Be Bigger Than Your Fear

As you may have noticed, I'm spending a lot of time on social media.  I have a lot of time.  I troll the internet and catch up on what all of you are doing since I'm seeing less of people in person these days.

When I'm not online, I spend time in my head thinking about the accident, where I am in the recovery process and what I will do with myself when I'm healed.  I have big plans for this phase of life.  But, for now, in the limbo between crash and wholeness, there is this space; this ether that is largely dominated by fear.

One of the many selfies I am taking these days; I think I need a new hobby.
Orange is the New Black marathon??? 

One of the benefits of being a busy person is that it pushes your fear to the side.  Busyness refuses to let fear be felt. You don't have the luxury of time to be self-indulgent in your thoughts.  You're focused on what you have to do, what others need and your daily plan for accomplishing it all.  Before the accident, my life was an automated cycle of "what does Bryan need?" "what do the kids need and where do I have to take them?" "what do I have to get done for my clients today?" and "when am I going to work out (and run all my other errands)?"

Now, without these regular distractions, I'm left with my thoughts, which I've found are surprisingly less optimistic than I often perceive myself to be.

I'm afraid of a lot these days:

That my legs won't work
This is an irrational fear, I know.  I even walked after the accident - with five breaks and a dislocated foot - to the side of the road to get out of my smoking car.  But, despite walking and having not one shred of medical evidence to imply otherwise, I am afraid that when I am asked to take that first step - still weeks away - that I won't be able to do it.  It's very weird not putting any weight on your feet for months at a time.  I haven't walked in four weeks. And, there is this negative, naysaying part of my head that says I won't walk again.  Fear.

That my friends will move on without me
I know this is totally irrational. My friends have been an amazing support system, bringing me meals, running errands for me, taking my kids for afternoons on end and checking in every day to see if I want Starbucks.  But, at the end of the day, immobility is isolating.  The view from the floor is only shared with my one dog and two cats.  And they can't go to Starbucks.  I'm alone.

Throwback to friends many years ago. They've all done more for me than I can say

That my husband will tire of this ridiculous situation
I am, of course, not giving him any of the credit he deserves by feeling this way, but I do feel this way.  There are things I now require that I will not ask my mother or my friends. These are the thankless tasks saved for my husband. And they're not glamorous or fun.  So while I watch other families' vacations on Facebook, I am very aware that we are not that couple. At least not this year.

That my kids will explode after one more request to fill my water glass
My kids have really stepped up in the past month.  They do their laundry, they unload and load the dishwasher, and fulfill myriad requests all day for Advil, water, coffee, the remote, my laptop, etc.  Hand in hand with all of this is our cancelled summer vacation, our cancelled long weekend to Chicago to celebrate Sophie's eighth grade graduation, and our cancelled trip out east to see One Direction.  Yes, all these plans are gone and I've had to ask my kids to handle it with grace and with understanding.  It's a lot to ask kids. But I asked. So I sort of suck.

My girls and me enjoying Jeni's ice cream last summer. 

Gabe enjoying the beach he isn't going to.

I know the rebuttal to all my fears - I will walk; my friends are there; my family loves me and wants me to heal; I know all this is true. But that's the funny thing about fear - it ignores what's true and feeds on what's not.

I am not sharing this with you because I think what I am experiencing is unique.  I am sharing it because I find what I'm going through to be extraordinarily common.  My accident is merely shining a light on what I, and others, go through all the time as human beings.  We must be bigger than our fears.  We must make our decisions based on hope and our dreams.  Fear cannot be fed.

So, I will not shrink in this situation.  I will move as much as I am physically able to.  I will get out of my house.  I will do as much for myself as I can. I will be thankful that my upper body was not injured because I use it everyday to get around. I will appreciate sitting outside on the deck with my kids because that's the extent of our travels this summer. I will love every Starbucks, every call, every kind gesture that I receive. And when I ask my kids for anything, I will say thank you. Because I am so very thankful.

I read a quote recently that says, "We all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one."  I am thankful to have started my second life.  And, I will not be afraid of it. I will embrace it and go confidently in the direction of my dreams.  I owe this to everyone around me, and to myself - as we all do.

Amen.

Who Am I?

Day by day, as I lay on the couch, sit on the couch, move to a chair, crawl up the stairs, and crawl back down, the layers of who I think I am are peeled away.

Being unable to walk is unnerving for anyone, and especially for a woman whose defining characteristic is "busy".  I hear this all the time - "you are so busy" "I don't know how you do it" "do you ever sit down?" In fact, I've heard it so much that I fear I wear it like a badge of honor - I am a busy woman. People respect me for the way I multitask. Others wish they could juggle what I juggle.  

So what happens?  In an instant, I am stripped of the very thing that defines me.  I am no longer busy.  I am, in fact, stuck in sludge, unable to get up, forced to watch life proceed around me, holding up my hand in the back of the class as if to say, "wait, what just happened? what did I miss?" It fills me with a nervousness that hits in waves. At one moment I am fine; the next I am in a panic about how I will find my way back to myself.  But, as we all know, there is no going back. So, I move forward toward myself, yet to be defined by what lies ahead.

The irony of this is not lost on me.  I know that I have been "handed" this immobility because it will force me to get to the core of who I am. Without my calendar to keep and my meetings to attend and my errands to run, I am forced to ask the question - who am I?  Really. WHO AM I? The answer to this is an uncomfortable, "I don't know."

I have been thinking about this question a lot.  My first answer was, "I am a mother."  But even that has shifted these last 10 days.  My children have stepped up in a way fitting of how I hoped I had raised them. They are doing laundry, washing dishes, bringing me everything I need.  In fact, they've stepped up so well that it's made me feel slightly irrelevant.  Sort of like an old typewriter that you love but don't really need.  I know my children need me.  But, watching them take care of me has made me realize they don't need me in the same ways anymore.  They are older and more responsible than I give them credit for. So I am a mother in transition.

I am a wife. But, not in the ways I've been a wife for nearly 20 years.  I am not making Bryan coffee in the morning. I am not getting newspaper so it's ready for him when he comes downstairs.  I am not cooking dinner for my family. I am at the mercy of my home versus running my home.  My home has always been my haven and a reflection of my love for my family.  Now, I watch Bryan and others move through each room, trying to do what they know I would do and make things look the way they know I like them.  The love I feel through these actions is nearly crippling.

Having all these earthly trappings we equate with power and purpose and identity and control stripped from me very suddenly made me realize that none of us is any of the things we think we are.  I need to uncover who I am in spite of being busy, or being a mom or being a wife.

Underneath it all, who am I?

All I know is that I don't know. But I have six weeks (and the rest of my life) to figure it out.

Negative Space

Often times, the degree to which we measure anything - events, people, our possessions -  is equally about what they are not as much as what they are.  It's the absence of something that makes us appreciate what we have.  It's what we miss that gives value to what is in front of us. And it is what could have happened that gives context to what actually occurs.  This is negative space.  The simplest way to describe it is as "space where other things are not present." In design, it gives the eye a place to rest.  In life, it gives us perspective.

For the past five days, I am haunted by negative space.  To be specific, the negative space of my children not being with me the day of my accident.  Much worse than reliving the crash in my mind is reliving the image of a crash where Sophie had been in the front seat and where Gabe and Sara, both less than 100 pounds, had been in the back. This is a crash I cannot bear. My mind runs from it, and it feels more real in my heart than what actually happened.

But luckily for me and for my family, my kids were not with me. I was alone, surrounded by negative space.

I've spent most of my time since the crash thinking about what this accident is intended to teach me. Because it is meant to teach me something.  It's not about broken ankles or reliving that moment. It's about what is beyond the short-term and pushing toward the long-term, life altering changes I will take with me into the rest of my days.

Negative space is one of those long-term lessons.

I will be thankful for when I and others are at their best because I know what it is like to just get by.
I will love the daylight because I know night.
I will relish silence because I have lived in noise.
I will cherish my health because I know a broken body.
I will never wish away my days because I now know the value of them.
I chose to focus on the positive because it's easy to sink into negativity.
I will listen because it's too easy to shut others off.
I will always open my arms because I have been guilty of staying closed.
I will be patient because impatience puts up walls.

And I will walk again, and run, and never take for granted the places my legs can and will take me, because now they cannot. This, too, is negative space I will push through.

I am not thinking of surgeries, or casts, or being couch bound.  I have a vision in my head of me, running a 5K, wearing great shoes, chasing my kids, stronger than I was before the accident, being even better because trial reveals us. It uncovers who we are. And I refuse to have any trial reveal that I am less than what I know I am capable of.

I am surrounded by what is, and thoughts of what is not. And, I am focused on what will be. Because it will be great. This I know.

Me and the three not there. 

My Promise to My Children

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."

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.

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.

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...

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".

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...

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.