late.  I tearfully recalled details and answered her questions, and then after listening to each word, she showed her typical tenderheartedness and declared that she was sure that I'd feel better if I could just go on a well-needed vacation.  In the next breath, she mercifully offered her parents' condo in Florida for a place of respite.  I was stunned, silenced, humbled by her kindness and friendship, and it was then that my dilemma's gift dropped out of the sky and clunked me over the head.  My offering?  The realization that throughout this whole ordeal, I wasn't alone.

Problems have been plentiful these last few years.  That goes without saying, and I knew from experience that even the best people have a limit for the amount of times they listen, commiserate, dispense advice or prop up.  I mean there's a reason that nobody is Eeyore's BEST friend in those Winnie the Pooh stories.  So even before this latest round of rain, I had vowed to be more positive, to enjoy life in moments-moment by moment.  So when the bomb dropped here a few months ago, I was determined to speak very little of it except to perhaps a couple of my nearest, dearest and most trusted.  I would face the latest a solitary figure.

But despite my silence--despite my solitude--companionship, empathy, love came.  They came.   They came. I was not alone, in spite of the problem plague I had been living through.  I was not alone.

I was not alone when that friend took pity upon me and offered me an escape, but there were so many other times in which that gift played out over and over and over.  I was not alone when a friend in California was willing to "chat" with me for strung-together hours, even in the midst of studying for the Bar.  I was not alone when he offered several solutions to ease my worry and dread.  I was not alone when out of the blue I'd receive a motivational essay from a favorite website in an email from a woman hundreds of miles away who has become a kindred spirit.  I was not alone when strangers, STRANGERS! heard of my plight and offered me unnecessary benevolence.   I was not alone when a friend messaged "I'll be here when you are ready. Ok?"  Or the next day when a new message came from the same person simply stating, "Hope you are doing ok."  I was not alone, never alone, when the closest, most trusted and dear woman in my life hugged me close and whispered that we'd take on this problem together.  No matter what happened, I'd have her.  I was not alone.

 I was not alone.  I am not alone.  This problem, this mystifying mess, as difficult as it seems, as heavy as it is draped across my shoulders and across my back has offered to me a truly transcendent treasure: the gift of knowing that I am worthy of love no matter the situation, no matter my mistakes, no matter how many times I ask and even when I don't--there are people who will be there.  I am loved.  I am not alone.  And dear readers neither are you.  What are the problems that you are facing?   Please remember, no matter how complicated no matter how hopeless, that problem "holds a gift for you in it's hand."  Go on, do yourself a favor...Open it.