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.

Positively Positive

The other afternoon I decided to be a rebel and take a bubble bath in the middle of the day with a glass of wine, candlelight and a book on writing recommended by a friend, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.  After luxuriating for approximately 2 minutes, a recently potty trained Ila came in needing to "go tinkle".  She sat down and did her business, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was quite perplexed by the bath scene before her.  After getting help washing her hands and with her clothes, she stepped towards the tub.  She set her elbows down and placed her chin in her hands.  "Hi Ila."  I said.  "I'm taking a bath."  She furrowed her brow which wrinkled that uber cute nose.  Her head cocked to the side and the following discussion took place:

Ila:  You are doing it wrong, mommy.

Me:  I am doing it wrong?

Ila:  Yes!  Sit up.  Sit up! 

Me:  No.  I am relaxing, Ila.  This is how I try to relax in a bath.  I lay down and read a book.

Ila:  It's dark in here, mama.

Me:  Yes, that helps me relax too.  (A major pause ensued here.  Still  the perplexed toddler with the cocked head, chin in hands, and then...)

Ila: That's OK mommy.  Keep trying.  Just keep trying.  Don't give up.  Then you will do a good job!"  

I had to stifle a giggle as the two-foot-philosopher left the bathroom satisfied that she had figured it all out.  Mommy wasn't taking a bath the way that she takes a bath.  Mommy  must be doing it wrong.  Problem solved.  But what pleased me the most about that small moment was the glimmer I got into the way that Ila's brain works, into the way she thinks.  The words she spoke to me about trying and not giving up were extremely reassuring.  Stick-to-it-iv-ness and hard work are two personality qualities that are essential for success.  After teaching for more than two decades and raising children for almost as long, I am absolutely sure that more than smarts, or athletic ability, or humor or any other personality characteristic, having a positive attitude and not being afraid of hard work are two catalysts that propel children as far down that road to success as they can go.   

So how does a mom foster this type of attitude in a child.  Well, I am certainly not an expert, but am determined to learn.  Here are some of the things that I have read about and devised on my own in order to try with Ila, and it seems to be making a difference in the way she looks at life:

1.  Establish words and phrases that you can repeat over and over especially during times of trial.  One we use religiously is a song from Yo Gabba Gabba that encourages kids to "Keep trying, keep trying.  Don't give up.  Never give up."  

2.  Another (probably obvious) suggestion is to catch them having a positive attitude.  Ila with her neurological disorder is constantly falling...hard.  Hard enough that most toddlers would cry as a result.  Many times, instead of crying Ila will stand up and say to herself, "I'm fine. I'm okay. Not a biggie." And while most of the time that she self-talks this way I want to smother the little thing with hugs, no matter how many times a day she says those phrases I always try and tell her how special it is that she faces her falls that way. She puffs up like a freshly washed baby chick when we praise her.  Connecting a positive attitude with pride will hopefully foster a lifelong decision to not drown in bad, but swim with the good. 

The above two examples I am sure makes it seem that Ila never has moments where frustration takes over her.  On the contrary, she most definitely does...just ask my frayed nerves.  One particular time that stands out in my mind is our recent attempt to potty train her.  After holding it all day (and I mean ALL day 6:30 am to about 4 pm), Ila began to throw a tantrum as I tried to sit her on the potty once again.  When I told her she didn't have to sit on the toilet, she cried.  When I said I'd help her sit, she cried.  When I tried to leave the bathroom, she cried.  When I entered the bathroom, she cried.  She became quite agitated and it was clear that she was highly aware that she shouldn't pee in her underwear, but just didn't want to go in the potty.  She was getting more and more frantic.  She wasn't the only one that was panicking.  While she knew that it wasn't right to wet her underwear, but was considering it, I knew it wasn't right to put her back into pull ups but was considering it.  Just then, as it often does, Dr. Speed Dial's voice came from...well...whatever divine universal place that it resides...and whispered..."It is a parent's job to try and help his or her child problem solve."  And so that is what I did.  In a calm quiet voice I said, "Ila, if you could just calm down, mommy can help you fix this.  Let's start by taking a deep breath."  To my astonishment, she did just that.  So I continued, "All problems can be fixed.  Let mommy try and help.  Can you tell me why you are upset?"  

"You gonna fix it?"  she said in such a pathetic sad way that my heart broke in two.  "Yes," I said soothingly.  "could you try and tell me why you don't want to pee on the potty?"  She thought.  She thought and thought and I could almost see that brain of hers reaching for words that would explain the problem.  This is what she came up with--"I stand up to go pee."  And though it took me a while to figure out what she was trying to say, I realized (thankfully) that she was having trouble because when she went in the pull up it was usually in a standing position and probably on the go...not at all like conditions of going on a potty.  

So, embracing my role as problem-solver-in-chief I flipped quickly through possible solutions and decided on one that may or may not work.  It was risky but I said, "Do you want to stand up and start to pee and then, I'll sit you down once you get started?"  Surprisingly, a very relieved Ila said, "Yes...YES.  I stand up to pee." And so that is what we did...I stood her up with the potty at her heels and gave her permission to start peeing, which she did instantly.  As soon as the stream started, I sat her down.  As she filled (FILLED!! ) the potty (who knew a 26 inch child could have such a large bladder???) I cheered and hooted and high-fived her.  When we were finished with all the numerous steps (wipe, dump, flush, pull up pants, wash hands) I sat her on my lap and told her how proud of her I was.  I also gently reminded her that all problems could be fixed if we could just stay calm enough to figure them out.  At that moment daddy came in and asked Ila how she finally did it.  Ila answered, "The problem got fixed, daddy."

And perhaps, that idea that all problems have solutions is the most important thing we can teach our young children.  Nowadays the world seems to be full of problems that need clear and focused thinking.  It is also a world that has plenty of negative that we could focus on if we choose.  Unfortunately, before parenting Ila, negativity was my best friend and Eeyore was my nickname.  But I am learning, for the sake of my daughter, to have a positive attitude.  I stumble often, but when I do, I am sure that Ila will be there to say, "That's OK mommy.  Keep trying.  Just keep trying.  Don't give up.  Then you will do a good job!"  

The Decision to Have Children

Last August an old friend asked me to write about the decision to have children or not to have children.  He and his wife do not have offspring yet and had spent several weeks living at a friend's house who had a toddler.  Needless to say they came away from that experience exasperated, anxious, annoyed and just plain old exhausted and it wasn't even their child.  This harrowing time made them question whether or not they should be procreating.  After watching the beloved friend wrangle with a strong-willed human who stood two feet high, they had some serious misgivings about the whole process.

When he first asked me to write a blog post about this subject, I dove right in.  Asking for input from friends who chose not to have children as well as input from friends who chose to be parents.  But when I sat down to actually put words to screen...I fizzled.  I fizzled a whole giant bunch.  Each time I tried, I'd find a way to avoid, stop, or just forget all about the post.  Something was stopping me.  It was as if a black writing cloud hung over my head every time I opened this particular file and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.  

Yesterday, as I was showering, (I do a lot of planning for my writing there...it is a rare moment of uninterrupted time) it came to me why I was avoiding the simple request from a friend who is very much the thinker that I am.  I realized that I wasn't sure I could write an unbiased post, and I didn't want to be the one to sway this couple (who would just be the coolest parents) either way.  Recently I've been sucked up into the center of the teenage tornado and well...all that spinning might make this writer a tad cynical and bitter...(just a tad).  But parenthood couldn't have been ALL bad.  Could it? So while rinsing the conditioner from my hair I made a pact with myself, for the sake of this couple, that I would wander back and look at all sides of having children...the good, the bad, the ugly AND the beautiful.

Parenthood is like being a participant in an Iron Man competition.  You start off swimming with this infant, and there are obstacles that you have heard about and semi prepared for like constant breast feeding, diaper changes, piercing cries and sleepless nights.  But there are also treacherous waves that you don't expect that no one tells you about.  As a woman not only are you swimming against a current of being a new mother, you are also trying not to drown underneath massive physical changes like dropping and rising hormones, hair loss, breasts that are so hard and swollen it is difficult to put your arms down to your sides, leaking milk, and a sore whoo whoo that needs about as much attention that a brand new baby needs.  As a man, you have to learn to navigate the dangerous seas of a hormonal woman who may be experiencing postpartum depression. You'll need the patience of Job and a depth of understanding that rarely a man finds quickly (sorry...that is a sexist comment...but a true one in my experience.) You will find that you have a sense of urgency and responsiblity for this child and his or her well being that is so all consuming you could possibly lose what used to make you YOU in the process. You will have trouble adjusting to the realization that the woman who was just a year ago prancing around in Victoria's Secret lingerie and going out dancing with you on Friday nights, the one who lived to please you and only you has now replaced you with this small helpless human that she will forever feel responsible for.  Men, you will now be an after thought, in second place when before the child, you were in first.  Will you be able to adjust or do you have to be the winner?  Most of the time, each parent will keep their minds on their strokes and kicking legs in order to propel themselves forward toward the shore.  You will be tired, always tired.  Swimming the waters of new parenthood isn't anywhere near the dog-paddle days at your local lake.  You'll suck in mouthfuls of water when what you really need is air.  You'll be sure that all that kicking is getting you nowhere.  You'll spend nights and days just treading water waiting for the crying to stop, getting swimmers' ear from the noise and stomach cramps from the tension.

But if you are a smart swimmer, if you have the wherewithal to stop, you may look up from that frantic breast stroke and take in your surroundings.  You are a parent now.  Responsible for this teeny tiny angelic human.  You will undoubtly be feeling a kind of fierce love that will scare you.  A love that I am absolutely sure one doesn't feel when looking upon any other human.  Oh sure there is best friend love and romantic love and love for sisters and brothers and parents.  But love for an offspring, that is a love like no other, and one I am sure changes who we are.  This little one that you check on 70 times a night to make sure he or she is breathing, this little one whose chin quivers make you giddy, whose chest rising and falling on your shoulder bringing you a peace and calmness that is new and welcome, this child made by you will seep its way into your consciousness and stay there...forever.  And you will be happy that he or she is here.  You will learn the meaning of sacrifice for this tiny human.  You will come to know what all parents know that THIS kind of sacrifice, giving of your WHOLE self for the sake of another human doesn't feel bothersome, but in fact feels wonderful and wise. 

Soon, just like in that Iron Man Competition, the swimming part is over, your infant will grow into a toddler, preschooler, elementary age KID!  You'll look back upon your journey in the water as one that was difficult, but you will feel exhilarated that you survived, that you swam the whole length and didn't drown, and perhaps, perhaps if you tried really hard, you'll even come out of the water a better athlete, ready to take on the next challenge.  And so you hop on that bike. But be sure to tighten your helmet because the course is riddled with potholes and hills.

As a parent to a school aged child, I will guarantee that you will have to navigate many bumps in the road, and that they'll bring about a briared agony and worry that latch on to every moment of the day.  You'll have to give in to things out of your control...things that may happen to your child or children that will tear your to shreds. You'll learn what it feels like to have your thoughts hijacked by these two persistent emotions. Worry and agony can be useful however because they'll propel you to pedal up that particular hill with all the gusto you can give it. You'll seek the advice of those who have come before you.  You'll read books, blogs, magazines, heck you may even listen to Doctor Phil a few times.  But what you'll find is that with all that advice, who your child becomes really happens by watching you--who you are will shape who your child is, and it is for that reason that a parent finds out that they have a fortitude that perhaps would have never been developed if not for the necessity of a child.  So many times on this journey you will feel like you don't have the strength to reach the top of that bleepin' hill.  But you must.  You have someone who is counting on you, and somehow that knowledge keeps you going up the steepest hill even in a driving hail storm.

But the wonderful thing about climbing a hill is that at some point you must travel down.  And these are the moments that are to be treasured...when you coast and sail with the wind on your face. During the school years you get to experience something that only a parent gets to experience--finding yourself--the essence of you--in a child that you have created.  It may be the way they worry and fret-just like you.  It may be how much they love to read--just like you.  It may be in the way they twirl their hair, or chew their lip or love to sing.  It is those moments of recognition that are omnipotent and surreal, and  bond you even more to this being who you thought you couldn't be any closer to.  As you take it easy on the downhill parts of your journey, you'll have the time to learn something new, to laugh, to talk, to eat lively dinners, to cheer on your little athlete-dancer-singer-piano recital giver, to help with homework, to soothe and coo when they are sick, to tuck in with bedtime stories and kisses, and giggles and doodley-dos (a private joke).  You will have moments of such immense contentedness and when all is said and done, those moments...those amazing, crazy, blissful moments are why we became parents in the first place and what we'd miss out on if we didn't.  Enjoy those downhill, coasting, laid back, wind on your face times.  They will give you energy for the hills and more trying events that are just around the bend.

Marathon runner, Jerome Drayton, said once "to describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."  Being the wife to a former marathon runner, I agree with this statement.  My first experience watching him run one will forever stick in my mind.  My beloved sister-in-law, Sandy and I drove together as my husband and his brothers ran the course.  We'd get in the car and drive frantically so that every three miles or so we could get out and cheer them on.  I hand Jeffrey a "goo" or a bottle of water and watch as he disappeared around the bend.  Then Sandy and I raced to her car and traveled to the next stop.  This process we repeated over and over.  At mile marker 18 I remember remarking to Sandy that I marveled at Jeff's and Bill's (her husband) fortitude.  They didn't act at all in a way that I had imagined. They were not the serious and focused runners who mentally had to prepare themselves for the grueling task at hand.  Each time we saw them, they were jovial and energetic. That is until mile marker 22.  At mile marker 22, the runners, all of the runners who passed, seemed delirious.  Looked as if they'd been through a war.  No smiles, just gritted teeth and furrowed brows.  Their limbs were rubber and sweat poured down them as if a cascading waterfall.  They clearly had hit a wall...their bodies straining not to give out.  I worried for them.  The last four miles of that marathon would clearly be one of the toughest athletic challenges of my husband's life.

Much the same can be said about the last leg of your direct parenting journey--the never ending marathon of raising teenagers.  For me and many other parents that I speak to THIS part of the journey is the toughest.  It has been difficult for me to put into words the feelings one gets sometimes as a parent of an adolescent.  To tell you the truth, it might be difficult because well you just don't hear parents talk like this. I am sure it is considered to be extremely taboo and yet, and yet...It is how I feel sometimes.  It is how many parents feel sometimes, and so, and so...since I have never been one to mix words...Parenting teens makes me weary, as weary as...well...a marathon runner at the 22nd mile.  And why not?  I mean it gets so exhausting being so uncool, embarrassing, stupid, ridiculous and "totally lame".  Somehow, having a teen directly correlates with the moment that a parent loses all knowledge and wisdom.  We suddenly know nothing about the world or life or really ANYTHING.  Our voices, requests, and simple hellos become reasons for deep and disdainful reactions from beings whose existence on Earth is BECAUSE of us.  And I guess, that is the hardest part for me.  (Here comes the TABOO...Leave your judgment at the door.  Thank you in advance.) It absolutely ticks me off, makes me feel completely incredulous...makes me want to pull my hair out that sometimes...heck...MOST of the time teenage offspring have absolutely no respect for the hard work, sacrifices, time and thought we've put into raising them.

If I was following the format of the rest of this blog, this is where I'd be telling you about the multitude of reasons that one SHOULD enjoy parenting those pesky teens.  But.I am sorry dear readers that glimpses are all I can give you when it comes to the pros.  Perhaps it is because I am in the thick of it that I can't see the forest for the trees.   I imagine that it is this way with the marathon runner as well.  While he's running, in the thick of the race itself, the runner must  use every bit of his mental and physical ability to keep running...to keep his or her legs and arms and breath and motivation all in working order.  Perhaps after the run--hours, days, weeks even years after, the athlete will be able to tell you with pride in their voices the amazing moments that he or she experienced while completing one of the hardest athletic tasks ever.  And I suppose it will be the same with me someday...years down the road when the marathon of raising those teens is over, I'll be able to look back and say...oh yes...oh yes...there was this and there was that.  And it was good.  So good.  However, right now dear readers, right now I am in the thick of it and well, it takes all my effort just to keep on runnin' just looking for a glimpse of the finish line.

Glimpses of the finish line--you know its coming when your children speak of college, or when they sit against the teddy bear wallpaper at his or her pediatrician's office looking like some out of place giant.  You know its coming when you stroll along with them at their first college visit.  You know its coming when they come out of the front door of their high school holding hands with a significant other who has substance not just looks.  Those glimpses, glimpses of the possible adult that he or she could be--like when your son sings to a packed house with the certitude and power of a man surprising even you with his confidence.  Or when he or she sits the bench the entire season, but never quits and happily cheers for teammates.  Yes, there are glimpses.  Like when the busy dinner tables, the full-of-kids-backyard, the streets when spring has sprung filled with screeching voices, bouncing basketballs and the sounds of bicycles whizzing by are suddenly replaced with revving engines driving away from the house, tomb-like quiet dinner tables, and an empty home for hours upon end.  Glimpses of the finish line.  Yes, you'll feel it coming and so you press forward, ever forward towards it.  And when you reach that, (which you will...I promise) you'll look backwards down that lonely running road, to the bumpy and thrilling bike path, and way out over the horizon to the treacherous but beautiful ocean waters where you began your journey and you'll feel as the Iron Man athletes feel; that you've accomplished something great and magnanimous.  You may be a little tired, a little haggard, but happy and proud to be standing erect.

Dear friend, only you and your wife know if you are up for the challenge.  The decision has to be yours.  My only firm advice is to choose wisely, because unlike an Iron Man competition where the finish line means that you never have to do it again, the parenting finish line I spoke of is metaphorical.  Your role as parent will be a lifetime commitment.  Are you up for the job?