Susie's Lesson

I made a grave mistake waiting for the "right" time to connect with a sister-in-law who was obviously so incredibly special to so many.  

I am suspicious of those that love me.  That is a difficult sentence to write, but early on what I learned about love was that it was conditional, and I had been told by those who were supposed to revere and protect me that I was very very flawed.  Unfortunately, these two erroneous experiences led  me to believe over the years in my deepest core that there had to be something wrong with who I am, what I do, the way I think, the way I look, the choices I make. That core belief, of course, as core beliefs often do, played themselves out in various ways throughout my entire adulthood.  I did not think I was a good human.  I did not think I was worthy of good because of my "badness" and therefore I often sabotaged things that could have been great or wonderful or beneficial because I believed what I was taught--I was less than--less than beautiful--less than dutiful--less than loyal--less than lovable--less than worthy...less than.  Therefore, anyone who loved me; loved me with all its true meaning of acceptance and unconditionality, I was wary of.  After all, what kind of person would love me?  There must be something wrong with THEM too.

The realization of what I believed about myself, and the subsequent discussions of the laws of attraction (you get what you believe, be careful what you wish for and all that jazz) have been worked through over and over with Dr. Speed Dial and I am making progress.  Alas, this week I realized that my progress has not moved fast enough, and because of that--because of my innate suspicion of those that are kind to me--I missed an opportunity to be loved, I missed an opportunity to have a spectacular human being firmly planted into the soil of my life.  I missed it, and I can't get the moment back.  

You see, on Tuesday, one of my sisters-in-law passed away.  She had been sick with cancer for a long while and fought it valiantly with grace and beauty.  My daughter Ila shares a birthday with her aunt, my sister-in-law.  Sue leaves behind a beautiful family; a son, a daughter, three gorgeous grandchildren one of whom is Ila's age.  In fact, her grand daughter and Ila were born weeks apart four years ago. 

Back then, I was very sick and my dear sister-in-law, Susie, made an incredible effort to help.  When she bought things for her sweet grand daughter, she bought the same for Ila.  When it was time for Ila to get her first doll, it was Susie who gave it to her.  On Halloween and other holidays, my sister-in-law loved all over my daughter as if she was her own grand child.  All of this might not sound unusual to some of you, but you see, before the birth of my daughter, I really didn't know my sisters-in-law very well. I am ashamed to say that I still don't.  They were people I would see twice a year during the holidays, because after all, as I told you, it felt very awkward and foreign to be around people who were so completely kind and wonderful.  I didn't truly deserve that did I?  How did I get so lucky?

So for years, I pushed the idea that I might be able to be part of the bosom of this gorgeous family way way way way way out of my consciousness.  This was easy to do because it was coupled by my husband's equally erroneous feelings of not belonging among them as well.  Being the youngest of ten boys (you heard me) his brothers were all grown and gone with their own families when he was young and so the camaraderie of some of his other brothers seemed intangible to him as well.  Therefore, my sister-in-law's kindness was incredibly generous and completely selfless and, well, I did what I usually did when faced with kindness and love, I avoided it, shunned it and made sure that it'd go away thereby confirming what I'd always believed about myself--I was unlovable.  I am absolutely sure that these insecurities makes me seem aloof and haughty and not very nice.  But I assure you that my tendencies to push people away or not even give them a chance comes from a place of pure uncertainty of my worth in the world.  

However, because of the intense work with Dr. Speed Dial and a decision to change what ails me, I have come to realize that I don't do this thing called family well.  I also came to know that I had done that nasty pushing away stuff with Sue. However, in my mind, there was always this thought that now that I was starting to believe in myself a little more that perhaps, perhaps, I could make it right.  I could accept the love and kindness.  I could start over so that she and I, Jeff and Ila could feel like family feels, like Sue had tried to do four years ago.

But now, it's too late.  It's too late. I may have thought about forming a relationship with this loving human.  I may have thought about visiting her, Facebook chatting with her, asking her to watch and mentor Ila every once in awhile, but...I never did.  I never did, and now, I never will.

There's a saying, "In the end we only regret the chances we didn't take, relationships we are afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make."  My sister-in-law's passing makes this message feel urgent to me.  Dear readers, no matter what is in our past, no matter the mistakes, no matter our beliefs, we must never let them interfere with being loved and being accepted. Even more importantly, we must never let all our baggage keep us from loving others.  It is our sacred duty as humans to push past whatever holds us back from having true, real and wonderful connections with humans so that we never regret or cause regret in others.  Even the most jaded humans need to feel loved.  I know most of us would agree that it is the most flawed among us that NEED the most kindness, the most understanding, and the best that humans can give. Why is it then that we don't apply that kind of thinking to ourselves?  Jaded as we are, finding a human who WANTS to love us--flaws and all--is probably just what Dr. Speed Dial would order.

I made a grave mistake waiting for the "right" time to connect with a sister-in-law who was obviously so incredibly special to so many.  But dear Mudders, the only thing that I can do, or you can do when making a mistake is learn from it.  Let our mistakes change us for the better.

And so, that is what I am going to try to do.  As I shed the itchy heavy coat of "I'm bad" and learn instead that I am--what ALL of us are---combinations of our choices, our deeds and most importantly our intentions about ourselves and others, I will turn towards the idea that I am lovable.  I am worthy. We all are, Mudders.  Thanks to my dear sister-in-law, I intend to learn to be a better family member, (if my extended family will still have me). I will choose to receive the kind of love that everyone deserves, and most importantly I will freely give back that love to all who give it to me.

Looking for a book to Read! You Can't Miss This One!

Good Cop, Bad Daughter-A Book By Karen Lynch!

Once in a while every mama in the world feels like she holds the title of “Worst Mom Ever.”  It’s part of our job description to feel guilty about our choices and second guess every decision.  Want to feel better about your parenting skills?  Have I got a book for you!  Karen Lynch’s highly acclaimed memoir, Good Cop, Bad Daughter, recounts her upbringing at the hands of a narcissistic mother and takes us all on her journey of survival where she finds that miraculously her suffering as a young child actually helps prepare her to become one of San Francisco’s first female cops.

When I picked up Karen’s book, I was prepared to read a “Glass Castle-esque” story that told the tale of a poor child who was swept up into the chaos of being raised by a mentally-ill parent.  And while Good Cop, Bad Daughter does read very much like a Jeannette Walls’ classic, what struck me about THIS particular memoir-of-a-mom-gone-wrong is the strength that Karen possessed to not only overcome the pain of her childhood but to use each and every horrible moment as tools which ultimately helped to propel her to become the woman she is today.

Karen writes, “Living with mom had given me insight into the subtlety of non verbal communication.  I’d learned to protect myself by reading mom’s moods and predicting her behavior.  Now I was finding I was good at predicting the behavior of people I encountered on the streets too.”

Good Cop, Bad Daughter is a funny, poignant and gut wrenching story of a child with an unmedicated mentally ill mother who thankfully is able to find acceptance and “family” in the most unlikely of places; the summer of love counter culture of Haight-Ashbury, from men in a men’s club who never wanted her in the first place, and among a few other brave women who dare to try and be the first of their kind in the San Francisco police department. The reader agonizes over the cruelty Karen experiences repeatedly as both a lonely beleaguered child and a female trying to make her way into the all-male world of the San Francisco Police Department.  We wring our hands with worry along side of Karen as she anticipates what disasters may come next from her unpredictable mother, and are tormented when her career and private life dramatically collide.  

Looking for a book about overcoming the odds?  Good Cop, Bad Daughter constantly reminds readers of the amazing resilience of the human spirit.  Karen’s determination to make a life for herself that was different than the one she experienced as a child, her grit, tenacity and her “never give up” attitude remind us all that nothing in life is impossible.  

Human Kind is Alive and Well

I can be a ginormous misanthrope. Like all of us, I have had some crappy experiences with human beings in this world and it can sometimes cloud my judgment of the human race.  I am working on this cynicism, but I will admit, it is an uphill climb.

But not today.  Today the universe clunked me over the head with the idea that human kind was alive and well in this very small town and most likely if it's here, then it must be around the world as well.

Let me give you some background:  I just got a new car.  Now I  am not materialistic in any way shape or form.  Due to circumstances beyond my control, this family of mine has learned to live without.  So, I happily drove a car for over ten years until one day it simply died a natural death of old age and  loyal service.

Getting a new car was stressful to this mother who constantly has numbers flying through her head making sure that she can make ends meet each month.  A car payment was going to ramp up those maniacal thoughts to a frenzy, but it was absolutely necessary and so with the help of my super special in-laws, I purchased a car a few weeks back.   I have to admit that the new-fangledness of this vehicle gave me a warm feeling all over (and it wasn't just because of the special--er um--seat warmers!)

Today, after a snow and ice storm for the ages, I ran out with my daughter to pick up some needed groceries and tooled home.  Driving down a windy road, the car in front of me came to an unexpected stop.  I slammed on my anti-lock brakes but still helplessly careened toward the car that was stopped in the middle of the road trying to take a left turn.  My mind buzzed with the inevitable.  I was going to crash right into the back of it.  Suddenly, I could see two baby car seat tops in the rear window and I knew what I had to do.  I cranked the wheel to the right and instead  of slamming into the car, my car, my beloved new car drove up and over a very tall snowbank coming to a very loud and groaning stop.  (Ok...maybe it was me who groaned....but anyhoo).  I threw it in reverse to no avail.   I was stuck.  Stuck, stuck, stuck.  My four year old was in the back asking nervous questions and my mind was spinning heart in my throat trying to find the right solution that wouldn't cost us money that we didn't have to get the car out of the bank.

That's when it happened.  A truck...a blue truck with those yellow lights on top that flash to indicate that the owner is perhaps a volunteer fireman or something like that, pulled up behind me.  A man named Ed walked up to my window and said, "Let me try and help you."  He climbed up over the bank in just sneakers and jeans and instructed me to put my car in reverse.  He pushed with all his might...but the car didn't move.

He came back to my window and said, "You are really stuck.  Right up over the bank.  It's not going to be easy to get you out."  The cynic in me figured he was giving up and I absentmindedly thanked him and went back to my figuring and numbers and money.  But to my surprise he climbed back up the bank.

Then, a jogger stopped and asked "Ed" if he wanted help.  Ed immediately gave him some instructions and once again told me to put the car in reverse.  They lifted and pushed with all of their might, but still, still I was as stuck as my attitude.  They both walked back to my window and once again "Ed" explained the dilemma and I once again resigned myself to figure out how to take from Peter to pay Paul.

Once again, I was surprised.  Soon a man, in a red SUV came upon my stuck car and the two good Samaritans and inquired if they'd like to use his tow chains!  Both men rejoiced with the gusto of one who actually owned the car and then sent "The Tow Man" to my car to ask permission.  I instantly shouted, "YES!"  (I may have scared him just a bit...) and  back to work the three men went; unraveling chains and hooking hooks, maneuvering the big red SUV behind my car so that it was in a good position to pull me out.  They did it with the joviality that I imagine angels have when doing God's work.  "The Tow Man" came to my window and told me to put my car in neutral and to try and keep my wheels straight.

Then...in the blink of an eye...the red SUV...maybe a Suburban...pulled my car up and over the bank. The scoffer in me immediately retreated and left a very vulnerable grateful optimist in its place. Tears in my eyes, I immediately took off my seat belt to get out of my car to introduce myself to these divine humans and to thank them profusely.  However, by the time I opened my door, the jogger was running down a wooded path, the red SUV was a spec on the horizon and dear sweet "Ed" was honking his horn as he sped by me with a wave and a wink.

I stood in the middle of the road bewildered at the kindness of these men, at their willingness to take a moment out of their own lives to help a perfect stranger, and most of all at the fact that they did it without want of gratitude or laudation.   And so...I wept...right there on that windy road...I wept with big plopping grateful tears unable to hide them as I got back into the car.

My perplexed daughter still sitting happily in her car seat behind me tilted her head and asked, "Why are you crying mommy?  Are those happy tears?  Isn't it wonderful that those humans were so kind?"

"Yes, my love.  Absolutely wonderful."

And so, to the jogger, the tow man with a NY license plate FFV 9546, and to Ed, thank you--for your kindness, for your selflessness, and for teaching this self-professed pessimist a thing or two about the state of human kind.

Midlife Crisis by Suzanne Hooker Patrick

"The rush of panic, as the ringing gets louder, keeps me up at night. This empty nest thing is real, y’all. It’s painful. It’s frightening."

Just let it go to voicemail….

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. That’s all I can hear in my soul. The sound of a phone ringing. It’s a white courtesy telephone. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. It’s getting louder as the days go on. RING. RING. RING. RING. With each moment, with each blink, with each breath, with each ring, comes the reminder that my mid-life crisis is looming, and my empty nest lifestyle is lurking around the corner. RING. RING. RING. RING. Panic is setting in as I scramble to find my identity... to find my purpose… to find my reason for being.

That answer was easy almost 21 years ago, when I had my first baby. You see, all my life, all I ever wanted to be was a mom. Well, to have as much fun as legally possible in life, and to be a mom. Most days those two go hand in hand, and other days, not so much. But that’s not the point. Even though I graduated from college, it wasn’t because I attended in order to define what I should be when I grew up. Honestly, I didn’t really go to college to learn a profession. I went to have as much fun as legally possible. (You may have heard that already?) I went to learn a little, but mainly to enjoy life, and make amazing memories until I married and became a mom.  And I did just that. My plan had worked! My identity was handed to me the day my son was placed in my arms. I loved each and every step of being a mother. (Ok, well, let’s not get carried away… I loved most steps.) I cherished my babies and much like you, they are my heart. My entire life has been devoted to loving, encouraging, teaching, playing, and raising them. You know the drill. My life was complete. And there have been no casualties, so apparently, I don’t totally suck at this parenting thing completely! Go me! I was a mom and I was blessed two times over.

But, in life, there is a season for everything, and all good things must come to an end. Two years ago, my oldest son graduated high school and left for college, leaving a void in my world. Only my ‘baby’, who now has one more year of high school, was left at home. ::gulp:: I forgot the part about when they grow up and leave home no matter how much you promise to make them their favorite chicken enchiladas and bribe them with doing their laundry. Nope. They still leave home. I’m not ok with this.

With that said…. the rush of panic, as the ringing gets louder, keeps me up at night. This empty nest thing is real, y’all. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It’s heartbreaking, and if you aren’t ready, it will sneak up and pounce when you aren’t looking.  I know this because I tried to wear the ‘I’ve got it together … this is just a fact of life chapter’ mask… but no matter how big I cheesily smile like I’m ok, it continues to knock the breath out of me. It shows up in dark circles around my eyes… in my restless nights of sleep… It consumes my deep thoughts… It manifests itself in this mom’s soul... and it aches. Oh, how my soul aches. On the outside, I pretend I’m fooling the world- that I have it all together, but on the inside… I feel like a complete train wreck with a looming deadline. Can you relate? Have you been, or are you currently on this stupid path I’m on? While it’s true misery loves company, I hope you aren’t.

Wait- did you hear that phone ringing just now? It’s just so irritating. I’m pretty sure it’s my midlife crisis on line 1… I’m just gonna let it go to voicemail. I’m not ready to answer. I have things to over analyze. I have decisions to make. I have dreams to pray for. I’m doing these things not because I’m forced to, but because I want to beat this annoying chapter of my life to the punch. Stupid, unwanted, uninvited mid-life crisis with a side of empty nest syndrome. Who ordered this junk anyway? If I have it all figured out before I pick up the nearest white courtesy telephone, then I can continue on and hopefully it will be dead on the other end of the line. The sooner I get a handle on this, the sooner I don’t have to address my looming panic. The more prepared I am when my last child leaves home, the more I’m equipped to tackle my identity and who I want to be when I grow up… and most of all, I can avoid the pain and confusion and loneliness that comes with all of it. You see, parents, I’m not telling you anything that hasn’t been handed down from our ancestors. We’ve all heard the tales. I’ve listened to those who’ve gone before me, and warned about this empty nest thing… I never gave it much thought because it seemed so far off… but then I blinked. Stupid blinking. Your babies will grow up when you blink. So don’t. Listen, when it happens, it feels like a game changer, and I’ve never felt more ill prepared. When we’ve devoted our lives to our children, when our identity has been defined as parent, when we’re only known by our labels of ‘parent, child, spouse, sibling, friend’- we are stripped of truly defining WHO we are. As that dang courtesy telephone continues to ring louder and louder, my challenge for myself, and for all of you on this same journey, is to strip yourself of those labels I mentioned, and find out who YOU are without them… what YOU want out of life for YOU… what passion drives YOU… what speaks to YOUR heart and what sings to YOUR soul… search for the answers that illustrate what YOU were created for… because before long, that phone ringing is going to be for you… will you be prepared to answer? 

#Womensday

You may not know it but today is International Women's Day.  What's that, you ask?  According to it's website it is is a global day celebrating the economic, political and social achievements of women past, present and future.  If you ask me, this shouldn't just be one day...a celebration of women's achievements... even if it's getting out of bed in the morning and managing to change from one's flannel night gown to sweats, it should be everyday.  I mean let's admit it, women...we do it ALL.  We work.  We cook.  We do laundry and fold and iron.  We vacuum.  We sing lullabies.  We stop our children from having meltdowns over the new Common Core math.  We try and exercise regularly.  We grocery shop and make sure holidays are sparkly and special. We band aid boo boos, teach life lessons and tuck our little ones into bed like experts.   This isn't something that just one woman does.  It is what we ALL do.

And yet...women...not all women...but LOTS of women just can't seem celebrate the successes of others.  It may be just me, (I doubt it) but I could go to bed each night and list at least 10 examples of asshatery (my new favorite word.  Thanks Andrea Lynn and Karen Lynch) foisted on one woman or another by singular or group of other women. They whisper about choices of clothing.  They are sure that one is out to get the other.  They are jealous of the competence of one and angry with the incompetence of another. They gossip about one mother who talks about her child too much and then can't stand it when they think that another mother talks about herself excessively.  

 Why?  Why do females feel a compelling need to fight and be nasty to their female counterparts?  Why?  We should be lauding each other, propping each other up.  We should be a non judgmental ear when it's needed and a wealth of wisdom when advice is requested.  After all, we all know what it's like to be...well...us.  Who better to understand what we go through than another woman?

The idea of loving ALL women is a tough one, merely for the reasons that I laid out above.  But I think that Glennon Melton author of Carry On Warrior says it best when she said,

" Life is too short and too freaking long to spend it with folks who make you feel bad. Sometimes the only way to love folks is from a distance. STILL LOVE THEM- SURE! From far,far away. Love them from a proverbial sunflower field where you are dancing- safe and free."

So, awhile ago I decided to dance in the sunflower field loving all (some from MILES away) but keeping some close by, because really, no matter what, we need each other ladies.  We don't need ALL ladies.  Nope.  But there are certain women who fulfill certain roles that are absolutely necessary for my life..  In fact, I would say that every woman needs to be sure that she has each type of women listed below.  Otherwise, it is my belief, that it would be impossible to continue the rigors of a life as a female.

The Teacher-This woman is typically older than you.  She accepts you for who you are and is willing to pass on the wisdom that she has gained over her long life.  She knows you well, probably better than anyone else in the world.  She is patient with your evolution and is your number one go-to when you need help solving a problem.  For some women, this Teacher is their mother.  But for others who aren't as lucky to have a mom around or one that is wise and accepting, this woman could be a mother-in-law, a mentor or just someone who sees enough value in you to take on this role.  The teacher is essential in our growth as women.  Without them, we'd stay stagnant.  Without them, women may just continue with the mentality of a teenager.  (Shudder!)

The Peer--This woman is someone who works along side of you or has the same career as you.  It is this woman with which we complain about the doldrums and ridiculousness of our job.  The Peer is someone who thinks like you when it comes to the philosophy you have about your field and will readily help you solve or collaborate on a problem or new project.  Most importantly, The Peer will not for one second feel slighted or threatened if you happen to know something that he or she may not know.  The Peer, a good one anyways, knows that all people have strengths and weaknesses and sees intelligence as an asset not a liability.

The Safe Softy--This is a woman or women who are nurturing and loving and sweet and understanding.  They are the ones who we go to when we are broken or devastated.  They are the ones we can sob in front of and know that all they want is to comfort you.  There is no judgment, there is no malice, there is no feeling of shame.  This past week, I had a broken moment and I luckily walked into a room where there were two Safe Softies.  They swooped in, cooed and coddled.  They shushed and held my hand.  They even cried with me.  And although broken, although devastated, there was the warmth that the shelter of these women provided.  This category of women is truly a gift.  If you have a couple of these, feel very very fortunate, and don't forget to thank them as fiercely as you can for their selflessness.  Being vulnerable is risky business.  How wonderful is it if you are blessed with women who welcome that vulnerability? 


The Unconditionals--Moving?  These ladies will be there to help you pack and heft the boxes.  Broke your leg?  Here they come to clean your house.  Need a sitter for a night out?  They will be there for as long as you need them.  Want to learn to scrapbook?  These women will take a class with you or teach you if they happen to know how.  The Unconditionals are those women that we can rely upon for all the little things that we may need to keep our lives running smoothly.  Typically, they aren't even our closest friends, they just know that responding when needed feels wonderful and will always be reciprocated by the receiver. 

And finally...

The Go-To's--Ah yes, The Go-to's.  These are our besties, our female soul mates.  We read the same books, we think the same way, we are happy to learn from them and they are happy to learn from us.  We can disagree and it will be just fine.  Just fine indeed, because our Go-To's know that disagreements don't diminish who you are to them and for them.  Your Go-To's know about your saddest days, your biggest mistakes, your greatest fears, but they also know about your greatest successes, your most outrageous dreams, and what makes you happiest.  They never waiver through the good and bad and listen intently to both.  They cheer us on, kick us in the ass, tell us our outfits are horrible and pick us up when we can't pick ourselves up.  Most importantly, The Go-To's are truly happy when something makes us happy and are truly sad when something isn't going our way.  There are never too many trials or too many tribulations.  When we are with our Go-To's we are most ourselves and never ever feel judged or worry what they are thinking.  Go-to's can live close by or be your constant texting companion.  They are your simpatico in every way, and our lives would be forever changed if we lost them. 


If you are a woman that is lucky enough to have a women in your life that fit these categories, congratulations. However, it is so important to emphasize that even if you just have one or two women in your life, if they fulfill most of the roles above, you are just as fortunate.  I spent my life thinking that I had to please everyone...especially all women.  But I don't.  Neither do you.  Where ever you go, you'll meet women that are vacuous and narrow-minded, judgmental and angry.  We don't have to hate them, but like Glennon Melton says, we can love them from far far away and dance with the women we're close to in that proverbial sun flower field.   

    

A Mother Can Hope

My Dear Child,

When you were born, I hoped for you to be healthy.  I hoped you had 10 fingers and 10 toes.  I hoped you weren’t colicky and that someday you and your siblings would be the best of friends.  

When you went off to daycare, I hoped that the caretaker would love you as much as I loved you.  I hoped that you’d make your first friends.  I hoped that you’d learn that even though I left you for a moment, I’d always return.  

When you were in Little League, I hoped that you’d learn the art of fair play, of gracious losing, and graceful winning.  I hoped that that metal bat would “clang” with the force of your swinging arms and hit it over the fence never to be seen again.  I hoped that you’d have self-confidence even though you may have thrown 5 or 6 or 17 balls in a row as pitcher and that you’d be humble if you threw as many strikes.  

In school, I hoped for you to have kind and understanding teachers who learned about who you were and what you needed to feel safe.  I hoped that reading, writing and arithmetic would come easily and that even if they didn’t, I hoped beyond all hope that you’d understand that that didn’t in any way mean that you weren’t smart, capable and wise.  I hoped that you’d realize that fun was necessary but that someday it wouldn’t be the only thing that would get you to where you wanted to be.  I hoped, when you were in school, that you’d dream of your future and be inspired to chase it because you deserved a good and wonderful life.  

Today...my hopes are less specific but seemingly more urgent.

Now...well now...I hope that you will be good to yourself.  Not in the way that satisfies your wants and your physical needs, but in a way that says you care deeply for yourself.  I hope that someday, you will see all my meddling, pleading, letter writing, rah-rah texts and refusal to expect anything less than the best for you as love...pure...deep...unconditional love.  I hope that you take the chances that are given to you.  I hope you see them as the gifts they are and revel in the fact that everyday is a new chance to get it right.

Most of all, I hope you remember.  I hope you remember the cuddles, and the hugs, and the kisses.  I hope you remember the sick days and the kindnesses you received.  I hope you remember the trips and traditions and trials that made us a family.  I hope you remember that in your life, you’ve always had someone who wouldn’t waiver when it came to right and wrong no matter what the consequences may have been because you deserved a parent that set boundaries and tolerated nothing less than the world at large would tolerate from you or anyone else.  I hope you know how sorry I am for the mistakes I have made while parenting you.  

Finally, I hope...oh my dear sweet child...I hope that you know in every essence and fiber of you that no matter how you feel about me, no matter where you are, or what you do...no matter...I will never--ever--stop loving you deeply, thoroughly and completely.

The Ups and Downs of Motherhood: The HIghs And Lows of My Listen To Your Mother Audition

A soaring bird who suddenly breaks a wing. A sports car with its brake line cut.  An Olympian in first place until taking a spill 100 feet before the finish line. These kinds of highs and lows are like the ones felt by mamas all over the world every day, every hour, every minute.

Sometimes I think the Universe, even with his wisdom, has an infinite sense of humor--especially when it comes to mothers.

It's almost as if he or she wants to remind us that suffering or at least a bit of misery is part of our job description. These reminders (at least in my life) come usually right after a moment of pure adrenaline high--a jiffy pop bag of hot popcorny goodness at its epitome of height just before someone sticks a fork in the tin foil top.

Take today for instance, after a February vacation where I pretty much had to stay in because of a sick child with a sinus infection, coupled with about 6 months of an iffy car, I had looked forward to taking off in my new car for a weekend away in NYC where I would audition for the prestigious Listen To Your Mother show and have a little fun with most of my family who planned on accompanying me.

The weekend began on a high.  We enjoyed an afternoon at the Children's Museum. The weather was idyllic and we strolled the streets basking in the springlike temperatures. Later that evening we all had dinner together and I fell asleep that night thanking the universe for the cheery moments of that day and for the chance to audition for the NYC franchise of LTYM.

The next day, my 20 year old grabbed my credit card and sauntered off by himself down the stairs to take the subway to NYU all by himself to see a close friend.  I was a bit wistful remembering all the times I had taken both boys to NYC and had a death grip on both of their hands for fear of losing them.  Yet there he was...going off on his own...doing his own thing--just as I was.  Thinking of how far we’d come as a mama and son increased that feeling of joy and I practically skipped to the building where I’d read a story that I’d written hoping to be part of the NYC cast of LTYM.  

The auditions there were held in a daunting building for this small town gal, that housed performance spaces galore. Stepping out of the elevator I had to spin around a dancer warming up, circle a group of thespians practicing lines and scoot around a bunch of executive types discussing the progress of a particular production. Being in and among these artists made my blood course and surge a bit faster. My heart raced from the energy they emanated and from the anxiety that washed over me when I reached the room in which MY auditions would be held.

When it was my turn, I tried to amp up the joie de vivre that I was feeling and so I "small-towned" the panel of serious author/ directors that sat behind a formal table by approaching them and shaking all their hands. They seemed a tad surprised at my forwardness and so, I immediately mentally chastised myself and trudged through the awkwardness of the moment, but nothing was going to ruin my almost manic mood.  .

I began to read--my little story--made up of truths and wounds and emotions that are not usually exposed by mamas. And that's when it happened; an audible sob from one of the judges and another. Soon all four author/directors were crying, wiping their eyes with tissues, which in turn made me cry. Even though some of my tears came from the subject of my story, many came from the incredible realization that these directors and producers were crying over my story. MINE.  Crying over words that I put on paper.

As I finished, the weight of what I had done, what I accomplished in that moment came crashing down on me. My words, my carefully crafted words written and rewritten over and over moved four strangers to tears. My words reached out across a cold and empty performance space and connected me with a previously unknown group of humans making it so we were all one and in this motherhood thing together.  I did that. My writing did that, and I was sure in that moment that there was no better feeling than the satisfaction that the craft you love can really have an effect on someone else.   

Walking down 8th Ave. towards the Disney Store where I was to meet my hubby and daughter, I practically sauntered down the sidewalk.  Heck, I walked like the models on the catwalk advertised on the big screens in Times Square. Sashay. Sashay. Hip! Turn! Sashay sashay sashay! My confidence and giddiness was at 100% and I didn’t care who knew it.  I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.  I was flying.  Just flying.  

Yup...flying high…However, apparently the Universe thought that maybe I had had about enough of all this feel good stuff.  After all, a mother can’t forget that her FIRST place is well...mothering.  And so to rectify this...to perhaps put balance in my life, he or she decided to have my four year old daughter throw up...strapped in a car seat...while sitting in a traffic jam...for an hour and a half…on the George Washington Bridge...in my brand new car...all over her car seat...and my hands...and new dress I was wearing.  

Of course, it wasn’t the mucusy kind...oh no...it had to be the kind of puke that had curdled milk in it...and burgers and fries...and some half digested mac and cheese for good measure.  So in addition to the mess we had the smell...the horrible throw-uppy smell..while trapped in a car...not moving on the George Washington Bridge.

So I did what any mom would do at the moment.  Scream, “Oh great now I am going to get sick!”  (All right, I realized my mistake right away...and turned my attention to the throwing up daughter.) Then I proceeded to take her out of her car seat, (OK...don’t judge all you Safety Sarahs and Stevens out there.  What was I to do?? Have her continue to sit in her own vomit??) strip her down naked and scrub her body with as many baby wipes as I could find.  I used my pashmina (my favorite pashmina) as a makeshift toga dress for her royal naked highness, and sat her down next to me while I feebly tried to wipe up the bodily fluids that made my brand new auto upholstery look like a crime scene.  

So now?  Now I am home.  I have disinfected anything within the confines of the car, including myself, and EXCLUDING the car seat that sits on the front porch.  (That’s the hubby’s job. Wink Wink.)  

And Universe, if you’re listening...there is absolutely no happiness here. No high flying manic attitude.  Nope.  I am covered with pukey misery.   

What?  Nooooooo, I am NOT sashaying down the hall to my bedroom!  Not at all.  

POST SCRIPT--A few days later there was more sashaying and dancing and screaming and jumping up and down like a teenager at a concert because I had made the cast of NYC's Listen To Your Mother! I had made it!  

So dear Universe, bring it on...whatever you throw at me, I've got that moment and the others that will soon come during rehearsals and the show itself. I've got them, and they can't be erased. Like Wonder Woman's magical bullet-deflecting bracelets, The Listen To Your Mother Show has given me more weapons of happiness to wield against your evil pranks!  

If you'd like to see me or any of the other FABULOUS women (and man) check out the info below! I'd love to have your support!