It's never what you expect

As teenagers and even now we all have this vague idea of where we assume our lives are going to go. It's easy to make broad stroke predictions. Easy to assume.

But really. It's never what you expect.

There you are, living your life, doing your thing. Worrying about the things you assume are going to interfere with your "plan."

And then there it is. Out of the blue. The thing you never expected. The thing that changes the course of your life forever and sends you spinning out into the unknown.

You're hearing it from me first.

Guaranteed: That thing is NEVER the thing you expected and worried about.

It's pulmonary embolism at the happiest moment of a mother's life.

It's cancer that steals a dad.

It's a pool with an unlatched gate.

It's Lupus.

It's a grandmother who was taken from her grandkids much too soon. 

Those people worried about other stuff. Stuff that never happened. It never occurred to them to worry about the things that did.

I have a friend who lives in fear that her children will one day show the effects of the asbestos they were exposed to as babies. She loses sleep over this, and while I never want to trivialize the real risk that something might one day happen, I also want to shake her and make her realize that she's wasting precious time worrying.

Yes. Shit happens. Real, horrible, life altering shit happens. Trust me. I know.

No amount of fretting, stressing, or worrying will stop it from happening.

Spending hours worrying and focusing on what could happen does not give you a pass from pain and sorrow. There is no magic formula. "If I worry for x hours every day, I'll be spared the thing I worry about." No karmic balance. "If I don't enjoy life too much it won't get tarnished."

The Jewish people believe that you never draw attention to the beauty of children so that you don't attract the Angel of Death's attention. They believe that you never boast about your blessings and instead you focus on the negatives to stave off bad luck.

You know what? I refuse to live my life like that.

Shit happens whether you spend your whole life anticipating it or your whole life enjoying the time before it comes. The only thing that is affected by those hours of self torture is the quality of your life in that very moment.

Why waste those moments?

The Secret to a Good Marriage

As it so often happens, a line in a book I was just reading (Secret Daughter. Very good. Very moving.) caught my eye. It wasn't key to the plot, but its pure simplicity and truth struck me. 

"Her mother had always said the key to a successful marriage was for each spouse to give as much as they thought they possibly could. And then, to give a little more. Somewhere in that extra giving, in the space created by generosity without score keeping, was the difference between marriages that thrived and those that didn't."

The space created by generosity without score keeping...

That's what we do as parents. We give, and we give, and we give some more. Even when we're beyond giving and have already entirely lost ourselves. Even so, I've yet to meet a mom or even a dad with a little notebook to keep score.

• Up until 2am with coughing child - 15 points
• Faceful of stewed carrots - 4 points
• Told that grandma would be a better mommy because she never withholds desert - 176 points

If we were constantly keeping score like that there's no way we could be good parents. And really, beyond a hug here and there, we have no expectation of ever being "paid back" for all we do.

Why don't we always allow ourselves to do the same in all of our relationships?

I believe that "the space created by generosity without score keeping" is the space where we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and to just be -- no pretenses, no airs, just ourselves, raw. When you cross over beyond having given everything you believe you're capable of giving, you're showing your spouse or significant other that you trust them implicitly. It's the most powerful gift you could ever give or receive, and yes, while it comes with incredible responsibility, it's priceless.

In the movie Gattaca (which I just saw again this week) the weaker brother tells the stronger one that he always won the race because "he never saved anything for the way back." OK, so that's cryptic out of context (racing to the horizon in the ocean), it's the basis of every successful relationship.

As a parent we're willing to give everything and beyond because we know the relationship will never end. We don't need to hold back a piece of ourselves just in case one day we might need to start over with someone new. That complete surrender is ironically what gives us the strength to keep going.

I've been joking with M this past week every time he asks me to do something. My utterly tongue in cheek answer is always "Of course my darling; there's no limit to what I'd sacrifice for you."

But really, despite my smile and my joking tone, the sentiment is true and has always been true.

I've moved to a different country for him, given up my dreams of having four or more children. I didn't pursue a career in advertising so I'd have more time to be home with him and our eventual kids.

I've never considered these things to really be sacrifices. I'm not keeping score. They're concessions to the life we're building together. It's me saying "I really don't know what life has in store for us, but I'm along for the ride, 150% and I trust that whatever you do with this gift, it'll be in my best interest."

I've always known that M and I have a great relationship. That line in that book gave me the explanation I needed. M and I always give everything and then some and we trust each other to be gentle and caring of the vulnerability we're each showing in while in that space.

It's a beautiful thing and I'm grateful I get to experience it.

Too Many Good Ideas

On any given day I can come up with two or more great business ideas. My brain is constantly on overdrive. How can I fix this? How could I make that better? Even great ideas that slap me upside the head out of the blue.

I have a list of blogs I want to start. Another list of great books I want to write. And yet another list of companies that I'd love to throw all my energy behind.

That's not even counting the thirteen careers I'd like to take on some day.

Of course, between being a mom, wife, writer, freelancer, marketer, student, and head of a local mom's club, I never have time to do anything more than hash out these ideas with my husband.

Some ideas he dismisses out of hand or tears down with one simple well placed argument.

Other ideas light a spark in his eye.

We banter the pros and cons around. Discuss feasibility, need, and even profitability. For a while my head spins with the "what ifs" and the "I coulds..." Sometimes I'll even go so far as to research web domain names or present the ideas to friends.

Then, all too often, I look at everything I'd have to give up or set aside to bring this new project to fruition, and I retire the plan before even letting it draw a first breath.

I never forget the good ideas though. They taunt me at odd times. 

What I need is a way to give up on sleep forever or maybe a place to sell all my ideas. But figuring out how to make either of those two things happen sounds like yet another project and I can already hear M formulating his objections.

Beads for a caregiver

Last year when my mother's group gathered to assemble strings of prayer beads (which I decided to call meditation beads because I'm contrary like that) I was in the throes of trying to rediscover myself.

I was working, mothering, writing, and still recovering from my previous job and the ensuing year of freelancing.

My string of beads were meant to help me find inner peace and over the year I've reached for them often when I'm struggling to catch my breath or pace myself. Just holding them in my hand helps me remember to breathe and take note of the details in each moment.

Click on the photo to read about the significance of each bead.

This week I wondered about what string of beads I could possibly make that could compare to what I had made last year. And then it came to me.

Since last year I've found myself. I know me pretty well now. I know my strengths and my weaknesses and I've even learned to ask for help. But, last week, a lot changed and I'm still trying to redefine myself in relation to that.

Last week three different people asked me if I was a nurse. Clearly I'm not, but I am a caregiver. While it's not how I would define myself, if you were to ask my kids or my husband, it might be something they'd say about me.

I always assumed that caregiving was something I'd do for a while, as long as the kids were little and needed mothering. Now I'm starting to realize that it's going to be part of my life forever.

I'm hoping that the string of beads I made yesterday will help me come to grips with that and give me strength as I adjust to that reality.

I started with a pink speckled egg. The pink symbolizes love for others and love for self and since black symbolizes 'infinite mystery' the specks remind me that love often presents unexpected challenges.

The two green beads that follow the pink one represent balance, healing, hope, growth, and more love. Always more love. There are two because the number two symbolizes relationship, cooperation, and the balance of Ying and Yang. I'm hoping that they'll remind me to always balance my role as a caregiver for others with my need to care for myself.

The blue bead with green spots that follows symbolizes that the healing and hope that comes from green should always be intertwined with relaxation and meditation (blue!).

And then I placed a large chunky white and purple bead. Purple for intuition and white for knowledge, because for me, as a caregiver, both of those lie at the center of every decision I make.

The rest of the strand are the same beads going back again, the whole interspersed with shiny red beads to symbolize the strength I need to get through this life.

At the very end of this string of beads that will sustain my caregiver's soul, I placed the black heart that heads my other strand. Black is always there to represent the ultimate mystery (what we just don't know), it's laced with gold to represent the happiness that can be found anywhere, even in the unknown. A little dangling heart hangs off the tip, the words "love today" written across it to remind me always that we can't wait to understand everything or to feel in control to start enjoying life. We have to start today.

Connecting with people

When I walked into Starbucks this morning my coffee was sitting on the counter waiting for me. With a smile the barista pushed it towards me.

"This is for you," he said.

**********

After working for an hour another regular walked over. 

"How are you doing today?" 

I gave him a pat answer and asked about his current project. He replied, and turned the question back on me.

"But, you, what's really new with you?"

***********

At the donut store two weeks ago, I handed over the two coffee thermoses that I'd borrowed for a mother's group event. The store manager handed me my $50 deposit and a small white bag. 

"What's this?" I asked, meaning, "Why are you giving me something?"

"It's a carrot muffin," was her simple reply. 

 

***********

The only thing these people have in common is the fact that I see them on a semi-regular basis. We interact over simple common courtesies. 

Please. Thank you. Are you using this chair?

I could have chosen to keep my interaction to the bare minimum, but at some point I looked them in the eye and asked them about their day, their weekend, their kids. I connected beyond the simple societal niceties. 

They looked back at me, away from their busy tasks and connected. 

We all make a million superficial connections throughout the day - the grocery store, the sandwich shop, the gas station attendant. We can chose to float through our days without really interacting with people, or we can choose to deepen our connections with people and life. 

That cashier is a person.

That barista deals with life's ups and downs just like you. 

That gas station attendant has hopes and dreams. 

I grew up in a world where social "castes" (for lack of a better word), are strong and hard to breach. It was rare for me to socialize outside my group of friends. And then, thanks to the Internet, I expanded my reach. 

Income, location, education - none of these things define a person's heart. When you put people behind a computer and you talk to them before seeing their clothes, their hair, their home, you get to know them for who they really are at heart. 

It's freeing. 

Even better, it allows you to see beyond the uniform, beyond the surface out in the real world.

Who did you interact with today? Did you stop to wonder about their morning routine? Their challenges for the week? 

Who do you see every day? What do you know about that person? 

Step outside of your life. Reach out to the people who share your space. It will enrich your life. 

It's enriched mine and I'm a better person for it.

Choosing Happiness

Right now I should be sitting in a hotel conference room with 30 other adults, our chairs in one big circle. My attention would be entirely focused on the instructors and my classmates. Today was the day my second Life Coaching seminar was supposed to start.

****

Right now I should be sitting at home, waiting to take M to see his surgeon for a pre-op appointment. I called the coaching program two weeks ago to inform them that I'd have to miss the first morning of the seminar so I could be present for this important appointment. They informed me that I'd have to forfeit my spot and come to the next session.

I hesitated a moment and then told them to give my spot to someone on the waiting list. I'm anxious to go through the training, but this surgery, surgery that could potentially change our lives by curing my husband of the condition that has dodged us at every twist and turn for the last four years, was more important.

****

Right now I should be sitting in the waiting room at the hospital waiting for the surgery to be over, for my husband to be returned to me, neck healed, ready to start the next chapter of our lives. The surgery was moved up because we thought the condition was worsening. Suddenly I was glad that I had given up my spot in the seminar. Glad I could be here where I was most needed, where I most needed to be.

****

Right now I'm sitting at Starbucks. My children are at school and daycare. My husband is at work. All the plans we've made for today - seminar, pre-op appointment, surgery - all canceled, leaving today to be as normal a day as it can possibly be. Except nothing is normal and yet I'm still smiling.

****

If parenting has taught me one thing it's that I can't hold on to plans and routines as rigidly as I used to. The only thing that I've been able to count on these last six years is that I can't count on anything, that I have to let go and go with the flow.

The other thing that parenting has taught me is to look for the glimmer in every moment. Not just the silver lining, but the glimmers of happiness in the middle of the chaos, the tumult, the sadness, the tantrums, the everything that takes up every breathing moment. If you wait for things to settle down to be happy, to enjoy the moment, you'll be waiting a long time.

I could be sitting here lamenting the fact that my classmates are moving on without me, that my training has been put off for 6 months. I could be sitting here lamenting the fact that M is not in surgery, that he won't wake up in three hours, neck on its way to being fixed.

Instead I'm choosing happiness. I'm choosing to see the positive side, to focus on the things that bring a smile to my face. My coffee is hot and tastes good. Both my girls went off to school with a smile this morning. The cat was extra cuddly. And the kiss M gave me as he left for work was extra sweet. Tomorrow we'll go to the beach and watch the rain fall as we huddle under a warm blanket and watch a movie all together. Sunday we'll watch the sun rise and then we'll enjoy a warm day on the sand.

Right now I could be focusing on all the ways things are wrong. Instead I'm choosing to focus on all the ways they're right. I choose happiness, even in the middle of all the uncertainty.

Milestone Photos: First Birthdays

In a mere four weeks C will be turning 6. We have big plans for a low key, semi-sleepover party complete with painted nails, popcorn, pizza, and movie watching.

It's going to be a blast and yet, I'm nostalgic for that first birthday party. The one in the park, with the wind so strong that we couldn't keep the balloons from flying away.

I planned that party for months. Every little detail was perfect - invitations, cake, even the snacks. I had visions of the perfect party - one that C would enjoy and relive forever through pictures.

She cried. Most of the time.

She was overwhelmed by the people and the bustle. As for the cake I lovingly baked, she wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, it made her cry all over again.

I treasure those photos for a whole other reason than I expected I would. Instead of capturing the perfect moment, they remind me that as a parent we can hope and wish for the outcome we want the most, but in the end, nothing ever turns out quite how we planned.

When I'm tempted to forget about letting go, I remember that sweet little face, twisted in anguish over the commotion and hateful cake, and I remember that as a parent, I can always guide my kids in the right direction, but they are not me, and I have to respect and remember who they truly are.

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Please note: This post is a sponsored post in conjunction with the BabyCenter Blog Network. The photos and thoughts contained here are all mine.

His strength lies in his vulnerability

A few days ago I found the first emails that my husband ever wrote to me. They were sweet, so very, very sweet.

At the time I was struggling. I'd just broken up with my second boyfriend, a boy who loved me, but who was not in love with me. I was still hurt from the previous relationship which had ended after five long years of emotional abuse and chronic cheating.

Into all that anger and confusion and just plain hurt, sweet, amazing M walked in. He was kind and compassionate. He listened to me and he opened his heart wide up from day one.

That level of vulnerability was terrifying at first. I felt damaged and my first gut instinct was to turn my hurt around and project it instead of internalizing it. And then I looked into his sweet blue eyes that were so trusting and open and instead I felt my own heart start to heal.

If you ask M he'll tell you that I've taught him a lot over the years. Truth is, he's taught me more.

He's taught me to be vulnerable. To let people in.

He's taught me to trust again and to give of myself with no reservation.

He's taught me kindness and compassion.

All in all, he's made me become a better person.

This weekend M got some challenging medical news. It's nothing we're not going to face bravely, but it is something infuriating. Just when we thought we were at the end of one painful road, we discover that we've just been diverted onto a completely unexpected side path, and that first road still needs to be crossed.

We're reeling. And hurting. I'm mad, sad, confused, and mad all over again.

I'm pretty sure M is feeling much of the same.

It's been a really long weekend. There are a million emotions running through me and yet I just feel overwhelmingly grateful.

I'm married to the most amazing man in the world. He's proven it time after time over the years, but this weekend he proved it all over again.

Once a long time ago I equated vulnerability with weakness. Then I met the man who showed me that vulnerability is actually the greatest strength.

And this guy? He's beyond strong.

Teaching love

"What makes you crabby?" I asked C in the car this morning as we drove to school?

She thought for a moment before answering.

Being hungry. Being tired. Being nervous or impatient about something. The answers came out slowly at first, then faster as she warmed up to the subject.

We were talking about a little boy she's been having issues with at school. She thinks he's mean to her, that he singles her out and says stuff to hurt her feelings on purpose.

I'm not saying she's wrong, but the fact that the teacher has never noticed (in a classroom of 12 kids) makes me think that maybe, just maybe, she's perceiving meanness where only grumpiness resides.

So, in the car, instead of telling her that I thought maybe this little boy got grumpy at times and lashed out at her, I tried to get her to come to that conclusion herself.

It didn't take long for her to make the jump.


I don't want her to spend her life making excuses for people when they're mean to her, but I would love for her to learn early on that few people are really intentionally mean and that often they're just caught up in their own issues. It's unbelievably easier to forgive people and move on when you realize that.

"But what if he isn't crabby, what if he's just mean?" Her little voice reached me from the back seat. Timid, sad and a little subdued. Because if he's just plain mean, then no amount of empathy will change anything.

"Well, then you remember how many people love you and think you're awesome and you just walk away." It's only taken me some 30 years to learn this. I didn't think she'd buy it in a five minute car chat. One glance back in the rear view mirror confirmed my fears. Mommy's mumbo jumbo wasn't being swallowed.


"Babe? Who loves you?" I asked. She shrugged and looked down. I prodded a bit, but got no further than a few shaking points in my direction and in the direction of the absentee passengers who usually ride with us - daddy and Little L. I was running out of time so I filled in the blanks for her.

As name after name rolled off my tongue I watched her in the mirror. First her head perked up, then her shoulders moved back, her chin lifted, her eyes started to shine. When her smile appeared I started to skip people in my list and she filled in the blanks in a voice that kept growing louder and louder.

I filled her with the names of all the people who loved her unconditionally and when she was full to the brim with all of their invisible support I reminded her that for every person who will ever be mean to her, there will always be tons more who can show her how that one person is not important.

When I dropped her off at school there was a bounce in her step that hadn't been there when she'd walked to the car. And tonight... well, tonight she asked for that little boy to be added to her birthday party guest-list. Because apparently, when he's happy and he laughs, he's really very nice.

Lunch in Paris: A life unlived

M on our tiny balcony.

Our apartment was tiny, at the top of our eight story building, with a door so narrow a real couch wouldn't fit through it. The kitchen was odd -- beyond narrow, but with counters so high that I needed a stepping stool to do the dishes or stir dinner. We did all of our living in the main room -- at times bedroom, dining room, living room, or office, depending on which direction you faced -- and not only were we perfectly delighted with our tiny love nest, we were grateful for it.

France is a place of magic and wonder, cheese and amazing bread, love and passion, and a million other things that make people's eyes get all wistful when I mention that I grew up there. When I tell them I lived in Paris they usually sigh.

Yes, Paris. City of love. Home to perfect baguettes and croissants. Amazing architecture and everything else you've heard about it.

And Paris, home to hair-pulling bureaucracy, ancient rituals and systems, and societal norms mired in tradition.

That last line is the reason we don't live there now, the reason -- much to M's chagrin -- we will never live there.

Paris doesn't have much room for a bi-cultural couple. Doesn't have much place for bi-cultural children to thrive.Trust me. I lived there as a bi-cultural child. One with flawless French and perfect wardrobe, who still didn't quite fit in.

In the US it's possible to embrace what makes you different and unique, in France, it's best to buy the dark wool coat, tame your frizz and accent, and do your best to blend in.

I could have met a French man and blended completely. It could have been a happy life -- if one completely different than the one I know now. But the day I fell in love with an American man I knew I was making the decision to ultimately leave.

I've never been able to explain it to M, never been able to put it into words. He lived there with me for 13 months and loved every single moment of our magical life. We had the perfect apartment, lived half a block from the best boulangerie, spent our weekends walking around Paris, discovering new neighborhoods and secret alleys. We ate amazing food, had lively conversations with my friends, and lived up being in the heart of the most romantic city in the world. It was all amazing, even the evil neighbor who filled the elevator with fetid cigarette smoke every day.

Compared to that my feeble arguments fall pretty flat. 

Then I read Lunch in Paris, and now I'm making him read it too. I've read books before that outline the cultural differences between France and the US. Many have made me laugh and nod my head emphatically. But never before has one put into words the reasons why I'm reluctant to live there.

I am a working mom to two little girls. I spend morning freelancing and working on a novel and afternoons working part time at a job that I became good at through sheer determination and experience -- not education. In my spare time I'm studying to become a Life Coach. Right there you've read four things that I most likely wouldn't be doing if we lived in France. I can't even find the words in French to explain that last one.

It's hard in France to deviate from the norm. Hard and rarely rewarding. I don't want to live somewhere where I have to teach my girls how to fit in rather than how to let their innermost selves sing.

Today I explained to C that I rarely get embarrassed because I simple don't let other people's judgmental thoughts get in the way of me being me. She looked dubious, but really, that's OK. I have a lifetime to show her how that works. Something I could never do in the land of wine, cheese, and croissants.

This post, written as part of the From Left to Write book club, was loosely inspired by the book Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard, brave American soul who moved to France, married a Frenchman, and embraced all the cultural quirks that caused me to flee. I didn't take her path. I took my own. But I'm very grateful for this book that helped me put into words why I'm reluctant to go home.