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Posts from the ‘Open thoughts’ Category

May 22

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Slow Down

I have a tendency to rush. Not rush my work per say, but to feel burdened by the sense of what I need to accomplish, then flap around trying to complete everything faster and more efficiently. I’m a multi-tasker to the extreme and for the most part I’m quite highly functioning. The thing is, when I really stop to consider my behavior – which is rare, because who has the time to do that? – I realize that I’m not necessarily enjoying myself. For all my efficiency I’m stretched a bit thin and I’m becoming aware that I often miss moments thinking about, or dealing with, something else. I like completing tasks. I like checking things off my list. But for all the things I do, my list is never shorter. There’s always something else to add, handle or deal with. Maybe it’s the life of a mother, or a woman, or just the general burden of adulthood.  I’m just not sure it’s the best way to live.

I don’t think I’m always as chipper as this mom at fashionrothschild.com

The other day I burned my mouth on my lunch. I’d been writing while Loch was at school and I needed a break. I get abnormally excited about eating when I need to relax, and I decided that I would make a boboli – a small, pre-made pizza crust that you build on. It’s not particularly good for you but it’s completely delicious. I added sauce, pineapple, cheese, Italian seasoning and garlic salt, then tidied the kitchen and checked my email while it cooked. . When it was done I found myself itching to get back to work. Loch would be home in 2 1/2 hours and I had so much more to do before my work space became the playroom again. So, instead of waiting for the pizza that had just come out of a 450 degree oven to cool, I tried to eat it immediately and, shocker, I fried the skin on the top of my palate to a crisp. I wish I could say this was a rare experience, but it’s not. It happens all the time. It’s like I just don’t have the time to wait. It might hurt me? Who cares! Must eat now! Must get back to…whatever it is I’m doing!

Must. Not. Waste. Time.

There aren’t enough hours in the day to do all the things we want to do. Not enough time to accomplish all we hope to accomplish. And when you have kids – or in my case, kid – there are so few hours in the day that belong to you, that you don’t want to waste a second of the ones you have. I remember when Loch started school and people kept saying, “It must be so nice to have 3 hours to yourself every morning.” It was easier just to say yes. People aren’t really interested in the truth, just as, for the most part, people aren’t really asking how you are when they say “how are you?”  The truth is, by the time you drop off your kid and get out of there and then leave again to be on time to pick them up, you have 2 hours if you’re lucky, and most of that time is occupied racing around getting all those things done that are easier without a child. 

Note to store owners: 10 & 11am openings are very annoying. People are up and out of the house. We’d love to come by and get that thing done, but you’re sleeping in, so thanks for nothin’.

Technology these days also forces us to be more efficient. You can’t get away with saying, “I didn’t get your message” or “I haven’t had time to check my email” now that we live in a world of smart phones. We have to be up on everything at all times. It’s so immediate. I called. I texted. What’s your answer? I’ve had to actively work to stop checking my emails/texts in the car. I have to constantly remind myself that it can wait. That if I crash I’ll feel pretty stupid that it’s because I was checking my grocery list or texting that I was running 5 minutes late.

We were at Disneyland recently and stayed overnight at the Disneyland Hotel (my mother-in-law wisely bought into the Disney Vacation Club a million years ago and now has a paid off investment that allows her children to enjoy her generosity). We woke up early for Magic Mornings which is when Disneyland opens an hour early for hotel guests so they can enjoy the park before the general public. The thing is, Magic Mornings are 7-8am, which means you have to be up really early to truly take advantage of it. We set our alarms and roused our child from sleep because we figured it just made sense to get on as many rides as possible before the weekend crowds made every line an hour plus. We hustled out of the room, decided to forgo breakfast till later – I’d packed granola bars and juice – and started booking it for the entrance. We considered taking the monorail but didn’t want to waste 15-20 minutes waiting for it to arrive. It was already 7:15 and we were late!! As we half walked, half ran through Downtown Disney, Loch kept wanting to stop. He wanted to look at a store window, throw a wish in the fountain, check out the car kiosk or buy a balloon. We kept saying things like, “no, we can’t, we gotta go, let’s hurry, come on”. At one point Sean put Loch on his shoulders and started running. As I was trying to keep up – my PH doesn’t jog – I saw it. Watching the back of my husband weaving in and out of people, my child bobbing on his shoulders still trying to point things out, I saw our mistake. 

Why were we rushing? Weren’t we here so our son could have a good time? Wasn’t whole point to be together as a family and enjoy the magic of the park? Were we even doing that? Currently, my family was 50 feet ahead of me, my son wanted to see things he couldn’t because we had a preconceived notion of what he’d enjoy more, and we were on our way to the park to run from ride to ride. We’d played this game a lot before Loch was born. Deciding our plan of attack for the next ride while “enjoying” the current one. Already onto the next thing. It made little sense then, but now that Loch was with us, that kind of behavior was ridiculous. I called out for Sean to stop. He did immediately, apologizing, thinking he was being insensitive to my physical limitations, but when I caught up I explained the real reason.

We had to change our attitude. Who cares if we didn’t get on all the rides? The goal was to enjoy the day together as a family. If Loch wanted to stop and look at something. We’d stop. If we were hungry, we’d eat. We’d have fun without trying to force ourselves to fit in “the most fun possible”. With that in mind, it turned into a great day. We did ride a couple things before the park opened, but we also stopped for a hour to do the character breakfast that Loch loves, enjoyed the riverboat that goes no where fast, and took the time to look at all the toys in all the stores. We just chilled, and were better off for it. When you’ve paid – or traveled – to go to a special place, there’s a tendency to try and pack in your fun, and packing is rarely a good time. We’re trying to remember that sometimes looking at the ducks can be just as rewarding as a big ride…and frankly, it comes with less of a wait.

city-data.com

This idea of slowing down, of enjoying where you are – instead of looking to the next thing or, in my case, thinking of the next thing – is something I have to keep reminding myself of and then reinforcing with my behavior. A couple weeks ago Sean was going to be away all weekend. He was shooting a trailer for a movie looking for financing on Saturday from 5:30am – 9pm and then working the next day at the Hockey Playoffs from 8:30am – 5:30pm. I knew the weekend was just going to be Loch and me and I wanted us to have a good time. I’ve been working a lot lately and have been missing our day to day routine, so I wanted to be sure he knew he had my undivided attention. I decided not to check my email/phone all day, to accept I wasn’t going to get anything “accomplished”, and to avoid multitasking altogether to just “be” with him. As a mom who’s also trying to work – I hesitate to call myself a ‘working mom’ since I don’t leave the house for my job, but point in fact that’s what I am – this is a hard thing to do. There’s always so many things that need my attention that dedicated one on one time with my child often takes a back seat. In my case, I spend so much time with Loch that I sometimes think that counts, but when I look closely, it’s really more quantity than quality. Sure we talk constantly and have great fun singing, dancing and telling stories, but it’s usually when I’m taking him to and from school/sports classes/lessons or dragging him around doing errands. By the time we get home and he wants to PLAY with me, I’m often too busy making dinner, returning emails, doing the laundry, cleaning the house and, if I was being completely honest I’d say, at that point I’m also craving some quiet time and don’t always have it in me to get down on the floor and play.

ridinginstructoru.com

That weekend, however, was different. I made the decision to give Loch all my time. It’s not always possible, but for these two days it was, and I was doing it. We went to his t-ball game Saturday morning where I coached and Loch did the best he’s ever done. He even seemed kind of into which was a real treat. We went grocery shopping to pick up all the fixings for a picnic, then took our lunch to Travel Town – an outdoor train museum in LA that Loch loves – to eat and climb and play out full adventures on all the trains. We took imaginary trips to multiple lands, watched the model trains puff through their tunnels, played with an adorable one year old we met, and talked about all the old cars and trucks they have on display. He didn’t even want to take the train ride around the park. He was just happy playing and hanging out with his mom without having to compete with her computer or phone.

When we got home we set up the kiddie pool and Slip n’ Slide and had a play date with a friend he hadn’t seen in forever. Loch and his friend (and her little brother) frolicked for two hours and we finished off  the visit with a trip to the ice cream store. Though I ate my dinner standing up in the kitchen that night, I was out playing with him right after. We played board games as we got ready for bed and finished the day snuggled up under his train sheets reading “Good Night Moon” (a book we haven’t’ read for years but reminds us both of when he was little). I read it twice.

What I noticed at the end of that day, other than it had been marvelous and both of us were happy, was that I was much less exhausted than I usually am. I was on a high. I write all the time about being here for my child, wanting to be with him and share his life, but even though I spend so much time with him, I’m often scattered while doing it. Having a day – and as it turned out, a weekend – Sunday found us strawberry picking on a farm – where I could commit all my time to him, where I could put everything else aside for a moment and just do what he wanted to do, where I made plans but followed his lead, was a real gift for both of us.

123rf.com

I know it’s impossible to do this every day but I’ve decided to try and implement the concept of dedicated time whenever I can. It’s so much easier to enjoy playing when you don’t feel you should be doing something else. So much easier to commit to young person energy when you aren’t dealing with old person productivity. Sure, as adults we need to accomplish things. We aren’t always available to play High Ho Cherry Oh for the 10th time, and quite frankly we don’t always want to. But as parents, heck as people, we have to realize that life is not all about work. It’s not all about getting to the finish line or getting on as many rides as possible from 7-8am. It’s about stopping to see the fountain or just being with the people we love in the moment. Sharing space. Being aware. Really listening. Those are the things that connect us, fulfill us. It’s that kind of time, when we’re slower and more conscious, that give us our greatest moments. It’s probably because in slowing down we become mindful enough to notice when significant things occur, and it’s those significant things that give us the strength to rejoin the race and accomplish our tasks. At the end of the day if you miss those moments, I think you’re missing the point.

And I hate missing the point.

Me and my boy. No rushing. Just fun.

Apr 30

18 Comments

Being Laid Back Stresses Me Out

For those of you who noticed, and thank you for noticing, I didn’t publish a post last week. In a very exciting turn of events I’ve been asked to put together a book proposal (!!) for this blog. Yay! It’s extremely exciting and truly what I hoped would happen and, as you can imagine, I’m hell bent on knocking it out of the park. With that in mind, I’ve decided to change my posting schedule to every other Monday while I finalize the proposal and, with any luck, write the book. I feel this way I can ensure that both mediums get the attention they deserve. Thank you for your interest. Please tell your friends, and subscribe if you’ve been enjoying it. Publishers love numbers and the more people I have reading, the better my chance at succeeding in the transition from on-line to on paper. Thanks a million!! Now onto the blog….

Last Saturday was Loch’s first ever t-ball game. He’s been taking t-ball every Tuesday for a month and this weekend was his first real game. Perhaps I should preface this by saying that Loch, though able to really crack a ball at our house, has yet to show any real aptitude for a particular sport, or to be completely fair, sports in general. Some boys I know are all over athletics. My nephew for one is like the mini-Shawn White of ball sports. You give that kid a ball and he astounds you. His abilities come naturally and he clearly loves it.

My amazing nephew kicking soccer's butt. How cool is this kid?

Loch's into being active for dancing and roll playing. Here's my little Indian Chief doing a kitchen boogie.

Loch on the other hand, God bless him, seems only mildly interested in physical activity at best. Now it could be an age thing or that he just hasn’t found his strength yet, but ever since he was a little dude – and all the kids would be climbing and running and jumping – he was happy to just hang out and chat and role play and do voices and songs. He would do activities if encouraged, but for the most part he was happy at a less physical level. However, at the recent parent teacher conference at his new preschool we were told – much to our ire and aniexty – that Loch was “fleshy”. We were like, huh??? Fleshy? The teacher tried to clarify her thought by going on to say he was “soft”. “Soft like fat???” No, apparently, soft like lack of muscle tone. Lack of muscle tone?? He just turned 4. How ripped is he supposed to be? She went on to say that he wasn’t catching balls or climbing as they’d like to see. She finalized her point by saying it was possible that Loch would never be a “fully physical person”. What now?! How the H do you know that? He’s flippin’ 4!  We don’t know what kind of person he’s going to turn into. Why label him with that kind of stigma now? How does that benefit him in any way?

Does this kid look "fleshy" to you?

We were pretty angry in the weeks following that meeting. Personally, I’m of the opinion that unless there’s a real and glaring problem with a child that the parents are A: unaware of or B: not properly managing, to make broad assessments/assumptions about what might be wrong with your child or who your child might be in the future, is an unnecessary and futile endeavor at this age and only serves to stress everyone out. There’s too much pressure these days for our kids to be brilliant, little geniuses in everything and too much strain on their caregivers to ensure they turn out that way. In the world of standardized testing it’s like we’ve forgotten that kids develop at their own pace and until there is something worth dealing with – a clear developmental delay or behavioral issue – it doesn’t help to constantly compare them to their peers or try to match them to their appropriate “benchmark”. Having a sense of where your child is can be important as far as helping them grow and learn, but inferring there’s a problem if they aren’t all meeting certain “requirements” at exactly the same time, seems to cause more harm than good. The same teacher told one of my friends her 3 year old “wasn’t at all academic” and another that her child “might have developmental delays” and the kid is clearly fine. The more parents I spoke with, the more I realized we’d all been told something negative. It was as if the teachers were lookingfor issues just to make sure they didn’t miss anything. These people see our children between 6-9 hours a week. 6-9 hours a week with 3 and 4 year olds and you think you can clearly assess their future potential? Parents are already alarmists. Why make it worse?

He's physical...if he's interested.

That being said, I’m having a hard time taking my own advice or getting that teacher’s words out of my head. Even after I cross referenced with his morning teacher – who’s had him for 2 full years, 12 hours a week – and she told me that she felt the assessment was unnecessary and premature and Loch was a wonderfully active and well adjusted child,  I still felt anxious. In my heart I knew he was fine, and quite frankly, probably just physically drained after being at another school all morning, but I still felt strained. No one wants to hear their child is lacking in any department. Plus, I’m aware that my child seems a little apathetic when it comes to physical things. Can he hit a ball? In our yard, sure. Yes. Well even. But also for about 10 minutes and then he’s bored. Does he run?  Totally. Not like those kids who never stop running, but when he does do it, he actually does it really well. Does he ride a bike? Yep. With skill and strength. But he’s really only interested if you walk beside him so he can chat with you the whole time. He’s never been a climber or a swinger, which was good for my nerves – I never found him on top of any furniture – but bad for my anxiety as I’d watch kids clambering over him as he lay like a wet noodle over a piece of equipment calling for help.

I realize it’s an “everyone in his own time”, “don’t worry”, “he’s going to be who he’s going to be” type of a thing, but I’m feeling the pressure, and trying to pretend I’m not only makes it worse.

Not bad right?!

So, his first t-ball game was this weekend. I’m not sure if he’s loving t-ball – the coach is harsh and shouldn’t be working with 3-5 year olds – but for the most part he’s excited, so we go. Frankly, we’d go even if he wasn’t excited as I’m trying to instill a non-quitter mentality, though I’m not completely sure I chose exactly the right place to teach this (see: Coach).  Anyway, up until last week we were working on skills – throwing, hitting, catching – and now we’re starting to play games. Loch’s a pretty good thrower (when he’s paying attention) and a pretty good hitter (when he’s not phoning it in). His catching is abysmal but so is everyone else’s so it seems on par. There are some kids (like my nephew) who are already good. They come with their big brothers and their own bats and seem to handle the skills like little pros. Whether it’s a product of working at home with their families or just natural dexterity, I’m not sure, but it must feel pretty amazing to be the parent of a child who is clearly excelling. It’s how I’ve always felt with Loch’s verbal and conversational skills but sports abilities happen in a more public forum and are more easily comparable, so it feels different somehow. We show up for opening day and find the kids we practice with have been split into 2 teams. 11 kids – including all the “ringers” – are the Angels, and Loch and two minuscule 3-year olds boys are the Cardinals. It was ridiculous. 3 kids to what would soon grow to 12, and hopelessly mismatched in the skills department. As I stood there smiling at my son I started to fester.

Lochie, front left, at the head of his team of 3.

Opening day started with all the teams from the league present. T-ball, Softball, Baseball. 3-16 year olds with our little guys looking cute and tiny compared to the big kids. We did a lot of nice things. Pledge of allegiance. National anthem. Speech about the importance of little league by an old major leaguer. It was lovely and totally Americana, but I was still preoccupied with the size of Loch’s team. By the time he ran up to run the bases in front of the cheering crowd and the announcer said, “Where’s the rest of your team?”  I was crawling out of my skin. Good question announcer guy. Where were they? Why were the teams so drastically uneven in both size and ability? Even if the rest of his team showed up before the game started, what kind of parents just skip the opening ceremony? Are they even going to care or help? Loch, who’s already not sure he wants to do this, is going to either A: be unable to play, or B: lose miserably and think the game isn’t fun. I found myself looking at Sean to express my anxiety and then looking at Loch and saying, “Isn’t this great? You’re going to have the best time!” I’d bitch to my mother, and then turn and smile and cheer my baby so he had no idea I was upset. It was exhausting.

My little man in the dugout of 3. He wasn't quite sure what to expect.

Right before we were scheduled to begin, 5 kids showed up. No uniforms. No gloves. One was sick. We waited for them to get changed and join Loch and the other Cardinals. Now keep in mind seeing that we’ve only worked on skills, most of these kids have no idea how to actually play the game. They hit the ball and the coach yells “Run!” and they run forwards after their ball. Why wouldn’t they? No one’s taught them any different. They get on first base and there’s another hit and they run randomly across the diamond. It’s chaos. I’m not going to lie, it’s kinda hard to watch. At the last practice I actually left the stands to join the assistant coaches (read: Dads) on the field because it was too distressing to watch these little people flailing around, not having a clue what’s going on. And before I come off like some freakish sport’s mom, I’d like to say that parents are encouraged to help, so I wasn’t out of my mind going out there. But there I am panting with my stupid lung disease, running the bases with the kids. Explaining where to go. Running after the ball that’s gone through 4 kid’s legs in a row and is now in the outfield. So, keeping that last “practice” in mind, and looking at Loch’s delapatated team, I was expecting this whole thing to be a disaster. Sean, in his infinite wisdom and optimism, told me to relax. He reminded me that it was just a t-ball game and the point was just to have fun. I smiled at him and then turned to my mom and said, “Relaxing gives me anxiety.” 

It's actually pretty funny when you think about it. It's like the blind leading the blind out there.

The game started with Loch’s team up to bat. He hit it and, having practiced at home, ran right to first base. Yay! Sean was was at the T helping the second kid, and when he hit it, he ran to first and Loch went to second. The third kid came up – one of the 3 girls on Loch’s team – and got a great hit so Loch was now on third. There was a little confusion when the second batter ran to the pitcher’s mound instead of second base but it was quickly sorted out and we moved on. As the fourth hitter ran to first and my son rounded for home all my anxiety lifted. Everything in his little body exuded joy. I could kill myself that I’d given my camera to my mom. As he crossed home plate, he turned around, jumped in the air and pumped his fist as high as he could. Looking at him you would have thought he’d won the World Series. He was so thrilled. And in that moment I realized he didn’t care that he had limited skills, or a rag tag team, or even that he didn’t really understand the game. He was just having fun. Learning about teamwork and sports and being outside and working with others. He was happy, and wasn’t that why I signed him up in the first place? Whether he grows up to be sporty or not, isn’t the point for my child to have fun?

How happy is this face?!

As a parent it’s easy to forget that stuff. Even after my epiphany at the ball game, I found myself frustrated later that afternoon when Loch went to a birthday party that included swimming. Knowing I couldn’t take him in the water myself – a trauma for his ex-lifeguard mama who now gets too tired – I took along his speedo swim jacket to ensure his safety. It’s not a life jacket per say but a floatation device that, should you be paddling and kicking, will keep you above the water. He was dying to swim, but as soon as he was in the pool he was clutching at the wall and crying for help. He’s taken lessons on and off since he was 1, and for the past 5 months he’s been in lessons every single week. I’ve seen him swim clear across a pool unassisted more times that I can count. But here he is on the edge of the pool – wearing a floaty – totally panicked and crying. Now, if I truly believed he was scared to his core – the way he is of dogs – I’d feel differently. But I could tell that this was more a matter of getting attention and a lack of focus. He’s got a bit of a focus problem. He’s so interested in the world that he tends to get distracted when he’s not totally engaged. His skiing instructor told us he was “a gifted and natural skier when he wanted to be”  but when he was distracted he lost all apparent skill.

I LOVED this weekend. He was so keen and interested. It was great to watch!

This is what I was witnessing in the pool. I talked to him at the edge, and when he finally accepted that his vest would keep him up, he started having fun. It was lovely to see him kicking and paddling around the pool. To watch him interacting with his pals in the water and really enjoying the day, but there was a part of me that had to keep reminding myself not to feel disappointed he was in the vest, not keeping up with his friends swimming on their own. I know he’ll eventually learn and that it’s important he’s happy and confident in the water first, but it’s so hard not to want to speed things along. Mentally I know pushing him won’t help, frankly it’ll probably just hinder, but the voice inside my head is screaming “I was swimming at 4. Why isn’t he? What am I doing wrong?!”

Being laid back and relaxed is not my natural state. My resting anxiety level floats somewhere between aware and amped. I can enjoy a beach vacation and I’m happy to chill and read a book but my way of interacting with the world rests more in a state of alertness. I’m quite quick to get peeved. I have little patience for mismanaged situations (the team dichotomies) or dense people (people who screw up their jobs due to lack of effort or brain power), and as someone who’s always worked hard to see results, being a parent is an interesting challenge in learning not to push my child to be where I’d like him to be, but accept – within reason – where he is without pressure.

My face kind of says it all.

I realize that people like me are often tough to be around. We get riled up and need to “fix” situations, or learn to accept them, and that can be difficult for us. I see the strain my anxiety puts on my husband and I truly make an effort to tamp it down. The thing is, as much as I’d like to let more things roll off my back – and parenthood has really required me to embrace this – I would never want to be a “relaxed” person. The world can’t be all chilled out, don’t worry, hakuna matata type people. Nothing would ever get done. I’m not saying I couldn’t use a lifetime supply of chill pills. I’m just saying I wouldn’t want to be on them all the time. Stress can be either an instigator to accomplishment or it can weigh you down. For the most part I’m the former.

There’s an old saying, if you want something done, give it to a busy person. I believe that. But what you have to keep in mind is highly functioning people also tend to be a little wired. It’s a trade off.

Is there a happy medium? Probably. Do I wish I had it? I guess. But, I’m used to being like this, and I only feel bad about it when I’m compared to more laid back people. Who would there be to say the things you’re too embarrassed to say, or handle the situation you wish was different but didn’t want to make waves, without my kind of person? Who would  send back your uncooked fish or get your drink order corrected? Who would make sure all the kids got a turn, or get you a second opinion at the hospital where the doctor on call appears to be half asleep and making bad decisions? It’s people like me that do that. The stressed out, high strung, tightly wound people. We’re the people who say no to the terrible hotel room. Someone will take that room, and they’ll pay the same amount as the people not looking at the the air conditioning ducts, but that person won’t be me, and if you hang out with me, it won’t be you either. In the grand scheme of things does my son’s team really matter? No. But I’ve paid and signed up for the full experience and if it isn’t that, you can take your “no big deal/hang loose/who cares” mentality back to Hawaii or Coachella because I’m not buying.

If that game on Saturday had turned out differently and Loch’s team had gotten clobbered been unable to play, my strain would have impelled me to speak and I believe ultimately everyone would’ve been better for it. But as it was, everything turned out just fine and I could, in all honesty, relax and enjoy.

I just have to hope that’s good enough.

Because it’s the best that I can do.

Go Cardinals!

Mar 12

27 Comments

Some Days are Better than Others

On days like this I’m reminded of the old U2 song “Some Days Are Better Than Others”.

Everyone has bad days. Days you feel you should just go back to bed because karma’s just not on your side. I’ve had days like that in spades. One day last year I swear that Loch single handedly destroyed my house in the first hour he was awake. He tripped and threw juice all over the room. He wildly danced/kicked the tinker toy sculpture I’d made – to encourage him to play with something other than cars – shattering most of the pieces. He’d pulled the towel rack off the wall and dropped his strawberries all over the carpet I’d just finished cleaning, all with Caillou’s exceptionally irritating voice whining in the background. I was beside myself. You look around as if to say “Is anyone seeing this but me?” realizing that this isn’t an episode of punked, but your life, and it’s on you to just suck it up and clean the carpet again. Another day I woke up to find my car broken into and my XM radio stolen. Less than a half an hour later the CD player in my car – which I’m now using- breaks and eats my CD, and when I try to get the CD out – to stop the hideous crunching noises – I rip my pants. Those days are annoying. Those days make you groan. But today’s different.* Today’s a sick day. And the problem is, when I don’t feel well I get discouraged, and then my symptoms are exacerbated by my melancholy. I don’t want to interact with people. I don’t want to snap out of it or be positive, I just want to watch TV.

balleralert.com

When I was first diagnosed I watched a lot of TV. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to deal. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. I’m still like that a bit. I don’t do support groups. I don’t often try to reach out and connect with others who have my disease. Sometimes, when I do talk to people who are sick, I see a kindred spirit and I know I’m not alone. But, for the most part, I want nothing to do with sickness – my own or others. I want to be around healthy people. It helps me pretend I’m healthy. And for the most part, I find that works for me. There are also some times that my being sick can be helpful to others, and for that I feel grateful. My dear friend Shannon was diagnosed with Breast Cancer last year. She fought with grace and beauty and took all it threw at her – from chemo, to the port in her chest, to the loss of her hair and toenails – with her head high and her two little boys smiling the whole time. She was magnificent. So much so that Sunnybrooke Hospital in Toronto asked her to be the “face” of the disease. She was everything you’d hope to be in that situation. Strong, confident, positive and, even bald, gorgeous. That being said, it was also incredibly hard on her, and we spoke a lot as I was one of the only people that could truly understand staring your own death in the face and saying, “No. Not today. Not me.”

My darling friend Shannon. The most beautiful cancer patient ever. All strength that girl.

One thing we really bonded over was that we weren’t brave. People always tell you how brave you are but really, what’s the alternative? Lying down on the floor and giving up? It’s not brave. It’s just living. Putting one foot in front of the other and continuing to live.** It’s scary and infuriating. It makes you so mad at the unfairness of it all. Why you? Why this? Shannon, like myself, had lead a pretty squeaky clean life. We liked our cocktails, but other than that we were super healthy, non-smoking, gym-going, drug-free ladies in our early 30’s. How were we the one’s getting sick? When I was first diagnosed they asked me a bunch of questions. Did I smoke? No. Did I use diet drugs? Never. Did I do cocaine? I’m one of the only people I know that never tried it. Of that last one I’m very glad. If I had, I’d always be wondering if I gave this disease to myself. If I was to blame. But I’m not. No more than Shannon was to blame for her Cancer.

I was glad I could be a sounding board for my friend who was battling similar demons. Someone she could talk to when she was feeling like “What the *&%$?”. And in some ways, I envied her. I envied that she had a course of action to follow to potentially rid her body of her sickness. She fought that disease with all she had and she’s come out the other side cancer free. Thank God. I know it could come back, but for now, she’s just Shannon again. Probably even a better version. A wiser, more aware soul. I wouldn’t wish that kind of clarity on anyone, but I know it’s the one good thing about getting sick. Your perspective shifts and you can never go back.

There is no other side to come out of with PH yet, and on days like this, I feel so sad. I just finally admitted to myself that I should be using oxygen therapy at night. To be honest, I should probably be using it all the time, but I can’t get my head around having those tubes on my face on a daily basis. I know people do it every day, and I’m sure they hate it too, but I’m not ready. I want to stay looking well, even if I’m not necessarily feeling that way, for as long as I can. I should have probably started oxygen therapy over a year ago. I sleep poorly. I often wake up with headaches. I’m exhausted. It’s like I’m hung over all the time, and I’ve finally admitted I could be doing serious damage to my organs forcing them to function this way. I know it’s vain. I know it’s shallow. But I also know myself, and I can foresee how this kind of change will affect my personality and self perception, and it’s not good. I don’t want people to see a sick person when they see me. I don’t want to have to see a sick person myself when I look in the mirror.

nhlbi.nih.gov

So much of my positive attitude stems from not appearing to be ill. From keeping me “me” at least in pretense. I know looks aren’t everything but, like it or not, the world is kinder to attractive people and I’m not yet willing to give that up. I’m still young. I’m still active. I know myself enough that, should I have to wear a tube on my face all day, it’ll change the way I interact with the world. It will change who I am. The people in the ads for these portable oxygen tanks are all in their 70’s. I’m in my 30’s. I’m outgoing and funny and positive and I can’t guarantee that those things won’t disappear under a blanket of shame if the first thing people see when they look at me is sickness. I don’t want Loch to be embarrassed of me in front of his friends. Parents are embarrassing enough. I want to be cool for him. I want him to be proud of me. I don’t want to walk the red carpet with my handsome husband and a tube on my face. I don’t want people to pretend I’m not there because it’s easier than dealing with what’s going on. Look, I’m not going to lie. I’ve had a lovely life as a pretty girl. And I know that pretty girls discover one day that they are no longer the beauties they once were and it’s an adjustment. I met a sweet older lady in the post office once who complimented me on my hair. She told me she used to have beautiful hair and when she was young she was quite the knockout. She told me that getting old is tough. That when people are rude or dismissive of her, she often thinks, “You wouldn’t have talked to me like that when I was young and beautiful”, and she’s right. People who complain about men making cat calls should consider what’s worse, the cat calls or the day they stop. That’s age. That’s life. With any luck you hope to take care of yourself and your body enough to grow into an attractive older person. People might not look at you the same way, or be as nice as they once were, but you can still be considered viable. Interesting. Sexy. Adding a tube to my face completely removes that possibility right now, and I’m just not ready for that.

A really nice girl wrote me to tell me her sister had died of PH 9 years ago, and though she had “no helpful advice per say”, she just wanted to let me know that her sister had also decided not to give up. To fight. To not let it take her. She wrote me to say it sounded like I had a similar attitude. It was such a nice letter, but the thing that stuck with me was that her sister had died. I hate hearing that. It’s so discouraging. I realize my disease is progressive. That you can be going along just fine, then you take a downturn, and it can be all over. It’s hard to see this oxygen therapy thing as anything other than a downturn. My lovely doctor told me that it’s no different than last year. That I could, and probably should, have started it then, so this is a positive step. It just doesn’t feel like one to me. My mind, sadly, tends to gravitate towards the negative. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is. Sean recently forbid me to read the PHA Newsletter. He told me he’d read it for me and give me any pertinent information, but I wasn’t to read it myself.

Pathlight Magazine Image from the PHA website

The problem was, every time I read it I found some article about a young woman like me had just died. Last year the daughter of the President of the entire PH Association died. She was 21. I thought, if the President’s daughter can’t make it, where does that leave me? The most recent issue had a little article written by a girl my age with PH. It was a testament to her husband, her primary caregiver. She talked about how much she appreciated him, and how he’d stepped up to really help with their brand new baby and how she couldn’t do it without him. I totally connected with her. I feel that way about Sean. A lot falls on him and he takes such excellent care of me. Especially since my parents live in Toronto, and his in Oregon, we really only have each other to lean on and it can be tough. It’s a lot of pressure to live with a baby and a sickness, and I felt this woman was writing about the same sort of life. I understood and appreciated her. Then, when I got to the end of the article, it said, “As we went to print, [this woman, this mom with nice husband and new baby] lost her battle with  PH.” WTF????!!!!!! The woman I’ve just connected to is dead? How am I supposed to be positive when I read stuff like that?

Throw that together with a day where my breathing is off, or I find out I have to wear oxygen, or I have to ask a grocery store clerk to lift Loch out of the shopping cart because I just can’t do it, and I’m a wreck.

Look, I don’t want, or plan, to die from this disease, but the reality is I can, and sometimes that’s all I can see. Some days are better than others. I just wish my problems were about juice on my carpet and broken CD players. In hindsight, those would be good days.

* I wrote this last week. Today, as you would have it, I feel fine. That’s the thing about this disease, ups and downs.

**As a side note: Another thing other sick people and I strongly agree on, is when you find out that someone you know is sick, not flu sick but might die sick, DON’T SEND FLOWERS. It’s such a nice thing to do, but when I was first diagnosed, my house had so many flowers in it, it was like I was at my own funeral. I hated it. Plus, flowers are pretty and then they die. It’s just not something you want to be reminded of if you’re dealing with your own mortality. Send a magazine subscription or nice lip gloss or a massage gift certificate. Send something fun that might perk them up. Leave flowers for hostess gifts, love, and the birth of babies.

Feb 20

23 Comments

President’s Day

My plan was to post about Boundries today, but yesterday was my baby’s 4th Birthday and today is President’s Day and it’s got me to thinking, so I’ve bumped my prepared post for this, my train of thought on politics in America.

When I married Sean I remember being struck with the idea that if we had a child, that child could grow up to be President of the United States. Growing up as a Canadian, that was a trip to me. I’m sure other countries would have cause for debate, but with the power that the United States has wielded for so long as the “leader” of the free world, you could argue that being the President of the United States is, perhaps, THE most important job in the world.

The thing is, where we stand now, it’s a job I wouldn’t want my son to touch with a 50 foot pole. Loch is currently on the “I want to be a policeman” kick, and as much as I hate the idea of him strapping on a gun and doing the honorable, yet hideously dangerous and underpaid, work of a law enforcement officer, I think I’d prefer it to President of the United States. What does that say about our country?

I’m currently awaiting my interview for American citizenship. I’ve been living in the US for 13 years and am only now truly eligible for a passport. I did the work visas. I did the temporary green card after my marriage. I got my permanent green card after Sean and I had been married for 2 years and could prove our marriage wasn’t in fact a scam,and now, after thousands of dollars in legal and processing fees and countless hours of preparing and gathering the right documents and information, I’m finally writing my citizenship test and having my interview in March. I don’t need to do it. I can legally and happily live on my green card indefinitely. The thing is, I want to do it. I love this country. I want to be a part of it. I want to be the same citizenship as my family. But mostly, I want to vote. I want to be part of the democratic discussion. I want to count.

My problem is, will I?

I’ve lived in the country for the past 3 elections, Bush, Bush and Obama, and I’ve become increasingly disillusioned with both the electoral college voting system and American politics in general. From an outside perspective the whole process seems innately flawed. Ignoring idiocies like the “hanging chad” fiasco of the first George W election, I find it perplexing that the person who wins the popular vote (i.e. more people want him/her as President) can lose the general election. The way the states are played against each other, some being worth more than others is, in itself, undemocratic. The way you have to win some particular state to  win the election is, not only confusing, but somehow unfair. I’m sure Republicans in ‘Blue States’ are fed up with feeling like they don’t count, just as Democrats in ‘Red States’ must feel uninspired to get themselves out to a voting booth. It’s kinda like, what’s the point?

Coming from Canada, I used to think America’s 2 party system made it easier to decide. Less dissemination of votes, made for a clearer cut winner. You don’t end up with a leader, as you can in Canada, who only received 30% of the vote. But now that I’ve lived state side for over a decade, I see that, in someways, this isn’t a great system either. There’s no room for middle ground save candidates themselves that are either left leaning conservatives, or fiscally conservative liberals. America’s become, even more so lately, a ‘my way or the highway’ way of  “representing” the people. The parties are so at odds with each other that, again from an outsider perspective, very little is able to be accomplished. If you hold the Presidency and Senate or House, you can, in many ways, bully your policies through with little, to no, viable opposition. If you hold the Presidency but not the majority in the House or Senate, then you’re a lame duck, unable to do anything but watch your potential policies get debated to death and torn to shreds. This isn’t what’s best for the American public. We aren’t thriving under this system. If anything, we’re in the worst position we’ve ever been in both domestically and globally.

I tell Loch, you have to be flexible, you can’t always get your way, let’s make a deal. Politicians could learn a bit from my preschooler in the ways of listening and compromising. It’s like the leaders of America need a mom to come in and say “Enough! Work this s*#@ out!”  The way the government is running now, it’s as if, politicians are disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing. Republicans actively and vocally loathe the Obamacare Health Plan, yet there is no other developed country in the world without some form standardized and subsidized health care for all. People dying because they can’t afford health care shouldn’t happen in a country like this, but nor should the few be responsible for the many. In Canada, you don’t worry about getting hurt or sick because you can’t afford it, you worry because it’s awful to get hurt or sick. Yes, Canadian’s pay a lot of taxes but frankly, we pay a lot of taxes here too. The only people that seem to be getting major tax breaks are the very, very rich and the very, very poor, and like I said in my post School: A Diatribe, where does that leave the middle? We need some compromise. We need our representatives working together.

I would skew liberal in today’s politics. Since there is no middle ground, I’d be considered a Democrat. But, I also don’t believe you should have to give away all your hard earned money to the government. I don’t think we need as big a governing body as we have. I think things (and money) easily get lost when there’s too many cooks in the kitchen. I’d like to see less elected officials getting more things done.  I’m pro-a-woman’s-right-to-choose and pro-gay marriage. I’m pro-military AND pro-repealing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. I’m against an open door policy for all illegal immigrants but I’m pro-immigration. I don’t think people should be asked for their papers on the streets like we live in Nazi Germany, but I do believe they should have papers. As an immigrant myself, I’ve had to go through infinite proper channels and jump thorough hundreds of government hoops to work and live in this country. It’s upsetting to me that I can no longer comfortably send my child to the local public school because of overcrowding, underfunding and the fact that over 68% are non-english speaking students. It’s upsetting to me that the statistics say that by 2035 the most spoken language in America will be Spanish. I’m all for learning another language. Canada itself is bilingual. But what other county in the world has had their primary language changed due to their immigration? If I chose to live in Italy, I better learn to speak Italian. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a moderate amount of assimilation.

The bottom line is, I come down right in the middle of American politics and I think what we need is to be flexible and work together. Human rights should be non-negotiable. Fiscal, medical, environmental and immigration policies should be up for debate. Compromises must be made.

I said I wouldn’t want my son to be President, and the way things stand right now, I mean it. Look at Obama. Had I been able to vote in 2008, I would have voted for him. I, like many of my generation, wanted to believe in change. I wanted to believe in hope. I wanted to see a new kind of government. One of transparency and working together, where the will of the people dictates policy and the country is not run by a few back room boys wheeling and dealing in Washington. I wanted more FDR ‘The New Deal’ and less wars for oil. I wanted to feel safer from terrorist attacks not like we were asking for it by acting more and more like the gross infidel we’re made out to be. I wanted to see new jobs and less dependence on foreign debt buyers. I wanted to believe in “Yes We Can”. Has Obama delivered on that hope? No, probably not. Does he deserve another 4 years do try and do so? Yes, he definitely does. And not just because the potential Rebulican Presidential candidates range from rich, bland, nothings to appalling, bigoted freak shows, but because Obama has had about the worst 4 years ever to be President. He inherited 2 unpaid for, unpopular wars, the worst fiscal crisis since the Great Depression, near a collapse of the housing and job market and the oil spill in the Gulf, all the while being barraged with inane questions about his birth certificate. When I drive around town and see bumper stickers that say ‘Worst President Ever’, with the O of worst begin the Obama symbol I think, really?! Really?! He ended the Iraq war. Killed Osama Bin Laden. Took out over 30 top Al-Queda leaders. Helped topple Qaddafi’s reign of terror. Closed Guantanamo. Put regulations in place so we can’t be F-ed by wall street and the banks again, and helped avoid total catastrophic financial fallout set up by a number of monumentally, greedy and self serving politicians and bankers. And people HATE him? Hate him? I literally don’t get it.

We shouldn’t hate our President. I can tell you I was not a Bush fan, and I didn’t think he was up for the job of President, but since he was President, I felt he deserved my respect and, at the very least, my grudging support. I didn’t agree with his policies but  I believed in the democratic system to work through the issues. But to loathe him with the hatred usually reserved for murders? No. Totally disrespectful and inappropriate. It used to be that a few crazies or zealots might want to kill you if you were President. Now, it’s like half the country. To hate just because. To disagree for the sake of disagreeing. To work against because you simply refuse to work with. These aren’t qualities that made America great and they aren’t qualities that will make America better.

I’m nervous for America’s future. I love it here. It’s the land of opportunity. The land of free and the home of the brave. A country based on the ‘Can Do’ attitude of a frontier people carving their own path. But we didn’t make this country great by working alone. By looking out only for ourselves. Leading this country now is a lesson in negotiating. Negotiating a coming together. The Right has to stop shutting the Left down. The Left has to stop negating the Right.

As the quote goes: In War, is it whose Right or who’s left? This country is at war against itself. As we look back at the Presidents, leaders and history that came before, we have to collaborate to move forward. To become a country, American’s came together. To save our country we’ll have to do it again.

Otherwise we’re looking at a civil war of undereducated citizens in a country owned by China.

Why would I want my son to be a leader of that?

Feb 6

71 Comments

Reality versus Positivity

Recently I’ve been getting some emails and responses to the blog that have perturbed me. The basic gist of the feedback – some trying to be helpful, others to be critical – is that by writing this blog I am, in some way, propagating my own demise. That I shouldn’t be giving weight to the fact that I might not be here, but should, in fact, be creating a mantra that leaves no room for any other result but my continued life. It’s the “what the mind dwells upon, the body acts upon” idea.* One person suggested I should write from the perspective of myself at 97. As if I’ve lived a full life and am looking back and reflecting on all the good that happened. Though I think this is an interesting exercise – along the same lines as writing your own obituary in order to reveal what kind of life you’d like to lead or what kind of person you want to be remembered as – it isn’t what I’m doing here. I have not lived a full life. I am not looking back. I am looking forward and can only speak the truth as I know it now, from the perspective of the person I am today. I’m looking to give Lochlan advice on who I want him to be, not muse upon who he has become. Who he’ll be is still a mystery. An exciting mystery and one that I have no interest in speeding along or guessing the outcome of. All I’m hoping is to give him guidance on how to stay grounded, safe and happy on his journey, whether I’m around or not. You don’t have to be sick to worry that you won’t be able to tell or teach your children all you want. I could die tomorrow in a car accident (God forbid) or in 60 years in my bed. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to leave a legacy for my child. Nor do I think it makes me negative.

One woman recently wrote to “reframe my language”. She claimed that people like me get too “attached” to our “labels and stories” and if I wanted to be around for a long time I had to stop using the “sick” and “in case I won’t be here” language. She told me to “live my life from the perspective that things are wonderful, perfect, healthy and happy” and I would be “amazed at what could happen.” Now, after I cried at the criticism – because no matter how positive I feel on most days, I am very sensitive to someone suggesting that I am, in any way, making myself more sick – I got angry. I am a huge believer in the power of positive thinking. I’ve seen The Secret. I’ve done my mantras in the mirror – “I get better and better every day” – and after the mourning period of my diagnosis I brushed myself off and got on with my life. But there’s a big difference between being positive and being in denial. Everything isn’t wonderful and perfect. I’m not perfectly healthy no matter how happy I am, and to suggest that I just have to reframe my thoughts to see the magic happen, is not only naive but slightly insulting.

When Sean and I were first married we got a call about life insurance. Our insurance company suggested that now that we were married we should think seriously about our futures. At the time I couldn’t deal with it. I just got married. I had my whole life ahead of me. Why would I want to sit down and talk about my death.

When Sean turned 30 they called again so he could “lock” in the 20-year-old rate. We just figured it was all about making a buck and frankly, we still weren’t ready to think about it. Hindsight being 20/20, I should have done it before I got married. Now that I have PH I don’t qualify for life insurance. I’m too big a risk. Right after my diagnosis Sean and Loch signed up immediately – the concept of death was now part of our reality, so preparing for it didn’t seem so weird – and I’d advise anyone who asked, to get on it as soon as possible. It’s not depressing to get your affairs in order. It’s responsible. Having life insurance, or a living will, isn’t tempting fate, it’s accepting the inevitable and handling it in a mature way.

What I should have done with my life insurance I’m doing with these letters. The reality of my situation might have prompted the initial step, but at this point it’s less about writing the letters in case I’m gone, and more about writing the letters themselves. They make me happy. They make me feel productive. In doing something proactive for my child, I feel more alive and connected to the world as a whole. To the people who think I make myself weaker – accepting and referring to my reality – I humbly disagree. If anything I’m stronger because I’m less afraid.

I believe in the power of the human mind. In the strength of a positive outlook. In making your own destiny by framing your own reality. But I also believe in Reality. In Truth. In Fact.

The fact is, I’m sick.

The reality is, we don’t know how long I’ve got.

The truth is, no one does.

I’m doing the best with what I’ve been given. As I say in the intro to my blog: I’m just playing the cards I’ve been dealt and still trying to win. Pretending reality is different doesn’t make it so, but having faith and taking steps to ensure the best possible outcome certainly helps.

Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised.**

It doesn’t hurt to plan ahead. It wasn’t raining when Noah built the arc.***

Thanks for reading.

xo leigh

*Denis Waitley  – motivational speaker

** Denis Waitley  – motivational speaker

*** Anonymous

Jan 9

288 Comments

Death of Anticipation

The Christmas season is over and as I reflect back I see that for all it’s rushing and busyness, there is something to be said for a time of year that forces us to wait for something. Christmas Day is the one day of the year that still has the build of anticipation. That giddy feeling that something you really want is coming. That the promise of what’s ahead is so exciting you can barely sleep. It’s a special feeling, and one we are sorely lacking in today’s highly technological and immediate world.

Years ago I read an article in Cookie Magazine about the Death of Anticipation and it stuck with me. Our modern world leaves less and less room for expectation and excitement and in many ways I think that’s a shame. I’ll take you through the top points heralded in Cookie to better illustrate what I mean:

In 1969 Nathaniel Branden wrote The Psychology of Self Esteem which established a link between healthy self esteem and future success. Though I believe this to be true, that a healthy sense of self worth is essential to future success, I believe we might have gone a bit too far. Every child is important and every effort is worthy of praise but we’ve found ourselves in a world where every child gets a medal. Where simply showing up is considered success. A world where children aren’t to be singled out for bad OR good behavior. Loch got his first medal at his pre-school annual Thanksgiving fundraiser. It’s called the Turkey Trot. The kids run as many laps as they can around the school and then everyone gets a certificate printed with their name and number of laps and a medal. I thought this was terrific. He was proud. I was proud.  The kids are all included. Whether you did 50 laps or 5, no one is left out. But they’re in preschool. The oldest kid is 5. I think the problem stems from extending this mentality straight through high school. Why should anyone get excited about winning a race when the people who just put on their shoes get as much fanfare. In 1996 Dr. Jean M. Twenge published a fascinating book called Generation Me. Generation Me is defined as anyone born in the 1970’s, 80’s and 90’s. Though being born in the mid 70’s myself, I’d say I see this phenomenon more in the 80’s and 90’s babies, but for the purpose of the example you can lump us 1970’s kids in there. The Me Generation is the generation that take it for granted that self comes first. We’re also known as the Entitlement Generation. “Generation Me has never known a world that put duty before self, and believes that the needs of the individual should come first. This is not the same thing as being selfish – it is captured, instead, in the phrases we so often hear: “Be yourself,” “Believe in yourself,” “Love yourself before you can love someone else.”* These have become some of our most deeply entrenched beliefs.

“We live in a time when high self-esteem is encouraged from childhood, when young people have more freedom and independence than ever, but also far more depression, anxiety, cynicism, and loneliness. Today’s young people have been raised to aim for the stars at a time when it is more difficult than ever to get into college, find a good job, and afford a house. Our expectations are very high just as the world is becoming more competitive, so there’s a huge clash between expectations and reality. More than any other generation in history, the children of Baby Boomers are disappointed by what they find when they arrive at adulthood.” ** The question becomes are we raising our children, and have we ourselves been raised with, unrealistic hopes, undisciplined self-assertion, and endless, baseless self-congratulation.*** You find examples of this in the school system every day. In Canada you can no longer fail a student. Grade inflation is a big gaff of the United States that runs right into college, and “independent spelling” and self grading has become way more accepted than it should. According to Twenge 30% of students polled believed they should pass a class simply because they showed up. If everything we do is fabulous and worthy then how do we adjust when everything doesn’t go our way?

If just being there earns us a medal, it creates a disconnect in our brain regarding what we are worth and what we deserve with very little effort on our parts. In a world where reality stars make more money than doctors what are we teaching our children? It’s the Teen Mom / Kardashian empire phenomenon. I was recently talking to a 17 year old who was graduating from High School and when I asked her what she wanted to do she said she wanted to be a reality star or, tongue and cheek, a trophy wife. It was depressing. She wasn’t really joking. But why shouldn’t she want that? Lack of talent and shame is now a calling card in our society. It’s as if we’ve been told we’re so great for so long that we buy our own press. Why wouldn’t everyone want to know what I’m eating for dinner? Tweet. Why should I start at the bottom of this company? I’m really smart and special. Quit. Why should I work for a company in the first place? I’ll just start my own business. Fail. It’s tough. Upbringing and celebrity culture are at a real cross roads with reality. Dr. Mel Levine, a pediatrics professor at the University of North Carolina Medical School and author of a book called Ready or Not, Here Life Comes, says  “We’re seeing an epidemic of people who are having a hard time making the transition to work — kids who had too much success early in life and who’ve become accustomed to instant gratification” .

I’m all for going out on your own. For entrepreneurial endeavors. For thinking outside the box. Some say it’ll be the new generation of “Me thinkers” that get America on it’s feet again. They’re referred to as “productive narcissists”. Michael Maccoby, author of Narcissitic Leaders: Who Succeeds and Who Fails, argues “that businesses that rely on innovation, new technology, and globalization require far bolder leaders who can take risks, shrug off conventional wisdom, project confidence, formulate hyper-ambitious plans, and charm the pants off investors and underlings alike, so that they, too, will make a leap of faith and believe in the next cold-fusion-powered car or the iPod that pays your bills and runs your household.” It is just my opinion that self esteem can be healthy without being over blown, and that once you get past preschool the best project, runner, swimmer, etc. should be the one who goes home with the ribbon. Why would anyone ever practice, strive or work to uncover their talents if they’re taught that everything they already do is amazing and worthy of praise? Who are these people auditioning for American Idol who can’t sing? Or So You Think You Can Dance who can’t dance? Why are their families there with signs that say they’re the best. Why can’t we believe in our children without blowing smoke up their a*%es. Why can’t we love them and support them within the frame of reality? Egos become very fragile when they aren’t based in truth.

It’s hard to anticipate your future successes if you think by simply existing you will succeed. The only people that works for is trust fund babies and supermodels.

But, I digress. Other things we have ceased to anticipate….

In the 1980’s strawberries became available all year round. This might seem simplistic and not worth mentioning but I think it’s indicative of a culture that has placed value more on quantity over quality. Have

peneloperow.blogspot.com

you seen strawberries lately? They used to be my favorite fruit. Juicy, sweet, red all the way through and the size of a quarter. Now, you bite into one and it’s almost always white, flavorless and more often than not, the size of a plum. Strawberries were not meant to get that big. We were supposed to eat apples in the fall and strawberries in the spring and summer. To this day I think there is nothing more delicious than a Ontario grown summer peach. But I don’t want one in the middle of February. Just like I don’t want Turkey in May. I’ll wait for Thanksgiving or Christmas. In our efforts to give everyone what they want when they want it, we’ve sacrificed the very thing we desire. It’s the waiting that makes it special.

In 1987 the sonogram was perfected to let us know the sex of our baby with almost 100% certainty and without a great aunt twirling a spoon over our belly. Now, I would be a hypocrite to critize this technology as I found out what we were having before Loch was born.Though I was happy to know I’ll readily admit it does take the surprise out of it. Personally, it was a surprise I didn’t want. Not so much so we could do the baby room in the right color or get appropriate non-gender neutral baby gifts, but more because I was favoring a girl and I didn’t want to have even one moment of confusion or disappointment in the delivery room. I wanted to be happy and adjusted and feel nothing but joy. And that was the right choice for me. As I’ve said before, it took me about a month to get over pig tails and party dresses and the fact that most children’s stores are 3/4 girl stuff, till I was psyched to have a boy. When Loch came out, I was thrilled to see him. However, I think it’d be fair to say that the sonogram and it’s subsequent technology has also lead to scheduled C-sections (of which many of my friends are big proponents of), early inductions pre-delivery date to avoid those last pounds, and official birth plans that rarely go as expected and more often than not cause mothers endless extra hours of grief as they try and keep on point. Sometimes you just have to let things unfold as they will.

mmncs.com

The 1990’s were probably the biggest blow to the concept of delayed gratification. We saw the birth of the internet, the creation of caller ID, answering machines or services in almost every home and the creation of digital cameras. No more waiting all day for your song to come on the radio. Or for your pictures to be developed. No more trying to time a call just right to make sure someone was home. You can avoid people you don’t want to speak to with caller ID but our kids will never know the joy of hoping that that ring is for you. “Please let it be Jeff. Pleeease let it be Jeff. ” There is an entire generation of kids that don’t realize that you didn’t use to be able to look at a picture right after you took it and quite frankly, it’s just made us all more vain. “Ugh, I look terrible. Delete it. Take it again.”

We don’t get telegrams. We don’t wait for letters. We have email and voice mail and text messaging. Everything is right away. Every new step is faster than the next.

You no longer have to wait for your show to come on TV as you can watch it at your leisure on whatever DVR device you happen to be using now. Personally I often miss the television season altogether and watch the episodes back to back on Netflix or On Demand later. You don’t have to hope that Blockbuster isn’t out of the movie you want, because they’re all available on streaming services in your mailbox, on line or on your TV.

I can remember as a child waiting all week for The Wonderful World of Disney to come on on Sunday nights. It was so exciting to hear those first few cords of When You Wish Upon A Star knowing I had one whole hour of television just for me. Loch has been watching kids shows on demand since he was a baby. He’ll never know the joy of that suspense. And, not that it matters like it used to with all of today’s viewing choices, but 1994 also saw the Olympics switched to an alternating schedule. Instead of waiting 4 years between Olympics we now wait 2 and really are only one trial away from the next one. The Olympics used to be an event. Capital E. It was the only time we ever brought a TV to the cottage. Now you watch the opening ceremonies and TiVo the rest. I’m still glued to it, but will the next generation be? The more available something is the less exciting. Or maybe, we have so much now, very little even registers as exciting at all…

Kids still await summer but with the talk of year round school really becoming a reality – LAUSD is starting mid August now – what summer will they really be awaiting? And, to be a real downer – if you look at the environmental shifts, the Greenhouse effect is making our earth warmer and warmer every year. Without a real change we could be looking at a future of summer all year round. Let’s try to avoid that shall we?

It’s the little things as well as the big ones. It’s being grown up enough to wear high heels. Nope, Suri Cruise, age 3 has them, I want them too. Earning money to buy your first car. No way dude, I’m 16, where’s my ride?! Waiting till you’re in a serious relationship to sleep with someone? Who does that? Trading sex for favors in grade school or jr. high sex parties are becoming the NORM. I’m literally afraid for my kid.

The biggest things we anticipate nowadays is new technology (if you’re my husband) or sequels to films and books (if you’re me). Ah, Deathly Hallows how I loved you. I eagerly awaited you in print and celluloid and you didn’t disappoint. But please, can more people do this? It’s so fun to look forward to something.

That’s the thing, kid’s need to look forward to things. Adults do too. It makes things special. Loch is blessed at Christmas time to have a Gigi that gives us a present for every day (!) of advent. It’s incredibly thoughtful and we love it, but when I watched Loch wake up every morning in December excited to open a present, I wondered how much it was distracting from the excitement of Christmas Day itself. When I was young I did an advent calendar with pictures for every day. Some years I even added a chocolate one. I loved it but I didn’t get any presents till the 25th. I’d certainly never tell my mother-in-law to stop. It’s a lovely tradition that comes from her heart – and I’m sure it’s different for Sean’s brother’s family who have 3 children, so that the majority of the gifts aren’t for just one child – I’m just not crazy about Loch seeing December as one big smorgasbord of gifts. Maybe I should stop letting him unwrap Sean and my gifts. It’s become more about the present itself than the meaning behind it.

I’m hoping to instill some sense of suspense into Loch’s life but it’s hard. Everything in his world is so readily available. So instantaneous. He asked to do something the other day and I said, “We’ll see.” and he said, “Yay!!!”. I realized in that moment that though I don’t give him everything he asks for, I do give him a lot, and a lot right away. If he wasn’t going to get it I would have just said, “No.” My saying “We’ll see.” to him meant “Yes”. It also leads to a “what’s next” mentality. When you get what you want right away, you’re often off to the next thing before you really enjoy the first. Without anticipation. Without waiting. Without having the time to truly want, it’s hard to appreciate and ever really, truly enjoy.

Anticipation in itself is a gift. One I’m going to have to work harder to give.

Lovely Kid waiting for Santa wallcoo.net

* Generation Me, Jean M. Twenge, PhD

** Generation Me, Jean M. Twenge, PhD

***Roy F. Baumeister, author of The Cultural Animal: Human Nature, Meaning, and Social Life, and Eppes Eminent Professor of Psychology, Florida State University

Dec 12

12 Comments

Memos From Your Child

As an addition to my recent post on childhood I thought I’d include this note from a child to a parent. I wish I could source it, but I can’t. As far back as I can remember it was on the back of my bedroom door at the cottage. Even as a child I can remember agreeing with it. Now as a parent, I find myself constantly referring to it. I’m not sure where that poster is now, but the words have always stayed with me…

Memos From Your Child

Don’t spoil me. I know quite well I shouldn’t have all I ask for. I’m only testing you.

Don’t be afraid to be firm with me. I prefer it. It makes me secure.

Don’t let me form bad Habits. I have to rely on you to detect them in the early stages.

Don’t make me feel smaller than I am. It only makes me behave stupidly ‘big’.

Don’t correct me in front of people if you can help it. I’ll take much more notice if you talk to me quietly in private.

Don’t protect me from consequences. I need to learn the painful way sometimes.

Don’t make me feel my mistakes are sins. It upsets my sense of values.

Don’t be too upset when I say “I hate you.” It’s not you I hate. It’s your power to thwart me.

Don’t take too much notice of my small ailments. Sometimes they get me the attention I need.

Don’t nag – if you do, I’ll have to protect myself by appearing deaf.

Don’t make rash promises. I feel badly let down when promises are broken.

Don’t forget I can’t explain myself as well as I’d like. This is why I’m not always very accurate.

Don’t tax my honesty too much. I’m easily frightened into telling lies.

Don’t be inconsistent. It confuses me and makes me lose my faith in you.

Don’t put me off when I ask questions. If you do, you’ll find I stop asking and seek answers elsewhere.

Don’t tell me my fears are silly. They are terribly real to me.

Don’t ever suggest that you’re perfect or infallible. It gives me too great a shock when I find out you are neither.

Don’t ever think it is beneath your dignity to apologize to me. An honest apology makes me surprisingly warm towards you.

Don’t forget I love experimenting. I can’t get on without it, so please put up with it.

Don’t forget how quickly I’m growing up. It must be hard to keep pace with me but please try.

– Author Unknown

As far as I’m concerned, whoever wrote it was spot on. Children need our respect as well as our love and guidance. We can’t always be their friend, but we can always treat them like the people that they are.

Except when they’re whining…then all bets are off.

Nov 21

10 Comments

School: A Diatribe

Ok, so I’ve got one year before Loch starts Kindergarten and it’s already keeping me up nights. You want to do right by your children. You want them to have every possible opportunity. To have all doors open to them and to feel that they can be and do anything. But the reality of the situation is less optimistic. Time Magazine recently ran an article, well, really the entire issue was in some way devoted to, education and upward mobility. The cover read: Can You Still Move Up in America? The answer was, maybe not. America has been billed as, and until recently was, the land of opportunity. A place where, with enough work, anyone from anywhere could succeed. But today’s  statistics are showing us that’s not necessarily the truth. The divide between the have and have nots is becoming increasingly difficult to overcome. Those who have will continue to have, and those who don’t will continue to struggle. It’s the bankers getting their bonuses while the economy tanks on their watch mentality. In many ways this divide is the root of the Occupy Wall Street protests that are going on right now. To paraphrase the 1976 film, Network, people are mad as hell and they aren’t going to take it any more.

The thing is, having been blessed enough to be born in a particular socio-economic group, I never really thought about the economy the way I do now that I’m a parent trying to navigate the world for my child.  It’s different than it was when I graduated from High School and, as much as I feel old, that wasn’t that long ago. A subsequent article in the same Time Magazine titled “When will we Learn?” claims that the education system in the US  is, for all intents and purposes, broken. Education, which used to be the foundation of life improvement is now one of the country’s dividing forces. The article begins by referencing the recent death of Steve Jobs and what a remarkable journey he had from the “adopted son of working class parents, who dropped out of college to become one of the great technologists and businessmen of our time.” They go on to say that he was, obviously, an “extraordinary individual” but that his opportunities and first rate public education in Cupertino, CA gave him “a grounding in both the liberal arts and technology” and “did the same for Steve Wozniak, the more technically oriented co-founder of Apple, who Jobs met at the same school.” When Steve Jobs graduated from High School in 1972 California public schools were rated the “finest in the country – well funded, well run with excellent teachers”. These schools were the “engines of social mobility that took people like Jobs and Wozniak and gave them an educational grounding that helped them rise.” ^

Today, California schools rate at the bottom of the country just as the US “sits at the bottom of the industrialized world by most measures of educational advancement.” The World Economic Forum ranks the US educational system 26th in the world. This might hardly be news to some, but to a first time mother getting ready to put her only child into school, it came as quite a shock.

Living in California, particlularly Los Angeles, I always said there was no way my child was going to public High School. Even without research it is widely known that most High Schools are terrible, overcrowded and out of date. The teacher’s unions are incredibly strong and while I’m all for unions, it’s almost impossible to fire incompetent teachers and quality teachers are not supported the way they should be. It is hard not to talk about the issue of educational problems without also touching on the issue of illegal immigrants and the subsequent drain on the school system that directly relates to that. I realize this is a hot button issue but with so many of my peers feeling refusing to send their kids to the local school I know I’m not alone in referencing it. Our local High School is 68.8% Hispanic. Many classes are even taught in Spanish (or partial Spanish) to make it easier for the majority of the student body. It is rated the 700th school in California. In 2000 the student body was 34% white and 8.4% African American and now it’s 19% and 4.7% respectively, with statistics continuing to drop.* With Governor Jerry Brown recently signing legislation that allows illegal immigrants who have gone through the California public system access to state aid for college, what would stop people who don’t pay taxes from continuing to send their children to the local (and tax payer funded) schools? In a world where you can’t even hope to move up without a College Education, your High School education is paramount, and the way things are now it’s put a lot of pressure on the parents to go Private/Independent.

Some light bedside reading...

Now I went to a private school in Canada from Grade 6 though Grade 13. (High School was 5 years back in my day and has since been phased out.) When I started it was around 7-9k a year, when I graduated it was more in the 11-13K range. Today, that same school is 28K a year. That’s pretty much the going rate down in LA too. Seriously?! $30,000 a year!?! That price freezes so many people out. Honestly, if we had more than one child, it wouldn’t even be up for discussion. One of my dearest friends went to my school from PreK through grade 13 and is now the Kindergarten teacher there. She says it’s not like it was. Regular white collar people are no longer the “norm”. It’s not “professional’s” kids so much as millionaire banker and sport’s star kids. It’s a totally different vibe. But with the public education system being what it is, what’s the alternative?

Lately I’ve been trying to navigate (read: understand) the exceptionally complicated Magnet and Charter schools that are in my vicinity. They are essentially public schools with either a hard focus on particular subjects like computers, pre-med, or preforming arts; or they are schools that have petitioned to be able to deviate (even slightly) from the standardized education mandated by the state.  They can, for example, add a second language class or a drama class if the board agrees, and as long as they still hit all the decided upon benchmarks. These schools are considered exponentially better than “regular” public school and they’re mad tricky to get into. There’s a lotto based on a point system that I am still trying to comprehend. The benchmarks are essentially from the Bush implemented “No Child Left Behind” mandate that tied school subsidies to student scores on standardized testing. It’s forced teachers to teach towards the tests but it’s not really helping our children’s minds grow, or fostering a love of learning. If you focus only on tests you miss out on so many other fascinating things to learn. You create teachers that can’t implement their own ideas or use their strengths or imaginations to expand their curriculum and you create students under a constant state of stress who lack creativity. A recent article in Parenting magazine called “Is your child creative enough” claimed that in the world of standardized testing (which now more than half the states begin in kindergarden) “learning becomes about following instructions. Children aren’t given the opportunity to express their own ideas or come up with their own way of doing things. Instead, the answer is A, B or C. There is only one answer.” ** The Parenting article stresses that limiting thinking like that will be detrimental to our future generations. Our children will face “a universe of rapidly evolving technology, an ever shifting global economy and health and environmental challenges that will require plenty of creative thinking” *** If our schools are teaching the opposite, we will only continue to underperform on the world stage. And please, for the love of God, stop focusing only on Math & Science to the exclusion of everything else. Creative and divergent thinking is the backbone of entrepreneurial ship and it’s the entrepreneurs that will help raise the country back up.

I read an article last year about how boys are falling through the cracks in many public schools because of the absence of recess and the phasing out of Physical Eduction to make time for more study. Due to the fact that boys brains mature slower than girls, they are unable to sit and concentrate at the same level as their female peers until around 3rd grade. They need more time to blow off steam. They need to move around more. They need breaks. With recess missing and the emphasis on focused study starting in the 1st grade, research is finding many young boys acting out. Unable to concentrate for as long as expected they cause disturbances and are often pegged as “bad eggs” or “problem children”. Many are even dubbed ADD/ADHD and are subsequently medicated for it. By the time these boys get to the age to really sit still and study, they are already “over” school. They are disinterested or disengaged. They don’t like it, and who can blame them?

Knowing all these facts I am determined that this will not be my son’s fate. I want him to love school. To love learning. To feel from the beginning of his scholastic journey that he wants to be there, and subsequently be able to get the most out of it he can. He might not even be conscious of it, but if he likes going to school he’ll most likely thrive. I don’t think he’ll feel like that in a school where he’s one of 38 kids in a class. Or when his teacher isn’t speaking his language. It can’t be at a school that prizes standardized testing above real learning and I don’t want him at a school that, like my local school, looks like a prison of grey cinderblock and almost no windows. He needs to be in an inviting, positive environment that teaches how to do what’s expected of you but also rewards out of the box thinking. He needs enough time to stretch his legs and his mind. He needs every opportunity we can give him.

This book is giving me palpitations. I need to know more senators for recommendation letters.

So, we’re going private. We talked seriously about picking up and moving just to get into one of the quality elementary districts (there are some) but we’d have to buy a house that we currently can’t afford. As it stands right now I’ll have to pay, essentially, a college tuition per year to ensure my child can compete. In the hope that he won’t get lost. So now, he has to be accepted (with interviews, observations, parental interviews, letters of recommendation from your pre-school director and any one else important you could get) and we’ll have to figure out how to pay for it. You’d think in our current situation we would qualify for financial aid, but in some schools having limited funds isn’t the only requirement. Some schools require you also be in a large and unmanageable amount of debt. In that case, We’d be better off buying a house we couldn’t afford or buying cars we shouldn’t, just to qualify for aid. That, or be a single parent. As one of my happily married friend’s said, “I’d be better off getting divorced and doing this as a single mother or putting on that renovation we wanted but couldn’t afford. I feel like I’m being punished for not screwing up my life.”

As an alternative, I went to look at a more reasonably priced private school that’s subsidized by the church. It was good. Nice. It was a place that, should I not qualify for financial aid or should Loch not be one of the 34% (!!!) accepted to private school in LA, I could see him going. The sad thing is, it wasn’t special. It’s 10K a year for what I remember public school being like 20 years ago. What you would expect from a school. Good, basic classrooms (maybe a little tired). Middle aged, female teachers (also maybe a little tired). But, generally, a welcoming, kind place for your child to go. They also seem to have good placement in quality (private) High Schools which give your child a better chance of getting into a quality college.

The bottom line is, it’s a cluster f^#@. America has made a major mistake somewhere. California has made major mistakes. And I know many in Canada might feel the same. We seem to protect the rich and aid the poor but I think we’ve forgotten about the middle. Quality education is the cornerstone of improving your situation. But if we’re not rich enough to afford the good schools and not poor enough to qualify for financial aid, where does that leave us?

I know I’ll eventually find Loch a terrific school to stimulate his mind, but really, it shouldn’t be this hard. My child is 3 1/2 and I’m panicking about his path to college.

The sad thing is, it’ll make a difference that I did.

^ Time Magazine, November 14, 2001 “When Will We Learn”, Fareed Zakaria

*www.schooldigger.com

** Jennifer Keys Adair, Ph.D., University of Texas at Austin in Parenting Magazine, Dec/Jan 2012

*** Carolina A. Miranda “Is your child creative enough?” for Parenting Magazine, Dec/Jan 2012

Oct 31

6 Comments

Fear

Living with your potential death over your head is enough to cause fear in anyone, but I had issues with fear long before that. I’m a terrible flyer. Really terrible. Didn’t use to be. Loved flying till I was 18. I think it was a combination of age making me more aware of what I had to lose, a genetically predisposed phobia/learned behavior (I’d been watching my mom clutch my dad’s hand on planes since I was a child) and a trigger incident. On a flight to Dominican Republic for my grad trip something went awry. It was so much turbulence that the oxygen masks released and the prettiest girl in my school passed out and peed her pants…the things that make an impression, right? I remember thinking the flight was freaky. Not scary. Just bizarre. But for the whole week of the trip I had dreams of standing on the ground and watching my plane crash. Night after night I watched my plane crash into the ocean. It was awful. By the time I got on the flight home I’d developed some real anxiety and I’ve gotten progressively worse ever since. These days when I get into a plane my blood pressure skyrockets. I wait till the last minute to get on. I have to touch the outside of the plane as I board. Superstitiously, I used to have to eat peanut M&M’s and have a ginger ale, but now I have to take xynax just to function. I grab at the seat in front of me like it’s going to stop me from falling. I plug my ears and fold over onto my lap to pretend I’m not there. I cry and shake during turbulence. It’s ridiculous. On my last bad flight they actually moved the guy beside me and sat a flight attendant in his place. She was lovely but I wonder how bad I’ve become that the flight crew felt that was a necessary precaution.

If it was just flying I’d think I was normal. But lately I’ve found myself overloaded with fear. It’s discouraging and unfortunately, relatively justified. We just passed the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 and I recently watched the 9/11 Documentary shot by the 2 French filmmakers who were at ground zero at the time.  I lived in NYC on 9/11. In the heart of the West Village at 14th & 8th. I was lucky enough to be in Toronto that day visiting my parents. I was scheduled to fly back to New York on 9/12. Needless to say I didn’t. My cousin called me after the first tower had been hit. I sat in shock watching it burn and saw the second plane fly into Tower 2 in real time. I couldn’t reach anyone in New York on the phone to see if they were ok. All I could do was watch the events unfold. When the buildings eventually collapsed, I cried so hard. I cried for all the people that were lost, for the fear they must have felt before they died and for a future in which that kind of atrocity existed.

I remember when I was 9 or 10 and I first learned about nuclear bombs. I ran crying to my room but didn’t want to be alone, so I ended up collapsed half way up the stairs weeping inconsolably. I feel the same way about it today (peppered with more anger). Why would we create such a thing? Why are people stockpiling them? Why would you launch one? It literally makes no sense to me. No one wins. You launch at us. We launch at you. Everybody loses. It’s over.

I mistakenly read Cormac McCarthy’s post apocalyptic novel ‘The Road’ because it had such terrific reviews. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize. Oprah book club choice. NY Times best seller… It was a brilliant book and I loathed it. I could tangibly feel the bleakness and despair of his atomic bomb world. The dust and debris blocking out the sun more than a decade after the fact. An earth without color or warmth. A planet without animals or birds or fish or plants. No sounds other than human agony or the collapsing of old infrastructure. I was traumatized by the world Mr. McCarthy painted. I kept reading in hopes of the redemption that never came. I am scarred by that book. By the possibility of such a future. If anything though it made me appreciate our world more. The colors. The sounds. The beauty. I hope against hope that man really is smarter than history shows him to be. That there’s a possibility we can go the other way. Pull ourselves back from the brink and do good by our future.

The problem is, even when I feel I can go forward believing the best in man, I read an article like the recent cover story of Newsweek, “Are you ready for more?”  and I throw my hands up. The article is about killer storms. It basically says we shouldn’t be worried about man we should be worried about nature. It explains that with all our climate change and environmental damage, we are looking at a future of more and more natural disasters. Horrors that make Katrina look like a blip. It doesn’t matter where you go, no one is safe from the increasingly prevalent and treacherous storms. What the *@#^?! And I can’t say living in California helps. After the earthquake in Japan I had a bit of a melt down. I told Sean that I thought we should move (we didn’t), that I thought we were next (Japan was again), that we weren’t properly prepared (we weren’t). So, we spent a fortune on Disaster kits and I tried to teach my 3 year old what to do in case of an earthquake – where to lie (near a big piece of furniture to hope to capitalize on the “negative space” rule when your roof falls in); how to cover your head to protect it from falling debris and glass; to stay away from windows and chimneys – I still panic when my car stops under a bridge. I often wait before the bridge, instead of moving up and under, much to the chagrin of the cars behind me. Trying to be helpful, Sean told me it won’t be the earthquake that gets most people it’ll be the tsunami that follows. He thinks that’s good news because we live in the valley and not by the ocean. All it did was serve to make my summer visits to the beach more stressful.

I don’t think I’m alone in feeling gripped by fear. I worry about drunk drivers and child molesters.  I worry when Sean goes away without me.  I worry about the prevalence of drugs available to my child. I worry about predators. I worry about war. I worry about the economy and China owning us. I worry about dying young and leaving my kid without a mom. I worry all the time and it makes me a drag. I envy my husband and his endless optimism. He lives seemingly without fear. He just sees the best case scenario and functions with that knowledge. I’m lucky to live in close proximity to such a force. I can only hope Loch takes after him.

After all, what do they say… Worry doesn’t take away tomorrow’s troubles; it just takes away today’s peace.

Oct 24

11 Comments

A Mother’s Contribution

Ok, so after some feedback on my post regarding my feelings of failure for having nothing to show for myself and my days but random errands, I would like to clarify that I in no way under value my role as a mother. I am aware of the positive contribution I’m making to both my son’s life and to society as a whole by creating a kind and loving person who might someday add to the world. Being a mom is no joke and whether you are a stay at home mom or a working mom I believe it is truly the most important job you can have. That being said however, motherhood, though infinitely rewarding, can also be totally thankless. Your life quickly becomes reflected solely in your child’s contribution to the world. If your son is behaving like an angel you can feel good about yourself because obviously you are an excellent mother. If, however, your little angel is acting like a total brat – God forbid in public – then you can kiss your feelings of self worth good bye because you are clearly blowing it.  For those mothers who are completely fulfilled by raising their children I say kudos. It’s certainly a real job and doing it should be enough. I’m just finding it’s not enough for me.

I think these feelings stem from a combination of things. How I was raised and the expectations, real or imagined, that come with that. How I want to be living and the difficulty of those dreams culminating realistically in today’s world and, my personality – charming or otherwise – that is constantly striving to be “better”. I grew up in what I would refer to as a post-feminist world. A world where I didn’t fight for equal rights but expected them. A time were statistically a woman’s paycheck may still be less than a man’s, but theoretically I could do whatever a man could. I was raised in the “have it all” generation. I could have a successful and rewarding career and still be a amazing hands-on mother. All career paths were open to me and the sky was the limit. I used to worship this amazing mom that lived down the street. She was a gorgeous, successful lawyer with 2 kids and a great marriage. I babysat for them and I thought, that is the type of woman I want to be. When she quit her job to stay home with her kids full time it almost killed me. What was she doing? When they moved out of the city to to be able to afford a bigger place I was floored. Just go back to work and get a bigger place in the city! What was going on with my role model? She was really letting me down.

As a grown woman I now understand. We can’t have it all. Or maybe we can, but not all at the same time. We have to make sacrifices along with our choices, and that’s something they don’t teach in school. I went to a top notch, private, all girls school where I was exposed to infinite opportunities and almost limitless possibilities for my life. I excelled there. I was a student leader and debater, the lead in plays and the captain of the swim team. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t “make” it. My mom used to joke that I better marry someone really wealthy to keep up the lifestyle  to which I’d become accustomed. I was insulted. Marry rich?! ! Please! I was going to be rich and successful myself!  Coming from my kind of background, if you don’t end up with a really awesome job – the corner office, the medical degree or, in my case, as a Hollywood player – you can feel like a failure. You had every opportunity and you squandered it. I’m not rich and successful yet, so I beat myself up. I push harder and often find it difficult to truly enjoy my life because I feel like I’m not moving forward. Stay at home mom was not a Career. Capital C. It was something our mother’s did when the options were limited. We were the new generation. We could be anything. We could be Someone. I’m not Someone, so I sometimes feel like a no one.

Maybe it’s just a no win situation. Stay-at-home mom’s feel like they should be working. Working mom’s feel like they should be home more. You want kids but don’t have the right partner or you have the right partner but don’t want kids and then feel you have to apologize for that…

I have lots of friends who love their jobs but are still struggling financially. Maybe they’re happy or maybe they beat themselves up too. Of that I’m not sure. What I do know is, for the most part, we all want what we had growing up…plus more. We want it to be better for our children than it was for us. Problem is, it’s a lot more expensive to have the basics these days, let alone more. Things you want for your children – a nice home, top notch education, food, hell…organic food, enrichment classes, college, let alone all the stuff these kids need today – costs money. If you aren’t making money you feel you aren’t contributing. So many people have 2 working parents just to keep up with the bills and expectations they have for themselves. People are mortgaged to the hilt to live the lifestyle they grew up with or the lifestyle they think they need. When the economy fell apart in the US 2 years ago, it was the first time Sean and I were relieved to be behind the 8 ball. We had no 401 K to deplete, no house to lose, no stock portfolio to tank. Life as an actor is already feast or famine so the job market remained about the same for us. When you live like that and you have 7 years of post graduate studies on your resume you feel like an loser that you aren’t contributing. And contributing in today’s world means making money. Being Someone means having a Career or at least a job. I feel more successful saying I’m a writer than I do saying I’m a mom. What does that say about me?

I love being a mom. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m proud of myself. I’m exceptionally proud of my son. But am I reaching my full potential? I don’t want my sense of self worth to be totally tied up in him. I don’t want his success in life to be a direct reflection of my success in life.  That’s not fair to him or to me. I need something that is all mine. Something that makes me, me. And I’m still looking for it. When I find it I think I’ll feel more complete. When I find it, quite frankly, I think I’ll be a better mom.

Then I’ll tell him to marry rich.

Cassie Pappas Photography

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