I have a blog post nearly finished, and every time I go to hit "publish," I can't. It doesn't feel right. There is another, larger thought in me I need to share, but until now, I've been unsure how to put my reaction to Friday's shooting to words.
I am like every parent. You want your children safe, healthy, happy and protected. The disbelief, anger, grief and helplessness with which I watched the news reports are emotions shared by us collectively, as a country of parents, teachers, and citizens, left to wonder how we can keep a tragedy such as this from happening again.
I don't know the answers because the questions are complex. I think there are situations that are too big to be attributed to any single factor; situations that are the result of access and opportunity meeting, fulfilling on a lifetime of rage. It's not just about gun control. It's not just about mental health. It's not just about how Adam Lanza lived and felt and did not feel. And yet, it's about all those things, mashed together in a mess.
Does that mean that Adam Lanza couldn't have been stopped? I don't know if that particular situation could have been prevented, but what could have changed over the course of his life? Hundreds of decisions made by a multitude of people could have made a difference. And that is what I have been stuck on. What can I do in my own community? I can't single handedly change gun legislation. I am not a mental health professional. But I am a parent. I have incredible influence over the three children who call me mom. That means I can move mountains.
I have come up with a list of actions I plan to take in my own family. Not because it will make any difference in a national way, but it will make a difference in the way all parents make a difference...one child, one family at a time.
Limit or Eliminate Exposure to Violence in my Home
I fully admit I have become too desensitized to the violence around me. On TV, in movies, in games. When the shooting at the Batman premier occurred, my mind was jolted back into the reality that the "fictional" violence we permit as a society does have a subconscious impact on what our children view as normal and what they will either tolerate or perpetuate as they age. I want my children to perpetuate peace and acceptance. I do not want them to ever tolerate violence in others or in themselves.
Limit the Use of Technology
As we move ever more toward an age where gadgets easily replace relationships, I want to strive with all my might to raise children who want to spend time with each other, with me and with their friends more than they want to hole up in their rooms, doors closed, with a smartphone. I fear that the ability to have a conversation where you talk about real feelings; the appreciation for spending time in quiet contemplation; and the notion that the natural world has more to teach us than any app are becoming antiquated beliefs. And the more we focus on things and not on people, the more we lose the ability to empathize and walk in another's shoes.
Reach out to Others
In all of the news reports I've watched and read about Adam Lanza's mother, she has been described as "trying to hold it together" or "putting up a good front." I can only imagine how she felt as a single mother, dealing with her son and the stresses he must have put on daily life. I hope that if I see people around me, seeming stressed or trying to hold it together, that I reach out. Ask if they're okay. Ask if I can take them for coffee. It might not make any difference. But it might make a big difference. You just have to believe that even the smallest of gestures matters.
Support Teachers
My sister is a teacher. The grief I felt as a parent was also coupled with the realization that my sister would have done exactly what those teachers did at Sandy Hook. She loves her students and takes her profession not as a job, but as a calling. And I believe that nearly all teachers feel this way. They are called to prepare the future through the education of our youth. I have a renewed focus on supporting my children's school and their teachers; to give them what they need to do their jobs and to let them know how much I appreciate their daily focus on the development and well being of my three most precious possessions.
Love
At the end, love is always what remains. And I hope that I can take on each day from a perspective of love. Love for my family; my friends; my community; my country and those I don't even know. And when I put my kids to bed each night, I will tell them I love them and that everything will be okay, even though I can't promise that. But, it's what kids deserve to hear. And, I will put myself to bed, and say to God, "I will hold on with all my might. Just promise me everything will be all right."
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Five Signs You're a Mom
In case having little children follow you around, calling you "mommy" or having food stains on your shirt or finding a DS game cartridge or odd barrette in your purse isn't enough to help you fully grasp your momhood, here are some other signs that typically highlight the fact that we aren't women living the footloose, fancy free, single life any longer.
You Adopt a New Way of Speaking
I'm not talking about the inevitable "baby talk" we do with our babies and toddlers, where everything takes on that high-pitched, saccharin tone and words all rhyme like a Wiggles song. I'm talking about that more sophisticated brand of momspeak, where we start our sentences with authoritative phrasology like, "We don't say words like that..." or "One. (long pause) Two. (long pause) Three..." or my all time favorite, "Stupid is a bad word." Okay, stupid is not a bad word. It's a very purposeful adjective that describes a wide array of people, situations, news stories, current events...the list goes on. I use the word stupid a lot when my kids are gone. That, as well as dumb, idiot, and moron. As you can see, I have a very broad vocabulary that has been put on a high shelf since becoming a mother.
You Go on Daytime Pilgrimages to Target
Target is Mecca for moms with even 30 minutes of free time during the day. There is a magnetic pull to Target, like a moth to the flame. It's as if $100 is saying to you, "spend me at Target. Go for diapers but buy a bunch more stuff." This is what happens. You are being a dutiful mother, going to Target, in your yoga pants and double layered tank tops, to buy snack baggies or some other very necessary household item, and you see that cute shirt for $10, those adorable striped tights for your daughter, that $8 Beyblade your son has been wanting. This happens in nearly every aisle. Inexpensive pet toys. Trendy jewelry. Home decor. And before you know it, you grab that final box of granola bars and your snack baggie trip has turned into $100 of merchandise you never knew you needed. It's the secret mom code of Target shopping. We're all there, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., knowingly nodding to each other with our carts full of crap and kids too young for school, asking if they can have a bag of popcorn to eat while you shop. Don't be ashamed of this. It's a badge of motherhood.
You Have Pets You May or May Not Want
I have as many pets as I do kids. That equals three of each. That is a lot of life to take care of, and that doesn't even count my husband. Don't get me wrong. I am a pet lover and all my pets are well taken care of. But, there are days, when my dog is sitting at my feet, slobber covered chew toy in mouth, just knowing she is going to win this competition of wills, and I ask myself, "how did I get talked into getting a dog?" You know the answer. My kids wanted a dog. My kids who are at school all day, at practice/activities/stuff all night and on the weekend, are playing with other kids in the neighborhood. My kids don't have a dog. I have a dog. And, she is laying next to me right now. See...here she is...
You Get Asked "Who's Babysitting?" if You're Wearing Makeup
I remember the days when putting on eyeliner was a part of my daily morning routine. My morning routine is now:
1. Get out of bed, put hair in knot.
2. Throw on yoga pants and double layered tank tops. Brush teeth.
3. Make cup of coffee in my Keurig. I love my Keurig.
4. Ensure backpacks are all ready, lunches packed, notes written.
5. Wake kids and get them ready.
6. Leave my house to make my daily trip to school. Go to Target. Spend $100.
Nowhere in this routine is makeup of any kind involved. It's freeing in a way; to be able to rub my eyes with abandon throughout the day and avoid looking like a raccoon. But, if I do ever put on makeup, my kids immediately take this as a cue that a babysitter will be coming over in 30 minutes or less. I always get asked,"Where are you going?" "Will other kids be there?" "Who is babysitting us?" If my answer is, "I'm not going anywhere," I get quizzical looks that say to me "I don't understand. Why do you look like that if you're not going out? Where is our mother? Where are your yoga pants?"
You Have An Opinion on Whether One Direction is Better than Justin Bieber
Or, generally, you know who these people are, along with every Disney star, Nickelodeon show and all words to all Taylor Swift songs. There are days I'll be driving in my car alone, and then realize I've been listening to Radio Disney for 30 minutes. And singing along. I remember when I listened to Nine Inch Nails in my car. Now I can't listen to that. I think they use the word "stupid".
 | |
| These are my three...they follow me around and call me mommy... |
You Adopt a New Way of Speaking
I'm not talking about the inevitable "baby talk" we do with our babies and toddlers, where everything takes on that high-pitched, saccharin tone and words all rhyme like a Wiggles song. I'm talking about that more sophisticated brand of momspeak, where we start our sentences with authoritative phrasology like, "We don't say words like that..." or "One. (long pause) Two. (long pause) Three..." or my all time favorite, "Stupid is a bad word." Okay, stupid is not a bad word. It's a very purposeful adjective that describes a wide array of people, situations, news stories, current events...the list goes on. I use the word stupid a lot when my kids are gone. That, as well as dumb, idiot, and moron. As you can see, I have a very broad vocabulary that has been put on a high shelf since becoming a mother.
You Go on Daytime Pilgrimages to Target
Target is Mecca for moms with even 30 minutes of free time during the day. There is a magnetic pull to Target, like a moth to the flame. It's as if $100 is saying to you, "spend me at Target. Go for diapers but buy a bunch more stuff." This is what happens. You are being a dutiful mother, going to Target, in your yoga pants and double layered tank tops, to buy snack baggies or some other very necessary household item, and you see that cute shirt for $10, those adorable striped tights for your daughter, that $8 Beyblade your son has been wanting. This happens in nearly every aisle. Inexpensive pet toys. Trendy jewelry. Home decor. And before you know it, you grab that final box of granola bars and your snack baggie trip has turned into $100 of merchandise you never knew you needed. It's the secret mom code of Target shopping. We're all there, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., knowingly nodding to each other with our carts full of crap and kids too young for school, asking if they can have a bag of popcorn to eat while you shop. Don't be ashamed of this. It's a badge of motherhood.
 |
| The logo we all know and love. |
I have as many pets as I do kids. That equals three of each. That is a lot of life to take care of, and that doesn't even count my husband. Don't get me wrong. I am a pet lover and all my pets are well taken care of. But, there are days, when my dog is sitting at my feet, slobber covered chew toy in mouth, just knowing she is going to win this competition of wills, and I ask myself, "how did I get talked into getting a dog?" You know the answer. My kids wanted a dog. My kids who are at school all day, at practice/activities/stuff all night and on the weekend, are playing with other kids in the neighborhood. My kids don't have a dog. I have a dog. And, she is laying next to me right now. See...here she is...
 |
| Coco is a sweet dog. And she's mine! |
You Get Asked "Who's Babysitting?" if You're Wearing Makeup
I remember the days when putting on eyeliner was a part of my daily morning routine. My morning routine is now:
1. Get out of bed, put hair in knot.
2. Throw on yoga pants and double layered tank tops. Brush teeth.
3. Make cup of coffee in my Keurig. I love my Keurig.
4. Ensure backpacks are all ready, lunches packed, notes written.
5. Wake kids and get them ready.
6. Leave my house to make my daily trip to school. Go to Target. Spend $100.
Nowhere in this routine is makeup of any kind involved. It's freeing in a way; to be able to rub my eyes with abandon throughout the day and avoid looking like a raccoon. But, if I do ever put on makeup, my kids immediately take this as a cue that a babysitter will be coming over in 30 minutes or less. I always get asked,"Where are you going?" "Will other kids be there?" "Who is babysitting us?" If my answer is, "I'm not going anywhere," I get quizzical looks that say to me "I don't understand. Why do you look like that if you're not going out? Where is our mother? Where are your yoga pants?"
You Have An Opinion on Whether One Direction is Better than Justin Bieber
Or, generally, you know who these people are, along with every Disney star, Nickelodeon show and all words to all Taylor Swift songs. There are days I'll be driving in my car alone, and then realize I've been listening to Radio Disney for 30 minutes. And singing along. I remember when I listened to Nine Inch Nails in my car. Now I can't listen to that. I think they use the word "stupid".
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Who Needs Obama or Romney? We Have Channing Tatum!
Just when I was wondering what I was going to do with myself with all the campaign ads, calls and witty Facebook posts behind me, People magazine announced its Sexiest Man Alive for 2012. In case you missed it, it's Channing Tatum. In case you don't know who he is, he's that guy in Magic Mike. If you don't know that movie title, then, well, I just don't know...
Yes, the actor that first caught everyone's eye in the gripping dance epic, Step Up, has climbed to the top, in spite of 21 Jump Street, to be named the man we should most want to "be" with. I will fully admit that he's cute. And young enough to be emotionally pliable. I like that in a man.
But this annual naming of the "sexiest man" did get me wondering what real women, not a panel of editors at People, consider sexy. Is it a cute guy with no shirt, and pants that he can rip off in one motion, all the while looking shiny and slick from copious amounts of oil he's slathered on himself? I guess in a pinch that works, but I think the average woman wants a little more in her sexy.
What woman doesn't love a man who contributes to basic domestic duties? I like a guy who takes out the trash, kills bugs, changes light bulbs, fixes things I can't (everything), rakes leaves, blows snow and can make his own cup of coffee. Can Channing do these things? All that dance training might have gotten in the way.
I also think women like men who aren't afraid of their softer side. There is nothing better than a man who will flip through the pages of Us Magazine with you and decide that weekly plaguing question, "who wore it best?"
And what woman doesn't like a man who is good with kids? Watching your husband have an imaginary tea party with your daughters or being extra nice to the neighborhood kids by buying all the wrapping paper, note cards, cookie dough and coupon books they're selling is the surest way for him to earn some extra "cuddling." A good baby daddy is a sexy daddy.
Most importantly, a sexy man is one who thinks his woman is sexy. A man who loves to look at you, even in your grandma robe and slippers, even when you're sick and snotty, even when you may or may not have showered that day, and even when you haven't lost the baby weight (and your kids are teenagers) is sexy. Does Channing think I'm sexy? I doubt it. Loser.
Does all this mean that Channing Tatum doesn't deserve to be the Sexiest Man Alive? After all my wondering, he is a strong contender if we think of past winners. He did hold his own against Matthew McConaughey, which would be hard to do. He was sexiest man alive too, and he doesn't even wear deodorant, according to himself. I think BO should disqualify any man from this award. Johnny Depp also won. And while I love all his wacky weirdness, he does smoke about five packs of cigarettes a day. I think he would smell too.
Okay, Channing can keep is title. But just for one year. Then, the women of America will be submitting our nominations for the 2013 winner.
 |
| This scene pretty much sums up all of Magic Mike. If you missed it, here is the movie in one, majestic image. |
Yes, the actor that first caught everyone's eye in the gripping dance epic, Step Up, has climbed to the top, in spite of 21 Jump Street, to be named the man we should most want to "be" with. I will fully admit that he's cute. And young enough to be emotionally pliable. I like that in a man.
But this annual naming of the "sexiest man" did get me wondering what real women, not a panel of editors at People, consider sexy. Is it a cute guy with no shirt, and pants that he can rip off in one motion, all the while looking shiny and slick from copious amounts of oil he's slathered on himself? I guess in a pinch that works, but I think the average woman wants a little more in her sexy.
What woman doesn't love a man who contributes to basic domestic duties? I like a guy who takes out the trash, kills bugs, changes light bulbs, fixes things I can't (everything), rakes leaves, blows snow and can make his own cup of coffee. Can Channing do these things? All that dance training might have gotten in the way.
 |
| He is no Channing Tatum but he did just change a light bulb. Hot, right? |
And what woman doesn't like a man who is good with kids? Watching your husband have an imaginary tea party with your daughters or being extra nice to the neighborhood kids by buying all the wrapping paper, note cards, cookie dough and coupon books they're selling is the surest way for him to earn some extra "cuddling." A good baby daddy is a sexy daddy.
 |
| There are baby daddies and then there are baby daddies, you know? |
Most importantly, a sexy man is one who thinks his woman is sexy. A man who loves to look at you, even in your grandma robe and slippers, even when you're sick and snotty, even when you may or may not have showered that day, and even when you haven't lost the baby weight (and your kids are teenagers) is sexy. Does Channing think I'm sexy? I doubt it. Loser.
Does all this mean that Channing Tatum doesn't deserve to be the Sexiest Man Alive? After all my wondering, he is a strong contender if we think of past winners. He did hold his own against Matthew McConaughey, which would be hard to do. He was sexiest man alive too, and he doesn't even wear deodorant, according to himself. I think BO should disqualify any man from this award. Johnny Depp also won. And while I love all his wacky weirdness, he does smoke about five packs of cigarettes a day. I think he would smell too.
Okay, Channing can keep is title. But just for one year. Then, the women of America will be submitting our nominations for the 2013 winner.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
My Thanksgiving Christmas List, Written before Halloween in my Easter Dress
In case you missed it, we just wrapped up Halloween 2012. It was cold. It was wet. It was windy. I ate the leftover candy.
But the bigger story that unfolded before my eyes, as I slogged through Target throughout October, trying to find just the right balance of "cute-not-slutty" costumes for my girls and an "action-but-not-violent-yet-not wimpy" costume for Gabe, was that our national Holiday Split Personality Disorder is getting worse. We, my friends, are Halloween, Christmas and Thanksgiving (the lesser loved, not so cute, stepchild) all at the same time. We run from one themed retail area to the other, not really knowing what month we're in, what holiday we should be spending our money on next or how to get ahead of the tidal wave of holiday "spirit' washing us away. Sounds great, right?
I know this is the creation of Wal-Mart and other retailers whose goal is to convince us that we must be shopping for something every single waking moment of our lives. What happens if we don't start Christmas layaway in August? Will we get the best Halloween costumes if we don't get them the day after July 4? And this is a moot question, because everyone knows the best costumes are homemade. But I digress...
I remember when we were shocked that Christmas decorations came out November 1. We could not wrap our heads around the fact that we were seeing trees in stores, tinsel in the aisles, jingle bells at the check out, and it wasn't even Thanksgiving.
This year, the decorations came out earlier than I ever remember, convincing my children that they need to start asking me for Christmas presents in September. If I were retired, or my mother, I may be buying Christmas gifts in September. But, sadly for my kids, I am me. Which means no one gets gifts purchased for them until about December 15. And, while I can blame this on being busy, I think that deep down, there is the sentimental part of me that puts off Christmas as long as I can because I have a soft spot for Thanksgiving. You remember Thanksgiving. It's the one squished between Halloween and Christmas.
Give me three glasses of wine, and I will give you my impassioned speech about why Thanksgiving doesn't matter in our culture. It's because Thanksgiving is the only holiday we haven't turned into a buying opportunity. There's no box of chocolate. No present under the tree. No pillowcase full of cheap candy. No Easter Basket. It's just about being thankful and the precise reason it has always been, and always will be, my favorite of all holidays.
So instead of the typical Christmas List, which I love - don't get me wrong - I am writing a Thanksgiving List. My list of wishes for this Thanksgiving. (Imagine glass of wine in hand, lots of hand motions and me putting my arm around you as I read this to you as if you can't read by yourself).
1. I wish Thanksgiving could be celebrated in its own lovely right and not sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas. Give Thanksgiving some breathing room, people!
2. I wish everyone could eat my Aunt Donna's pumpkin pie.
3. I hope that no one makes ambrosia salad.
4. I hope the turkey isn't dry.
5. I hope that there are good football games that day.
6. I hope that I can take the traditional Thanksgiving nap.
7. I hope my kids feel thankful for all they have.
8. I hope I feel thankful for all I have.
9. I hope that families everywhere can take a minute, between basting the turkey and fluffing the stuffing, to look around and realize that the simple act of being and eating together is fundamental to our well being.
10. I hope that my kids carry on the traditions of my family Thanksgivings because they are part of the fabric of us. And that is a beautiful thing.
11. I hope we never turn Thanksgiving into a shopping opportunity because it would change the very meaning of the day.
12. I hope that while everyone starts to get caught up in the spirit of Christmas, deciding where to hide the Elf on the Shelf and what cookies to make, that they'll postpone it a few weeks and enjoy their blessings.
13. I hope that you know, since you're reading this, that I'm thankful for you. All your comments and encouragement as I've started this writing endeavor have helped me immensely and mean a lot.
14. And as the first Thanksgiving turkey probably said all those years ago, Gobble Gobble.
 |
| I might have eaten this much. Or maybe a little more. |
But the bigger story that unfolded before my eyes, as I slogged through Target throughout October, trying to find just the right balance of "cute-not-slutty" costumes for my girls and an "action-but-not-violent-yet-not wimpy" costume for Gabe, was that our national Holiday Split Personality Disorder is getting worse. We, my friends, are Halloween, Christmas and Thanksgiving (the lesser loved, not so cute, stepchild) all at the same time. We run from one themed retail area to the other, not really knowing what month we're in, what holiday we should be spending our money on next or how to get ahead of the tidal wave of holiday "spirit' washing us away. Sounds great, right?
 |
| This was the general look I was avoiding for my kids... |
I know this is the creation of Wal-Mart and other retailers whose goal is to convince us that we must be shopping for something every single waking moment of our lives. What happens if we don't start Christmas layaway in August? Will we get the best Halloween costumes if we don't get them the day after July 4? And this is a moot question, because everyone knows the best costumes are homemade. But I digress...
I remember when we were shocked that Christmas decorations came out November 1. We could not wrap our heads around the fact that we were seeing trees in stores, tinsel in the aisles, jingle bells at the check out, and it wasn't even Thanksgiving.
This year, the decorations came out earlier than I ever remember, convincing my children that they need to start asking me for Christmas presents in September. If I were retired, or my mother, I may be buying Christmas gifts in September. But, sadly for my kids, I am me. Which means no one gets gifts purchased for them until about December 15. And, while I can blame this on being busy, I think that deep down, there is the sentimental part of me that puts off Christmas as long as I can because I have a soft spot for Thanksgiving. You remember Thanksgiving. It's the one squished between Halloween and Christmas.
 |
| I do believe, but I just want to postpone all the crap! |
Give me three glasses of wine, and I will give you my impassioned speech about why Thanksgiving doesn't matter in our culture. It's because Thanksgiving is the only holiday we haven't turned into a buying opportunity. There's no box of chocolate. No present under the tree. No pillowcase full of cheap candy. No Easter Basket. It's just about being thankful and the precise reason it has always been, and always will be, my favorite of all holidays.
So instead of the typical Christmas List, which I love - don't get me wrong - I am writing a Thanksgiving List. My list of wishes for this Thanksgiving. (Imagine glass of wine in hand, lots of hand motions and me putting my arm around you as I read this to you as if you can't read by yourself).
1. I wish Thanksgiving could be celebrated in its own lovely right and not sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas. Give Thanksgiving some breathing room, people!
2. I wish everyone could eat my Aunt Donna's pumpkin pie.
3. I hope that no one makes ambrosia salad.
4. I hope the turkey isn't dry.
5. I hope that there are good football games that day.
6. I hope that I can take the traditional Thanksgiving nap.
7. I hope my kids feel thankful for all they have.
8. I hope I feel thankful for all I have.
9. I hope that families everywhere can take a minute, between basting the turkey and fluffing the stuffing, to look around and realize that the simple act of being and eating together is fundamental to our well being.
10. I hope that my kids carry on the traditions of my family Thanksgivings because they are part of the fabric of us. And that is a beautiful thing.
11. I hope we never turn Thanksgiving into a shopping opportunity because it would change the very meaning of the day.
12. I hope that while everyone starts to get caught up in the spirit of Christmas, deciding where to hide the Elf on the Shelf and what cookies to make, that they'll postpone it a few weeks and enjoy their blessings.
13. I hope that you know, since you're reading this, that I'm thankful for you. All your comments and encouragement as I've started this writing endeavor have helped me immensely and mean a lot.
14. And as the first Thanksgiving turkey probably said all those years ago, Gobble Gobble.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
My Birth Father and Me
This week I went to my birth father's funeral. He died quietly, alone, just days before his 78th birthday. I went, not really knowing what I was feeling or what I would do
when I got there. I just knew I needed to go. To say goodbye. To say I
understand. To say I bear you no ill will. To say I'm sorry that I don't
feel sorry for all that was not.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am adopted. It has never been anything I've been shy about discussing. But this post isn't about being adopted or about growing up with my family. It's about Duke, the man who fathered me and the man I met at 24, already an adult myself.
Meeting Duke had a deep impact on me. For my 24 years of living, I had dismissed the debate of nature versus nurture, convinced that all that we are is through nurture. Environment builds us. The people we live with, interact with and learn from build us. Case closed. Next question, please.
Then my birth parents found me. Both of them, working together, set out on a quest of sorts, to find out if they had made the right choice, if I had a good life, if I turned out okay. The same questions every parent asks about the choices they make, whether you raise your children or not. Well according to modern conventional thinking, I was okay. I had turned out alright. I had a good life.
That left Duke and me staring at each other, from across the bar in the restaurant he owned for more than 30 years, wondering what was next.
I never really knew him in the way I know my parents. That type of understanding and insight only comes from time and trial, working through the issues and hardships of life. And just as I only really knew the basic details of how he died - I don't even know what he died from - I really only knew the basic details of his life. And they are these:
"Debbie (my birth mother) and I are very interested in our child's well being. We definitely do not want to hinder anything. We just would like to see if she is alright and if she is doing fine. I pray to God she is. I hope she had an education, a nice mother and father, a good religious background and most of all, drug free. I would be the happiest person in the world if she acquired the talent to write."
I read those words and realize all parents are the same. You hope for the best and want to see the most worthy parts of yourself reflected in your children. It's how you leave a legacy and how you carry on, into a future you won't see.
So as I stood there at Duke's funeral, a stranger among people I am related to, I said my own goodbye to a man I really didn't know but feel connected to because of all of him that is in me.
And the fact that I am a writer is not one that is lost on me.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am adopted. It has never been anything I've been shy about discussing. But this post isn't about being adopted or about growing up with my family. It's about Duke, the man who fathered me and the man I met at 24, already an adult myself.
Meeting Duke had a deep impact on me. For my 24 years of living, I had dismissed the debate of nature versus nurture, convinced that all that we are is through nurture. Environment builds us. The people we live with, interact with and learn from build us. Case closed. Next question, please.
Then my birth parents found me. Both of them, working together, set out on a quest of sorts, to find out if they had made the right choice, if I had a good life, if I turned out okay. The same questions every parent asks about the choices they make, whether you raise your children or not. Well according to modern conventional thinking, I was okay. I had turned out alright. I had a good life.
That left Duke and me staring at each other, from across the bar in the restaurant he owned for more than 30 years, wondering what was next.
I never really knew him in the way I know my parents. That type of understanding and insight only comes from time and trial, working through the issues and hardships of life. And just as I only really knew the basic details of how he died - I don't even know what he died from - I really only knew the basic details of his life. And they are these:
- He loved food, cooking and owned a restaurant
- He was a writer
- He was a force to be reckoned with
- He had a larger than life personality and enjoyed being the center of attention
- He had a physicality to him that I respected and many people feared
- He was a decorated soldier in the Army and a machine gunner in the Korean War
- He had been shot nine times and stabbed even more
- He had killed people
- He was an alcoholic
- He drove away the people who loved him
- He was a romantic
- He was a poet
- He was complicated
- He was a part of me, whether I really wanted to admit it or not
"Debbie (my birth mother) and I are very interested in our child's well being. We definitely do not want to hinder anything. We just would like to see if she is alright and if she is doing fine. I pray to God she is. I hope she had an education, a nice mother and father, a good religious background and most of all, drug free. I would be the happiest person in the world if she acquired the talent to write."
I read those words and realize all parents are the same. You hope for the best and want to see the most worthy parts of yourself reflected in your children. It's how you leave a legacy and how you carry on, into a future you won't see.
So as I stood there at Duke's funeral, a stranger among people I am related to, I said my own goodbye to a man I really didn't know but feel connected to because of all of him that is in me.
And the fact that I am a writer is not one that is lost on me.
Friday, September 28, 2012
School Dances, Making Lunch and Flat Irons
I woke up last week and realized that I am living with a daughter who is growing up. It started with her coming downstairs after getting ready for school, hair flat ironed, lip gloss applied, asking for a cup of coffee (with about three cups of added flavored creamer because she doesn't actually like coffee, but all mature people drink coffee, so why not??)
I looked at her, as she swilled her Starbucks K-Cup, and thought, how did this happen? Where is my little girl, who watches Dora and has an American Girl doll collection? In my mind, I am still buying her adorable outfits at Baby Gap.
This is the classic story all mothers tell...time goes too fast...they grow up so quickly...where do the years go...you know the drill. But, what I am really asking, is where the hell did all my time go?
More important than my daughter getting older, I am getting older. Old. And, I think I can safely say that as you age, the years go by on what feels like an exponential scale, versus linear. We adopt our own middle aged version of dog years. One year of adolescence is like 7 adult years. Woof.
I am struggling with aging, because in my mind, I am still in my 20's. I have relevant conversations with my college age babysitters. I dress well. I read Us magazine. I know all the latest pop stars (I think just saying "pop star" made me seem really old).
But despite my best efforts to stay young, it just can't happen. You age, become less relevant to the younger generation and start using inevitable phrases like "when I was your age..." and "back before there were cell phones..." In the eyes of youth, no good story ever starts out that way. What's an old girl to do?
I've decided that instead of fretting about my downward spiral toward 50, I am going to embrace it. After all, I've invested 16 years in my marriage and 12 years in my parenting career that have made me happier than anything else I've ever done.
I don't put the pressure on myself I did in my 20's to be the best, look the best, have the most friends and be in on the best social scene. I am content to make popcorn with my kids as we watch a family movie on a lazy Friday night after we've all talked about our week.
I know who I am. (In my mind, the best gift of maturing) And once you know who you are, you can help your kids figure out who they are. Self awareness is the key to not letting people, situations and life in general ruin your day.
So even though part of me is sad to see Sophie getting older because it means that I am too, I am eager with the anticipation of who she'll become and the life she'll lead. She's off to school dances and packing her own lunch. She asks me if I need help with anything and she is starting to babysit. She does her own homework and is begging for a cell phone. She is taking the baby steps toward maturity. And while it gives me a bittersweet pang to know she'll need me less and less, I hold her up, like a bubble, let her go and whisper, "float..."
 |
| My favorite coffee from my favorite coffee brand in my favorite delivery device...the K-Cup |
I looked at her, as she swilled her Starbucks K-Cup, and thought, how did this happen? Where is my little girl, who watches Dora and has an American Girl doll collection? In my mind, I am still buying her adorable outfits at Baby Gap.
This is the classic story all mothers tell...time goes too fast...they grow up so quickly...where do the years go...you know the drill. But, what I am really asking, is where the hell did all my time go?
More important than my daughter getting older, I am getting older. Old. And, I think I can safely say that as you age, the years go by on what feels like an exponential scale, versus linear. We adopt our own middle aged version of dog years. One year of adolescence is like 7 adult years. Woof.
I am struggling with aging, because in my mind, I am still in my 20's. I have relevant conversations with my college age babysitters. I dress well. I read Us magazine. I know all the latest pop stars (I think just saying "pop star" made me seem really old).
 |
| In case you aren't as young and hip as I am, this is Nicki Minaj. She is a pop star. |
But despite my best efforts to stay young, it just can't happen. You age, become less relevant to the younger generation and start using inevitable phrases like "when I was your age..." and "back before there were cell phones..." In the eyes of youth, no good story ever starts out that way. What's an old girl to do?
I've decided that instead of fretting about my downward spiral toward 50, I am going to embrace it. After all, I've invested 16 years in my marriage and 12 years in my parenting career that have made me happier than anything else I've ever done.
I don't put the pressure on myself I did in my 20's to be the best, look the best, have the most friends and be in on the best social scene. I am content to make popcorn with my kids as we watch a family movie on a lazy Friday night after we've all talked about our week.
I know who I am. (In my mind, the best gift of maturing) And once you know who you are, you can help your kids figure out who they are. Self awareness is the key to not letting people, situations and life in general ruin your day.
So even though part of me is sad to see Sophie getting older because it means that I am too, I am eager with the anticipation of who she'll become and the life she'll lead. She's off to school dances and packing her own lunch. She asks me if I need help with anything and she is starting to babysit. She does her own homework and is begging for a cell phone. She is taking the baby steps toward maturity. And while it gives me a bittersweet pang to know she'll need me less and less, I hold her up, like a bubble, let her go and whisper, "float..."
 |
| This is my Sophie, 12 years ago. The years do go by... |
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Loss, Life and the Ties that Bind
This week, my family suffered a tragic loss. My brother-in-law, only 29 years old, unexpectedly died. Once whole, we are a family minus one. A family that lost a limb but can always feel it, like it is still a part of our body.
Grief affects us on many levels. I feel the loss as a sister; I feel the pain as a wife watching her husband grapple with no longer having his brother; and I struggle as a mother to watch my in-laws deal with the worst type of loss, the loss of your child. There are truly no words to put to it.
It's as if our family has been saddled with a collective heaviness, taking us down like a stone into black water, no bottom in sight.
This very personal loss was made all the more painful because we learned of his death on the eve of September 11...a day already part of our national consciousness that binds us together by a shared suffering. Even 11 years later, we watch old footage of that day and remember where we were, who we were with and what we were doing down to the most insignificant details. It marks a dividing line in life. Life before September 11 and life after it. Now, I will remember life before September 10 and life after it.
If September 11 taught me anything, it taught me the connectedness of humanity. When we strip away every negative thing we can do to or feel toward one another, we are all connected by love. What other explanation could there be for the rescue work, the volunteers and the outpouring of human decency that outshone the terrible acts that befell us? Watching neighborhood streets lined with American flags filled me with the promise that we are united. Yes, united in grief, but united in the bigger hope that grief lessens because love gets larger. And I believe that for my family. We are united in grief, but our love is larger.
September 11 also taught me to not take the people I love for granted, as much as that is possible. As humans, we are not capable of treating everyone everyday like it is the last chance we may have to be with them. But, this week, I was reminded again that we never know the hour or the place or the circumstances.
This week has been bleak. It has been grim. It has been dark from all sides. Two days that mean nothing but loss and ache. But, because we are human, we know in the deepest part of ourselves that life is for the living, so we go on.
The saying "the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts" is true of family. We are all made better by the family members that surround us, even the ones no longer with us. They are the ones that pull us up from the black waters, fixing our eyes on the horizon that lies ahead and calling us forth, into life.
Grief affects us on many levels. I feel the loss as a sister; I feel the pain as a wife watching her husband grapple with no longer having his brother; and I struggle as a mother to watch my in-laws deal with the worst type of loss, the loss of your child. There are truly no words to put to it.
It's as if our family has been saddled with a collective heaviness, taking us down like a stone into black water, no bottom in sight.
This very personal loss was made all the more painful because we learned of his death on the eve of September 11...a day already part of our national consciousness that binds us together by a shared suffering. Even 11 years later, we watch old footage of that day and remember where we were, who we were with and what we were doing down to the most insignificant details. It marks a dividing line in life. Life before September 11 and life after it. Now, I will remember life before September 10 and life after it.
If September 11 taught me anything, it taught me the connectedness of humanity. When we strip away every negative thing we can do to or feel toward one another, we are all connected by love. What other explanation could there be for the rescue work, the volunteers and the outpouring of human decency that outshone the terrible acts that befell us? Watching neighborhood streets lined with American flags filled me with the promise that we are united. Yes, united in grief, but united in the bigger hope that grief lessens because love gets larger. And I believe that for my family. We are united in grief, but our love is larger.
September 11 also taught me to not take the people I love for granted, as much as that is possible. As humans, we are not capable of treating everyone everyday like it is the last chance we may have to be with them. But, this week, I was reminded again that we never know the hour or the place or the circumstances.
This week has been bleak. It has been grim. It has been dark from all sides. Two days that mean nothing but loss and ache. But, because we are human, we know in the deepest part of ourselves that life is for the living, so we go on.
The saying "the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts" is true of family. We are all made better by the family members that surround us, even the ones no longer with us. They are the ones that pull us up from the black waters, fixing our eyes on the horizon that lies ahead and calling us forth, into life.
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