Beautiful Death

Something I loved died today.

I woke up and got ready as I would do any other day, keeping in mind that I had an important appointment to attend.  I showered and drank my coffee in silence -- no TV or music to accompany my routine on this day.  I dressed appropriately for the occasion, although I made my wardrobe choices unconsciously.  Donning dark gray pants and a gray on gray striped sweater, I walked outside to find that the world was covered in the thickest fog I have ever seen in daylight.  As a result, I prepared myself for a possibly tense drive over the next hour or so to my destination during the always excruciating Atlanta rush hour.

I began my drive with a local radio station, and found that it was a bit too chipper for my mood.  I instead hit the button to switch to the CD in the player, a collection of piano concertos.  Better.  I tried to keep my mind blank as I drove through the blanket of mist.  But after about 20 minutes of that, I knew I needed to let myself be in the moment of what would happen today, and what it would finally mean.

I was on my way to a courthouse where a total stranger would sign a piece of paper that says what I have known for longer than I care to admit...my marriage is over.  Legally...officially...over.

I have had to fight a battle I never could have anticipated in a million years to get to this day...sacrificed security, sanity, immeasurable emotional energy and thousands of dollars (some earned, but most borrowed) to make this day a reality.  What a strange irony it has been to fight so hard and invest so much in something that I never, ever wanted.

Have you ever noticed that death is sort of beautiful?  You may understand what I mean if you have ever  lingered at the bedside of someone who is actively dying, especially if it is an elderly person or someone who has had ample time to prepare themselves and their loved ones for their passing.   I have experienced this very thing, and I felt so blessed, so....AWED that I was able to witness and participate in such a sacred journey.

It is a very different experience, however, when you are with someone who has not accepted their time to pass, or someone who is being taken before their time because of a terrible event or accident.  In this circumstance, death is a violent thing to watch...so many people fighting to save a body that has already declared that it has finished its work and has nothing left to give.  Sometimes death is cheated; but, more often, it is only delayed.  The body knows when it's time to go -- you can talk to any hospice nurse and they can tell you this is true.  The appetite disappears, because digestion becomes impossible.  Vitals slow and organs shut down.   The person will often claim to have conversations with loved ones who have already passed, or even talk about leaving for a trip, sleeping with their legs swinging over the side of the bed, as if ready to jump up at a moment's notice.  Natural death, when left to its own progression, can be quite peaceful.  Everything inside the body finally just goes to sleep.

It is when we seek to force something that is dying to soldier on in the land of the living that things get ugly.

As I drove, I thought about my marriage, and the dream it represented.   I mentally flipped through snapshots of the day this dream was born -- my wedding day.  Me standing on a soft green lawn in my wedding dress with my father's arm linked through mine, looking down at my grandma's handkerchief in my hand -- it was my "something blue."  Dancing with my new husband, with all the people I loved in the world looking on.

As I watched that young brunette in her beautiful white gown celebrate the birth of her dream, I found myself wondering what I would say to her if I had the chance.  If I could go back in time and tell her anything...anything at all to spare her from the coming pain...what would I say?

The answer came as a surprise.  I would not tell her to stop.  I would not tell her to run away and never look back.  

I would tell her to take off her blinders and see the truth for what it is.  I would tell her that she needs to explore who she is without a man standing next to her.   I would tell her that control is an illusion.  I would say that wanting to be loved and adored are reasonable expectations, and having those expectations do not make her a bad person.  I would tell  her that even when she thinks she doesn't have an ounce of strength left to fight for what she knows is right and true and good, she will find it.

I would tell her that, sometimes, love isn't enough.

Then I would kiss her cheek and send her down the aisle.  Because if I stopped that girl, she wouldn't be the person she is today.  The terrible, wonderful, beautiful mess that she is.  She wouldn't have a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes who makes the sun and stars and planets dim in comparison.  And that would be a far greater tragedy than having to survive every ounce of pain that waits for her.

Death is so painful.  But it is as much a part of life as birth is.  It is also the gateway through which new life emerges.   This theme of death as a means to new life is written into our very existence...in each animal playing its part in the food chain...in the change of the seasons every year...even in the story of our faith.  Doesn't God say that the only way to truly know Him is to "die" to ourselves?  And isn't the pivotal event of the Christian faith - Christ's death on the cross and resurrection - our only means to live eternal life in heaven someday?

I arrived at the courthouse, waited my turn, and with very little fanfare, I was granted a divorce today.  As I sat in my car holding that piece of paper that signified the death of my beautiful dream, I took a mental snapshot of the moment...the texture of the walls in the parking garage, what piece of music was playing on the CD, the dull ache in my chest...and the tears that I expected, but never came.

As I pulled onto the highway toward home, the fog had only lifted to far enough to obscure the tops of the skyscrapers, leaving the last of the fall foliage visible.  In only days, this quilt of amber and sienna covering the city will turn brown and fall to the ground, only to be whisked away by the winter wind.

It is a beautiful death.

Hakuna Matata - not a wonderful phrase

"Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or... learn from it."  Rafiki, The Lion King

I took Chatterbox with me to the movie theater to see the re-release of The Lion King this past Saturday.  It has always been one of my favorite Disney movies, and I couldn't wait to share the experience of watching it with him.  He elected a Starbucks marble pound cake as his treat rather than popcorn, and we smuggled in sodas to attempt to keep me from going into bankruptcy to buy food in the theater.

It was as magical as I had hoped.   He was transfixed the whole time, just as I always was as a child when I went to the movies...soaking in the immensity of the screen, the smell of the popcorn, and the boom-boom of the bass in the soundtrack. 

What I didn't expect was the rush of a forgotten memory....seeing The Lion King live on stage with my mother-in-law some years ago when she was still alive.  We took her and her life partner of 25 years, who I also love dearly, to see it as a thank you for gifting her used SUV to me when she was ready to buy a new one.  It was a good truck, a tank really.  She was always saying how she didn't like the idea of me driving around in my little Ford Escort with all the crazies on 285.  She used to joke that driving in Atlanta was like risking your life on a daily basis.

We lost her to a rare form of Parkinson's around this time two years ago.  And I miss her every single day.

We had a rare relationship that daughters-in-law can only dream of.  We enjoyed an easy rapport with each other, and she was incredibly good to me.  She was quirky and soulful, and loved her two sons like crazy. 

The thing that I respected most about her was that she owned up to her mistakes.  She was very vocal about her shortcomings as a mother in her children's early life...and although she would often frame these comments in a funny story from their childhood, she was adamant that she made innumerable mistakes during those years and always regretted her inability to be there for them in the way she should have been.  I always somehow felt that she said these things within hearing distance of her sons as a way to seek their forgiveness.  As I watched Simba go through his journey of pain and ultimate victory during the film, I was reminded why I loved and respected her so much -- for her willingness to tell the truth...and how facing her demons helped to transform her into the loving, nurturing person I knew her to be. 

I marinated with my memories of her and other weightier issues as the movie concluded, its central themes taking on a more profound message than when I first watched it years ago.  I recognized in Scar the most heinous of enemies, and maybe the greatest Disney villain ever...the way he orchestrated an "accident" to kill his own brother then lied convincingly to a young, impressionable Simba...hissing and whispering a web of shame into Simba's mind...and does it so well that he almost changes the poor cub's destiny to become King.  All for the sake of his own selfish ambition and jealously.  Simba runs...Scar wins...and the entire kingdom suffers for it.

Here's the interesting twist that didn't really hit me until this viewing.  Simba perceived his greatest sin as ultimate responsibility for his father's death.  Of course, it wasn't his fault...the audience is in on the truth.  But what if Mufasa's death had been Simba's fault?  What if he really was responsible in some indirect way?  Was this Simba's greatest sin?  I don't think so.

I think it was the running away part.  That was the true turning point.  The one that could have changed not only his story, but his future children's stories, his mother's story, and the entire kingdom's story.  Running was the easier choice, the faster way to a happy ending.  His life with Pumbaa and Timon in the jungle turned out to be kind of awesome.  Not a care in the world - Hakuna Matata!  Just put your past mistakes out of your mind.  Facing them just makes you feel bad.  It hurts too much -- so Hakuna Matata instead!

Aren't you glad that's not where the story ended?
 

My favorite character in the story is Rafiki.  He comes across as a little nuts, but it turns out he the most sane one in the bunch.  He's the seer, the truth-teller.  He sought Simba out and hit him on the head with the truth of the matter -- literally.  It is a beautiful moment of epiphany as Simba faces the choice of his life.  He can continue his carefree existence, never thinking of the consequences of his past actions...or more importantly, his inaction... and allow those dearest to his heart to continue to reap the disaster he has himself created; or, he can put aside his shame, return home to face his family, tell the truth (whatever the consequences!) and fight for his rightful place on the throne.

Whew.  I don't know about you, but the first one sounds a bit easier.  But that's an illusion -- and Simba recognized it as such.

I'm going to go out on a limb here with a statement.  It applies to men AND women, obviously.  But I feel that I should say something specifically to the men that may run across this blog.  All two of you, anyway.  Because this is really, really important that we get this right for the next generation. 

The world needs more men that will face their mistakes, and do what needs to be done by heading the charge to fix them.  The women and children in your home need that from you.  Your employees need that from you.  Pastors, your church needs that from you.

This means more than putting on your swagger and showing us all how strong you are.   It even means more than saying you're sorry when you mess up. 

That's not good enough.  It takes a bigger man to take it a step further.  It means looking at your family and friends in the eye and telling the truth about where you failed and why, taking responsibility for your actions, facing the consequences head-on and doing the hard work to go about repairing the damage.

I'll go a step further.  It also means busting the news of your mistakes wide open before you are found out by someone else.  That's right...before someone else has to shine the light on the stuff you don't want anyone else to know about.  

This goes against the grain.  I get it.  I really do.  It's a pride thing all mixed together with a shame thing, and the thought of just airing out your business when no one really knows your mistakes to begin with sounds like opening a can of worms for no good reason.  You rationalize, betting on the possibility that no one else may ever find out, then lucky lucky you gets to have his cake and eat it too.

There's one little flaw in that plan.  You know, and God knows...and it's the knowing when you put your head on the pillow at night that will eat away at you, and ultimately make you less of a man...even if no one else ever knows. 

This is not a news flash, friends.  All you have to do is watch CNN covering the good folks in Congress.  Actually, you don't even have to turn on the TV...look at your best friend, your brother, your boss.  This is an epidemic that is running rampant in our world.  The consequences are clear...if you do not take hold of your pride and wrestle it to the ground when it threatens to rule your choices, you will ultimately lose something.  You will lose a friend, or your wife, or your children's respect, or your financial security. 


You may even lose the destiny that had your name written on it before the beginning of time.  I'd say that's a pretty big price to pay for saving face.

Here's the beauty part.  When you step up to the plate and do this, a miraculous thing happens.  The people around you that truly love you will rally and support you through the cleanup of the mess you have made.  You may have to go backward before you go forward.  In fact, I guarantee it.  It will set you back and make you feel as small as an insignificant ant for a while.  But at least you'll be on the right path again instead of going further down a road to nowhere good.

We all make mistakes and we all know how deep down that we'd rather run.  Maybe that is why we are so affected when we see a man who seems to have everything going for him put it all on the line for the sake of his integrity and the people he loves - consequences be damned.  You must believe this...the man who is strong enough to put aside his pride to save his marriage, or his children, or his business, or his church inspires awe and respect when the dust settles and the story is told.  You will become the man that other men look up to, women aspire to love, and children respect.

You may not have all the animals in Africa bow down to you as you stand gazing from a tall precipice or anything.  But living out your true destiny is pretty cool too.

Se Wa Teneo

Sorry to have dropped off the face of the earth like that.  It's something I do intermittently when I get the wind knocked out of me.  This time wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be.  This time, it was more of a blip on the map.  I just didn't call friends quite as often, and stopped blogging and Facebook-ing.  But not too long ago, it was quite a different story.

This is the way I see it:  All of us have a certain amount of emotional energy to expend, give or invest in our tanks.  For me, my initial allotment goes to Chatterbox right out of the gate, so I guard that and reserve it carefully, making sure that he will always get what he needs from me.  Then the remainder gets doled out -- job, family, friends, volunteer commitments, you get the picture (now, before all the Christians get riled up about the pecking order of things, I kind of look at my faith as a constant conversation with God that never turns off.  He's not on the list because without him I have no list.  He is the list...without Him, it all kind of evaporates).   What this means is when I receive a blow I wasn't expecting, I have to allot some of my "fuel" to deal with the Nasty.  It's like someone has siphoned fuel out of my tank, and there's not enough...so something or someone in my life has to go without for a minute.  It's not because I've stopped caring, it's just that there is only so much to give on any one day.

So I've learned that I can somewhat measure how I am doing with my healing process as to how much and to what extent I disappear when something bad happens.

It turns out that when a person goes through some kind of trauma (whether that be emotional, mental or physical), they go into kind of a survival mode.  They find reserves they didn't know they had in order to continue on in the face of the Nasty.  Some people take the Nasty and bury it deep inside so they can do better with their facade of normalcy.  But the problem is that the Nasty bores holes in their hearts and spirits...and the result is that it slowly eats them alive.  But the Nasty will eventually leak out....and when it does, it destroys everything in close proximity.

I decided early on through God's intervention that I was not going to go that route.  But the catch is, if you're going to deal with the Nasty as it comes, it is extremely hard work.  You have to be purposeful about it -- you have to pause and take time for introspection, and very carefully measure your response to the Nasty. 

That takes a lot of fuel from the tank.

So, anyway, I dealt with a lot of Nasty over a period of several years and it drained me to the dregs.  My tank was not only empty, but I was as dry as a 7-year drought.  I lived in survival mode for so long that it became my new normal. I knew I needed to find a better way.  Thankfully, this last year has been a season healing...of starting to come out of refugee-land and rejoining the world.  But although it has been necessary time, it has been a lonely time in many ways.  My social circle is smaller than it's ever been, and my friends know that weeks and months may go by without hearing from me.  The ones that are still around love me anyway, and for that I am thankful.  They know how battle-worn I am and that I sometimes need some time to let the tank start to move past the big E.

But the last few months, I have wised up to a few things.  This is not a place to stay in forever.  I realized that to really gain some momentum in my healing, I needed to venture back out in the world and be with people in a meaningful way.  I needed to start giving of myself again to others besides Chatterbox and my teeny tiny social circle.  I didn't feel like I could.  I thought, "There's just not enough in there to give right now."  My isolation was lonely, but it was safe and predictable...and not as scary as more people needing things from me that I knew I didn't have.

But God didn't put us on this rock to live in a Room.

God is kind of sneaky.  He speaks to me in all kinds of ways.  In the last couple of weeks, I've enjoyed some modes of entertainment that have touched on (actually, SHOUTED) this idea.  Chatterbox and I watched Tangled over the weekend, a retelling of the story of Rapunzel - the one with the girl who lives her life in a tower.  I also got my hands on a book called Room, which was recommended to me by my sister (who by the way, has one of the best blogs around, bar none).  It is a harrowing story of a woman kidnapped and held prisoner in a single room for years.  While in captivity, she becomes pregnant, and raises her son alone in this single room -- and it is the only universe this child knows until the age of 5.  The tale is told from his perspective, and is astounding in its honest portrayal of the perceived safety of a life in captivity.

Here's the takeaway.  When you live in just a Room, it limits everything you might have been.  Dreams become unnecessary because that might take you outside of the safety of the Room.  Inside, it is comfortable.  It is predictable.  Over time, the thought of anything else is downright terrifying.  But the truth is, whatever the circumstances of your captivity, there is only one person that can ultimately get you out.

You.

Every one of us at some time or another in our lives gets the short end of the stick.  We get beat up by the people who are supposed to love us.  We get treated unfairly.  Some are abused in the worst ways and some live through unimaginable pain. 

Because I feel I have some experience the area of pain, I can safely say this without hypocrisy:  What are you going to do about it?

"I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really...get busy livin'...or get busy dyin'."  - Andy Dufresne, "The Shawshank Redemption"

That's right.  Only you can make the choice to get on with it.  And don't kid yourself, it is a choice.  It's not something that happens to you, or that God will just drop into your lap like a neatly wrapped present.  You've got to do the thing that scares the crap out of you -- maybe not just one thing, but two or three or four.  You put yourself back into the world, because if you don't, you will never be the person you were meant to be.  You will never be the wife, the husband, the mother, the father or influencer you were supposed to become.
  
Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything.  I've done lots of mourning and weeping lately...enough to last me for the rest of my life, if you want to know the truth.  But that season of my life is passing away, and something new is rising.  It is hope.  Hope is what make you move when you think you can't.  It is usually the catalyst for change, which is why some see it as salvation and others see it as dangerous.

For me, it is the permission to dream again.

Andy Dufresne's dream was to escape to Se Wa Teneo -- a village right on the Pacific...the sea with no memory.  It was a dangerous dream because of its audacity...its impossibility.  But for Andy, he knew if he couldn't find a way out, he would die.  Maybe not literally.  But he would cease to be himself...at least, the one that mattered.


It's the same for any one of us.  You can push your way out of your prison, however terrifying that may be; or put your dreams in a jar -- where they will be just another decoration on a shelf in your Room.

Once I gave myself permission to dream again, the first thing that I noticed was how much bigger they were than my dreams ten years ago.  The next thing that I noticed was that it didn't bother me that they would take significant time and effort from Yours Truly to come to fruition.  It's just time, after all.

Any dream that's worth having is bound to take some time, right?

Start your week with a love song

Sitting at Your feet is where I wanna be
I'm home when I am here with You
Ruined by Your grace, enamored by Your gaze
I can't resist the tenderness in You

I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord

Humbled and amazed that You would call my name
I never have to search again
There's a deep desire that's burning like a fire
To know You as my closest friend

I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord

I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord

Lord my redeemer, Your blood runs through my veins
My love for You is deeper than it was yesterday
I enter through the curtain and parted by Your grace
Lord You're the lover of my soul
You're the lover of my soul

I'm deep in love with You, Lord

I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord

Lyric, Michael W. Smith - "Deep in Love with You"

27 minutes

I have had a really tough week.  It has to do with several factors -- I started a new job, my little boy started  not one, but TWO new schools this week (kindergarten and an after-school program) and we're adapting to a totally new schedule.  On top of all that, some pretty major stuff got thrown into my face as it relates to my upcoming divorce settlement.  I mean major in a way that would make anyone who truly knows me and what I have been through in the last few years say, "NO, HE DID NOT...."

Yes, he did.

So I'm exhausted.  There is a part of me that is very thankful that my son is with his Daddy this weekend, because I'm SO exhausted in every way that I am glad I have a minute to catch my breath.  When I'm with Chatterbox, it's all about being strong and reassuring and letting him know that all is right with the world because Mommy will make it so.

I gave myself an hour this morning to be a lump on the couch and drink my coffee, but I had a ton of paperwork to gather in preparation for my response to the craziness that got unloaded on me this week.  I set a goal to be done with everything by 4ish so I could go to the pool and soak up some Vitamin D.  I once heard that the sun is the best anti-depressant.  And after the week I've had, nothing sounded better.

But, as it turns out, I was just finishing up at 5:15.  I was dressed in my bathing suit when I went to make some copies at the library, knowing that the pool doesn't close until 8.  I could still get my sun-time.

I drove up to the pool at 5:30, ready to enjoy my reward for an excruciating week and a Saturday that in no way resembled a day off.  As I walked up to the entrance, I noticed that the window was closed despite the fact that there were still some people at the pool.  Then I saw it - new hours posted as of August 15 reflecting a closing time of 6PM.

Oh, snap.

I can't really properly describe the extent of my disappointment.  I was looking forward to this all day.  Just a little bit of time to close my eyes, lay back, and let the sun melt away the stress of the week.  Is that too much to ask?

Apparently.

Well, I was just not having it.  They had some kind of nerve closing the front window with 30 minutes left until closing.  So, I decided, the HELL with this.

I'm going to the pool.  Today.  Even if it's just for 27 minutes.

The locker room door wasn't locked.  I walked in like I owned the place.  Barbie and Skipper, the lifeguards, were in there starting to Lysol the showers.  They were chatting about some adolescent nonsense, and on any other day, I might have thought it was sweet.  But they both made eye contact with me as I passed, and I could tell that they were about to caution me that closing time was right around the corner.

I very purposefully looked at one, then the other, and gave them the major stink-eye.  Don't even try it Barbie.  Skipper, I will take you down to Chinatown.  I am going to the pool today...I dare you to tell me not to come in.

They picked up on the not-so-subtle non-verbal cues.

I walked right to a lounger, plopped my stuff down, and immediately jumped in the pool.  One of my favorite things in the world is floating on my back in the cool water while the sun beats down on my face.  I am really good at floating.  And it's quiet when your ears are submerged in the water--my own little sensory deprivation chamber except for the sun illuminating the inside of my eyelids.

Then I got out of the pool and laid down on my towel draped across the lounger.  Every five minutes, some teenager would announce how many minutes were left until closing.  Every time I would hear it, I would smile....just  laying there in the sun, palms open to it, soaking it in, letting it burn away the pain of so much forced change on me and my son.  Sorry, Barbie and Skipper.  I am not leaving this chair until 6:00.

Finally, I forced myself into a sitting position to gather my things with the last of the stragglers.  As I walked out the side exit, I saw Barbie in the office, glaring at the few annoying people who were delaying her evening plans.

I smiled and winked at her, just for fun.

As it turns out, 27 minutes is just enough.

It hurts

I watch my son as he walks ahead of me...excited...smiling...ready.

I know this should make me proud.  I know that even if he hits a rough patch today, he will wipe his tears away and recover.  I know that he is an amazingly happy, social kid that he will adjust to this change, just as he has with all the others.

I know what the healthy response to this day is.  I know I should pat myself on the back that I have prepared him well for this day.  I know that all parents survive this moment.  I know that he can't be with me forever.

But none of that matters as I watch the blond hairs on the crown of his head bounce like happy dandelions as he walks with purpose just a step ahead of me.

All I know is there is not an ocean big enough that can hold the amount of heartache I feel right at this moment.

Dialogue as heard by a fly on the wall at 8:30 PM

Chatterbox:  I'm not sleepy.
Me:  I know.  But I think if we lay here in your bed and rest for a while, you will get sleepy.
Chatterbox:  Is kindergarten tomorrow?
Me:  Yes.
(a long silence)
Chatterbox:  What happens after kindergarten?
Me:  Your teacher will help you go to the right place to wait for the bus we looked at the other day.  You will get on the bus, and it will take you to play at Mommy's preschool where I work. 
Chatterbox:  What is that place called again?
Me: (I say the name)
(Chatterbox repeats it slowly) 
Chatterbox:  And you will be there?
Me: Yes, because that is where I work now.  
Chatterbox:  All the time?
Me:  All the time.  Every day that you have school, I will be there when you get off the bus.  I will be waiting for you.  As a matter of fact, you will probably see me waiting for you before you even get off the bus.  I will wave to you, and you will smile when you see me!  Then you will get off the bus and I will give you a big hug and ask you about all the fun things you did at school that day.  Then I will take you back to your class there where you can play until it's time to go home.  And if you want to peek in my room anytime after that, I think that would be OK. 
Chatterbox:  Do I have to take a nap there?
Me:  No.
Chatterbox:  Do I have to take a nap at kindergarten?
Me:  They have a rest time just like at your old school.  You don't have to sleep, but you do have to rest. 
 Chatterbox:  Do they have cots?
Me:  No, you will lay down on a fluffy towel that Mommy is sending to school with you.  The one I showed you the other day with your name on it.
Chatterbox:  Will the other kids have towels?
Me:  Yes.  Their mommies will send a special one to school with them too.
Chatterbox:  Oh (then a long pause).  What about a bell? 
Me:  A bell?
Chatterbox:  Yeah, a bell that tells you when to start.
Me:  Oh, yes...I imagine there will be a bell.  It will ring to tell the teachers when school starts and again when it's time to go home. 
Chatterbox:  Will it be loud?
Me:  Not too loud.  It might be a little loud if you are standing right under it.
Chatterbox:  I don't like loud.  Where are the bells?
Me:  I'll tell you what.  When we get there tomorrow, we'll look for the bells to see where they are.  Then you can always be prepared. 
Chatterbox:  OK.
(silence again) 
Me:  Do you remember what we learned at church today?  "A friend loves at all times."  I'll bet you will have a chance tomorrow to be a good friend to someone in your class.
(he seems to consider the idea silently)
Me:  I'm going to pray tonight that God will give you lots of friends in your class.
(He suddenly puts his head on my stomach and hugs me tightly)
Chatterbox:  Did I used to lay on you like this to go to sleep when I was little?
Me:  Yes.  Yes, you did.
Chatterbox:  I love you.
Me:  I love you too...so, so much.

Who says there's no more quality children's television?

I recently discovered a great Veggie Tales episode that moves me to tears every time we watch it.  Not to go all Roger Ebert on you, but anyone who has a young daughter should make this a mandatory "Must See" as a family.  Here is a trailer to the DVD:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWSM8QeoAXw

This animated short tells the story of Snooderella, and lends a Seussian touch to the traditional Cinderella story with a spiritual context.  Snooderella doesn't like her appearance and her Stepsnoodle and sisters just reinforce her insecurities.  Her Stepsnoodle arranges for an Stacy-and- Clinton-style extreme makeover and they are all pleased with the result.  But even after enjoying tons of attention at the ball, Snooderella still doesn't feel beautiful.  She knows that when the clock strikes midnight, she will return to her old appearance.  This is an exact transcript of the screenplay from that point:

Alone at the punch bowl, she grabbed a cool drink

As she sipped from her cup, she started to think,

"I guess looking different can cause quite a stir.

But am I beautiful, REALLY?" she asked, not quite sure.

"I still don't FEEL pretty," then the clock chimed above,

"I still don't feel cherished, or nurtured or loved."

Again, there she stood with glasses and braces,

Uncontrollable hair and cumbersome graces.

So, back to herself in that hall, all alone,

She sat down her cup and turned to go home.

Then onto the dance floor walked the King as he said:

“Would you like to, my child, hear what I think instead?”

Then the hall filled with music as the King took her hand. 

She asked, “Your Majesty?...please, I don’t understand.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” the King said as he smiled. 

“I treasure you deeply; you’re lovely my child!

I think you’re beautiful...your hair and your braces,

Your glasses and clothes, your cumbersome graces. 

And many more traits which I could speak of.

There’s nothing about you I don’t truly love.

You’re kind and you’re honest, funny and smart.

You’re really quite charming...and you have a good heart.”

“Your Majesty,” she asked as a tear came in view.

"I’d like to believe you...is that really true?”

“Of course it is true, every word that I say!

Daughter, I am the King, and I made you that way.

 I delight in your beauty; you’re wonderfully made!

I knew you before Earth's foundation was laid.

You’re precious to me, every hair on your head.

Daughter, hear and believe,” the Snoodle King said. 

Then the music grew soft and came to an end

When the cuckoo above struck twelve once again.

She smiled as she stood in that hall all alone

"I'm....beautiful!" she said, and turned to go home.

Now, to end on a note with me once again reading

From this lyrical tale with a happy beginning

Whose middle was wistful and sad to recall,

You must hear what happened ever after the ball.

If ever Stepsnoodle or her two sisters grouched

About the style of her hair or an ill-fitting blouse,

Snoodlerella, she'd shrug...and remember one thing --

That one special night when she danced with the King.

If you can't say anything nice...

OK, so first things first.  I have a job!  I have accepted an offer as an assistant teacher at a very reputable preschool.  It is full-time, the hours are firm, I don't have to take work home with me, and I will be eligible for health benefits in 3 months.  The icing on the cake is that my son (I'll be calling him Chatterbox since this is a public, not a private blog) can be in their after-school program and will be in the same building with me every afternoon.  How cool is that?  I start on Monday - woo-hoo!   I have experienced a long period of unemployment in the past (about 8 months to be exact), so I was hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst in this job search.  I feel very, very blessed to have found something quickly that I think I will love doing and that will help me in reaching my eventual life goals - more on that subject later.

I immediately shared the news with two of my best friends, who reacted exactly as best friends should.  Excited, congratulatory, happy.  And, given that a great perk of this job will be brief access to my son each afternoon, I couldn't wait to tell him about this new development too.

I walked into his classroom that day, and he greeted me in his usual fashion...huge smile, screams, "MOMMY!" then takes a running leap into my arms for a bear hug.  It is not an exaggeration to say that this is my favorite moment of every day.

So, I couldn't wait to tell him the news, and I thought that his teacher that he has had for the past year would appreciate the awesomeness of the news as well.  I do want to preface the rest of the story with this:  his teacher (let's call her Debbie Downer in this story) did not know that I have been unemployed for the last two weeks, but she did know that the demands of my job have been extreme over the last year.

"Mommy wants to tell you some great news," I said to Chatterbox as we sat down at one of their little munchkin tables in the classroom.  "And I want Debbie Downer to hear it too." (OK, it sounds weird when I use the alias in context, but go with it).  "Mommy has a new job that starts soon.  I am going to be a teacher at a school like this one, and every day after school, a really cool bus will pick you up from school and then bring you to the school where Mommy works, and you can play there until it's time to go home (as I'm talking, Chatterbox is smiling, trying to put it all together, but clearly happy).  And Mommy will be able to see you when you get off the bus and we'll be able to go home together a little earlier!

Then I looked up at Debbie Downer, expecting the same expression on her face, ready to share my excitement with an adult and mother that has not only made the same career choice, but truly cares about my son.

But her face was not happy.  It was all squinched up, a tad confused and - dare I say - disappointed.

Without even hesitating, she responded, "I don't know if that is going to be good for either of you.  You are really going to have to make some big adjustments financially with that kind of work.  If you are going to be a teacher, it would be so much better if you would do something where he could just come straight home from school instead of going to childcare."

I stared at her for a moment, all the joy sucked out of the moment, and seriously considered a strongly worded response.  Or a right hook.

Instead, I took a deep breath and responded, "Well yes.  That would be better.  But that is not the option I was offered.  Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of not working full-time right now."

One would think this would end the conversation.  Alas, no.

"I just think this is going to be hard on him.  So much change all at once," said Debbie Downer.

"Well, considering I was let go from my job unexpectedly, I really was in a position to be aggressive about finding something else.  I am actually happy about this change, because if he has to be in an after-school program, at least I can be right there to check on him whenever I want," I said evenly.

"Oh, I didn't realize you had been let go.  Well, I guess that's different."  Even more disapproval on the face of Debbie Downer now as she considered what a loser I must be to get myself fired.

No compassion.  No, "I'm so sorry that happened."  This was just getting more insulting by the minute.


"It's too bad that you didn't apply here.  Then at least he could remain in the after-school program someplace that he knows," responded Debbie Downer.

"Um, actually, this was the first preschool that received my resume.  I was told that there were no openings," I responded.  "But yes, I agree.  That would have been ideal."

Then I stood up to leave, because I was having a hard time not bashing her disapproving face right into the bulletin board behind her.  She backpedaled a little bit as I moved toward the door, mumbling, "Well that really does put things into a little different light.  When one door closes, another one opens..."

But I didn't say anything else as we walked out the door. 

As we made the drive home, I tried to let the anger seep out of my pores.  Then, inevitably, as it should do with any (semi-) emotionally adjusted person, it turned to something else.  The feelings that hide behind anger.

Hurt -- that she somehow doesn't appreciate my intense commitment to weigh every decision in the context of how it will affect my son.  Because how could she say things like that to someone that she believes would do what is in the best interest of her child...anything to make him feel loved, safe, and secure?  Maybe the fact that she could question my decision (after it's already been made, mind you!) shows what she really thinks of my parenting abilities.  And that hurts.

Guilt -- that, despite my good intentions and willingness to make personal sacrifices in order to protect my son or try to reduce the emotional implication of these changes, it's still not enough.  Not "good for him."  Not "ideal."  That cuts especially deep, because it is an echo that started bouncing around the first time I considered leaving my husband and still reverberates powerfully in the dark, quiet corners of my heart.  And sometimes, on an unlucky day, I reap the benefits of someone's careless words ramping up the volume on that particular sentiment.

The people that dole out these words aren't bad people, mind you...they are people that genuinely care for me or my son.  But they do serious damage purely by not thinking before they speak.


I've been watching a new TV series called Falling Skies. I really enjoy it, not just because I am a sci-fi geek, but because one of its main characters is a single dad with three sons who is trying his best to be a good father while helping to lead the human resistance against the aliens.  In the latest episode, he sees his 16-year-old ride off into a battle, tries to comfort his slightly younger son as he grapples with the possibility that he is some sort of alien/human hybrid, AND is trying to decide if it's worse to expose his commanding officer's drug problem or shatter the army's confidence on the eve of battle.  The character is played by Noah Wyle, a great actor.   He beautifully conveys the panic just beneath the surface for his character as a friend asks him what he is going to do, to which he responds something like, "I'm just trying to survive the next 8 hours."

I can totally relate.

There are no choices that I am faced with these days that end in "and they all lived happily ever after."  More often, it involves choosing the lesser of two evils...for instance, the job that puts me in a position to have more quality time with my son versus the job that offers decent pay.  Do I use this extra $20 to replace his shoes that are falling apart or to refill a prescription?  Do I duke it out with my ex-husband in court to ensure some degree of financial stability over the next 13 years or give in to his stubbornness so we can move on more quickly?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining, truly.  On any given day, I am acutely aware that I am rich when compared to most of the world's population.  I have a wonderful son, a great family and some true friends.  I live in a little house with heat and air-conditioning, and I eat three times a day.  And now I have a job!  So I know how blessed I am.  And I am very thankful.

But I also know what it means to be so battle-worn that you walk around the world like an open wound.  How difficult it is to be strong when all you want to do is put your covers over your head and pray for something else.  It doesn't even matter if it's good...as long as it's different.  To live with the knowledge that your child is hurting and there is not a single decision in the wide world you can make that is going to fix it. 

Thank goodness I've done some healing since those feelings began so many months ago.  I can weigh the words of Debbie Downer and move on.  But it still smarts to have someone say out loud that you're doing a shitty job when you're just doing your best with what you have.

So, I'd like to offer some food for thought.  I'm addressing myself as well, because heaven knows I've put my foot in my mouth more than once or failed to see someone with compassionate eyes.  What if, when we're talking to a person who seems to be floundering...someone who doesn't have it all together or maybe, by our own estimation, maybe even deserves the turmoil they're in...what if we all decided to spare them our words of wisdom?

What if we reserved our responses to this...

Is there anything I can do to help?

Friday Quips and Quotes

So, obviously I'm not an everyday posting kind of blogger.  I'm guessing you're OK with that since you're still tuning in.

I've decided to institute "Friday Quips and Quotes," wherein I will offer up wonderfully deep or trivial quotes from TV, film, literature or, occasionally, from my kid.   Please accept my invitation to share your thoughts on the quote of the day in the comments section each Friday.  Then we will all read each other's comments and nod slowly while staring meaningfully off into space as we contemplate really deep stuff, preferably while wearing a smoking jacket and sipping sherry.


TV Series "Angel," circa 1999:

Spike:  I've seen an apocalypse or two in my time...I'd know if one was right under my nose.
Lindsay:  Not AN apocalypse...THE apocalypse.  What did you think?  A gong was gonna sound, tell you to jump on your horses and fight the big fight?  The starting pistol went off a long time ago, boys.  You're playing for the bad guys.  Every day you sit behind your desk and you learn a little bit more how to accept the world the way it is.  Here's the rub...heroes don't do that.  Heroes don't accept the world the way it is.  They fight it.

A time for everything

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven....
a time to tear down and a time to build..."  Ecc 3:1,3

I got fired last week.

You would think that a 39-year-old woman would have experienced this before.  But I haven't.  In all of my adult life, I've never had a boss who wasn't plain ecstatic to have me.  Not bragging or anything, just sayin'.

Then I decided to take a sales position.  Granted, I took it after months of an unsuccessful job search and out of sheer desperation to escape my marital home.  I think I would have shovelled manure if someone had offered me that fine opportunity.

I'm not saying that my experience in sales has been totally unredeeming.  I took a position as a community relations director for a senior services company, so it wasn't your stereotypical sales position.  I got to spend most of my time relationship-building, which I think is one of my true strengths.  And the really awesome part was I got to help the elderly and their families.  I have been able to make a real and tangible difference in some people's lives over the last year.

Also, I came to some conclusions.  I saw that I loved the helping-people part (which I already knew about myself) but hated the sales quota deal.  Not knocking it, because I know businesses have to stay afloat and be profitable.  But there was something that felt infinitely wrong about devaluing the time spent with a family to educate them on resources and vital next steps that needed to be made when it didn't result in them becoming a paying customer. 

But that's why I guess sales is just not my bag, baby. 

So the long and short of it is that I wasn't making my sales quotas, and I got canned.  And I have to say that, while the timing stinks, I'm not that upset about it.  Because truthfully, I don't want to sell home care for the rest of my life. 

And maybe God is trying to get my attention and turn it toward something else.

What that will be, I still am not sure.  I am waking up every day making a decision not to panic at the quickly dwindling, already tiny balance in my checking account, and keeping my eyes and ears open for what is next.  I do realize that I may have to do some more not-fun jobs to get to where I need to be.  And I've decided that that's OK too.

After the last three years of my life and all I have lost, it would be very, very easy for me to become monumentally discouraged at this setback.  There are only so many blows to a girl's ego, financial and emotional health and security that she can take, after all.


But there's a funny thing about loss.  Life mysteriously unclutters itself.  There are things, STUFF, you always thought you needed that suddenly lose their shine, and it gets really simple.  What you need is redefined.  I'm not saying it is an easy process, to have everything stripped away.  Torn down.  That it doesn't sometimes feel cruel and unnecessary.  But if you know where to lean, it doesn't destroy you.  It just changes you.  

Have you ever read Ecclesiastes in the Bible?  Not to get too preachy on you, but seriously, you should.  It is really dark when you compare it to, say, Psalms.  But full of truth.  Life is not all rainbows and bluebirds.  This trips up a lot of people...especially people of faith.  Including me.  I went through a big-time shake down in my mid-20's when my life got really, really hard.  When I look back, that was nothing like what I am experiencing now.  But when you're 25, things are a bit more dramatic, and you feel entitled.  And I got really, REALLY ticked off about it, because I did everything right.  I was a very, very good girl.  And my life was still downright falling apart.  It was just so unfair.

What a drama queen.

So I decided that HEY, you know what I really should do is tell God what He can do with His I-know-what's-best-for-you-and-my-will-is-perfect-and-maybe-I'm-trying-to-teach-you-something and do it my way.

And that worked out SUPER.  That's sarcasm, in case you missed it.

So.  I've come to believe some things - you may not subscribe to these beliefs, and that's OK.  But this is where my journey has led me: 

1)  Life is very, very hard.  It is not fair.  Bad things do happen to good people.  I may get to the end of my life and still not understand why these things happened.  That sucks.
2)  God is smart.  Smarter than me, and smarter than my stupid boss.  This would make it really dumb on my part not to trust Him.  Some days I do a really good job of trusting.  Some days I don't.  But He loves me either way.  When I make really stupid choices in my moments of not trusting Him, He allows me to reap the consequences of my stupidity while still giving me little gifts of redemption to let me know He still loves me and can turn anything around if I will let Him.
3)  God never allows suffering for nothing.  There is always a reason - always a purpose.  I'm not saying I totally understand that, or am even at peace with that.  But I do believe that.

Am I happy to be unemployed?  Not at all.  I spend most of my days either out hand-delivering resumes or filling out applications on line.  I am praying my butt off for a new direction to become clear.  And listening.

The Bible tells me there is a time for tearing down. 

In time, I have to believe that the rebuilding will come too.

Do you hear it?

The street I live on dead-ends into a road that is closed -- barriers on each end of the 1-mile stretch of pavement that at one time was supposed to be a continuation of a fairly major road in the North Fulton area.  Only residents that live directly off this stretch of road have good access to it.  Along this road is a huge empty lot that some investor apparently envisioned would make a great mixed-use development.  But it never happened.  I guess they ran out of money, not unlike a large percentage of Americans with interests in the real estate market.

I am not a fitness guru, but I do run occasionally - not on a regular basis...I probably only average once a week.  But, let me tell you, this road is a runner's dream.  So I've come to look forward to my quiet little runs as one of the highlights of my week.

No major hills, no cars whizzing by.  Very quiet.  Great scenery.  The occasional bunny hippity-hops right into your path (I kid you not).  It is a little piece of heaven on earth for a city-dweller that is still a country kind of girl.

I heard something when I was running today.  Something kind of amazing.  I could just tell you outright, but that's no fun.  I'd rather take you running with me.  Which is KIND OF a big deal since this is my very, very favorite time to be alone.  But today I'll make an exception. To play along, I'll ask you to try and eliminate as many distractions as possible before we go on our run together.  Turn off the TV.  Have your significant other watch the kids for a sec.  Pull over on the side of the road (OK, seriously, you better not be reading this while you're driving).

Ready?

Let's go.

It's dusk.  The sun has already set and the crickets and frogs are already singing a chorus in greeting to the night.  But there is still plenty of good light for a short run.  I stretch my arms overhead as I turn left at the bottom of my driveway.  My neighbor is in her yard and I wave in greeting.  She waves back with a smile.  She is a single mom too, and invited me out to dinner a few weeks ago despite the fact that she is Latina and still struggles with the language barrier.  "We need to stick together, because this is hard," I remember her saying in fragmented English.

I maintain a brisk walk, stretching my muscles that feel a bit achy after working in the garden today.  When I reach the stop sign at the end of road, I break into a jog as I turn left onto the closed road...and my quiet place of solitude welcomes me.   I'm in a slow jog now, nothing strenuous.  Just working out the kinks now.  I look across the enormous empty field to my right, a great green and brown sea of delicious nothingness.   Hills that at one time were likely piles of excavated earth are now overgrown with brush and weeds, and they pleasantly break up the landscape, begging passersby to climb.  So after a short distance, I pick one, and I do.  I take it at a run and feel my quadriceps burn as I quickly reach the top.  A bit breathless, I turn to see the view.  The sky over the small neighborhood around the corner looks bigger from here.  Dark periwinkle clouds tower into the sky against a pale blue-grey sky back lit from the sun that has already said good-night.  In the distance, I can see that rain is falling, maybe five miles south of here.  It looks like a veil drifting down from heaven.

Do you hear it yet?

I trot down the hill and continue my run, rounding a bend with a lone high rise building in view a short distance away above the trees.  The windows look like golden mirrors to the world, reflecting the end of another day.

I reach the end of the road now, where the barriers are, and turn around to make the return trip.  I am on a slight incline now, and my muscles in my legs burn blissfully, reminding me of how fortunate I am that I get to have legs.  That work.  The thought makes me smile.  My heart beats more quickly and I feel my pulse in my fingertips.  A healthy heart, too.  I have a healthy heart.

A young couple sharing their evening walk together approaches, and I lift two fingers to acknowledge their passing.  They barely acknowledge me because they are looking at each other.  They are still in love.  It is beautiful to see.

It is getting dark now.  The chorus of nighttime creatures grows louder and it is the perfect background music to the rhythm of my feet falling on pavement.

Do you hear it yet?

There is tall grass to my right -- it is never mowed here.  Each long blade of grass is graced with a fluffy wisp on top, and they all nod their little heads at me as a slight breeze starts....as if to say, "Good job, good job, good job..."

It is almost dark now.  I find myself wishing there were at least a couple of stars out.  I love the first stars of the evening.  As I make the turn onto my street, I slow to a walk.  With the change in direction, I find that the breeze is more significant now, cooling me from the heat of the run.  A wisp of hair comes loose from my ponytail and the wind uses it like a soft hand to stroke my face. 

I walk up my driveway, then stand for a moment on my little back deck, looking into the back yard.  Then I see them. Lightning bugs.   Twinkling here, there and everywhere.

Like stars.

Do you hear it yet?

No, not with your ears.  With your heart.

I love you.  I love you.  I love you.

"My love, I've never left your side
I have seen you through the darkest night
And I'm the One who's loved you all your life...
...you're not alone, for I am here."
lyric, "You're Not Alone" as sung by Meredith Andrews

The time you miss it most of all

"In the wee small hours of the morning...that's the time you miss him most of all." 
- lyric, In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Ask anyone who has been divorced what they miss about being married, and you will get a wide range of answers.  Some recount snapshots of happy memories with their spouse, such as a carefree day spent on vacation together, or sharing a private joke in a room full of strangers...little moments when their love was still new...or even tangible.  To a certain degree, I envy those people.  These are not the things that come to mind for me.  Maybe the happy times were just too few and far between; or maybe the pain from the divorce itself is still so near that it strangles those memories before they can even rise to the surface.

The occasions where I miss my married life often take me by surprise in the silliest ways and almost make me laugh.  Like the last time I mowed the lawn.  Yep, can't say I'm too thrilled about that aspect of single life. 

But other times, those moments are like punches in the gut.  The kind that leaves a mark.

This week Ben has been suffering from a pretty nasty stomach bug.  Low-grade fever, vomiting, and general yuckiness all around.  It started when we were visiting family over the weekend.  He seemed to get better after 24 hours except for weakness and a lack of appetite, so I thought we were over the hump.  But Monday he came home from school and collapsed on the couch, refusing to move or eat for the rest of the night.  Then, just as I was asking him if he was ready for bed, with no warning, he projectile vomited.  I don't know if you've ever seen this in real life, but let me tell you, it is kind of scary.  And it went EVERYWHERE as I carried him from the couch to the bathroom -- couch pillows, rug, floor, walls, ME...nothing was spared en route to the potty.

Poor kid.  After he finished, he looked around and seemed to share my dread.  "Look at this mess!" he said, cracking a joke as only my sweet boy can in the midst of general horror and discomfort.

I put him directly in the tub, washed him off then carried him to his bed.  I put clean pajamas on him and said, "Baby, can you read your books while Mommy cleans this up?"

"OK," he responded dutifully.  Not a whine, not a complaint.

So I proceeded with the cleanup.  It was no small task, let me tell you.  It took at least thirty minutes to at least get it off the floors, rug and walls and start a load of laundry.  I would save the couch for later.  And the whole time, I am listening to an electronic book-reader toy read my son stories aloud in his room.  Something I would be doing if I was still married.  Because my husband would be cleaning up the mess so I could comfort my very sick son.  Or vice versa.  Either way, he would not have some stupid piece of red plastic with a battery in it reading him stories about Winnie the Pooh and the hundred acre wood.  He would have loving arms around him, kissing his forehead, telling him not to worry about all that mess because Daddy (or Mommy) would get it all cleaned up.  And he wouldn't have to be a five-year-old sitting in his room by himself, being strong and brave, when he feels so very sick.

That's the time I miss it most of all.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain

I used to think that people who blog have way too much time on their hands.  I mean, even when I was married and a stay-at-home mom, I just did not have the time, energy, or inclination for it.  Despite the fact that I love to write, and performed my stay-at-home mommy duties and then some by organizing a neighborhood mommy networking group, volunteering relentlessly and learning to cook...FINALLY...it frankly just never occurred to me.  I'm kind of more of a face time kind of gal.  And I think that there was a part of me that believed I was not as good at this mommy thing as other moms that I knew.  That bothered me, and since I was already trying to hold a crumbling marriage together with sheer will and duct tape, this failure was not one I was ready to advertise, or even admit.


Let me explain.  As the firstborn of three girls in my family, I was kind of the stereotypical perfectionist overachiever.  On top of that, I had been a nanny for five years - a very, very GOOD nanny.  So it frankly kind of shocked me that I was not turning out to be the supermom that I had always expected I would be.


My son had reflux after he was born.  And slept beautifully...for three weeks.  Then, the kid's real sleeping habits came to light.  And I did not sleep for over 4 hours in about 18 months.  Because even on the rare occasions where my husband helped out on an overnight, I would still have to wake up to nurse which, as it turns out, is quite often for a reflux baby.  I had no family in town to help.  No close friends in my immediate neighborhood.  I was indescribably alone.  I was lucky to get a shower every other day.  I did not attend the obligatory "mommy and me" classes, because I was just too darn tired.  I would hold my crying baby, who I loved more than my own life, and think about how useless I was that I couldn't make his pain and discomfort better.  And I looked at other new moms, with their flawless makeup, discussing preschool wait lists while drinking their Starbucks lattes and working on their goals of running a 10K...and felt like a total failure.


Here's the thing.  I'm five years into mommyhood.  My situation has drastically changed.  I am about to be divorced, I work about 50 hours a week, and my time with my son has been slashed to a fraction of what it used to be.  And I am still miles away from being the supermom I thought I would be.  What has also changed is that I am somewhat at peace with that.


Women are so brutally hard on themselves.  I don't care how well put together you are, how much money you make, or how many hours you spend with a shrink.  There is not a mother I know of that doesn't snap at her child in anger occasionally, even when it's not his fault, or occasionally give her career precedence over her kids, or stare at her checkbook for long agonizing minutes, willing the money to appear so her son can play baseball this season.  We all have moments where we are not enough.  And we all silently beat ourselves up for it.

I'll tell you why I wanted to have a blog.  Because for every mom that posts the annual family beach photos on her Facebook page that seems to excel at every aspect of not only being the perfect parent, but the perfect woman, there is someone like me.  Someone who really does NOT have it all together.  Someone who often runs late to school programs and forgets her camera.  Someone who does not enforce regular bedtimes because she wants that extra ten minutes of time to memorize the lines of her son's face as they read a bedtime story together.  Someone who feels the weight of a failed marriage and what that will do to her child every...single...day of his life.


I am not a supermom.  I am just a mom...flawed, a total mess, and doing my best to make a life for me and my son.  And I'm willing to bet that I'm not alone. 

In fact, I have come to believe that the whole concept of "supermom" is kind of like the Wizard of Oz.  It's as if women everywhere are saying to each other, and even to themselves, "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain."  We're killing ourselves creating the smoke and mirrors, the image of the great and powerful Oz.  And really we're all just like the little dude from Kansas who got dropped into a world he wasn't prepared for and is trying like crazy to compensate.

So, I say screw that.  This blog is probably not going to be what you expected.  Kind of like how the direction of my life has not been what I expected.   You can expect a lot of talk about being a mom...but also about being a woman, being a single parent, making a half-hearted attempt of putting myself "out there" again, being a person of faith that isn't afraid to ask hard questions and, finally, being honest.

I am kicking "supermom" in the teeth...the idea of her, that is.  You can join me, or feel free to watch from a distance if you're not quite sure you're ready to buy into my mediocre shenanigans.  Either way, I think you will enjoy the ride.