Career Mom

I'm back! I know, it's a miracle; twice in a week. Or more accurate would be, within 7 days time, because Sunday-Saturday is an obsolete time frame in the world of a stay at home mom. Which brings me to one of the things that has been weighing on my mind... oh, for about four years now. Wow, I can't believe it's been that long since I quit my out of home job to take on the role of mommy, a.k.a. Homemaker.

Every time I write that word, homemaker, on some form that asks my occupation I feel like I'm back in the 50's. I get this vision of putting a dress on every morning, doing my hair, painting on makeup I never wore to begin with, preparing some 3 course meal for dinner all while playing with the kids and teaching them their ABC's and ensuring they are read at least one book per day, because you know that's been proven to be the most important thing when it come to early learning! *sigh* Oh right, and ensuring the house is spotless... each day. Ha. 

My husband definitely came home to this one day
shortly after our move

 

I cringe every time I call myself a homemaker because all that is soooo not me. And I hate to admit it. I really do. I want to be that mom. That mom who says, I LOVE being home with my kids, I can't wait to have more running around... watching me pee and making it so my every other day ability to shower turns into, wait, when did I last shower? Yeah, not happening. I must have been having some sort of delusional episode when I wrote Hmmm, Three. I really do want to be that mom who bakes each day and enjoys playing dolls and dinosaurs and doesn't do it just because she feels she has to. I have fought every day for 4 years to be that mom. The one I always wanted to be. The one I truly thought I would be. The one I wished my mom could have been for me, because she would have been really good at being that mom. She was good at the single working mom thing too.

If you've never been a stay at home mom, other than those first few weeks when your job was awesome enough to give you paid time off to be with your new little bundle of joy or you made due and took whatever time you could, then you won't understand this plight. And that's okay. It is. I can vaguely remember the working outside of the home mom plight at this point. I have a lot of other posts you can peruse if you like, because this probably isn't the one for you!

I've talked to a number of mom's about this, read countless blog posts and articles, many of which somehow turn into some judging match of who is the better mom, which makes my blood boil. It's not a competition folks! Most recently though, I overheard a conversation that really hit home for me. A mom was telling another mom how she tried the stay at home mom thing for 10 months and realized it wasn't for her. She commented she felt guilty going back to work at first but her kids love their daycare time and they are learning a lot she loves her adult time at work. Ahhhh, adult time, whoa, what is that, I thought in my head. That sounds heavenly whatever it is! Especially since I'm pretty sure I've lost all sense of proper social skills since staying home. Example: when my husband gave our son another cookie at a party this weekend I yelled across the way to stop and get it from him. Because, well, when your kids are acting like fools and an earshot away, it's totally okay to yell for them to stop and come here, right?

I should note, my kids are allergic to dairy, add on eggs for my son, and my husband had already given the kids cookies earlier, like an hour earlier. It drives me crazy that he constantly does this because he wants to be like everyone else. Seriously? You want to make your kid uncomfortable and get his reflux all flared up, which the doctor's believe is what's causing his chronic ear and sinus infections, because all the other kids are eating cookies?! I can semi set aside my clean eating, no dyes, HFCS and other garbage in that sort of stuff when at parties because it's the only time they get those things, but when they are allergic to it and it can lead to other issues, I do sort of loose it at some point. Ok, sorry, rant over.

In the end, what this mom I never officially met said was a real eye opener for me. For some reason, I've never thought about going back to work that way. As in, doing it because it's what I need and that being OKAY! My mom always put what I needed or wanted first. At least that's how I remember it. She worked because she had to. I guess I had it in my head that's the way it should be. In many ways, it is. You're whole life turns upside down once you become a parent but that doesn't mean every. single. thing. you do must be centered around the kids. Does it? If you need to work in order to keep your sanity and to be able to truly enjoy your time with your kids then you should be able to dothat, without the added emotion of guilt.

I can't seem to figure out where this overwhelming feeling of guilt comes from each time I start to look for work outside of the home, something I've done more and more of recently. Actually, it stems from a number of places, both external and internal. But I could psychoanalyze those reasons until the moon is up. So, I end up squashing the idea of a job search because I can't take the guilt. 

I grew up in a daycare and I hated it. That doesn't mean my kids would. In fact, I'm pretty sure mine would love it. They are very social and I was very shy as a child. I liked being around adults better. I wanted to be home with my mom like most of my friend's were. Especially once I was school age and all my friends went home while I went to daycare. That doesn't mean my kids desire to be home with me above all else though. And that's where I go round and round and round and end up right back here. At home, thinking, why can't they play nice for more than 5 minutes so I can get this darn blog post written! And of course feeling guilty because I'm taking an hour to write it, rather than pretending to be a princess or a frog or making up what sounds an awful lot like a new language and then singing it to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star. Yes, both can sing that song but my son prefers to talk like a monster and/or create his own crazy concoction of made up words when he sings it. It's actually pretty hilarious.

I feel like I'm complaining but I'm not trying to. I'm truly at a crossroads I think many mom's have faced before and may be facing along with me now. I love my kids like nothing else in the world. I love them above all else. I'd do anything for them. I'd give anything for them. I live for them. And I'm beginning to realize that is precisely the problem. I somehow lost myself and became solely a mom. No one can be the mom they desire to be when they have forgotten who they are as an individual.

I had hoped being a yoga instructor would help alleviate this need do more than be a mom and steer me back on the path to myself. I loved my teaching time in WV. I loved having my own money coming in too. I didn't feel hopelessly dependent on my husband. Unfortunately, I'm having difficulty getting started back up since we moved. I can't seem to find the right fit here and it's beginning to weigh on me. With summer upon us, it will be even more difficult, as my 4 week workshop starting tomorrow can attest to considering no one has signed up yet. I had all my connections in place in WV since I did my training there. I keep putting feelers out and using every resource I can think of here but nothing seems to come to fruition and my frustration is rising. Thus, while I'm happy to be back in my home state, I'm also back to being "just a mom". I don't mean that in the sense that it's not the most important "job" out there, I mean that it's all I have. Like I said earlier, that's just not me. I'm not Suzie homemaker. And far from mother of the year. Huffington Post recently posted a question asking what the best age is. One response said something along the lines of loving every single age even more and how wonderful it all is. I can't lie, I definitely gagged a bit. Are the people who write that stuff serious?! God, I hope not or that whole far from mother of the year is more like bottom of the totem pole.

I always dreamed big and to think my ambition now is a daily to do list which includes a weekly goal of getting all four toilets in the house clean and for once not forgetting something at the grocery store so I don't have to go there four times each week, it's sort of depressing. Heck, I'd be happy if I could remember my to do list each day, and to put on deodorant, because lord knows my mommy brain has shifted into overdrive and I'm truly concerned about the number of functioning brain cells I have left. Seriously though, I want to enjoy this choice I made to stay home. I want to enjoy my time with my kids. At least more often than I desire to ring their necks! They won't be little for long and I'll miss it if I keep going like this. I really want to want this as my sole "job" but as a mom on a blog I read recently pointed out, this isn't a job. And she's right. Being a parent is simply a part of life once you are one. It's a responsibility, for life, NOT a job, or a career. Balancing on that fine line of it being your whole life and having a life is possibly more challenging that the whole parenting gig itself!

After nearly 5 years, I'm still trying each day to figure out that balance of life and parenthood. My goal is to figure out what works for ME, and soon, without the mommy guilt! Anyone know if that's possible? I sure hope so.

Scorpio Passion

The other day I spoke to someone who was genuinely surprised to learn my birthday was coming up, thus making me a Scorpio. When they said, but you're so nice, I chuckled a bit and said, well, you've never scorned me. I was also recently complimented on my energy as a yoga instructor. Not like the energizer bunny sort of energy, because we all know I desperately lack that, but the energy that radiates from each of us. I was told it was positive and uplifting and my students can feel it, and that it's not something you can teach to new instructors, or anyone for that matter.

These couple compliments, combined with my utterly unhealthy obsession with my vampire novels and my continuing drama of being married to an alcoholic, all got me to thinking about a few things.

1. I must have some vampire magic to be able to exude such energy or a positive and uplifting aura, if you will, because God knows... as does my family, most days that's just not me.

2. Perhaps my obsession with reading stories of epic love, magic and fantasy is what allows me to hide the anger, resentment and negativity that otherwise consumes me.

3. The passion that engulfs Scorpios is like an addiction. It is an addiction.

I've often wondered why I get so addicted to whatever it is I find that pulls me away from reality. Ultimately, I know we create our own reality. Yoga, as well as many self help books I read as a teen and young adult, and my Jewish faith has reminded of this truth time and time again. I can only feel consumed by anger and resentment if I allow myself to. I am only down on my self or life or all that feels wrong if I focus on those things and allow myself to feel down. Despite knowing this, there's that side of me that is passionately pulled by truth, so to not feel these things seems like I'm lying to myself. Because the fact is, I'm not happy. It's that simple.

I realized the man I have loved for what feels like forever was hiding his addiction too late. I was already overtaken by the passionate idea that fate reunited us and our paths crossed once again because the universe was screaming, this is the way it was meant to be, you silly girl. Don't ignore it or walk away again. Over the years, I have watched this man I knew in college, who was wild and crazy and loved me like no one else in the world existed, slip into a version of the man I knew he could become. I also always knew he could have just as easily morphed into a different man, if only he cared enough about himself to become that person. It's heart wrenching to watch and even more grueling to accept this reality when you love someone.

So, I'm back to submerging myself in the fantasy world of supernatural beings and magic and well, stories of the kind of love that takes your breath away. I become obsessed with, addicted to, stories that describe the passion that can surround two people so completely that the drama, trials and tribulations and darkness that undoubtedly lives in this world seems like daisies and rainbows as long as they have each other. Many times, a long time ago, our love felt like this. Despite not keeping in touch very often, if at all, for a couple years, that love I once knew was part of the pull that told me many times, before I finally listened, to call off a wedding to someone I was never meant to marry but rather I had simply lost myself in the idea. That love saved me from a very different path I was on. Yet, that love that pulled me back to my path seems to have gotten stuck back in that other life I once knew.

Facing my current reality is not something I can emotionally tackle. I've reached a point that I have too much anger to cry. Even when a "normal" feeling person would and "should", I find myself stoic, at least to the sadness. The anger is something I'm quite able to express. Lately though, I get this overwhelming need to cry. Often many times each day. Yet I still can't. Sometimes I think I can't because if I let myself, I won't ever stop. Every regret, every ounce of anger, frustration, resentment, sadness, grief will seep through and because there is just SO much of it now, how could I ever stop? There's just no time for tears. While I feel it's important that my kids learn that tears aren't a bad thing, I also don't want them to think I'm always sad. I don't want them to know I'm always sad. I want them to be happy. So, I fake it. The best I can anyway. It seems, based on some of the recent "compliments" I've received, I'm doing pretty well at faking my positive, content and uplifting vibes onto the world.

Based on what I know about, be the change you wish to see in the world or be the light you wish to fill the world with, as I like to picture it, the fact that I'm able to do this so well would imply that I would start to feel that light within. It's been quite some time now, over a year since I started my yoga teacher training anyway, which is when I was able to hone in more clearly on pushing that light outward, yet I still can't seem to feel it within me. Maybe I just won't allow it in because it seems every time I feel a glimmer of it, I taste the bitterness of another lie, another letdown and the hope once again fades.

This makes me wonder. Is it my brooding, serious Scorpio side that prevents me from absorbing the very energy of light and love and contentment I can exude? If others actions can't control how I feel, then it must be me, right? Is it the side of me that screams, be careful not to scorn me or you will feel my inability, or lack of desire, to forgive and forget, forever? And thus, I hold on to that feeling of being scorn, over and over, and allow it to consume me. Is it possible for a person to change their essence? I do believe everyone has both darkness and light within them. Despite my paranormal fantasy books being just that, fantasy, there is a great deal of truth to them. That is one of the truth's I certainly believe.

My addiction to these fantasies is clearly a representation of what I crave the most in my reality. My inability to put one of these fantasy books down once I start is part of my personality that desires a passionate life. A life of meaning beyond what mere words can describe, a life of love that means something, of trust that has no limits. My Scorpio side that feels everything to the umpteeth degree tells me to keep reading because my reality is too painful. To truly face real life and accept it for what it is, at this moment, would mean I have to let those tears escape. To do that would mean not knowing when or how to stop them. So, my overly practical, I am strong enough to face anything side, runs in the opposite direction, leaving my own light and darkness to battle it out inside as I show the outside that all is calm.

Right now I simply know no other way. Meditation forces me to accept things I don't want to. Playing with my kids reminds me that I must make very difficult decisions that will impact their lives forever, and I am beyond terrified of making the wrong decision for them. Practicing yoga feels selfish, as well as being a road towards accepting reality. But teaching it allows me to "fake" my reality, my light. It's all very ironic, really. The one thing I desire most in life is trust. Passionate and irrevocable trust. And here I am forcing myself to pretend. To lie to myself. To lie to all those who see something around me and within me that I simply do not feel. As always, it seems we've come full circle.

As fate would have it, I started another one of my vampire books today
and this quote started the second chapter.

 

Breath of Patience and Peace

I've been writing to you all a TON. What, you haven't seen any of it? Oh, right, it's all still in my head! Have no fear though. I am keeping to my do more of the things I need to stay grounded, happy and healthy New Year goal. My sankalpa assignment, if you will.

I made it to a yoga class at my old studio in PA while there for the big event. My brother in law was married and our sweet princess looked like a real princess as one of the flower girls. Even the hubs cleaned up nicely as a groomsman.

               My real life princess!! 

Also while there, and since, I've read more nights than not, I've played with the kids, actually played, I've worked in the garden and yard a bit, cooked more and as a result of all this, or at least I'm taking it as a cause/effect, I've noticed I've been sleeping more soundly. Which is practically a miracle in my world. Though I'm still tired most days, after years of restless sleep and waking more times than I can count, I think feeling refreshed when I wake will take quite some time. And a good body detox!

That is one thing I'm still procrastinating. I keep saying I'll do it, I'll start cutting back on sugar tomorrow, or Saturday, or.... then that damn ice cream isle at the grocery store just sucks me in and I find myself standing in front of the cookie carmel crunch gelato I've become obsessed with and well, that's all she wrote with the well intentioned thoughts of a cleansing. So I go home and juice to try to make myself feel better. For those of you who are not familiar with some clean eating lingo, no, I'm not taking steroids! I put fresh organic fruits and veggies in my juicer and make some yummy, healthy concoctions... thus, I juice.

But, enough of all that. I actually have a free morning with nothing to do except buy the hubs some more hair pomade so let's get to some more of what I've been writing to you these past weeks out of my head. 

A lot it has focused around introspection (shocker) and analyzing my yoga career. As I gain momentum with building up new classes and picking up classes to teach here and there, I've found myself practicing less. Which sucks. And I need to figure that one out still. 

I've also found that some classes can really test my patience. I find this oddly ironic considering I chose to switch gears a bit in the way I help others to get away from situations that would bring up feelings I consider negative, or that I would prefer to steer clear of in my life. As such, I needed to contemplate why such emotions are stirring in me at times.

What I've decided is the one class that tests my patience the most is meant to be a part of my life. I can't fly off the handle after directing someone to put their right foot forward for a warrior 1 three, four, five times as they do everything with their body BUT put their right foot forward. I must maintain my calm, peaceful demeanor and PATIENCE! After all, I'm there to help them, to guide them towards their own inner peace through the movement and breath that yoga can offer. And clearly, anyone whose mind is that preoccupied that they can't follow a one step direction or who is so out of touch with their own body awareness that they can't find their right foot and place it in front of their body, NEEDS my help. And I need this sort of test each week.

I continue to struggle with yelling in the home, at my kids. Sometimes they need to be yelled at, they can be quite naughty and don't hear anyone until the octave is louder than them. But, I don't want this. I want a yell free home! A calm home. A peaceful home. Or, as peaceful as a home can possibly be with 2 young kids and 2 fur children. It's so difficult to break habits, as we all know well, so practicing such patience AT home is more challenging. And that's where my reframe came in as I was debating dropping this yoga class that tests my patience and at times I even dread going to teach.

The thing is, I have a couple of yoginis in that class that have so much potential to really benefit from all yoga has to offer anyone willing to learn. I look at them and think back to my days of practicing yoga in a gym setting and how much I thought I knew because I was good at the poses and smiling as I realize I knew nothing about yoga back then! Well, I knew it made me feel good. I'd love to offer them this knowledge but I've found it's best to allow yoga to develop slowly for each person. Everyone's practice must develop at their own pace and ability to accept it into their lives. Because in the end, yoga will change your life. Everyone needs to ready, or willing, to accept a life change, no matter what that change is, for it to be meaningful and lasting. To truly practice yoga, it's not possible to stay where you are now. Heck, to live life that's not possible! But that's too philosophical. I'm just talking about   patience here. 

Yoga is a lifelong journey. So, I feel it's my duty to keep going. To keep pushing my students who I can see have that aura about them that desires to soak it all in. To let the energy that is yoga sustain them each week. I keep going to help the one who needs me. The one who needs to find some peace. Because perhaps once this person finds some peace through their breath, they will find their right foot when it's time to bring it forward. And that is why I teach to begin with.

Though, in truth, I've decided to keep teaching this class as much for me as for each of them. The only way I can stay on my own path of peace is to stay focused on my breath. And Lord knows, I need my breath to guide me gently and calmly through this blessing of a class that has found me!

Namaste my friends.

Age is Just a Number, Right?

I always wanted to be one of those people who aged gracefully. A person who took each year as an exciting new adventure; a gift. Though I'm not exactly surprised, I am having a bit of a hard time accepting that I'm getting older. Like most things in my life, I am a bit of a control freak and lack the innate ability to just, go with the flow. I have an awesome yoga shirt that dons this phrase. But it's more of a reminder for myself than a proclamation to others of how I actually live.

This whole, woe is me; it sucks to get old, thing came about because of that wonderful technology we know and love as, FaceTime. I used to think it would be so cool to be able to see the person you're talking to on the phone back when JEM was decades ahead of her time. That's the right 80's cartoon, right? Either way, all I could think as I talked to my husband all the way on the other side of the world was, man, is THAT really what I look like?! I look so homely and OLD. I look old. I used to be so photogenic! What the heck happened? What are all those lines on my face? When did they appear?

Now, the husband wasn't looking all that great himself, but it was 6am and he had just rolled out of bed...in China. I think he gets a pass. To make myself feel the tiniest bit better about my looming birthday in 6 weeks, 6pm isn't exactly my prime either as I race around the kitchen feeding the dogs and dodging food that the kids decide they don't like even though 5 minutes prior they were jumping up and down screaming for it, all while trying to think of something I feel like eating so I have enough energy to make it through the nighttime stretch of baths and the torturous bedtime "routine". No, I'm not this crazed every night but like I said, my husband is 1/2 way around the world and the "single-parenting" thing is NOT my forte! I am in constant awe of how my mom did it or how any single parent does it, especially with little ones, all on their own, ALL the time. Truly amazing. And here I am all bummed about getting older! So lame. And I just used the word "lame"! What decade is that from anyway?! Good grief.

I'm off topic though. Lame or not, this is about me! Me looking old to be exact. I can't lie. It gets me a bit down. No reason not to admit it just because there are real issues going on in the world and getting older is one of a very few things that is inevitable in life. Sure, lots of people try to fight it with creams and surgery and who knows what else some people are choosing to inject into their bodies. But in the end, we all get old... and eventually, we all die. It is what it is. It's life. We can't change it, so why not just accept it. Embrace it.

This is where my brain battles itself with being that person who embraces it and goes with the flow, because logically there's really no other way to live, and the person who looks in the mirror and contemplates buying hair dye, starting to wear make up, or maybe at least doing my hair each day and then notices the calendar and that looming birthday and then pouts about it all. To be clear... I'm only going to be 36. I know, "I'm a baby". But for some reason 36 feels like 40 to me. Probably because it tips me on to the side of being closer to 40 than 30. And 40 feels old, even though I know it's not. Not even close.

I can't help but remember my mom's big 40th bash. I came home from college with a few friends to celebrate. She has a Halloween birthday so it was a costume party, and truly a great time. I was 20! Yes, she was a young mom and I didn't have my first baby until 31, but still, it's difficult to look at my babies and realize that will be my big bash in just a handful of years and to picture this memory of my mom turning 40. And, yes, yes I know 50 is the new 40; 60 the new 50, blah, blah... but with each new pain, each new line, each new gray hair, I think, that's a bunch of BS! I FEEL old. And if I feel old now, how the heck am I going to feel at 70?

Many people still comment on how young I look. Yet, I rarely get carded anymore. Aren't you supposed to look at least 35 to not be carded? I know I AM 35, but if I look "young", I imagine my 20's. So card me, dammit! Ironically, I used to get rather annoyed when I'd have to break out my ID all the time. I even licked and stuck my license to my forehead in Vegas while celebrating my 23rd birthday because I was getting stopped every couple steps I took. Yes, I just cringed at the thought of licking my license. It was funny at the time.

They say you're only as old as you act and perhaps that's the problem. I feel like I went from this wild child in college, and even a bit beyond, to this ultra responsible, worrying, no fun, I need to be in bed by 10:30 or I'm going to be a grump tomorrow, old lady! There are many reasons for this and I can analyze the why of it all until the cows come home but the reality is, I get mad when my husband says I'm no fun because the truth is, I'm really not. I worry so much about my kids and all the awful things that could happen but statistically are very unlikely or how I'm going to screw them up or how to protect them from the infinite ways life can strip them of their innocence and glory days of childhood too young that I have forgotten to be me. I've forgotten how to have fun. I get so hung up on cleaning the dishes after each meal and errands or what to cook and doctor appointments and taking care of the dogs, who really need walked and more attention, and trying to vacuum all the dog hair and crumbs from the floor and changing diapers or wiping butts and doing laundry, forget about actually folding it... that not only have I forgotten to be me and how to have fun as a grown up but I forget to actually HAVE fun and play with my kids! No wonder I feel old. Playing is the one thing that keeps you young. As my kids would say, silly me.

Dancing with them and running around and just being goofy. Letting them get messy with painting or bubbles or even just water... I simply forget, or avoid it all together because I see it as extra work, or one more thing I have to do. And frankly, I'm just too tired to add anything else to the never ending to-do list. Worse, I get mad at them if they do one of these things that is so much fun and it makes more of a mess for me. So instead of embracing it...I zone out. I check email or facebook or run another errand and at night just veg out looking something up online or watching some stupid tv show. I don't do the things I really want to do like my home yoga practice, read, write... I forget to be me. In place of being me, I just sit and get old. Then I wonder why I feel old. And I see myself on FaceTime and wonder when I started to look old. And then I pout about it.

And now I sit here and wonder how I can change this cycle and get back to being me. To having fun. To continue my never ending challenge of letting go and simply LIVING. Enjoying life. I know ME is a 180 from the me I think of 10, even 5 years ago, but I still miss and need her. My family needs her. I don't need the wild me, just a little fun to keep me young. All it takes is changing something to break the cycle. Any cycle. Maybe coming here tonight is that something, since each night comes and I tend to say, oh, I'll write tomorrow... Though I have a feeling I need more. Something I can do each day, something that will form a more lasting change. I need a sankalpa assignment! I loved the one I did during my yoga teacher training. Perhaps it's time I return to that place that made me happy and free and find myself again. Not perhaps. It is time. I has to be. Otherwise, I'm going to actually BE old one day and regret not living!

Friendship

It's been awhile, huh? Sorry about that. No good reason for my temporary absence, just life. Well, life and not being sure that some of my self talk turned blog post for all to see wouldn't upset people I know and love so.... I saw it best to bite my tongue. Or pinch my fingers perhaps is a better idiom in this case? 

Either way, here I am, overwhelmed with my chatter, the ups and downs of life with an alcoholic, a toddler finding his independence and my little girl turning four tomorrow. Wow, four. but thats another post. 

This post is because I was recently reminded that this overwhelming feeling that tends to find me more often than I would prefer can be pushed to the curb for a brief respite when I get the rare opportunity to chat with friends. Or even other mommies that perhaps may sprout into friends some day. 

Thankfully, the few play dates we've had that provided such an opportunity have kept me sane this past month. On the opposite side of my sanity it also got my chatter all worked up. Realizing I need adult interaction like the dolphin needs to come up for a breath of the freash ocean air combined with the seemingly countless other moments the universe has tossed in my direction lately has made me stop and reevaluate what friendship means. Or at least contemplate it as I'm sure my definition will stand strong. 

Last week someone posed this exact question on Facebook. She wondered if her definition of friendship had become outdated and how we defined what a friend is. It was timely as I've been feeling a bit sad that both my husband and I lose more and more friends with each move we make. Combined with each year my husband continues to drink and stray away from old friendships, it feels like we have many good old friends that are now mearly acquaintances through fantasy leagues, Facebook, the occasional text and/or email. 

Friends we would have invited to our wedding 3 years ago had we not simply went to the local magistrate. Friends who would have been IN our wedding! I try to think who we would even ask now if we did finally have that long awaited celebration. It's similar to feeling like I have no one to will my children to should, God forbid,  something happen to us. Minus the whole stressful part of who will take care of the only things in my life that mean anything! So, not really the same at all, other than not knowing who I can truly call a friend anymore.

It's hard not to think of those bondsthat once   meant so much. Friends we would go out of our way to meet somewhere if we were in town or to attend a milestone birthday bash out of state. Friends we would send welcome new baby gifts to or holiday gifts for their kids. Friends we used to invite over for dinner or meet out for drinks. So many friends from our college years that became more like family than mearly friends. Too many dear friends that have simply slipped into the realm of, remember when... 

I often ask Craig, what's so and so up to these days and the response is, 

No idea, I haven't talked to them in a year. 

Wow! Has it really been that long? Didn't we just see them? 

Um, no, that was more like three years ago. 

Oh.

Some of it is kids. A lot of it is I guess. A lot of it is proximity. But to me true friendships stand the test of time and distance as well as the full time work of marriage and parenthood. I've always expected a lot from my friends. Probably because I give all of me to every relationship I value. I give all of my heart and soul to anything I value really, not just relationships. Every relationship we have requires a give and take. There's not one I can think of that will last if it's one sided. As I start to be the only one giving I have too often have to sit back and accept that I must stop giving all of me for nothing in return. Though the result is less hurt in the end, I find myself drifting further from my friendships and more towards isolation. 

Each call that goes unreturned for days, weeks, or even months reminds me of how isolated we have become. Each text that awaits a reply. Each wedding we don't get an invite to... 

My heart sinks a bit. Not because these friends don't think of me or us anymore or maybe wouldn't even call us friends but because I feel so lonely when I think back on my memories of them.

Don't get me wrong, I am truly blessed with all I have. Two healthy kids is something I cant take for granted after all I have seen in my career. Yet that doesn't take away the fact that friendships are truly an essential part of life. It's a type of love that family doesn't fill. Friendship helps to give you a sense of identity aside from mom and wife or sister, grand daughter, aunt.... 

If you have a family like mine, in many ways, friends become your family. Figuratively, emotionally maybe even spiritually. In such instances, that makes the slip from friend to an "old friend" even more intense of a loss. 

I'm partly to blame too of course. There are some friends I didn't call as much or work as hard to stay in touch with once my kids came along. I avoid meeting new friends because of the fear my husband will drink and embarrass me. I avoid meeting up with old friends because they expect him to drink and he's too embarrassed to tell them he has an addiction. It's a never ending cycle of losing old friends, avoiding making new meaning friendships and the loneliness of wondering if this is as good as it can be.

Interestingly, I never really had a group of good friends for an extended length of time. I wasn't in a "clique" in high school or a sorority or any other type of group. I rotated through various groups depending on what I was into, dance, music, drinking, drugs, the frat or athlete scene, who I was dating, which bars were currently cool, classes, where I lived, parenthood, etc. It's always been this way. My close friends would come and go and change. A couple have come and gone and returned from time to time, sometimes after many years. Some I may run into and it's like it hasn't been a decade! But after such a chance encounter we are back to them being an old friend from... I'm not sure any of these meet my definition of true friend. 

They say if you have one true friend in life than that's all you need. The thing is, my mom is the one person I talk to nearly every day. The one friend I call with exciting news, frustrations, funny things the kids say and do and confide in with both my worries and dreams for the future. Thankfully I have a young mom so God willing, I'll have her around for a long, long time. As I said, I am blessed. I know this and I am thankful. I'm thankful for her and everyone I call friend or ha e called friend, no matter how long it's been. 

I still miss what I had though. I still long for some meaningful friendships. The lifelong ones that you can count on through the passing years, who you can laugh with at the ridiculous things you did as kids, wondering how you survived it all, who you can get away with on a girls weekend once the kids are old enough to survive on their own, or with dad... I want friendships with couples that my husband and I can share parenting horror stories with, who we can vacation with so our kids can learn the true value of friendship by example. The ones who understand addiction and could care less because drinking isn't the center of having fun and they love and accept both our good and not so great qualities...

I don't think I really want much or more than others. In the end I just want to enjoy all the riches of this life. Meaningful bonds with others is the epitome of what the universe offers us. In the end, family and friendships are the only riches life offers.

Life In A Photo

I recently received an email from shutterfly for 101 free prints. I get these fairly often and it's usually the only time I order prints. Well, then and when I cash in my Pampers reward points for shutterfly print packages and books. I checked the current photo box to see where I left off and realized it had been awhile. Like, nearly 6 months awhile! Yikes. This meant I had to pick and choose a bit more than usual. I still ended up ordering 145 pictures. Not bad considering there was probably near 1000.

My little orange envelope, or more of a large one,  arrived a short time after and I sat and went through the pictures over lunch one day. Each one I flipped though brought a bigger smile to my face and I even laughed aloud a handful of times at the memory of how silly my kids are. I tend to forget those moments when the majority of time they are wild little monsters with a mission to turn my hair grey much too young. For some reason, reliving these joyful, silly and fun memories reminded me of a part of a sermon my last Rabbi gave two or three years ago.

It clearly was one that resonated with me since I'm not sure I can recall any other sermon I've ever heard. In short, he talked about how he was always videoing his kids when they were younger because he didn't want to miss anything. At some point he realized that he was missing everything because he was behind the camera rather than fully in the moment, taking part of the memory being made. Clearly the point was to live in the present, to fully soak in the memories and the time you have with your family because kids grow up much too quickly and in the blink of an eye, they are adults themselves. He encouraged us to come out from behind the camera and join in the memory.

This idea was very difficult for me to accept. I live by my camera. I have for a very long time. I was editor and chief of my senior yearbook and took many of the photos myself. I even spent countless hours in the darkroom developing them the old school way. Yes, I was truly developing film in the darkroom. Not that I can remember how to do that now! I was devastated when I lost my camera at a fraternity party one night in college that held a couple nights full of memories which I certainly can't recall now. While negatives are obsolete, I keep all the ones I have in my fire proof box. I have photo boxes full of memories, albums from my childhood, and with modern technology as it is, my iPhone is always full.

Despite uploading the pictures from my phone to shutterfly, my computer and then saving to an external hard drive, I still get anxiety about deleting them. It's as if hitting delete will somehow erase them forever. I realize this is silly. The thing is, I've been a bit obsessed with having as many memories as possible in print since I did a research paper on Alzheimer's in high school and learned it has a hereditary component. My grandma was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's in her mid-forties. Yes, her FORTIES. She was one of the youngest ever to be diagnosed with this disease, at least then she was. She passed in her fifties when I was 12 years old.

I have memories of my mom taking care of her as she wondered at night. My Pap worked nights and took care of her all day. Since my mom and I lived with them at that time, she cared for her at night. I remember her in the nursing home... a blank slate. It was like there was no life in her eyes. She had lost everything, all her memories. While I know that once the disease progresses to that point pictures won't mean a thing, I can't help but hope if I ever met such a tragic fate that my pictures would keep that light of life in me. Even if just enough to make it easier on my family to bear.

Alzheimer's is truly horrific. To me, it's almost as if your life was pointless in a way. If you can't remember your life in the end, then what do you have? Perhaps the soul departs long before the end so your energy is out there somewhere and it's okay. It's not really possible to know. But it's one of my greatest fears. That I'll forget it all. That I won't remember the birth of my kids, their snuggles as I put them to bed, their giggles.

So, yes, I still live behind my camera. My fear of forgetting keeps me there. I try to soak in the times when I don't have my camera as much as possible. I try to breathe them in and let them fill every part of me so no matter what the future brings, I won't forget them. I often find I have no memories of many things. Most of college is gone. Much of my childhood consists of sporadic moments, often the more tragic and traumatic parts I recall and the rest are a few second clips here and there. Even now, I try to think back to important moments from the recent past and I feel too much is missing. I worry I killed too many brain cells in my college years or that my head is simply predisposed to forgetting. Either way, it scares the hell out of me.

My only solution is to snap away. So that's what I do. It may annoy some that my phone is always in front of my face or that I post new photos to Facebook regularly. Heck, my two and three year old even tell me enough is enough sometimes, or I get that fake, come on Mom, smile. But when those prints come in, I remember. And I smile. Maybe it's selfish of me. But I need those moments. I need those smiles.

It breaks my heart that my grandma met such a fate. It makes me cringe at what that nasty disease does to a person's mind. It's devastating how it impacts every person who knows and loves someone with Alzheimer's. The impact lingers for generations.

I pray I never need my pictures to fill me with life someday but rather be able to fondly reminisce over them throughout the years. And of course embarrass my kids with their bath and potty pictures or some other ridiculous thing they did that their future spouse will tease them about until they are old an grey. That's what parents are for, right?!

To me, that's the beauty of photographs. And videos. As long as they exist, so does the memory. It's concrete, you can see it. That sense of sight enables you to feel it and live it again. So my life is a photo. A whole heck of a lot of them in fact! But it's also right here and right now. I simply ensure memories last a lifetime, and then some. And I'm okay with that.

I sure don't remember this.
But this memory of 4 generations together always brings a smile to my face!

A Story to Tell

This isn't my story to tell, but it's one I feel should be shared. Since I'm the one who writes and has a blog, then I will must be the one to write it. I'll get the necessary permissions to make it public, even though with a simple google search you can read archived news articles, if you know what to look for.

This story is my husband's story. It is his brother's story. It's his whole family's story, thus I guess it technically does make it mine now too. I didn't live the tragedy but I live the aftermath of it every day. My kids are directly impacted everyday because of one moment in time before they were ever even dreamed of. There are some events that occur that change a person's course in life. Once changed it has a ripple effect that spreads to every person they meet. This story is one of those events that stopped time for a split instant and set each of us on a new path. I was meant to meet Craig. And marry him. And bear his children. I've always known this. Thus, this event ultimately changed my course, without me even knowing it.

This story is one of tragedy, a story of dreams shattered, a story of too many lives irrevocably altered in an instant. It's a story you read about and your heart aches for that family. It's a story you pray to God never comes to haunt your life. It's a story you warn your kids about when they start driving. It's a story that keeps parents up at night until they hear that car pull safely into the driveway after prom, a night out with friends, or a party after winning a big wrestling match.

My husband's car carrying him and his best friend, his brother Mike, never pulled in after that party.

Instead, his parents got the worst wake up call a parent could get, as they thought their boys were sleeping over where the party was. My husband had been drinking and did go to sleep but when he woke up a little before 2am he got his brother to go home. His brother offered to drive but he only had his junior license so Craig said no. Though his BAC wasn't excessively high, it was over the legal limit of that time. Granted, any amount in an 18 year old is illegal. After spending all week making weight and wrestling earlier that evening his body was physically exhausted, as any wrestler can attest to. The drinking certainly didn't help. My husband dozed off about a mile from home on a long winding road with a speed limit I feel is still too high for such a road. In that instant his eyes closed he swerved off the road and hit a tree. And then some more trees. Neither he nor his brother were wearing their seat belts.

When Craig came to he saw his brother. He thought he was dead. He wasn't. But he suffered permanent brain damage which has left him confined to a wheelchair since that fateful February day 16 years ago. Mike was in a coma for some time and then underwent treatment and extensive rehab to relearn everything. he needed to retrain his brain to talk, eat, drink, move his body and walk again. Though his brain still doesn't tell him to walk or use his left hand he can take some steps with support and he's come a long way over the years. When I met him a few years after the accident he still had to get fluids through a tube because his brain didn't tell him he needed to drink and he still didn't say all that much.

Now, he does volunteer work at Good Sheppard, where he spent a great deal of time rehabbing, he has worked at a local gym and remains the funny, good natured guy that everyone in their small town knows and has always loved. I can see a part of who he was in the man he's become, despite needing almost constant care, provided by his mother. While he remembers everything up until the accident, his short term memory remains remarkably impacted from his injury. Along with a number of other body movements and functioning.

Why do I feel this story needs told? Because I believe everything happens for a reason, even the tragedies of our lives. I've written this time and time again if you're a regular here. I tell my husband this because he can not see how anything good possibly came from "killing his brother". Which is what he told me he did when I met him 3 years after the accident. Imagine my surprise when I went home with him for the first time and met Mike! To my husband though, his best friend died in that accident. To my husband, he took his brothers future, his hopes and dreams, any chance at the kind of life everyone envisions having. Marriage, kids, maybe a state wrestling title, as his brother was quite talented. He can't get past what could have been and focus on what is and all that Mike has accomplished. He graduated high school. He's a volunteer. He works. He even has a prestigious award named after him at his high school!

He doesn't have the life everyone dreamed of during his first 15 years of his life, but he is alive. He blesses everyone he knows with that each and every day. That blessing also rips my husbands heart out each time we visit.

I can't say how I would live with such guilt. All I know is there must be a reason. And there must be good to come of this. Craig was sentenced to tell his story to local schools rather than being sentenced to prison. While I think this was more beneficial to his family, than to deal with one son in a coma, one in prison and a younger one essentially left to grow up much too quickly, these talks started too soon after the accident. Their only impact for my husband was to repeatedly retraumatize an already distraught 18 year old whose life just changed forever.

But... if even one kid in one of those rooms stopped before getting behind the wheel because they remembered his story.... Maybe that saved one kid and that kid's parent's the pain and heartache Craig's family has had to endure. Maybe OUR kids will think of their uncle mike and remember to put their seat belt on every. single. time. they get in the car. And God willing, maybe they will NEVER take a sip of alcohol and get behind the wheel, or get in the car with someone who is under the influence.

If my husband's daily, lifelong guilt and pain can save our children from the same fate, that has to mean something, right? Maybe me meeting Craig and having this blog, giving me the opportunity to share this story can prevent you or your child from the same fate. But still, I feel there must be more than that. Granted, saving one life would be enough, I don't think my husband is capable of seeing it that way. Even with all his responsibilities as a father and husband, I have no doubt he would trade his life without a second thought if it meant giving his brother back the life he feels he took.

So what's more? What else good can there be? I've said it before but I truly don't think our children would exist had this accident not changed my husband's course. Yes, he was accepted to Penn State at the time of the accident but he still had an Ivy League option to consider and some scholarships as possibilities at smaller schools. He ultimately chose Penn State for the cost and to remain close(ish) to home during his brother's recovery. Had he not made that decision, it's doubtful we would have met, but hey, anything's possible I guess. And while I imagine I would have children, they wouldn't be these children had we not met. To me, THAT makes a world of difference. That's the good in all this for me. Our kids bring joy to my mother in law, whose life was altered just as dramatically as my husband's after that day. She deserves the joy my two monsters being her. That's the good.

Who's to say Craig wouldn't be even worse off with his drinking if he hadn't met me and become a father? One day we will be responsible for taking care of his brother and if his alcoholism got completely out of control, as in he couldn't hold a job, pay bills or otherwise function other than to drink, he would not be able to take on that responsibility. While that is a moot point had the accident never happened, it doesn't mean he wouldn't have become an alcoholic anyway and potentially destroyed his own future in some way.

Everything, absolutely everything happens for a reason. I read about parents starting these remarkable foundations to honor their children who were taken too early. Whether by illness, accident or crazy people shooting up a school. People everyday deal with tragedy. To me, it's not about getting through it and surviving, it's how you choose to live despite it. To me, focusing on whatever good can come from the most horrific thing life hands you is the only way to honor those we love and this one life we've been given.

Now, I certainly can't stop a drunk driver from crashing into my own car.  Many things in life, such as that, are simply out of our control.

I also can't make my husband see things the way I do and to find the good and focus on it. I can't make you wear your seat belt. I can't make everyone I meet talk to their kids about not drinking and driving. I can't make anyone not get in a car with someone under the influence. But those things ARE in our control. Each and every one of us can make these choices. Like me choosing to share this story with all of you. With the hope that you remember it someday when it matters most.

This isn't some mock crash you watch before prom in your high school parking lot.
This isn't a story you read about a stranger far away and think, oh how sad, then just forget and go out drinking that weekend without a designated driver or a plan for how to safely get home. If you read this blog then in some ways, you know me. You have read how this one decision to drive home after a night out drinking can change absolutely. everything. Any one decision can alter not only your course in life but the lives of people you've never even met yet. A snap decision to drive after drinking, or get in the car with someone who has been drinking, or doing drugs, can in essence change the entire world with it's ripple effects. And THAT, we all have the ability to control.

I pray that this reality never becomes a story that any of you need to tell.

Leaving our annual Phillies game to celebrate Mike's birthday.