Posts from the ‘Specific topics’ Category

Feb 24

Speaking Your Mind

Dear Loch,

I’m a big believer in saying what you mean and meaning what you say. I think semantics matter. I believe the words you choose are important and how you feel deserves to be heard. That being said, I am also a big believer in holding your tongue. Every thought in your head does not require a voice. You shouldn’t speak just to hear your opinions echoed back and your thoughts should not run people over. I touched on the concepts of speaking up for yourself in When Polite Becomes a Problem and, as always, I believe everything we do, including speaking our minds, should be done with Manners and civility, but I wanted to take a moment to emphasize how important I believe it is to be candid with your thoughts.

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We have a fair number of friends and family who swallow their feelings. People who won’t acknowledge how they feel despite how obvious those feelings are to everyone around them. People who bottle their emotions and lie to themselves (and others) about what’s really going on. I’ve personally never been able to do that. That’s not to say I’m some highly evolved emotional genius who knows how things should be, but rather that I’ve always been one to wear my heart on my sleeve and my feelings on my face. Over time, I found it was just simpler to put a voice to my feelings rather than pretend otherwise. I wasn’t fooling anyone anyway.

blogher.com

Writing this blog, there have been times when I’ve been accused of “airing my dirty laundry”, of being “too candid”, “too honest” or voicing only MY “opinion“. I’ve had phone calls and emails from people who feel mischaracterized or uncomfortable with the truth I’ve put out in the world and I always feel terrible when this happens. I don’t believe my honesty is wrong, I’m just sorry my observation of the facts has upset anyone. As a result, I’ve spent a fair amount of time talking these situations through and, as uncomfortable as those conversations can be, I think everyone involved (myself included) comes out far better than when the issue was simply tucked away. I’m aware my thoughts and writings are my take on the world, but I try exceptionally hard to be fair and honest in my personal interactions. I do my best to avoid judgement and at the end of the day, I am most critical of myself. That being said, I believe in hitting issues straight on. I’m not one to beat around the bush. I think dirty laundry deserves to be aired. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, it just allows it to pile up and permeate your life. Taking things out and cleaning them up is the only way to stop them from festering. It might not be the most pleasant experience but it’s necessary if you want to live an unburdened life.

magerempowerment.com

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Deny. Deny. Deny. Stiff upper lip stuff doesn’t work long term. It only serves to mask problems that end up rising up when you least expect them. I don’t advocate going through life telling everyone what you feel at every moment. That would be unnecessary social suicide and as much as I believe in owning your truth, I remain a proponent of “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”. I do, however, feel that biting our tongue to the detriment of yourself, or someone you love, is not helpful. Keeping criticism at bay is a safe bet, but observations and honest truths, even if you know them to be subjective, are essential to our personal self worth and the integrity of our relationships.

fergusonvalues.com

There are ways to spare people’s feelings. To find something kind to say that is true without being insincere. But only when we acknowledge the truth of our situation can things begin to change. What’s the worst that can happen by being honest with your feelings? Someone gets upset? The situation becomes awkward? That’s tolerable. You can live through that. What’s unacceptable to me is fake, insincere relationships with people who are close to you. Working though something, no matter how uncomfortable, carries with it the possibility of resolution, growth and improvement. Holding on to resentment only breeds contempt.

Speaking your mind, standing up for yourself, telling people how you feel (in an appropriate way) is an essential life skill. The world is full of people afraid to rock the boat. You can’t solve issues that way and you’ll never be truly happy if you’re not truly yourself. Stamping down your feelings will ultimately only make you feel bitter and misunderstood. That’s no way to go through life.

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Having the courage to tell someone you’re upset or uncomfortable should be done just as confidently as letting someone know you appreciate and respect them. We should approach the good and bad with the same level of candor. Without honesty, we’re just acting like ourselves, not being ourselves. Every painful conversation I’ve ever had – be it with my parents, your Dad, a friend, a colleague – has ultimately ended in a positive result. Even if it makes you feel twitchy or you don’t end up with the resolution you’d hoped for – you break up, end up leaving a job or losing a friend – at least you can look in the mirror and know you did everything you could to make it right. You respected yourself and your feelings enough to let them be heard. People who bottle their emotions might seem to coast along without drama, but lack of conflict doesn’t mean you’re not conflicted and being “ok” is not the same as being happy.

Speak up for yourself. Don’t let anyone take your voice from you. Be a kind but not a weak person. What you think, what you want, what you feel, matters. Choose to be an active part of your own happiness. Ask for what you want. Stand up for what you believe in. Choose your words carefully but say what you mean. It may be socially acceptable to suppress your feelings to avoid making waves, but without waves there is no movement, and I don’t want you stuck in a life going nowhere.

Get movin’!

I love you forever.

xo mom

blog.daniellesonnenberg.com

Jan 1

6 Comments

The Spirit of the Season

After my last post I was determined to say something funny and light. I’ve become aware that when I write about not feeling well it makes people (especially those closest to me) slightly melancholy and I was hoping to give my nearest and dearest a bit of a break as the year begins anew. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is, my health leading up to the holidays was a real struggle so, despite my best intentions for humor, I think the sincerest post I can commit to is what I learned over the past month while I was so sick. For those of you who find these types of posts upsetting, stick with me, I am infinitely better now and in many ways I would say my recent weakness has only changed me for the better.

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Dear Loch,

When you were five, I planned a trip to the mountains for Thanksgiving that went completely awry. Unable to breathe on my own we spent 12 hours in our rented condo before abandoning our trip to come back down the mountain. Unfortunately, my declining health didn’t stop at sea level and for the next three weeks I struggled to breathe without the help of oxygen and complete even the most minimal of tasks on my own. Not since I was first diagnosed was my life uprooted in such a tangible way, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so afraid and angry. Your Dad did everything he could, staying home from work, shuffling me from doctor to doctor, taking care of all the things I usually handle. But, he is only one man and he can’t be everywhere at once or miss work indefinitely. We needed help.

When people discover I’m sick, they often say things like, “Well, if there’s every anything I can do…”. It’s a lovely sentiment and I sincerely appreciate it but my standard response is always something like, “Thank you. That’s really kind. Hopefully I’ll never need to take you up on that offer.” If I’m being honest though, the truth of the matter is, I don’t want anyone’s help. Up until recently I found the whole idea of taking someone’s help rather distasteful. I’m a busy and efficient A-type person and I pride myself on my ability to get s*#@ done. It’s part of my self worth. To accept help would mean I needed help, which, on some level, diminishes me. It makes me feel needy and broken. Though offers came from genuine, altruistic places, the thought of taking people up on them made me feel like a failure as well as shining a big, glaring light on the one thing I was trying hardest to ignore: the fact that I was sick.

I don’t want to be sick so, I pretend I’m not. I realize it’s a little ostrich-y but I try incredibly hard to keep life as close to what it was before my diagnosis as possible. I fight reality tooth and nail in a wayward attempt to hold on to my pre-illness identity. It’s incredibly important to me. So, while I may smile and agree to the idea of taking help if need be, internally I feel like…Nope, I got this. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.

Up until recently only the very closest people in my life have seen the toll my illness takes on me. Not even my mother knows the extent of the strain. Your Dad is the only witness to my weakest of moments, my outbursts and rages, most of which seem to come in the middle of the night. It has always been important to me that I appear normal to the outside world. Better than normal. Great. Pulled together. Highly functioning. I don’t want to be judged or liked, written off or underestimated, based on my illness. I want people to see me, not the potential ticking clock.

We’ve had people reach out to us in the past. The kindness and generosity of some of our friends has truly humbled me. But what happened in the weeks leading up to Christmas struck me on a completely different level. I was so sick, so weak, so disturbingly incapable of taking care of myself I had to let go. I had to stop holding so tight to the wishes of my ego and take the help being offered to us with grace. I had to accept that I needed assistance on the most basic of levels – help driving my child to school and taking care of him after, help making meals, help going to the flippin’ grocery store. I couldn’t do anything on my own and for as many times as I’ve said “No Thank you” over the past years, I said “Thank you” over the past weeks, and it was a completely humbling experience.

To benevolently offer to help someone without thought for yourself and frankly, at an inconvenience to you, is practically unheard of these days. Our closest friends in Los Angeles rallied around us. They joined something called “Meal Train” which allowed them to sign up for duties on a shared calendar and communicate via email. They kindly left me out of the loop because it quickly became obvious that even the simplest of questions like, “How do you feel about chicken for Thursday night?” had me gut reacting with statements like, “Don’t worry about it. Please don’t anything. I’m ok.” So, they just stopped asking me. The whole experience was unbelievable. My friend’s cleaning lady showed up at my house. Groceries were on my back door. Meals were in my fridge. My child was happy and busy with playdates and dinners. These wonderful people took over the reigns of my life so I could rest and get better. I was beyond touched and grateful but I honestly struggled with how to properly respond. I had no point of reference for this type of support, this level of kindness.

Truthfully, I panicked. What if this was my new life? What if these amazing people, who were being so kind now, ultimately saw me as a burden? I couldn’t possibly or sufficiently thank them enough. I felt as if I would “owe” everyone for life and never be able to deliver. I worried my needs upset the balance of our relationship. I felt “less than” myself, as if I was no longer a peer or an equal but someone beneath them. A charity case rather than a friend and as I started to feel better, I wanted to jump right back into my life. I wanted to stop the help machine. I wanted to go back to normal but I was convinced not to. With all the understanding they could muster, your Dad and Granny told me slipping right back into my life full speed was going to be a mistake. That my friends were helping in good faith and I should accept it with the same respect in which it was intended. They believed the best thing I could do for everyone who was going so far out of their way to help was to get well – really,truly well. Taking care of my family on my own would come. My friends weren’t doing so much just so I could get sick again. They weren’t planning to lord their compassion over me. They weren’t looking for endless, groveling thanks. They were supporting me because they liked me and wanted to see me well. As Sean said, “If it was one of them, wouldn’t you do the same?”

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The answer was a resounding yes. Yes, of course I would. I wouldn’t help someone to make them feel weak or small or to get kudos or presents. I would lend a hand because I could and I would do it without question. I had to learn to take help the same way.

Once I stopped fighting it was astonishing how the experience opened up my heart. It was extraordinary to be the recipient of such an outpouring of love. To accept that was ok to need people. To embrace the fact I wasn’t able to do it all and allow so many people come together to assist us. The experience humbled me in a way I could never have expected. Instead of making me feel weaker I felt stronger. I came out of the situation feeling I could (and should) do more to help others. People being kind and gracious to me inspired me to be kind and gracious to others. I suppose that’s why the concept of “paying it forward” works. If someone is good to you, it incites you to be good to others. The truth of the matter is, NONE of us can do it all on our own, and when we truly accept and embrace that, the world has the potential to become a much better place.

Look around in your life baby. Offer to help those who might need it and graciously accept relief when it’s offered to you. Help is not just for people who are sick, it’s for anyone that could use a little lift or love. It’s not lost on me that this entire experience happened at the time of year when we’re supposed to be looking out for our fellow man. The period of time when goodness and compassion come back in style. “So this is Christmas, and what have you done….”

My friends didn’t help me because they wanted to feel they’d done charity before the holidays. They helped me because they thought I needed them, and I let them because they were right. The same circumstances could have occurred in April or July and I believe they would have done exactly the same thing. It’s just that with the overlapping of this time of year I feel just a bit more encouraged for the state of the world. That for all the selfish, me first behavior we see every day, there are still people are innately good, who look out for one another, who treat others as they would be treated, and that, my love, gives me hope.

Look out for others Loch, and let others look out for you. In a world that’s become so increasingly insular, it’s important we realize how very much we are all still connected.

From my heart to yours,

xo your mommy

earlymama.com

Dec 2

26 Comments

Eye Opener

I know I’m sick. Obviously, I know.

I know I’m sick because it changed my life. Having PH stole my ability to have more children, drains my family’s finances and emotions and forces us to live under the constant stress of my potential death. That being said however, I’ve always felt lucky. I live as close to normal a life as I can possibly hope for. I’m not on daily oxygen, I don’t have a port in my heart, I eat what I like (though I should probably be more aware), and I’m able to play an active part in almost every aspect of my life.

I may get more tired than most, have a hard time with humidity and changing barometric pressure and, because I already live under a high level of stress, have a tendency to freak out more than necessary when things go awry, but I feel blessed. I could be dead by now. I was told I would be, and yet here I sit blathering on about my life in the hopes that my words will someday connect with my son and, for now, to others who may be interested.

Even knowing all this, I’ve found I can still be surprised and flattened by the reality of my situation. My illness continues to teach me something all the time.

My kid waiting to go to the mountains. Let’s go people! The wait is killing me!

For the holidays I planned a trip to Mammoth for my family (visiting parents included). I can’t ski anymore but Sean and Loch love it so it seemed like a special way to spend Thanksgiving. I pictured my boys happily shushing down the slopes while my parents and I reconnected roaming around the village, reading by the fire, and relaxing in the sun and snow. I planned the trip six months ago. I found a lovely three bedroom cabin, booked lessons and rentals for Loch and planned out the meals with my mom. The day before Thanksgiving my whole family piled into our car, complete with new roof rack storage bag and Christmas presents, and started our drive to the mountains. As an afterthought we included an R2D2 looking oxygen concentrator just in case I had any trouble with the altitude. I wasn’t particularly concerned. We’ve been to Big Bear quite a few times and I’ve never had a problem, but since Mammoth is 2000 feet higher I thought it would be better to be safe than sorry. Little did I know….

The drive was amazing with straight, open roads and America the beautiful stretched out before us. Mountains, plains and red rocks as far as the eye could see, almost all of it uninhabited. If I didn’t know better I would have guessed we were in Montana or some other Big Sky territory. With about 45 minutes left in our trip we stopped at a fabulous bakery for sandwiches and talked about our plans for the mountains. Then, about a half way into the last leg of or trip, I started to feel off. It felt as if I was breathing through a snorkel, labored and unnatural. When we arrived at our rental I took my blood oxygen level right away. You want your oxygen saturation levels to be in the 90’s. Preferably the very upper 90’s, around 97-100%. Exercise and exertion will drop your levels temporarily but they always bounce back. I typically fluctuate between 94-98% at rest and drop to 87-89% during “exercise” like walking (82-85% if I’m feeling crazy and try to walk and talk at the same time) but I always snap right back to the 90’s after I stop moving. Here, in the parking lot of our rental unit I was at 83% at rest and it felt extremely uncomfortable. I sat uselessly in the cold of the outside structure waiting for my family to unload the car. When the car was empty Sean walked me upstairs and, with that minimal exertion, my levels dropped to the 70’s. My snorkel had become a straw and it was truly frightening. Sean worked fast and had me on the oxygen concentrator as soon as he could. It was all I could do to just sit down and regulate.

So there I was, a blob on the couch, tethered to the wall, unable to help or contribute in any way. Conversation was beyond my capacity. Even with oxygen, my levels were still in the 80’s and I felt miserable. In the span of a half hour I became a completely different person, and that person was really sick. As I said before, I knew I was sick, I just didn’t know I was this sick and the altitude cleared that right up for me. At one point I got up to put on warmer clothes. As I walked to the bedroom my head whipped back twice as my oxygen tube got stuck first on the fooseball table and then again on the doorknob to my room. It was infuriating and depressing. In frustration I ripped the cannula out of my nose and changed without it, but when I started to feel lightheaded I found my oxygen levels had dropped to a dangerous 69%. I was dizzy and nauseous but mostly I was really scared.

Mind over matter right? I’d planned this trip. We’d driven seven hours to get here. I’d booked three full days of non-refundable lessons. We’d prepaid our unit. Everyone was counting on it. No matter how terrible I felt I had to man up. I just had to adjust.

But I couldn’t adjust. As the night continued I felt worse and worse. The oxygen concentrator kept my immobile body at 90-91% but it was terrible. The slightest movement dropped my levels exponentially and I felt trapped, like I was confined to a box unable to move. I tried to join everyone for dinner and catching a glimpse of myself in the dining room mirror, I saw a person I didn’t recognize. An ashen faced girl with a tube attached to her face. There was no way I could eat. At the very least, chewing limited my ability to breathe. Eventually I gave up and moved back to the sofa. I texted my doctor and his advice was clear. Leave. Go home. You shouldn’t be there. He said he would try and find someone to get me a portable oxygen concentrator but it would be difficult seeing it was a holiday. I told him even if I got one it wouldn’t be useful. The slightest movement made me light headed. Talking was a struggle. I certainly wasn’t walking around the village or going out for dinner any time soon.

I struggled with what I should do. I felt responsible for everyone’s good time. I’d planned this trip after all and we’d waste so much money if we bailed. I didn’t want to disappoint Loch or my parents and I wasn’t even sure what we’d do for five days with no plan back in LA. But when Sean asked me what I wanted to do, I couldn’t help myself, self preservation usurped socialization and I burst into tears. I told him I had to leave, I wanted to go home. That I couldn’t take it. It felt like I was dying and it was torture. I knew my choice would ruin it for everyone but as far as I could see there was no choice. I was physically forced to put my needs above everyone else’s and I couldn’t second guess it.

Cannula nosed Mommy looking at new lego castle with her very excited (and slightly nervous) little man.

To everyone’s credit, no one made me feel bad about my decision. In full support and without a hint of complaint, everything that had been unpacked was repacked and loaded into the car. I spent the night dozing on the sofa, too afraid to lie down flat to sleep and Sean lay on the floor by my head. He could have slept on the other sofa but he said it felt too far away. He wanted to be close if I needed him. Loch was disappointed but rallied as best as a 5-year old can. Opening all his Christmas presents from my parents helped.

After breathing, Lochlan’s reaction to the situation was my biggest concern. I knew he’d get over the disappointment of not skiing, but this was the first time he’d really witnessed how sick I was and I could tell it was scaring him. At one point he came over and quietly said, “I look at you and I think you can die from this. Can you die from this?” I said, “I hope not baby.” Then he said, “If you die I’ll just cry and cry.” I said, “I’ll cry too baby.” He looked confused and responded, “How can you cry? You’ll be dead.” I said, “I’ll be crying in heaven because I’ll miss you so much.” The whole conversation took less than a minute and it almost killed me. He was so sweet and understanding but I could see the hints of confusion and fear on the periphery. I told Sean I was afraid Loch would either start to see me as a burden, someone who’s illness ruins his good time, or shut me out as a form of self protection, in hopes of making my leaving him in the future less painful. Either way it broke my heart.

Loch only got to play in the snow the first night. He made, very apprapo, an angel.

Loch only got to play in the snow the first night. He made, very appropriately, an angel.

At one point Loch woke up crying and it roused me from sleep. I went to his room but Sean, already there, silently encouraged me out of the room. Later he told me he was trying to help me, to let me know he had it under control and I shouldn’t worry, but what I felt in that moment was that Loch didn’t want me. That he was crying because I’d disappointed him and Sean was attempting to protect me from the hurtful things he was saying. Lying on the sofa listening to my child cry was devastating. His sobs made me feel helpless and crushed. I imagined this must be what it feels like to die and leave your children behind. To be an angel in the room watching someone else comforting them but unable to help because you’re gone and also the cause. I fell asleep crying for what might be.

As we drove down the mountain the next day I apologized for ruining the trip, but I wasn’t sorry we were leaving. About 2000 feet down, it was as if my power had been turned back on. The straw was gone and I could finally breath normally. The lower we travelled the better I felt and by the last 3 hours you could almost forget I’d been sick at all.

On our way back down we stopped again for sandwiches. I look a little worse for wear but it was just a relief to be able to breathe on my own.

I thought I knew how lucky I was. I thought it was enough to conceptualize how much worse I could be. But until I felt it so clearly in my own body I didn’t truly understand. I might be looking at a future without mountains or cities at altitude, but at least I’m still able to hope for a future. The whole hideous process was a reminder of how wonderful my life is. How much I have to lose and how, despite all my awareness, I can still be reminded of how much I take for granted. It also showed me that there are times in life when we have to put ourselves first, not out of selfishness, but out of self preservation and there’s no shame in it. It’s hard to admit weakness and ask for help, but you have to respect yourself enough to protect yourself, and you don’t have to be sick to do it.

I am thankful for a lot of things: my wonderful husband who’s there to protect me even though he can’t fix me, my darling son who’s heart I will do everything in my power not to break, my parents who’s company I still crave despite the fact we’re all adults and have our own way of doing things, but most of all, I’m thankful for the fact that I’m still here, as me – not some sad, sick version of myself. My life is blessed. I’m angry and scared as hell but I’m lucky. If this weekend was a wake up call, I heard it and I’ll do my best to appreciate it for all it’s worth.

Love and blessings to you and yours for health and happiness.

God bless,

xo leigh

zen-mama.com

Oct 21

7 Comments

I know I’m the adult here but…really?!

Dear Loch,

You wrote a song recently. Your Dad was away for the weekend and we had his car so you were right beside me when you started singing. The song went like this:

I love my Mom. I love my Mom. I love my Mom. But I love my Dad more.

I was in the middle of saying, “Oh, honey I love this song…” when that last line came and I felt as if I’d been doused in water.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I know you love me. You need me for chats and fears and snuggles and hurts but, for the last six months I’ve played second fiddle to anything your Dad. I get it. Your Dad works a lot. He’s busy. You don’t get to spend as much time with him, so your time together is special. Combine that with the fact that he’s 100% yours when he is around – full of exciting role playing games, outdoor adventures and full fledged wrestling matches – and your Dad’s a God. He doesn’t drag you around doing errands. He defeats giant underground worms, builds forts that take up entire rooms and fashions elaborate creations out of legos. Your Dad’s the man. I’m just the Mom.

In contrast to the rare and special times the two of you spend together, you see me every single day. Intellectually I can comprehend why you’re sick of me. I’m old news. It’s natural to take the thing you’re most confident in for granted. I suppose I should take it as a sign I’ve done something right. But, it’s hard not to feel under appreciated and, if I’m being honest, hurt.

Your Dad and I have different strengths. He’s able to meet your childhood energy and I’m not. He’s available for brief stints and I’m around all the time. He does the fun stuff, I do the necessary stuff and we’re both well suited to our jobs. When it comes right down to it, he’s dessert and I’m the vegetable, and we all know how kids feel about their vegetables. You don’t care that I spent two years inundated with essays and applications to get you in to just the right school. It doesn’t register with you that I buy all the presents or ensure the house never runs out of food or toilet paper. You’re not interested in who makes your bed or buys your clothes. You’re aware that people like you but not how much of that is due to the fact that we’ve worked so hard together on your manners and attitude. Your Daddy is the shining star and I have bad breath in the morning. You once told me, “Daddy is the King. I’m the Prince, and you’re the maid.” I asked you to leave my room.

I’m a bit of a background player in your life these days.

Being taken for granted, marginalized or discredited hurts no matter who does it. I know I’m the adult. I realize I should have the capacity to rise above my sore feelings. For goodness sakes you’re five and I’m the one who needs to grow up! But when you tell me after a three hour playdate at a friend’s house it would’ve been more fun if I wasn’t there, or I ask if you had a good time at the Aquarium and you tell me it would have been better if I was Daddy, I want to cry. I also want to scream, “You know what kid? I had other things to do today too you know! It would have been better for me if Daddy was there too!” Of course I’m happy doing things with you. I love spending time together. I know you’re starting Kindergarden is the beginning of the end of our extended one-on-one relationship, and I’m thrilled I was able to be there for so much of it, but I was a fully realized person before you were born and as much as I’m honored to have played such a big part in your childhood, I put a lot of myself on hold to do it, and your complete dismissal of my contribution makes me sad.

I’m sensitive. You say hurtful things and I get hurt. My face gets screwed up. I look at you and say, “that was mean” or “Loch, how d’you think your saying that makes me feel?” I suppose it’s better you learn from me how much words can hurt rather than discovering it after you say something thoughtless to a friend, but it doesn’t make it feel any better. You’ve actually taken to apologizing lately without any prompting. It’s as if you’ve learned to recognize from my reactive body language that you’ve done something unkind. This summer when we were walking around Disney you said, “I like you this much (indicating a bench mark with your hand) and I like Daddy this much (indicating a higher mark). Sometimes you’re here (meeting Dad’s high level) but most of the time you’re here (back to my original lower position)”. You followed that comment directly with a quick “Sorry Mommy. Sorry, sorry. I love you both the same!” but I got your message. At this point I’ve learned to bite my tongue and say something like “I understand Loch. Your Dad is very special and you love him very much”, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do it with a big sigh in my heart.

The reality is you appreciate things more when you don’t have them all the time (that, and your Dad rocks) but it’s hard for me to think of the future without worrying if I’ll be around or not, and when you say things like you wish you wasn’t here, it breaks my heart. Sometimes all I can hear when you say that sort of things is, “Well, you might get your wish…” and that scares me. As I said when I started this whole process, I want to be around as long as I can and I hope you always feel confident enough to take my presence for granted, but it’s something I can’t guarantee. Recently I wasn’t feeling very well and you were so mean to me. I couldn’t do anything right. It was as if you were punishing me for being sick. It made you mad. I’m sure what you were really feeling was nervous, but anger was your way of processing the fear.

I understand as annoying as this behavior is, it’s also very normal. I’m a grown woman and I know my parents would still love it if I called them more. I have to remind myself constantly to make sure I actively acknowledge how much I appreciate your Dad. It’s all too easy to take those we count on most and love the deepest for granted. I don’t take care of you for credit. It just stings to be discredited. But I’ll take that feeling any day over the alternative. I’d rather you not know what you have than be aware of what you’re missing.

So go ahead. Dole it out. I can take it. I know you love me and, no matter where life takes us, I hope you always know that I love you.

xoxo Mommy

Sep 30

10 Comments

A for Effort

Dear Lochie,

Recently we were sitting together while you made a card for your friend’s birthday. You drew a half hearted picture on the front (red stick figure Iron Man turned into Ice Man after you scribbled blue on it) and we worked together on the words inside. There’s no other way to put it, you were phoning it in. You weren’t concentrating. Every letter was a different size. You asked me to repeat myself over and over and I was doing my best to be supportive despite the fact I knew you could do better. There’s a fine line between encouraging you and discouraging you and I was trying not to cross it. So, when you made an M instead of an N in your friend’s name, I helped you fix it. I didn’t lose it. I didn’t say, “if you were paying attention…”. I stayed calm and helpful. However, 10 minutes later, when we finally got to the sign off, Your Pal, and you wrote YOUR PAE because you were completely unfocused it bothered me. There was no way for me to turn an E into an L and with one mistake already on the page the only choice was to start again. I have to admit, it made me crabby. I took away the card, folded another piece of paper and we began for the second time. However, this time when you wrote an R instead of a P in Happy and looked at me with this lazy, little “oops, oh well, who cares” face, I lost it. I picked the card up off the table and ripped it in half.

bubblews.com

It wasn’t my finest moment. I find it infuriating when people do subpar work out of sheer laziness, but watching my own child do it made me doubly nuts. Look, I have no desire to be a Tiger Mom. For example, I’m perfectly happy with the fact that, despite your gender, you seem to have no interest in competitive sports. You don’t want to play soccer or baseball. You aren’t interested in riding a bike. You don’t scooter. You don’t do the monkey bars. That’s all ok with me. I get it. You haven’t found your jam. You love swimming. You like skiing. You like costumes and acting and dance. You’ll find your place. I’m not worried or pushing you to do what you’re not interested in. I want you to be you, whoever you turns out to be. But…I want you to be the best version of you, and that lazy, unfocused kid I was hanging out with was not it.

Frankly, I don’t think I was too horrendous. You hadn’t drawn the picture yet, it was just 3 letters (2 right, 1 wrong) drawn on a piece of paper in the shape of a card, but you were pretty shocked when I ripped it. I’m embarrassed to say you started to cry. It made me feel awful. Your mother shouldn’t make you cry and it was a horrible feeling for both of us. I told you if you wanted to take some time in your room you could and, a couple minutes later, I joined you for a talk.

vi.sualize.us

You told me you were mad at me and I understood. You said, “You ripped my card” and I said, “I did. I’m sorry.” Then I asked if you understood why I’d done it, and you said, “because I made the wrong letter”. That devastated me. I don’t want you to EVER feel you can’t make a mistake around me. That I’m going to be mad or cruel if you’re anything less than perfect. That’s not how a mom should make you feel and said as much to you. I said, “Lochie, you can make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. That’s ok. What’s not ok is being lazy. Not doing your best because you can’t be bothered. If you’re doing something, working on something, trying something, always do the best you can. There’s no other way to do things. The world is full of people who don’t try very hard, but that’s not who you are. That’s not how our family is. That’s not good enough.” Then we talked about your Dad (who you worship) and how he works a lot. I explained that when your Dad works he works at 100%. He does the very best he can and sometimes the very best takes longer, but when he’s done he knows there’s nothing else he can do to make whatever he’s working on better, and that’s the only way to approach things.

You’re going to want things in life Lochie. You’re going to dream of them, and hope for them, but you’re also going to have to work for them. It’s an aggressive, competitive world and the people who rise to the top are those who aren’t afraid of hard work, those who are willing to put in the effort for the things they want. I realize working on your friend’s birthday card and having your future career where you want it are not the same thing, but it’s my job to teach you the skills that’ll help you when you get to that level. It’s my job to push you. Not in a way that makes you unhappy ,but in a way that makes you accountable. So one day, when you’re on your own in college or the job market, and someone gives you an assignment or you want something from your life, you go after it at 100%. I want you to grow into a man who’s natural reaction is to do his best so you never have to force yourself to work harder because that’s the only way you know how to work.

keyposters.com

I don’t say this to pressure you. I want you to be happy. Whatever you choose to do in this life – work, play, love – do it at the highest level. Whatever job you decide to pursue – Doctor, DJ, Actor, Politician – pursue it as hard as you can. Those kind of choices may seem far off now, but when you’re there I hope you’ll be grateful I encouraged you think like this way back when.

After our talk we went to the playroom together to do the card again. This time you did it with such focus and concentration it broke my heart. The finished product was amazing. Detailed personalized picture. Same size letters each on their own line. Plenty of color and creativity. We even added stickers. I complimented you on it and you looked so proud. Then I held up your first card beside the new one and asked how you thought they compared. You smiled and said, “This one is much better”. I agreed and asked why you thought so. You looked at me very seriously and said, “Because I tried with this one”.

Always try baby. Always do your best. In School. In Love. In Life. Doing the minimum and just skating by isn’t enough. You’ll always wonder what could have happened if you’d tried just a little harder. Don’t take that chance. If you’ve done all you can and put your best foot forward on all counts, then any dream you have will always be in reach. Isn’t that worth the energy?

As they say, make an effort, not an excuse.

I love you.

xo Mommy

fasstperformance.com

Sep 10

13 Comments

Blink of an Eye

For my birthday Sean bought tickets to the Hollywood Bowl. 10 years in LA and I’ve never been. Every year I say, “You know what I really want to do this year? Go to the Hollywood Bowl” and every year we never quite get around to it. Life’s like that. Best intentions and all that. This year though Sean took that extra step and actually bought the tickets to John Williams conducting the LA Philharmonic and I was so excited. Maestro Williams conducting a collection of his greatest movie scores – Star Wars, Jaws, ET, Superman, etc. – a tribute to Henry Mancini and Blake Edwards and the evening hosted by Mary Poppin’s herself (Mr. Edward’s widow), Dame Julie Andrews. It was a marvelous. We had our picnic basket, our wine & cheese, our squares of after dinner chocolate. The night was gorgeous and warm and Sean and I were able to relax and reconnect in a way you can’t do at a traditional movie or dinner. It was magical and, as the music swelled and images swirled on the screens, my hand interlocked with my husband’s, I looked up to the heavens (and I say that without dramatics because there is a lot of sky at the Bowl just begging to be spoken to) and said a silent prayer to God for how happy and lucky I was.

The Bowl really does look like this shot from alumniconnections.com

Near the end of the concert, while the light saber wielding crowd delighted to the multiple scores from Star Wars, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Sean told me to hurry or I’d miss it, so I scooted out of our seats and hustled to the closest washroom which, because we were technically in a theatre built into a cliff, turned out to be up an extremely steep hill. As I arrived at my location I was instantly aware I’d made a terrible error in judgement. I found myself hopelessly out of breath. Like, really out of breath. Once in the stall I put my head between my legs hoping to counterbalance my lightheadedness but it didn’t work. I couldn’t get a full breath and I couldn’t think my way out of it. No matter how hard I tried to calm down and breath normally I couldn’t will myself better, and it quickly became clear I was going to pass out. I knew I had to get out of the stall or people would simply ignore me thinking I was just some drunk girl who’d passed out while the timpani banged out Darth Vader’s theme. I crawled out of the stall on my hands and knees and just before I lost consciousness I saw one pair of shoes in a stall down the way. She’d find and help me right? With that I let go and fell from my hands and knees to my shoulder and face. When I came to I was lying on the bathroom floor (the bathroom floor!!! Gross! My poor skin!), my head was killing me and those shoes hadn’t moved at all. I lay there looking at those sensible, beige pumps while my breath normalized and by the time she came out I was sitting up leaning against the wall.

I left this cuteness to go pass out in the bathroom. What a fool I am!

I left this cuteness to pass out in the bathroom. What a fool I am!

Not surprisingly she ignored me. I’m not sure what she thought I was doing. If I was 10 years older I’m sure she would have asked if I was ok, but being younger I think she couldn’t help but silently judge me. I look too healthy to have anything really wrong with me right? She left and I said nothing. When I finally had the energy to stand up I washed my hands, splashed water on my face and slowly made my way back down to Sean. He looked at me when I got back as if to say “Where have you been?” and I burst into tears. I felt completely traumatized. Just thinking about it replayed in detail how awful it had been to be unable to breathe, to know I couldn’t help myself and to be reminded that no matter how happy I was, I was also really sick. That, combined with the fact my head was absolutely throbbing where I’d hit it, caused me to silently sob through the second encore while Sean packed up our stuff.

My bump. It hurt for a week. I even needed a brain scan to rule out a bleed. Post concussive syndrome!

The next day my head was a sight to behold. It looked as if I’d had a derma implant with a golf ball. My shoulder was aching and I was so overwhelmingly tired that my parenting consisted of allowing Loch watch TV all day. As a side note, he told me it was “THE BEST DAY EVER!!!” Around 4:30 I texted Sean, who had left our house at 6am for work in the desert, to come home. My text read: When do you think you might be home? I don’t mean to alarm you but I think I have a slight concussion. As I lay in my bed waiting for his answer, the sounds of Phinnus & Ferb drifting into the room, I started to think about how quickly things can change. Here I was moments before saying my silent prayer to God about how wonderful my life was and then, without warning my disease, physically and metaphorically, knocked me me on my a*#. Or in this case, my head.

Things have a way of changing instantaneously. For the good and the bad. I knew on our first date I’d marry Sean. The world just shifted. I walked out of the restaurant with a different life than when I’d walked in. I grew a baby in my body for almost 10 months but was the same girl until the night I went from being just Leigh to Loch’s Mom. I went to the doctor 6 months later thinking I’d developed asthma and 4 hours later was told I had 2-3 years to live. It can all change in the blink of an eye. Everything can shift in a heartbeat and that knowledge should act as a reminder not just to appreciate every great moment, but also not to get too mired down in the dismal ones. What do they say? The only constant in life is change?

I’m writing a memoir myself. The strength and bravery it must have taken for Matthew to have written this one is inspiring.

I was recently at Target cooling my heels while Loch entertained himself in the toy aisles and I picked up a book called Two Kisses for Maddy: A Memoir of Love and Loss by Matthew Logelin. It was the story of a husband who lost his wife to a random brain embolism the day their daughter was born. Written from his perspective I was pulled into the immediacy of the chapter of when it all went down. He vividly expresses the confusion he felt when his wife collapsed walking the halls of the hospital. How helpless and angry he was as the doctors buzzed around while the code alarm blared through the halls. How surreal it felt making calls to people expecting the happy “we just had the baby” song to the “you better get down here they don’t think she’s going to make it” terror. When his wife dies he describes the floor opening up, the fury he felt towards the placating grief councilor, the horror of the realization that he was now completely alone with their newborn, his devastation knowing his new daughter would never know her spectacular mom and the utter confusion that drowned him trying to rectify how his perfectly healthy wife could just be gone. I found myself moved to tears right there in the superhero aisle.

I know what it’s like to have your life open under you. To feel as if you’re drowning in your own reality. Reading Matthew’s words however, I was also reminded of how lucky I am. How different my story could have gone – could still go – and how very much I must try to appreciate every day. People are always saying, “I could get hit by a bus tomorrow” and though you probably won’t, metaphorically the possibility is there. Things change and things can change quickly. Whenever I’m feeling upset I often think back to the days I was told I wasn’t going to live and my perspective immediately shifts. I do this when I’m mad at people too. How would I feel if they were gone? If I could no longer speak to them? It’s hard to stay mad when you consider the alternative and count your blessings. That being said however, I think it’s too much to ask of ourselves to appreciate every day, to always be in the moment, to live only in the present and to appreciate everyone all the time. I believe it’s a noble thing to attempt and something we can all hopefully accomplish at various moments in our life, but I don’t think we should put pressure on ourselves to be zen in every instance. When we do that it just becomes yet another thing to get down on ourselves for, to feel we’re failing at. I think the big picture is simple awareness and the acknowledgement that nothing ever remains static. If your life is good, be grateful. If your life is tough, be hopeful. Try not to dwell. Keep moving and growing. Appreciate and celebrate the moments and people that bring you joy. Tell people you love them. Be kind to others. Create memories and relationships that will live on after you’re gone. Make the most of your life because you’re not getting another one and it can all change on a dime.

Passing out on the floor of a bathroom reminded me to take stock of all I have to be grateful for. That no matter where I’d like my future to go, I must appreciate my current reality and truly saver my moments because I don’t know how this is going to play out. Passing out forced me to stop and acknowledge my reality and, for better or worse, embrace it. I may dream of a bright future but I have to care for myself in my present so I’m around to enjoy it.

For now that means more unique dates with my husband and not walking up hills at speed.

Duh.

xo leigh

Aug 19

8 Comments

Lost Causes

I had a favorite aunt growing up. You know the one. The cool aunt. Growing up she was my absolute favorite family member. I adored her. She was 11 years younger than my mom and gorgeous and totally with it. She’d been a model and actress and for me the sun basically rose and set on her. Over the years she and her husband joined us on our family trips. We’d visit her at my Grandmother’s cottage. I’d spend hours pacing outside her bedroom waiting for her to wake up. We’d celebrate holiday’s and special occasions. She was wonderful. I was never more excited than when she was joining us. As time passed however her relationship with my mother became strained. They couldn’t see eye to eye over the care of my grandmother and the control of her finances and things became increasingly tense. They stopped joining us for events and holidays. There were no more trips, communication broke down and things were said that were difficult to forget. Essentially, as it is with many family dramas, it came down to money. As I understand it my aunt felt cheated out of a part of her inheritance because my grandmother decided to include me in her will. She felt my mother had somehow deliberately (and maliciously) orchestrated it and, despite the fact that many of my friends had received inheritances from their grandparents, my aunt felt grandchildren were not typically included in wills and she was the one losing out. My mother tried to keep me out of it. It was her hope I could remain a neutral party retaining a relationship with my beloved aunt despite the fact that hers had broken down. As I saw it, my mother went above and beyond to make sure my aunt felt compensated and taken care of and I kept believing the whole thing would blow over. It didn’t. In the end my aunt made it clear that I had to choose between her version of the story and my mother’s. There was no middle ground and this summer when I wrote her to see if Loch and I could visit when we were home, she turned me down. She didn’t want to see me. Family dramas are terrible, hurtful things. Family is supposed to look out for one another but all too often – especially around care of the elderly and questions regarding money – things have a way of going off the rails.

my2ndheartbeat.wordpress.com

The thing is, even with all signs pointing to let it go, it’s over, it’s never going to happen, I still believe the relationship is salvagable. I just don’t believe in lost causes. Look, I was told I had a maximum of 3 years to live and I’m still here. Who knows how long I have left but I don’t believe it’s a done deal. I realize there are times in life when you have to just walk away. When you say hey, it’s time. I can’t change this. Things are not going to be different and I can’t beat myself against the wall any longer. There may be times like that but I don’t believe this is one of those times. I think if you aren’t ready to give up, you have to continue to fight, to hope, to believe.

raneedillon.blogspot.com

I have a old friend in Toronto who’s battling metastatic breast cancer. They’ve found it in her breast, lungs, and kidneys. It’s aggressive and hideous and my heart is broken for her. Two girls from my High School died this summer of a similar thing. I recognize the threat is real. I know terrible things happen to good people every day. I know being a mother, or a wife or a dear friend doesn’t make you safe. I realize my friend is dealing with a terrible diagnosis but I also know that miracles happen every day and I choose to believe she can be one of those miracles. It’s not over until it’s over.

Recently I spoke to a friend who’s struggling with her place in the world. What she should do. Who she is. What direction her life should go. She told me she believes people are only able to be positive when things are on an upswing. That without the upswing, it’s difficult not to get mired down in the negatives. I thought a lot about that. In many ways I suppose it’s partly true. I struggle on days when I’m feeling really sick or things aren’t looking good. My hopefulness has a way of becoming clouded by fear and doubt and I’ve been known to wallow.

istopforsuffering.wordpress.com

That being said however, I’ve never stayed in that place for very long. Even before I was sick, when my career or love life was in shambles, I never felt hopeless or believed things wouldn’t eventually work out. I believed I just had to keep working till my life met my dreams and, in those cases, I think the positivity came before the upswing. I believe my attitude changed my circumstances and not the other way around. I’m convinced that’s how I met Sean, how I found writing and, for the most part, how I’ve learned to live with my disease. Talking to my friend it was as if she no longer believed anything good could happen. Every hopeful thing I said was met with caustic, laughable disbelief. It was like throwing a life ring to a drowning person who keeps kicking it away. She seemed adrift in a sea of hopelessness and it was exhausting to watch. It’s hard to help someone who refuses to be helped.

Thinking back I hope I just caught her on a bad day. That, despite her attitude, she doesn’t see her future happiness as impossible. I hope she’s not buying the “everything is crap and always will be” line she seemed to be selling. I hope there’s still a part of her that sees her amazing potential. A small voice that trusts all her education and passion will eventually be rewarded. A hidden part of her psyche that believes she’s worthy of love and that the tragic events of her past don’t define her. That’s what I see when I look at her. Despite all her confusion and negativity she’s an amazing person, and if she could just believe in herself, I know she’d find her way.

thecoverjunkie.com

I have hope. I hope my aunt realizes one day a mistake’s been made. That she forgives my mother for her supposed slight and my mother is able to forgive her for everything that came after. I dream my son will get to know the woman I loved so much and we will have the opportunity to reconnect. I believe a friend of mine who seems to have moved past our 20-plus year friendship will eventually come back to me because we have too much history to let things go so easily. I pray a miracle makes my friend cancer free and she’s able to recover and raise her adorable twin girls. Finally, I have faith my genius friend will eventually find her place in the world, set down roots and believe in love again.

I don’t believe in lost causes. I believe in hope.

Look at me, I’m still planning to have grandchildren.

xo leigh

favim.com

Jul 8

8 Comments

It’s What’s Inside that Counts

Dear Loch,

Recently I started to notice how often we discuss your looks. You’re a really cute kid and I realize it’s become a sort of habit to constantly comment on the fact. With that in mind, I started to wonder whether I was guilty of placing too much emphasis on your appearance, as if it was a quality of character rather than something you’ve just been blessed with. I recently came across an article by Latina Fatale that addressed this issue in reference to young girls and how often we try to connect with them based on their appearance – “Aren’t you adorable.” “Look at your pretty dress.” “You have the most gorgeous hair.” – as if their aesthetic was the only thing worthy of note. I found the article thought provoking and it occurred to me that perhaps it was something that might also be happening with you.

I realize boys, by nature, are not defined by their looks the way girls are. They aren’t judged or commodified in the same way. You won’t go through life trying to live up to the same beauty ideal or struggle with the same body issues women do, but modern men are under more scrutiny than ever before. In the past 20 years I’ve watched the men’s section of drug and department stores increase exponentially. There’s manscaping and body envy and more products than ever before, and though I believe you will never reach the level of self improvement/self loathing women deal with (freaking out over bathing suit season or constantly fighting the uphill battle to hold onto your youth) modern man is no longer removed from the pressure and insecurities that surround appearance.

The problem (and I realize it’s a champagne one) is that so far your looks have garnered you a fair amount of attention and caused people (myself included) to make constant reference to them. Look, I love fashion, I love beautiful things, and since I have little money to dress myself or design our home how I’d like, I get my aesthetic kicks dressing you. So far you could care less what you wear so I’m able to doll you up without complaint. The end result being that you look adorable, people mention it and we both feel proud. I’ve started to wonder however, that even if I continue to dress you like an winsome, little prepster, if I shouldn’t be making a more concerted effort to shift my remarks to better celebrate your qualities of worth rather than appearance.

Baby, you’re cute. Your face slays me. That smattering of freckles across your nose. Your gorgeous auburn hair that shines red in the sun. That adorable, little upturned nose. You’re something else kid, but I think it’s time for me to take a break from mentioning it so much. You were signed by FORD Models at 4-years old for Pete sakes. People pay you to be cute and you’re getting to the age where, if I’m not careful, you could develop the very unattractive quality of vanity and I’ll serve you best if I help you avoid it.

With this goal in hand I devised a game for us to play that would sort out the qualities on which we should focus to ensure we were good people, and what qualities were simply nice byproducts achieved simply by luck. After collecting rocks together on the beach at the cottage I painted them with 5 qualities I deemed important and one extra to represent looks. Ultimately I was looking for a tangible way to express that even though being attractive is nice, at the end of the day it belongs at the bottom of the list. The qualities I included were:

KIND: Someone who looks out for other people (includes: thoughtful, loving, giving)

Ask yourself: Am I a good person?

SMART: Someone who uses their mind to better themselves and others (includes: ingenuity, cleverness)

Ask yourself: Am I an intelligent person?

CONFIDENCE: Someone with a justifiable faith in themselves and their talents. Not afraid to try new things or forge their own path. (includes: ambition)

Ask yourself: Do I believe in myself?

STRENGTH: Someone who has the ability and courage to deal with adversity. (includes: perseverance)

Ask yourself: Can I handle it when things don’t go my way?

HONOR: Someone with humility, honesty, and good manners. (includes: being a gentleman)

Ask yourself: Do people trust me?

APPEARANCE: Someone attractive.

Ask yourself: Am I good looking?

When the stones were ready I laid them out in front of you and we talked about what each one meant. To your credit you were attentive and engaged and took the exercise very seriously. When I was finished explaining I asked you to put the qualities into their order of importance. You were very conscientious taking your time deciding as you put the rocks in order beside you. This was the order you chose:

KIND, CONFIDENCE, SMART, STRENGTH, HONOR

You left ATTRACTIVE off the list.

Though I know this is just the beginning of a far deeper and more intense conversation, it felt like a great beginning for both of us to understand what the most important things are for being (and raising) a person. What’s qualities are key and what are not.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big proponent of taking pride in your appearance. I believe it’s a sign of confidence. I think it shows you have a strong sense of self awareness and a healthy dose of self worth. Taking care of yourself is a good thing. Having a good body shows you’re healthy, value exercise and good eating habits. Nice hair and skin reflect good grooming and illustrate your self respect. Dressing well proves you’re willing to make an effort to present yourself properly to the world. These are all worthy endeavors. I’m just trying to help you understand that all the attention we pay to our outer shell, though important, is essentially irrelevant when it comes to being a Quality Person.

Our culture worships beauty and youth and people deemed attractive by our society would be hard pressed to convince you their looks didn’t have value or hadn’t played some part in acquiring them something of desire. At the end of the day people like attractive people and if looks didn’t matter, we wouldn’t work so hard to hold onto them. Attractiveness is a tangible quality. Terrible behavior is often forgiven based solely on the perpetrator’s looks. Attractiveness is not worthless, it just holds no weight to who you are as a person. Beautiful packaging sells many a product but it doesn’t make the product good. It’s the difference between a beautiful, ornately decorated cake made with way too much salt and a plain cake made to perfection. Which one would you choose to eat?

Lochie, God willing you’ll always be attractive. It’s a nice way to go though life. But as we move forward together, I want you to know there are so many other qualities I value above your appearance. Who you are will always be more important that how you look, especially if how you look is the first thing everyone notices.

Be kind, be confident, be strong, be wise, be trusted and know, above all, you will always be loved.

xo mommy

Jun 14

12 Comments

Daddy’s Girl

They say a daughter’s relationship with her father influences all future relationships she will have with men. If that’s truly the case then I’m a lucky girl. My Dad and I were close from the beginning. I’ve never questioned his love for me and have always been confident of his support. My father however, does not suffer fools gladly and though there may be pictures of post work dancing with his “little pink”, my tiny newborn body supported from hand to elbow, he was far from a pushover. His love for me might have been unconditional, but you didn’t earn his respect without merit.

Dancing with my Dad at the end of the day was a ritual. Apparently I wasn’t feeling it this particular day.

When I was young my Dad called me the midget because I was small and over time it morphed into the name he calls me to this day, Midgey. I love my Dad. I look up to him. I respect him and admire his journey. He’s a survivor, my Dad. He thrives in a challenge. From the death of his hero and father at 25, his beloved mother’s stroke 7 months later, finding himself without parents and saddled with their vast unpaid debts at 26, he not only rose above his circumstances – putting himself through law school and his sister through University – he thrived. Married at 27, my Dad became a man who was not only successful, but respected and well liked, and he offered my mother and I a wonderful life to be proud of. In my memories he always had time for me. I never felt marginalized or had to question whether he wished he’d had more children or that I was a boy. My Dad and I enjoyed each other’s company. We had our jokes and our songs – John Fogerty’s Centerfield, Willie Nelson’s Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain – and he treated me like a person who’s opinions mattered. In my family my voice was always heard. I had value in my father’s eyes. Yes, he pushed me but, even frustrated, I was grateful. My father’s inability to accept anything less than 100% pushed me to be better and so much of who I am I credit to the lessons I learned while biting my tongue.

My Dad was one of those guys – captain of the football team, track star, scholarship recipient, president of his fraternity and law school. He was a Winner and he expected nothing less from his only child. My Dad was also a good time guy, a loyal friend and in his youth, a wild partier who never failed to entertain me with stories of his past. It didn’t occur to me till later that those stories that delighted me so much over the years were most likely the source of my father’s biggest issues and the reason he had to quit drinking when I was five. In heindsight, it also explains why my mother never found the stories quite as entertaining as I did. 1960’s ridiculousness is probably more thrilling in theory than practice. But it was those stories, those things no one could possibly get away with today – what with the internet and background checks – that made him so awesome. My Dad was a risk taker. A balls out take no prisoners type of guy. He had fun. He was cool. He lived. Some of my favorite tales revolved around the Hospitality Inn, a resort my Dad was hired to run for two summers in his early 20’s. Qualified or not, he staffed the entire place with his friends. He was the boss and made the resort his own personal Dirty Dancing. There were tales of tightrope walking over the tennis courts, women throwing themselves into moving convertibles and an overweight teenager falling through the ceiling of a room while she eavesdropped Porky’s style on her crush getting frisky with a waitress. My Dad wasn’t just some dull, old lawyer. He had a life. He was the twist champion of Vermont. He’d owned every cool vintage car you could think of. He’d painted flames on his mother’s Cadillac and picked up his prom date on a scooter after he overheard her telling her friends she was only going with him because he had a caddy. He may be a responsible Dad now but back in the day he was The Man.

When I was little Saturdays were for me and my Dad. He said it was because my mom had me all week. Now that I’m a mom I see what a raw deal she got. I overlooked all her work and thought my Dad giving me that one day was God’s gift. But, I suppose in those days, it kind of was. At any rate, Saturday’s were for us. We’d play sports – baseball, football, track (soccer wasn’t big then like it is now) – and then go to lunch at a restaurant. My Dad was a foodie before that was a thing. Years later he was devastated when I moved from NYC to LA. Not so much because of the increased distance between us (“It’s still just a plane ride Leigh.”) but because he was going to miss the restaurants. It’s ironic that before my mother my Dad never traveled because he always seemed so international to me. I never had typical kid food when we went out. Nowadays making sure your child is exposed to different cultures seems commonplace – I know a lot of kids who’s favorite food is sushi – but at the time, having dim sum with your 7-year-old was kind of a big deal.

I remember my Dad being at all my plays and swim meets. I remember him coaching me in track before I hit high school and realized my skill level was so incredibly average I should stick to racing in the water. He always drove me to camp and took 3 weeks off in the summer to be with us at the cottage. My Dad took us on trips every year and made sure I knew how to ski and play tennis. Again, the fact that my mother spearheaded most of that was lost on me and when I was 13-15 and everything she said bugged me, the only person I could talk to without rolling my eyes was him. The sun rose and set on my Daddy. I can still picture him on Sunday afternoons, after church and donuts – apple fritter for him, hawaiian rainbow sprinkles for me – listening to Leonard Cohen and sitting in the wing chair reading the paper. It’s from that chair he would take a red pen to my essays or quiz me for exams. My Dad was a fixture in my life that I could always rely on no matter how busy he was.

It’s an interesting thing to get to know your parents as an adult. When I was a teenager I remember becoming aware of little things my Dad did like never clearing the table or doing the dishes at the cottage and calling him out on it. My mother was publicly horrified but secretly thrilled and my Dad always turned out to be very amenable to making a change. To this day he grumbles or sheepishly looks at me when I point things out, but he’s certainly not afraid of improvement. Old dog new tricks is not my father and I’ve always admired him for that.

For all his struggles, his upbringing, his disappointments, his personal demons, my Dad is a man of top quality. He’s a loving, kind, good person and I’ve never doubted his devotion to me or my family. My Dad has given his life attempting to provide the best for us and though we’ve taken some blows, he’s never stopped trying to make things happen.

To this day my Dad is still the person I look to in a crisis. Even in the midst of chaos he’s able to think clearly. He’s a thoughtful and nearly unflappable man of character who’s able to steer me in the right direction without being overly dramatic (my mother), overly optimistic (my husband) or overly supportive (some of my friends). He’s able to dissect a problem piece by piece and see an issue without the cloud of emotion which bogs me down. My Dad can share a life experience in order to make a point but has mastered the art stepping back and allowing me to arrive at my own conclusions. He can tell me how it is without telling me what to do and it’s a gift. My mom’s my best friend, but in a crisis, I’m going to my Dad. His life has garnered wisdom and insight that I’ve found instrumental. This is not to say he’s perfect, he’s the first person to tell you he’s not, but he’s a real man, a noble man, a good man with a generous heart and I need him just as much today as I did when I was his little pink.

My Dad has also never second guessed my decisions. Questioned them maybe, in order for me to better think things through, but always supported me whole heartedly after the decision was made. Going to grad school, dropping out of grad school, moving to New York, living as a struggling actress, moving to LA, picking my husband, becoming a writer, my life has always been mine. He’s been my safety net both emotionally and, at numerous times, financially but he’s set down very few requirements or expectations for the bigger picture. He believes in me. He believes I’ll choose correctly. His faith in me has always reinforced my faith in myself. He’s had my back at every cross road. He’s served as my foundation, supporting me as I weather the storms. At the end of the day my Dad is still my hero. For all our ups and downs, I look at him and see a man I admire, respect and will forever continue to root for.

If my father never makes it as far as he dreamed, I will carry the banner on his behalf. Even without the blinders of childhood, with full adult awareness of his faults and mistakes, I still work every day to impress my Dad. I still crave his respect and approval because whenever I get it, I know I’ve done something truly worthwhile.

I love you Dad. You are a remarkable man and a testament to never giving up. Just as you say with your beloved Maple Leafs, “it ain’t over till it’s over”. You still have so much more life to live and I stand with you as you work each day to make things better. Thank you for being such a devoted father, supportive father-in-law and extraordinary grandfather. You are important and special and I admire you so much for never ceasing to grow. I’m proud of you Dad. I’m proud to be your child and I look forward to the day I make good on the potential you’ve always seen in me.

You are my champion and I will, now and forever, always be your girl.

Happy Father’s Day.

xo Midgey

May 28

10 Comments

When Polite Becomes a Problem

Dear Lochie,

I’ve spoken about Manners before, about what kind of behavior I expect from you and what kind of boy I want you to be, but I feel the need to tell you that there will be times when getting caught up in manners or “being polite” can hold you back, disappoint you or even put you in awkward or unsafe situations and, at those times, I give you full permission to courteously put your well being above your social graces. There is such a thing as being too nice. Bosses will pile work on you. People will take advantage of you. You’ll stay in relationships too long or miss opportunities waiting for someone to give you the go ahead. Though remembering you’re part of a bigger human picture and acting accordingly is key (the world is not all about you), you must also be aware that no one will look out for you better than yourself. You are your own champion, protector and catalyst. It’s up to you to take care of you. In the film The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo the villain talks at length about how frequently people put themselves in danger rather than risk being impolite. He questions why people don’t trust their instincts and allow their fear of offending to outweigh any other concerns. Statistically I’m sure women do this more than men as we’re predisposed to be perceived as “nice” and more readily inclined to be “pleasers”, but you should be aware this kind of situation could also happen to you. I often wonder how many people are victims of crimes when they were just trying to be nice? How many people put themselves in uncomfortable situations rather than chance insulting someone? How many of us put up with things we hate just to appear agreeable? Look, nice is wonderful, it’s a lovely, hopeful way to behave, but be mindful it has a flip side that can allow people to take advantage of you and that goes from everything from violent crimes to crappy hotel rooms.

marsheating.socialtract.com

Felonies aside, I want you to be aware of the possibly negative results when you put “nice” and “polite” above all. Having and using courtesy is something I’ll always encourage but your well being takes precedence over other people’s “feelings”. It’s not impolite to respect yourself enough to speak up for what you need. It’s not rude to put your safety and well being first. The difference between being nice and being taken advantage of is measured by how you feel. Do you feel good about yourself, respected and well liked, or do you feel put upon, overlooked and marginalized? Paying the check for your friends is nice. Being expected to do it every time is insulting. If you’re confident in your worth you won’t allow yourself to be undersold.

I recently tried out a new acupuncturist. She was a Chinese national and didn’t speak much English but, unlike with customer service operators, I was ok with that. Plus, she took my insurance so I was willing to give her a go. As she read my intake form I started to get the impression she was in over her head. I have a pretty rare disease even for someone with a medical degree and English as a first language but, I didn’t want to discredit or undermine what could be her vast array of skills, so I waited while she read. After a short while she seemed to realize I was still there so she strapped a blood pressure cuff to me as she continued reading. Now, I’ve had my blood pressure taken a lot, both at my doctor’s office and at home, so I’m extremely familiar with the procedure. I know how it feels, how much time it takes, how tight it gets. This machine however was taking an extraordinarily long time and only continued to get tighter. As the pressure went from uncomfortable to painful I kept thinking it was going to stop. That it would hit the sweet spot, register and loosen up. It was hurting me but I didn’t want to say anything. I suppose I didn’t want to bother her. As it moved from painful to alarming, my desire to be perceived favorably was superseded by my unequivocal need to get the horrible thing off. The scene played out a little like this:

bpa.co.uk

Tight, grimace.

Tighter, look at her for guidance.

Tighter, (to self) Suck it up. Suck it up. It’s almost over.

Tighter, “Ow, ow, ow!”

Tighter, (actively ripping the cuff off my arm) “OW! OW!”

When I finally got the Velcro undone I found a whole chunk of skin had been pulled through the metal loop of the cuff. It was just sticking out as if it was extra waiting to be cut off. I actually had to physically extricate my arm from the cuff by manually pushing my now obviously bruised skin back through the loop. It was horrible and I was furious, but instead of getting up and storming out like I wanted, saying something like “This isn’t going to work. Sorry.” (I hardly wanted someone sticking pins into me who couldn’t use a blood pressure cuff), I just sat there sore and sad.

I may as well have left because 10 minutes later when she asked “How do you know you’re actually sick? Because a doctor told you so…” with a skepticism that implied I might somehow be working with western medicine to create an imaginary issue, I ended up walking out anyway. It was too much. I had tried to be polite, but I couldn’t take it and my need to protect usurped my need to ingratiate.

blogs.telegraph.co.uk

I’ve had to advocate for myself more than most because as a sick person you quickly find if you aren’t looking out for your best interest few will. Too many things of too high an importance can fall through the cracks if you aren’t paying attention. Over the past five years I’ve learned to ask the questions, get the second opinion, double check the concerns and I’ve found that nothing is insignificant. Even the most minutia of details, like people who seem unsure when they’re about to draw my blood, matter and I’m not embarrassed to ask for someone else. I’ve become adamant about finding “‘the absolute best person for putting in a central line” because I’ve had too many hideous experiences to go through another one unnecessarily. Not everyone in the medical community is created equal and as my mother always says, “They didn’t all graduate top of their class”. If you don’t ask you’re just as likely to have a grossly swollen arm than a comfortable port. I realize people need to train on someone. I’ve just been around the block too many times to let it be me.

This is a view from a room at a top boutique hotel in NYC. You don’t have to say yes to this room. It’s ok to ask for something different.

As parents we’re great advocates for our children. If they aren’t getting enough time on the soccer field or we feel they’re being passed over for opportunities in school, we’re in there trying to sort it out, but if a similar oversight happens to us, all too often we’ll suck it up rather than risk being perceived as jerks or, heaven forbid, high maintenance. You must understand, it’s not high maintenance to know what you want and ask for it, it’s proactive, and more people should do it unapologetically. Speaking up for yourself does not equal rude. When I was younger I remember traumatizing my friends by letting waiters know something wasn’t right. They were always “soooo embarrassed” but I saw no issue with expressing myself. There’s complaining for the sake of complaining, sending meals back and generally just being churlish and snotty and then there’s replacing your recommended wine because you hate it or sending back a margarita because the bartender rimmed it in celery salt like a Bloody Mary. It’s perfectly reasonable to have things sorted out. It makes a tremendous difference to your enjoyment and I’m confident it’s completely acceptable behavior provided you handle the situation with class and civility. Putting up with something subpar just to avoid making waves doesn’t make you polite it makes you wussy. You may as well get what you want. Just be sure to acknowledge the effort in both tip and attitude.

I kicked myself recently for not taking my own advice. Your Dad and I went to restaurant and our meals were so unpleasant we could barely get them down. If I’d made that chicken at home it would have been tossed but, aside from letting our waiter know we were disappointed, we continued to pick at our meals and ended up leaving the annoyed. It’s incredibly irritating to pay a fortune for dinner just to go home and eat cereal. The restaurant offered us a free dessert for our “troubles” but we didn’t take them up on it. It wasn’t about getting something we didn’t want for free, it was about getting what we wanted correct and we should have dealt with that. Ultimately, we just wrote off the restaurant and that’s unfortunate. We always liked it there and I’m sure they would have preferred making us new dinners over losing long term customers, but now we’ll never know.

It’s too easy to be taken advantage of these days. You can’t just assume the right thing will happen. Often, you have to insist on it. Sadly we live in a time where you also have to protect yourself more. Where your manners take a backseat to your safety. Your Dad and I sell a lot of stuff on Craigslist but with the recent situation of the husband and father who was killed when he took two men for a test drive of the truck he was selling on Kijiji, you can’t just assume people have good intentions anymore. In certain situations being distrustful and coming off cold is preferable to allowing friendly or trusting behavior get you in trouble. This isn’t to say you should walk around being an a*#hole and calling it protection, just that awareness is key.

stepstothesky.com

Look, being a nice person is wonderful. People should think you’re nice. You should be nice. I’m not saying don’t take the time to help old people across the street or go through life distrustful of everyone, only looking out for “number one”, I’m simply reminding you to use common sense and good judgement, aware of the world you live in and it’s possibilities. Be courteous and respectful, making sure your sense of self worth doesn’t become a sense of entitlement, but don’t forget the only way you’ll ever really get what you want is if you’re ok asking for it. Sometimes the right thing to do, is the right thing for you.

The goal is to be polite, not a patsy.

I love you.

xo your mom

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