To unplug or not to unplug?

I don't know if you've noticed but parents are under a lot of pressure. Not only are we spending our days keeping our children alive, but we have to make sure their childhoods are happy ones. I know that might sound horrible or overly simplified..or dramatic depending on your personal life journey and current situation but it's true. This job we've committed ourselves to is relentless. My kids see me at my absolute worst. I am constantly trying to improve the way in which I deal with the emotions that come barreling out when I'm pushed to my limit. There are times when I feel I'm improving and times when I feel I've lost my grip on every skill I've crafted since giving birth for the first time 6 years ago. In other words, I am nowhere near perfect and my kids could be the first ones to tell you that.

This truth is hard to grapple with sometimes because I hate the feeling I get when logic is kicked to the backseat and raw emotion and knee jerk reaction take the wheel. At the same time I know these moments, as long as I take responsibility for them and apologize when I need to do so, are important to the emotional development of my kids. I know without showing them my imperfections and modeling owning them, they would probably grow into people who bury their emotions and have difficulty dealing with adversity.

If I were more well read and professional, I would start this paragraph with, "Research shows..." but I'm going to choose to be perfectly honest and admit I'm too tired and short on time to find any articles supporting my argument. Instead I'm going to fess up that my "research" is what my therapist tells me she has seen in her professional experience. I not only believe her because she's awesome and really smart but because this "perfectly imperfect" angle on parenting is the one I've believed in even before my therapist validated it for me.

Anyway, that wasn't the point I was going for when I sat down to write this. What I really wanted to talk about was on top of all this built in pressure the job comes with, why do we all (fellow parents, friends, family, society, our own damn selves) insist on finding ways to add more pressure to the mix? Breastfeeding (or not) and all the scrutiny that goes along with that...vaccinating (or not) and all the scrutiny that goes along with that..."screen time" or "media" (or not) and all the scrutiny that goes along with that...co-sleeping (or not) and all the scrutiny that goes along with that...the list goes on and on and on and on and....

The most recent thing to get my goat in this respect is all the judgment surrounding how much parents use their phones. I know, I know...and I kind of agree but I wish we could all lighten up about it just a little. Don't get me wrong, I know plenty of folks who could benefit from a smartphone intervention. As soon as I'm done with my current "20 hour a week" resident manager job (aka "you must be available to your residents 24/7"), I plan to put it far out of arms reach or even turn it off once in a while in an effort to break my habit of checking it every 3 minutes.

Like my love affair with chocolate though, I will never strive for a life without my phone. Yes, once in a while I'll need to work a little harder to scale back on the amount and frequency but in the grand scheme of things, these "vices" are part of enjoying life and I think that's okay.

I feel sure there has been more than one time when a stranger has walked by me and my kids at the playground and silently chided me for staring at my phone but you know what? That stranger probably kept walking and missed the part when I put my phone in my pocket and resumed the endless "Ice Cream Store" game I was fully engaged in 2 minutes before they walked by. I can also admit to more than once waving my kids off as they pleaded with me to watch them on the monkey bars so I could text my sister. You know what? I watch my kids on the monkey bars every other day for as long as we are able to stay at the playground. I lift them up when they can't reach and coach them through their fear almost every time they ask. I talk to my sisters at most every other month so yes, when I find a moment to exchange a few quick texts with one of them, I jump on the opportunity. Once in a while as I'm sitting quietly watching my kids play together, I might take a minute to read an article on my phone that caught my eye. I didn't have time to sit down and do so quietly over a cup of coffee because someone was tapping my shoulder at 5am expecting me to spend the morning making breakfast smoothies and wiping butts.

So if you wouldn't mind I'd like us all to agree on a few things: 1) let's put our phones somewhere we can't see or hear them when we are driving 2) maybe we could stand to put the phones away during family dinners and 3) leave us overworked and overtired parents alone about how much we use our phones. We'll work on it if we think it's becoming a problem for our families but in the meantime we're just doing our best to keep our kids alive and happy.

My friends, my family

I spend a lot of my time striving to create for my kids the solid foundation my parents gave me. It’s a lot of pressure because I had a great childhood. One of seven kids, there was never a dull moment. Endless memories were made in the house we grew up in and sometimes I wish I could go back and hang out with that motley crew again, just for a day. Or that my kids could.

**You can read the rest of this post over at Mile High Mamas**

Back to Work

Growing up, all I wanted was to be a mom. It was the answer I gave whenever someone asked what I wanted to do with my life. Even through college, honestly. I had a terrible time picking a major because no career path drew me in the way motherhood did. Of course I knew the pay was nonexistent so dutifully went to college and chose a theatre major because it was the only thing I could stand doing with my time. If I had to work, I guessed I wouldn’t be miserable working in theatre, biding my time until I got my big break in the parenting world...

**You can read the rest of this post over at Mile High Mamas!**

Let Me Explain..

Hi guys.

Hey, I'm sorry if we haven't talked in a while and I'm sorry if you've been avoiding calling or writing because you don't know what to say. I can't lie, this is a hard time for us. Nathan and I are being put through a really big mental/emotional strength test right now and while we both feel confident we will come out on top, the bumpy road there is making us kind of car sick.

Here's the deal. We are finding out the people warning us over the past five years that the job market for PhD's (theatre in particular) is brutal were not lying or exaggerating. We've been frequently warned the chances of landing a good, steady job right out of grad school are slim at best but have been soldiering through, choosing to label those people "Negative Nellies" (well I have anyway) or that with a little positive thinking and honest hard work, we would beat the odds. We used all of our savings to move out here and have lived off loans (aka accrued a ton of debt) with a lot of help from government assistance (aka lived as frugally as humanly possible). Sometimes I feel a little guilty about how thoroughly my kids understand what I mean when I say "No, we can't get that because we don't have any money." Nathan has worked so much and so hard that most days we only see him for an hour each morning before he heads off to the library. We've made the most of all of this because we had a finish line we were headed for. For four and a half years, we've been saying our hard work will be rewarded when he graduates. His tireless efforts would for sure translate into a great job and we could move on to the next chapter.

Don't get me wrong, we've had a blast out here and feel lucky to be able to show our kids you don't have to have a lot of money to have fun and feel good about life. I didn't just tell you all of that so you could feel bad for the life we've lived out here because it's been a gift in countless ways. I wanted to explain it all so you could understand why traditional attempts at cheering someone up may not work on me right now. One of my sisters found that out this morning as I countered all of her bright sides with "yeah, but"s (sorry Rach!). It's reminding me of the days leading up to Owen's birth. One of my midwives asked how I was feeling and I told her I was feeling nervous about going into labor. She said "Why are you feeling nervous? You can do it, you've done it before and in the end you'll have a beautiful baby!" I knew she meant well, and I agreed with her but I just laughed and said "Because being in labor is AWFUL! Yes, the reward is great, but it SUCKS getting to that part!"

We are plugging away and finding little happy moments in our daily life, thanks mostly to the kids. We are getting our ducks in a row for our "Plan B". We aren't getting drunk in the corner while gorging on fast food and chocolate...not every day anyway. In other words, don't worry about us. We are going to make it work and enjoy life along the way, it's just that it's taking a lot of extra effort to do so right now. Sometimes, seemingly harmless everyday things can get me all teary when they remind me of our situation and that is exhausting. Yes, at times it's sad and disappointing and scary but Nathan and I are no strangers to overcoming such challenges so we know we can do it.

Thinking back on the person I've been for the last few years reminds me of how I think of the college me. The one who thought she knew everything about life. There's no way that girl could have accepted how humbling life can be until she lived through it herself. Similarly, I've realized that while I'm a little embarrassed about how naive I've been during this chapter in my life, I know I couldn't have believed those people who warned us of this challenge until we were actually in the middle of it ourselves. How can you blame us, I suppose? Thinking negatively about everything wouldn't have changed the mechanics of our journey, it just would have made it a whole lot more unpleasant.  Still, it's hard to face which is why I've probably not jumped at the chance to pick up the phone to call anyone and talk about it.

Imagine you're running your first marathon. You are shuffling along and have reached mile 25. You're going to make it. You can't believe it. After the months of training and the grueling miles behind you, the finish line is just up ahead. Then, a stranger ambles up next to you from the sidelines and whispers in your ear, "Sorry but there was a mistake in the mile markers. The finish line isn't for another ten miles" and then slips off into the crowd again. Or, for my fellow Amazing Race fans...imagine you reach the mat and Phil says "You are team number 1!...(dramatic pause)...however, this leg is not over. You are STILL RACING!" I think it's fair to say you would need a minute to adjust to that. That's where we are right now.

Picture Window

Sitting behind the colossal observation window outside the gymnastics room, I quietly read to Owen while sneaking peaks at Zoe during page turns. We've been coming here three years and I'm still one of the hovering parents, watching as if not doing so will mean missing her childhood altogether. I'm so stereotypical it's pathetic, but I don't care. I love it. I love watching her work hard at something she loves as much as she loves gymnastics.

This day is like the rest. She listens well and has fun with the kids in her class. She is confident but doesn't show off. She does well with some things and fumbles through others. The transition she just made from the "little kid" program to the "big kid" one doesn't seem to be phasing her in the least. If anything it's made her more confident, as her teachers have started telling her (and me) she is a talented beginner gymnast. They want her to keep coming and growing with their program and she knows it but hasn't let it get to her head (too much).

After stretching, her group heads to their first station of the day, the balance beam. They have some high beams and some low and I see her eagerly raise her hand to start on the high ones. They all pop up on their beams and start walking except Zoe, who is uncharacteristically scooching along on her bum. She makes eye contact with me and smiles an embarrassed sort of smile before looking at her teacher, who has just said something to her. She comes up to her hands and knees and freezes, face hidden from view behind her falling hair. Her teacher goes to her to take stock and I see Zoe is crying. Hard. Her teacher gently coaxes her to her feet and holds her hand until she reaches the end of the beam and gives her a high five. I see that Zoe is trying to compose herself but she can't shake it and is still crying.

It takes everything I have not to run in and hug her. She is right in front of me, but on the other side of this big pane of sound proof glass and it's breaking my heart. Even as I feel this urge to run to her I know doing so would be the absolute worst thing for her in this moment. So, I keep my eyes glued to her, waiting for our eyes to meet again so I can flash a warm, encouraging smile. I get my chance and, to my dismay, it doesn't help. In fact every time she looks at me, she gets teary again. I can relate. I get like that when I'm upset. I can't handle people being nice to me because it makes me cry.

I can't leave my baby in this moment though so I change tactics, reminding her to take deep breaths. It seems to help a little and she does really well, accepting her teacher's helping hand in some moments, waving it off in others. My heart soars with pride as I see her standing tall, chin up, legs kicking out and forming beautiful straight lines while holding back tears. At the same time I know her pain and feel a sadness at knowing she is in the middle of a difficult lesson. That sometimes the best stuff has to follow some really hard stuff. That the coming out of the hard stuff part is exactly what makes the best stuff so great.

She eventually shakes it off and the rest of the class goes predictably well. When she comes out afterwards she collapses into my open arms and buries her face in my jacket. I ask if she wants to talk about it and she shakes her head. I tell her she can talk to me about anything so whenever she is ready, I'm open. This makes her cry a bit more. She wants to leave. To move on. I completely understand.

We get in the car. There are a couple of things I want to be sure to tell her before we move on though. That I'm proud of her for continuing on after feeling scared. That everyone in that room, including the coaches, can relate to how she was feeling. As soon as I start talking, she hides her head under her jacket. I go on anyway. One of the things I tell her is it can be helpful to write down difficult thoughts. Stuff you're not sure you want to share with anyone. I tell her all about diaries and how no one but the person writing in it is allowed to read what's inside. Even Mommy and Daddy. This gets her attention so we make a plan to head to Target to pick one out.

As the tension subsides and the tears surrender, Zoe perks up and excitedly chooses a diary. She writes a version of what happened right before bedtime and decides to show me. I thank her for sharing it with me but remind her she only has to do that when she really wants to. She happily drifts off to sleep but I sense a new element of maturity mixed in with the innocence that's always been there. I realize this is how it happens. Little by little, until twenty years from now when she and I are marveling together at the swift passage of time over a glass of red wine.

I realize, on this day, it was a colossal sound proof window but in the years to come it will also be my seat in the bleachers or a dark auditorium. It will be a boyfriend or girlfriend. It will be a verbal request to mind my own business or impenetrable teenage silence. It will be a driver's license and a party. It will be physical miles between us and a life of her own. As she grows up, the window will become tinted and scratched but I will never step away. I will forever wait  by that window for my chance to make eye contact.

Monumental Impression: A Short Story

I got my first writing rejection email today! Yay me! Of course it's not exactly heartwarming to be officially rejected, but I have to say I'm more encouraged by this correspondence than deflated. I am a beginner after all, this being my first attempt at a short story. When I started writing this it was a rambling, confusing page long essay that my writer friend Jessika Fleck so kindly helped me flesh out and make more clear. My writing partner Erin also worked hard for me and I ended up with something I'm proud of, all things considered.

So, I'm choosing to completely ignore the heavy hint from the magazine and sharing it. I worked really hard, and I believe in sharing both my strengths and weaknesses hoping it will encourage at least one other person to face fears along with me and take a stab at something out of their comfort zone.

The instructions for the contest were: "Write about a mistake you've made in your life. Everything must be true." Special thank you to Hannah for being cool with me sharing this story.

MONUMENTAL IMPRESSION

I wonder how many people spend too much time regretting things they said or did when they were young and naïve? I have spent a good chunk of my adult life replaying memories of past mistakes, wishing I could transform them into something else. The logical part of my brain knows this is not necessary. I know in order to be a participating member of decent human interaction, mistakes are vital. Without them we would learn nothing. If I never had to swallow my pride and say the words “I’m sorry”, I would be one dimensional and cold. In theory, I am grateful for my imperfection. In reality, I would do anything to bury it forever.

****

I entered my seventh grade year with more meat on my bones than most of my peers.  While not exactly overweight, I was hiding under layers of bulky clothing in an attempt to disguise the extra pounds that had accumulated onto the boyish frame I was born with. My eyebrows were dark and thick, forcing me to experience the losing end of ridicule from an early age.  Sporting a bad perm, I was experimenting with thick bangs in an effort to detract attention from my unkempt eyebrows.  Accompanying my physical shortcomings was my propensity to become embarrassed at the slightest hint of discomfort with no ability to hide my feelings. At that age I burned most of my energy trying to blend in or, better yet, disappear altogether.

Before leaving for my first day of junior high, I willed a piece of dry toast down my throat as I attempted to look natural for my mother. Successful in my efforts, I then climbed into the passenger side of our gargantuan family suburban, the only vehicle big enough to seat seven children.  She and I were quiet during the short car ride to school and exchanged a quick goodbye before I hopped out, stomach acid bubbling and stinging the back of my throat. I swallowed hard and walked towards the gauntlet.

I approached the building, pasty cheeks burning at the thought of having to say hello to anyone, taking in the crowd of seventh and eighth graders waiting outside. The hedgerow covering my forehead collected sweat that then dripped into my eyes.  Not even the barricade of eyebrows was enough to protect them from the stinging liquid.

We stood, herd-like, in the parking lot outside the cafeteria waiting for the bell to ring. Stomach acid still bubbling, I decided to look for old classmates from elementary school, hoping a friendly face might calm me down.   As I searched I felt intimidated by the ease in which all the other kids, even my fellow seventh graders, were chatting it up.  It was as if the whole school had taken turns hosting pool parties over the summer and forgotten to include me.  They all seemed to know one another and were laughing, complaining and making fun of people and the first day of school hadn’t even begun.  The sickness in my stomach was beginning to turn a dangerous corner into “outta my way I’m gonna hurl” territory when the bell mercifully rang.

We hurried along to our lockers and then our first classes. Stomach calming as I found my way to each of my classes on time, I found a tentative rhythm and began to believe I might survive if I could just manage to focus on the mechanics of the day, boxing out any thoughts of socializing. In the hallways between classes, I kept my eyes glued to my class schedule, avoiding eye contact. 

By the time math class rolled around at the end of the day, I was feeling more relaxed, having settled into my antisocial rhythm.  I slipped through the door and chose a seat in front of a girl who reminded me of myself two hours earlier. Grasping onto her pencil with both hands as if she were trying to break it in half, our eyes connected and I recognized her panic. I managed a lightning fast smile before burying my nose in my class schedule, wanting to be sure I was in the right place, although I already knew I was.

Our teacher entered the room and started what I now recognized as the standard welcome spiel and passed around some handouts. In the gentle murmur accompanying the distribution of papers, I made more eye contact with the girl behind me, throwing in the occasional smile. By the end of class, as we stuffed our new textbooks into our backpacks I felt confident enough to spark conversation. Before I could change my mind and without looking up from the pressing work of zipping my backpack, I blurted out the only thing I could think of, “Ugh, I hate math” although I didn’t really hate math. I heard the quivering in my voice and started blushing. I wanted to take it back. The panic from that morning told me I should have quit while I was ahead and left the socializing for another day. Before the sweat on my forehead had a chance to collect, I was comforted by the matching tone in her response, “Me too.  I hope she doesn’t give us homework right away.” We stood up at the same time, introducing ourselves as we hoisted, with great effort, our backpacks onto our shoulders and headed out the classroom door together to find our lockers.

****

Getting to know Hannah was effortless. After that day our friendship blossomed into one of the closest I’ve had in my life, even into adulthood.  We had so much in common at times I felt we were the same girl in different bodies.  We made each other laugh so hard our bellies hurt every time we got together.  We shared a love of music and had regular dance parties in our living rooms to Billy Joel.  We cried over the same corny movies and were in complete agreement that every human being on earth should be required to get a dose of “Dirty Dancing” every other month at the very least.  We stayed up late during sleepovers, talking about our latest crushes and made up elaborate stories about what our first kisses would be like and who they would be with.  We made time capsules and buried them in spots around Hannah’s house, knowing full well we weren’t burying them deep enough to actually allow them to stay put very long. 

One evening at Hannah’s house, we were watching a movie neither of us had seen before.  I don’t remember anything about the movie other than a scene where two women were exiting a bedroom wearing bathrobes, surprised by an unexpected visitor.  It was clear the characters had been naked together in the bedroom and I was mortified. At that age, the thought of kissing anyone at all was scandalous.  Always one to lock the bathroom door while showering, for fear of being walked in on by anyone including my own mother, the idea of being naked with someone was too much for my shy, preteen imagination to bear.  Add to this a totally new concept of two women…well, I could barely keep my skeleton from jumping right out of my skin.

Trying to remain calm, I resisted the urge to run for cover by gripping the armrests of the oversized chair I was sitting in, determined to keep my body movement to a mere squirm in my seat.  Hannah and I tended to defer to humor whenever we were uncomfortable. So, assuming she also wanted to shrivel up and die of mortification, I said in an exaggerated, obnoxious, “trying too hard to be funny”  tone, “EEWWWWWW!!!”  I had been expecting Hannah to join in and help me overcome my panic as she always did, but she stayed quiet.  I managed to steel my way through the heart palpitations and was relieved to realize she hadn’t noticed my sweaty, red face as the moment passed.  We finished the movie in awkward silence.  I was more consumed with my discomfort over the actual movie to wonder why Hannah hadn’t matched my reaction so I left her house that evening without discussing it. 

A few weeks later during a sleepover at my house, we sat together in my darkened room defying sleep and sharing secrets.  We were trading confessions about personal fears, embarrassing stories, and crushes when Hannah said, “Remember when we were watching that movie a while ago and you were grossed out by those women? I’m sorry, but that was…well, I guess it disappointed me. You know, you don’t really know anything about any of that and I think it’s kinda rude to judge.”

I stammered, stalling for time as I considered my response.  I knew I had let her down for the first time in our friendship and wanted to take shelter in the nearest cave.  She was finally seeing the “real me”. The imperfect, immature, disappointing side of me she probably thought didn’t exist. Instead of retreating and changing the subject though, I decided to trust our friendship. I swallowed my embarrassment and managed to ask her to tell me more. I vowed to open my eyes to the world.  I wanted to do this for the sake of our friendship, but also because I knew she was right.

Hannah and I remained close into the beginning of high school but started drifting apart as we made friends in different social circles.   One day in high school I ran into her in the girl’s bathroom.  I was startled to notice her looking distraught and tearful.  We hadn’t talked in a while, but I instantly wanted to reach out.  I asked her what was wrong and she said, in an unconvincing, dismissive tone, “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”  In the moment, I knew we had lost our connection.  I told myself she was going to be okay because she had new friends she could talk to and that it was probably no big deal.  My gut told me it was something more but it wasn’t my place to pry.  I wasn’t her best friend anymore.  We eventually went our separate ways for college.

While on summer break during my college years I was visiting with a mutual friend of mine and Hannah’s.  I learned Hannah was doing very well, having come out of the closet that year.  I had never consciously considered the fact Hannah might be gay but at the same time wasn’t shocked. If she had started putting the pieces together during high school, I imagined how terrifying that must have been.  We grew up in a small rural town and people who were “different” were routinely teased and treated as outcasts.  Chances are, the bathroom moment had nothing to do with her sexuality, but it set me wondering if I had contributed to any fear she may or may not have felt while coming to this life changing realization. 

I thought of my reaction to the movie and worried it was the only picture of me Hannah had in her memory.  I pictured her in junior high, starting to suspect her sexual orientation and seeking acceptance from her best friend.  My heart broke as I put myself in her shoes, seeing that door slam in her face for the first time. I’ve never been able to shake the worry, even though the logical part of my brain knows we grew apart because of common adolescent circumstances. Still, if I had reacted differently to that movie, could I have had a chance to keep her company during what must have been a lonely, difficult path? I had blown it.

Since that time, I’ve seen Hannah once or twice and we’ve kept tabs on each other on Facebook.  She is married to her partner and they just had a beautiful baby girl.  I’m so happy for her and wish I was more a part of her life especially now that we are both mothers.  I occasionally comment on her photos and she and I have had a few friendly exchanges but I’ve resisted the urge to try and push my way back into her life. 

****

As I started writing this piece, I sensed a hesitation so stubborn, it was keeping the memories and words from flowing as freely as I had imagined they would.  I know Hannah is one hundred percent out of the closet, but was worried about respecting her privacy all the same. I wanted to check in with her to let her know I planned to write about this experience and our friendship.  I felt I had already disappointed her once and never let myself live it down. I didn’t want to feed that flame anymore. 

Before I lost my nerve I messaged her, telling her about the contest and my intentions. In just a few short minutes, I got Hannah’s reply which included, “'I’m so sorry if this is disappointing, but I don't remember the time you're talking about.  Absolutely don't mind you telling the story.  I hope I was respectful in the moment, and I'll work on remembering it eventually.”  I laughed out loud as I felt the self-inflicted shame rise off my shoulders in a cloud of mist and disappear into the air.  I had spent at least fifteen years worrying; worrying something I said when I was young and naïve could have made this monumental impression on Hannah when all that time the monumental impression was exclusive to me.   My reaction to the movie was the younger me trying to fit in with my peers.  It’s not who I am and it never was.  Of course Hannah would know that.  I couldn’t believe I had been so hard on myself and that I hadn’t given Hannah any credit at all.  Instead of assuming she judged me for a childish mistake, why hadn’t I had more faith in the friendship I knew we shared at the time and in the logical, forgiving person I’d always known her to be?

I wonder how many people do this kind of thing.  This isn’t the first time I’ve apologized to an old friend for some past friction or wrongdoing, only to find out the other person has no recollection of it.  Regret and shame are rude like that.  They hang on well past the “lesson learned” phase.  No matter how much we tell ourselves we’ve made amends and owned up to our mistakes, our attempt to show negative self-talk the door is undermined because the minute you turn your back to reach for the knob, it slips away and sets up camp in the spare bedroom.  I won’t make the same mistake the next time I open that door.

Thankful for Thorns

"Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns;
I am thankfulthat thorns have roses."
-Alphonse Karr

This morning while puttering in the kitchen, getting the day started, I decided to write a blog post about things I'm thankful for. Usually when I get a writing idea when I'm busy parenting, I grab the nearest post-it and jot my thoughts down so I can revisit them after bedtime to try and reignite the spark. Doing this allows me to go about my day focused on the kids rather than obsessing about not forgetting my idea.

I did exactly that this morning and expected to get a few thoughts down before moving on. The usual suspects made the transition from abstract brain wave to ink on paper right away: kids, Nathan, family, friends, running, Raising Little Heroes...I thought that would do it so put my pen down and went to pick up the living room. As I attempted to move on, I kept running back to the post-it every few seconds, getting down random bursts of gratitude before they dissolved. Within five minutes, the post-it was full. I could fit nothing more and was finally able to move on with my day. That crammed to the edges post-it filled my being with hope, and I'm so glad I allowed it to happen.

Since I would be here all night if I tried to share them all with you, I thought I'd share the ones that came up after the obvious ones did. The ones that surprised me. The ones I wrote down before realizing why I was doing so and therefore had to think on a bit...

Fear

I've recently learned that fear shows me where my passions lie. What I'm most afraid of (with a few exceptions) are the things I want most of all. I'm afraid of them because I'm afraid to strive for them. I'm practicing using fear to nurture my passion and build stronger walls of defense so that I can rise and conquer.

Failure

Along with this practice of going after what I want, I've had to face what I've done my best to avoid most of my life: failure. There's been a part of my subconscious that has relentlessly told me if I fail, I'm a loser. I suck. I'm worthless. The more failures I collect however, the more evidence I have supporting the fact that no matter what happens, I am most certainly NOT a loser. In fact, trying again after failure gives me more to feel proud of.

Writing

The thorn in my side these days. I have so little time to devote to it and as much as I love it, it's not my top priority. Mothering small children leaves room for precious few priorities on any given day and writing is not making the cut as regularly as it does in my dreams. It's important enough that it's taking up space in my head and heart though, so not working on it has made me sad and disappointed. I realized this morning though that despite the thorns, discovering my desire to write has allowed me to enjoy the roses. For now, I get one or two to brighten up my psyche once in a while but someday, when I have a bit more time, it will be a garden I know it will.

Chocolate, wine and coffee

Three things I constantly berate myself about. I get bogged down by what I "should" be doing and of course, like many people, I'm never doing it well enough. This morning I just admitted that these "vices" bring me comfort and, unlike other times in my life, I don't get out of control with them so who cares.

Uncertainty

The source of my little family's current struggle. If only we knew what our future looked like. If only Nathan's relentless hard work could be validated. If only we could start talking to the kids about our new home. If only I could start researching schools, looking for an apartment, a job. If only I could start seriously considering going back to school myself or trying to turn Raising Little Heroes into a nonprofit. If only we had health insurance, a steady income, a secure job. If only we knew the answer our kids will give to people their whole lives when asked the question "Where are you from?" It's rough. The weight of it is making our knees start to buckle. As torturous as it is though, it's solidified my belief that Nathan and I are building an unconventional yet passionate history. One I feel proud to talk about because we believe in each other and our potential. We aren't what you would call "dreamers". We aren't afraid of hard work, of facing reality when necessary. As they grow, engraved in our kids' subconscious will be a strong example of what it means to fight for what you want. To look for treasure amid rubble but have the common sense to turn around and go the other way if the tunnel is collapsing. Through all of that, they will have a sense of humor and feel a strong foundation of love behind them. That's what we do for each other when things are uncertain. We find joy in simplicity and strength in adversity.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.