Cocoon of Chaos

A Birthday Celebration, of sorts

 

 

Seventeen years ago today, my brother was born. He was the first baby my  husband held, the first time I ever burned with unconditional love for a sibling, and the years that followed were filled with love and laughter. Last year, I wrote this poem for him and I never imagined I'd be celebrating this year without him. 

The past few days, sleep is non existent, tears constant. The anticipation of this day ate me alive inside and out. I woke this morning in tears, looked outside, and the sun shone through my curtains. I didn't think I could make it to work, but I stood in that sunshine and soaked up the light. So much of this grieving process is stepping out of the darkness, not being consumed by it, and letting in the light. Today was not easy, I'm not going to lie, but there was a surprise in it for me, the joy. The joy of having this boy in my life and my childrens' lives. All day, they retold their favorite memories and although I did cry at Five Guys over my burger, most of the day was filled with laughter remembering what a funny, charismatic, and witty guy Andrew was and there is really no better way to honor his life than see my children laugh on this day. 

We went back and forth on what to do to celebrate his life and decided on a flower float. With 5 red roses in hand, we walked the beach in silence, held the roses tight in our hands, and threw them in the water. For five seconds, my heart was at peace, my soul floating along those roses, untethered by grief, propelled only by love. At the end of every day and the start of every morning, love courses through me. There are things I will never understand, questions I will always have, but there are two things I am certain of: Andrew died knowing how much I loved him and now he is at peace. 

These milestones are hard because there is no denying his absence. This was his day and it will always be for us. We will always celebrate his life and how he made ours so much better. Celebrating does not come easy, grief is overpowering. And to be frank, it is hard to let go of grief. At times, it feels like it is the only connection with the departed and is just too unbearable to let them go. I find myself holding onto this sorrow with clenched fists because I'm terrified of letting my little brother go but today, seeing my kids laugh telling stories of Andrew made me realize it is okay to let all this sorrow go. It is okay to let the joy in. It is the love, the memories that connect us with him, not the sadness.

We ended the night with cupcakes and candles. The kids each silently said something to Andrew or made a wish for him before blowing out the candles. As they hung their heads over the candles in the dark kitchen, their faces cupped in the candlelight, eyes closed, I realized, they, too, were letting in the light. Like I stood before my window this morning, they too, were soaking in the warmth and the love in all of this darkness. 

And to keep with my tradition, I wrote Andrew a poem for his birthday.

Afterglow

Four months ago

moments before sunset

your light disappeared

leaving me in darkness.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months 

a complete blackout

stripping me of direction

slowly padding my way 

without you by my side

living in obscurity.

My eyes gradually adjust

to the blackness,

slivers of light seep 

through my curtains

into my chipped heart

bust through the cracks:

A glow remains

softening the darkness

to a faint dim.

"And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept

Untroubling and untroubled where I lie

The grass below;

above, the vaulted sky" ~John Clare

Happy Birthday, sweet boy. May your big heart be at peace. I love you so very much.

 

Taste for Freedom

Over the summer, Bea attended a free park camp program that our seaside city offers within a short walk from our house. The first week, I was home doing chores while the other two were playing and my newly turned 10 year old came walking down the driveway by herself. I will be honest in saying that it was not a stellar moment as a mother, because my friends, I freaked out. I freaked out because she walked by herself. In the end of my irrational worrying, which to be frank, pissed Bea off, I realized I was doing more damage than good. I could not understand why she was so mad until she said, "Mum, I'm 10. I'm fine. Trust me." Ahh...yes. She was right. She is 10 and I didn't trust her. But how on earth do I explain to her that it is not her I mistrust, but the entire world around her that makes me sick with worry...without terrifying her. As I let her walk back by herself, on my feed, an article in The Atlantic popped up about the damage we are doing to our kids by instilling so much fear into them about the world. Thank you, universe for that one. By me freaking out that she walked home by herself told her she was not capable, I did not trust her, and the world is a scary place. Yes, the latter may be true, but statistically, kidnappings have not increased since the 1980s, the media coverage, however has. We are living in this bubble of fear, unable to trust anyone, and rather than come together as a community to support and watch out for one another, we close our front doors, pull the shades and become isolated. There is no community watch, we don't know our neighbors names, and it does feel scary at times. However, in my life, I've met the most interesting people by opening my door, waving out the window, and overcoming fear to seek out community. I want my kids to do the same and they can't do that if I don't give them the freedom to do so. 

But, it is hard. It is hard to let them ride around the neighborhood on their bikes without having terrible visions of them being taken or hit by a car. It is hard to let them walk to the mailbox without thinking about some creepy stranger enticing them with candy. Oh, and the guilt; the feeling of utter shame if something did indeed happen, its maddening, my friends. But, anything can happen anywhere. It takes work and quite a bit of rescue remedy. And lots of reminding them of what is safe and not safe--to the point of eye rolls and sighs, "yes, mum, we know." There are times my worry is choking but more than anything, what stops my endless mind chatter, is the desire for them to not fear life, but fully embrace it. I can't do that behind a locked door or closed curtains. It is not my job to shelter them, it is my job to support them, even when it rips my heart out. I don't want my kids to ever feel like I doubt their judgement, their character, or their instincts. Intuition cannot develop if it is not tested. It is one of the most powerful tools we have as humans and I refer to it as the superpower of our heart to the kids. Trust your superpower. Trust my superpower that under all that worry is great pride for these 3 amazing beings I share my life with. I love them too much to let my own misgivings affect their life. They are itching for freedom, to feel the giddiness of flight on solo bike rides without their mum behind them and the wide world ahead of them. Okay, not the whole world, but the neighborhood block, but it starts, somewhere, my friends.

To Push or Not to Push

To Push or Not to Push, this is a question I struggle with as a parent. It's never easy to know when too much pushing is too much and will not result in success, but rather utter defeat for all involved. I have 2 children that are very reticent to try new things. New things are scary, unpredictable, and challenging for them. And, that is okay. However, it is not okay to hide behind fears and miss out on new experiences. But, when they are crying, shaking, and pleading, it is damn hard to push them. It takes every ounce of my being to do it, but I do it with love and compassion. 

Case in point: Oliver started his first swimming lesson without me in the water the other day. He was so excited on the way there telling me how brave he was going to be. And then, we arrived and all that changed. As soon as those Spiderman flip flops came off, he began to fidget and finally ended up a pool of tears by the ladder. The amazingly understanding teacher was wonderful in giving him the space he needed while encouraging him as well, but to no avail. He was wrapped around me like a boa around a juicy rat, no joke. Pippa bent down and told him she would sit next to him on the edge of the pool and hold his hand. (Yes, I know, she really is that awesome all of the time.) He agreed but still refused to get into that aquatic abyss. The teacher finally winked at me and I knew I had to do it. I had to pick him up, screaming and crying, and hand him over to her in the water. Friends, this was not easy. As I peeled him off of me, tiny tears began to well in my eyes because I knew how hard this was for him. It forced him to face his fears head on, and that is never easy. And, of course, I felt like the worst mother of all time, but for just a second because as soon as he hit that water, he stopped. He paddled his arms, kicked his feet, went under water and came up smiling. 

I'm writing this because this is a piece of parenting that rips my heart out. It is so very hard for me to watch my kids struggle with things that most kids do without thinking twice. It is not about comparison, but rather I love them enough to not let their fears and insecurities rule their lives. But, it is hard to know when to draw the line. When is too much pushing going to backfire? Am I awful? Should I let them just be? 

The answer to these questions I'm still working on, but I've learned I know these offspring of mine rather well and know when too much is indeed too much. I also know that me pushing them tells them that I trust them. I trust that they will meet and rise to challenges, even when they are difficult...for them and me. I love them too much to be eaten up by their fears. They deserve  more than that. I don't want them to be life's observers, I want them to live each day, participate in whatever they imagine. Because, in the end, the tears lead to smiles...on all of us.

Pippa

Pippa

Strewn across your face

Glitter flakes from the heavens

Petite stars masked as freckles.

Lesson Learned: Encouraging Sibling Love, Not Forcing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This week, Pippa, our dear middle child spent 6 hours a day at soccer camp. Now, to be honest, I was a bit nervous about this week, not for her, but rather for her siblings. Pippa is the classic middle child, trying to make everyone happy, playing with everyone, and quite frequently, the peacemaker between her brother and sister. That being said, I had great intentions of making this week in her absence a week of bonding for Bea and Oliver. However, I learned that you cannot force love between siblings, no matter how hard you try.

What I thought would be a great week, turned out being horrid. I felt like I needed a referee shirt, breaking up fights every five minutes for three days. Two days of rain certainly did not help, either, forcing us inside, which is never a good combination for these two kiddos. My eldest and youngest are so much alike, it is crazy. However, it is their similarities that drive them apart. They are rigid, sensitive, and reactive kids. I liken it to the mountain sheep you see butting heads, pushing, fighting with all their might on a rocky ledge.  On Wednesday night, I had a breakdown in front of both of them and it seemed to rattle them a bit. We all went to bed with heavy hearts and I had to do some serious mama reflection about my behavior and intentions.

I must admit this whole sibling thing is rather new to me. I was an only child until I was 19 and I adore my siblings. I did not have to share my space, my things, or my parents with anyone growing up and I guess, I had this idea of what siblings would look like when planning our family. As usual, what I imagined was so off base, but also our reality, I know is very normal. I know siblings will fight, scream, and hurt each other, believe me, I've learned that. But what was going on was a bit deeper than that. My eldest and youngest both thought the other one did not like them as people. When we finally hashed that out at the breakfast table, it seemed like the air got a bit lighter. All this drama was based around perception and in a way, fear. As much as I wanted them to reconnect this week, I knew it had to be done on their own terms, not on mine. Maybe it would not happen this week, or this year, but hearing them both apologize to each other and say "I love you" and hug was enough for me.

And you know what? The rest of the week was great. I planned activities that pleased both of them but also gave them their own space, like bike rides and park trips. There was opportunity for shared play, but also individual time. It was rather amazing that when I stepped back, they stepped up.

 

Rebel in a Retail Giant

My trips to Target usually are solo, lovely jaunts browsing the aisles aimlessly, a little evening escape. However, the mister is traveling quite a bit this month, we needed some supplies, so I begrudgingly dragged the troops along. Note to self: not a good idea. I'll spare the details of the massive tantrum that passersby witnessed, but suffice it to say, I was taken advantage of in the aisles. I was overwhelmed, sweaty, and done so I said yes to the Oreos, Bugles, and Doritos. The look on the girls' faces was priceless like, "hey, hurry up, she may realize what she's doing soon." We never eat this junk, I mean never, but you know what, it felt really good to be really bad. Sometimes, a day calls for a little rebellion. We ended the night on the couch watching Wipeout eating Doritos in fits of laughter. It was well worth it, my friends. 

I tend to draw a hard line in the sand sometimes of what to expect of myself as a parent and I'm slowly learning, it is rather fun to step over that line sometimes.

 

Lesson Learned: Raising a Sensitive Boy

This boy of mine is full of energy and fearless on the sports field or the playground; however, he is also very sensitive. I don't mean sensitive in the sense that his feelings get hurt easily, but rather, he is sensitive to his environment. He cannot handle loud noises, crowds, or extremes of any sort like extreme heat in the summer or frigid temps in the winter. Why am I sharing this, you may ask? I'm sharing this because this is not my only child like this and I've made mistakes with the other that I did not make with him. And, to be frank, I saw a version of my former myself trying to push a child to do something they did not want to do and it rattled me a bit. It rattled me because seeing my former self and it trudged up some thoughts about living with a sensitive child.

To start, I have to say that I am a proponent of encouraging my child, and at times, pushing them. This builds character and I know the little upset in the beginning outweighs the enormous triumph in the end. However, I've also learned, at the cost of my children, that pushing them when they are not ready or capable, only brings heartache for all involved. There were many times I did not pick up on the fear, mistrust, and inability to regulate their emotions in situations. For example, the carousal. Oliver absolutely refuses to go on one. In the past, I would have cajoled, persuaded, and quite possibly, put a screaming child on the ornate horse. Because, really, how does a child not like a carousal?! But, the screaming never stopped, it ruined the 60 second ride for everyone, and it left me feeling horrible as a mother. 

The other day, as I watched a well intentioned mother yank her child aboard the carousal, I realized how much of my former behavior was not related to my childs' needs, but rather to that of my own. I wanted both of them to experience a carousal ride at the cost of their own discomfort. I did not want to be the mother holding the fearful child outside of the gate watching my other child enjoy the ride. I did not want my kid to be the scared one. My aha moment with all of this was one day when we were in a crowded playspace and I watched my child start to twitch, sweat, and shake. It did not matter that there was an awesome bouncy house, balance beam, and rope swing; what mattered, was the inability to enjoy themselves because they were so overwhelmed. Yes, I wanted them to get out energy and have a blast, but not at the cost of their own dignity. They were terrified and out of control of their senses, they were not scared.

But, here's the thing: there is a HUGE difference between scared and sensitive. Being scared can be soothed quickly in the situation; being sensitive is an overload of intake on the brain. I've witnessed it many times with many panic attacks and I'm now resolute in letting my children do things when they're ready. Like I said, I will always encourage them, but not to feed my own needs, to feed theirs. 

And, this will, I'm sure, ruffle some feathers, but it needs to be said: it is hard raising a boy who struggles with this. Yes, things are changing in society, I recognize and celebrate that, however, there is still an undertone of grave judgment for a boy who is sensitive. There have been many times when I get eye rolls or sighs when my little man cannot let go of my hand in a new situation or cannot bring himself to step into the arcade because of the noise. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces but I constantly remind myself that his sensitivity does not define him as less of a boy. With patience, guidance, and encouragement, we are raising him to be himself, whatever that means to him, not to others.  

**This post did not come from a place of judgement on other parents, but rather watching other parents' struggles, inspired me to share my own. I am rather fierce in my belief that we are all much too judgemental in regards to parenting. We need to focus on lifting each other up by sharing our faults, struggles, and frustrations, rather than create a super parent ideal that is superficial and impossible to obtain. Hence, I've created this new category on the blog, Lesson Learned, where I will share the good and moreso, the bad moments of parenting with hopes of someone finding a connection and feeling less isolated in their struggle.***

A Decade With My Girl

It is official: I've been a mother for a decade. Bea turned 10 on July 4th and I'm not kidding, she looked older than ever that day. I love this girl with fierce abandon, as she's taught me so much about life, myself, and the beauty that can be found when you look at things the way she does. In the naivety of beginning motherhood, I stressed about the responsibility of teaching my daughter how to live wholly as herself in a troubled world; now I realize it wasn't my job to teach her that, it was my job to guide her along the way. The funny thing is, as I've guided her, I've learned, too. I've learned that being her mother has pushed me to be the best I can be without fear,  insecurity, or doubt. Watching her take pride in her individuality has inspired me to do the same. Witnessing the development of her artistic passion, has encouraged my own passions. So, as much as I gave birth to her 10 years ago, she has also helped raise me to be my authentic self. Some moments have been messy, others glorious, but I'd never change a single minute of my life with this girl. Bea, you are one in a million and I'm grateful every single day you are mine.  Happy birthday, my little firecracker.

Letting Go of Expectations as a Mother

The sun is just now peeking through my lilac bushes and the house is silent in slumber. It is the eve of Bea's tenth birthday and this one is hitting me hard on many levels. I'm finding myself in a very reflective state, having small flashbacks throughout the past few days of my motherhood journey. This journey has been a tough one, I'm not going to lie. It has tested my strength, patience, and fierce love for my children. It has also pushed me into corners where I never thought I'd end up and soared me to heights I never thought possible.  All in all, it's been achingly beautiful, but I've also learned a very important lesson: in order to truly appreciate each child of mine, I have to continually let go of expectations. This does not mean I lose hope, but rather, I surrender to the individual needs, quirks, idiosyncrasies, and desires of each of my children, sometimes to the chagrin of myself. 

Over the past ten years, I've held a child's hand who could not breathe without assistance, I've watched a child crumble under anxiety, I've been handed a 3o page report from neurology experts explaining the complex mind of my child, I've been shocked by a surprise pregnancy, I've lost two children, I've surrendered in exhaustion to the ridiculous amount of energy that comes with my son, and I've survived. I say I've survived because in so many of these above situations, I thought they'd do me in. But here's the thing: I never imagined motherhood would be like this in the naive days of pregnancy and infancy. I imagined struggle, but I did not imagine a period of grief as a mother.

Grief is a funny beast, it comes when loss fills your heart and in my case, it is not only physical loss that hurts. It is the loss of what I expected in parenting. It is the loss of the "normal" I envisioned. It is the loss of what I dreamed my family would be like. In my wildest fantasies, this brood did not look like it does. I'm not really sure what it looked like, but it doesn't really matter in the end.

What matters is at the end of each day, I'm honest with myself as a mother. Some days, it is really difficult to push on and not get mired in the desire for "easier kids"; but, rather than be ashamed of those feelings, I've learned to let myself feel them, in their entirety, their brutal honesty because in the end, I would not trade one moment of easy for the million moments of pure beauty I have with each of my children. Most of the time, those moments come after hardship, but in an odd way, it makes them that much more radiant. I guess, in a nutshell, in the almost 10 years as a mother I've learned that nothing can be expected but the unexpected and we all owe it to ourselves to be honest, even when it hurts to do so. I've also learned that this life is a million times harder, complex, and exquisite than I ever imagined. 

The sun has made it's graceful appearance along with my gorgeous girl stumbling in the kitchen groggy eyed with a smile announcing, "today is my last day being nine, Mum." Indeed it is, my sweet girl...

 

Dusting off the Blog Cobwebs...some words, some pictures

Man, oh man, it's been a while since I've been in this blog space of mine. Life has been...busy ...full. Very full, of both good and bad, but that is life, right! There are days that are filled with joy and those filled with frustration. So, here's a list of life lately:

1. Rather than write here, in my space, I participated in a 30 day Poetry Challenge of writing 30 poems in thirty days. Poetry is normally not my thing, but I enjoyed the challenge and I do love a deadline. It was good for me to sit my fanny down and force myself to write every single day.

2. We went on vacation and had a blast in Hyde Park, New York. It was like history porn for me, I just loved it. There are so many pictures to share, I haven't even started going through them entirely.

3. It has been a trying time as a parent figuring out and balancing what each child needs and recognizing that oftentimes, it feels unfair, unbalanced, and overwhelming. We are doing our best and we'll never stop trying. We only get one shot at this, after all. I'm learning that Bea and I share alot of the same challenges and we're being patient with each other...each day more and more.

4. Raising a tween is tough and beautiful at the same time. Bea is her own person, made from a different mold, and has a huge heart. These are all great qualities but also fragile ones when you're growing up. I feel like some days I'm nursing a fragile precious egg, but also know that life is all about surviving the crashes, the scratches, the heart break. It is hard to step back and observe as she's walking into the flames, but I remind myself daily those little burns will make her into an even greater human being.

5. Raising this boy of mine is proving to give me more gray hairs than I ever expected to have at 35. He.does.not.stop.ever. Wakes up roaring at 6, goes down wiggling at 8, no naps, no resting in between. It is exhaustingly wonderful. My band aid bill is through the roof as he is also fearless.

6. Year round we are on the sidelines of a soccer field watching Pippa. I've said it before, but it will never get old. We were told she would never be able to play sports and now she's scoring double digits on the field. The game sparks a determination in her that is fierce and has her in the backyard every single day playing with that black and white ball. I will always be grateful for this little girl who lets no one tell her she can't do something.

7. As I mentioned back in January, I'm trying to be better about making time for myself this year. I'm reading more, ignoring chores (a little) bit more, exercising every day, eating better, getting more sleep, and investing time in myself. I'm feeling less guilty about demanding some me time, whether that be in the grocery aisles or the nail salon. I'm a much happier person.

8. Devin and I have had a consistent date every single month (sometimes two dates!) and my goodness, it is just fantastic. I adore this guy so very much and dating him again is so wonderful. We've kept up with changing it up to dinners, movies, picnics, concerts, etc. and it is exciting. I still get butterflies when I get ready for a date and I just love how the girls like to watch me do my hair, my makeup, and chat while their brother is jumping on the bed. It's important for our kids to know how much we adore each other. Let's be honest, they need a break from me as much as I do them.

9. Some portraits now, as I've really slacked on that committment one for each of the kids, and one of me, as I'm also learning to not be so damn hard on myself.

Pippa

 

Bea

Oliver (this was his favorite activity on vacation)

and moi with no makeup and straight hair (a rarity)