I can’t believe I was that shitty

I believe I was about 16 or 17 when my parents went on a beautiful vacation to Boca Raton Florida.  They rented a house right across from the beach.  The beach was gorgeous.  There was a pool for the chlorinated set.  White sand, sea shells, and just amazing weather.

I was a teenager.  I was awful.  I was intent on having a bad time.   I was going to take the long slow road of misery down to the bottom of no fun.  And everyone was gonna go with me.

My poor parents.  They were trying to have a nice time and all I did was bitch and moan.  Why?  No particular reason…they best I can figure out; is that I thought being happy wasn’t cool.  Brooding and eye rolling – now that was cool.  I was COMPLETELY above having a good time, especially with my parents.  I was also brought up in the era of apathy and selfishness, the 80′s.  To cool to care, just hand me my mousse and Duran Duran cassette.

Now I know some of this is normal teenage behavior.  From what I understand; teenagers are supremely selfish, incredibly sensitive, and hugely embarrassed by their parents.  But I was really excessive in my displays.

I bring all this up because my son does not enjoy himself all that often.  He does have fun when he wants to.  But for the most part, his response to most stuff is, um no.  He can make himself have a miserable time if he wants to – and that’s pretty often.  He’s only 6;  so I’m hoping it’s a phase.  Cause, he’ll have a long tough row to hoe if he can’t make some fun.

Also, now that I’m a parent and I’ve experienced the phenomenon of “when the kids have fun, we have fun.”  I know how hard it is for a group when the kids are miserable.  They can make or break a trip to another state, or the corner store.

I actually gave my parents a very drunken blanket apology after I became a parent.  I was all weepy and said, “I didn’t know how hard it was.  I’m sorry for being such a whiny little bitch.”

Well, it’s my turn to be the parent; and it would be easy to see this as payback.  More than that though; I just want my son to learn how to have some fun before he’s 43.

Pink please, with ribbons

When I was a kid, I wasn’t a very girly girl.  I played with a couple of dolls ‘n stuff.  I think I had maybe one Barbie and one Ken doll.  Mostly, I ran outside in Toughskins, my brother’s hand-me-downs, played catch at school, and tried to hang out with my older brother.  He was my only sibling, but he was 5 years older than me, so he didn’t dig having me around much. Ya know, the “little sister.”

Looking for stuff to do, my mom signed me up for trampoline one season, that was interesting.  A little gymnastics.   Again, mostly I played with my brother’s left over matchbox cars and trucks.  I rode my bike, a whole lot.  I didn’t take dance classes or go too far with gymnastics.

As for clothing, I was raised in a post ERA/Pre-Victoria’s Secret world. People were burning bras, not making them prettier.  My underwear and clothes were standard issue.  The only pair of tights and leotards I owned were brown.  Dark brown.

But now I am the proud mother of a girly girl.  Pink.  Purple.  Sparkles – Whatever it is, it has to twinkle.  Fairies, princesses, and tea parties.  It’s a whole new world for me, a girly girly world.   And we’ve just signed up for dance lessons.

So, while my daughter was in school the other day, I went to a dance store to pick up the required outfit.   I fully braced myself to be overcome by  pink tulle, Tchaikovsky, and swans.  But it wasn’t that at all.   It was my favorite kind of store.  A no frills local shop with products piled everywhere, handwritten signs, women taking measurements and giving out expert advice ’cause they’re dancers too.  I was taking it all in and felt kinda lost among the walls of tap shoes, boxes, and ballet slippers.  A young salesgirl took pity on me, and helped me out, she knew exactly what I needed, thank God.

After I had gathered the requirements, I wandered around a little.  That’s when I saw something special happening.  A young girl, maybe 12 or 13, was getting fitted for her 1st pair of toe-shoes.  Her mom and dad were with her.  She was standing at a small, tippy-looking bar, her jeans were rolled up and she was up on point in those beautiful pink satin shoes.  She was beaming one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen.  She looked proud, graceful, excited and amazing.

I get it.

Cuddlerific

This morning I woke up to son jumping into my bed and scrambling under the covers to warm up.  “Mom,”  he said, “I’m so cold.”  So, I suggested, “Maybe go put on some sweat pants and a long sleeve shirt.”  He jumped up, “OK!” He came back and climbed in and said, “Arrgh, I’m still so c-c-c-c-old.”  I encouraged, “How about putting some socks on too?”  “Oh!  That’s a great idea, mom.”  He socked his feet, came back, jumped into bed, and started a serious cuddle.  He shrugged his little shoulders and said, “Ok, that’s perfect.”  He looked at me and said, “Now, all I need is a little touch of you.”

Suddenly, all that crap I was already thinking about didn’t seem like such a big deal.

yes there are rainbows and butterflies and

when my 4 year old daughter is drawing pictures of rainbows and unicorns and they small like oranges and strawberries cause she’s using smelly markers – then IZ’s version of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” starts playing on Pandora – i get a little misty eyed

A sum of our disabilities

A mom came to my house to pick up her son one afternoon.  Her son was here for a playdate, and the kids had a great time.  She looked down at my front hall and noticed our abundance of shoes all lined up. (If you live in an area with old colonial houses, nobody has storage.)  She commented, “Wow!  Look at how neat your shoes are – all lined up!”  I replied, “Please don’t be impressed, it’s a disorder.”  We laughed.  It’s true.  Thanks OCD!

I’m also a chronic worrier, self doubter, and socially nervous.  I pretty much leave every situation wondering what I said wrong, and what I should have done differently.  The concept of flow…a complete mystery to me.  I’m working on it.  (Should I have said that?)

Anyway, all of this gets me thinking.  My son was diagnosed with PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental delay / non-specific) about 3 years ago.  We are very fortunate that he is on the low end of the spectrum and lots of intervention has made all the difference.  We have also discovered our son is sensitive, a little quirky, over and under reactive – and very smart, very funny, and wonderfully creative.  He has a bunch of little idiosyncrasies that make him unique and amazing.  But, don’t we all?  In fact, the best line I heard, when my husband and I were learning to understand our son’s autism spectrum disorder, was, “But aren’t we all a little mildly autistic?”

Well, I know I am.  I have plenty of stuff I freak out about.  Keeping things too neat, checking coffee makers, irons, door locks, and sweating out illegal right turns.  In general, not being able to live in the gray areas.  Black or white is how I usually see things.  But, in learning how to coach my son I have also learned how to coach myself.  Life isn’t black or white…It’s very very gray.

And gray is good.  (Especially, when it’s the color of a hall with neatly lined up shoes.)

He’s a boy with heart

My kids have been enjoying the movie Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs over their break. As previously stated, it’s a funny movie, but nothing like the book.

Anyway, my 6 year old son has really been paying attention to the end credits and won’t let me turn the movie off before they’re over.  I couldn’t understand why.  I’d ask him and he’d tell me, “I just love ‘em mom, they’re reeeally good credits.” So, I watched them – nothing too remarkable, colorful animation, people who worked on the film…the usual.

Then, it happened again today. The movie was over and my daughter and I left the room. He just sat there and stared at the tv. I went to turn it off and he said, “No, no no, I just love these credits.” I said, “Okie Doke” and left the room while the sweeping sweet music started playing.

I came back a few minutes later and he was crying. “Oh my, little guy what’s wrong?” He looked up at me with giant red eyes, shook his head and said, “Mom, it’s the music. It’s, it’s just so wonderful – It sounds like Valentine’s Day.”

I don’t know, but I think he just gave the world a little more love.

mom

I think a lot about this role of mother that I play/am.  What does it all mean?  I’m always trying to figure it out…

I need to start at the beginning.  I remember being an older kid in my hometown.  One of my friends and I were talking about where and what we were going to do as grown ups.  She stated quite firmly, “I want to stay here, have a family, be with my friends.”  I must have made a face, ’cause then she asked me, “Don’t you want to see us all grow up together and see each other have kids ‘n stuff?”  I had to think about it for a minute. I had never actually thought about it.  I replied, “I don’t know.”  Thing is,  I never really planned that far ahead.  Which has been a theme for almost everything I’ve done.

For me, having a family would be something that had to happen organically.  If I met the right person and it felt right – Ok, then.  Let’s do it.  Which I did, and we did, and it’s amazing.

I also knew if I was gonna have kids, I wanted to be home with them.  It’s important to me.  But also, I wonder what exactly is it that I do?  I make food and beds.  I hug, kiss, and send kids to their rooms when they are rotten.  It doesn’t take any formal training – but man, I wish I had taken some kind of class.  Not for the physical stuff like, “Here’s your boob – Feed the Baby.”  Although, that didn’t work out too well for me…But my point is, it’s the day to day stuff I wish I knew I was doing right.  How not to feel guilty when there’s been too much tv.  Or, my house is a disaster and I’m too tired to make dinner.  Or, I need to find a job with 10-2 hours, and my boss won’t mind that I’ll be home with sick kids for half of it, and I can’t work summers, and I need at least 4 weeks vacation, and I will talk ad nauseam at work about the cute things my kids do and say.

The list of things to feel guilty about is endless.  But the one thing that completely freaks me out, is how my kids will finish this sentence…”My mom never…”

This all reminds me – when I was in elementary school, a teacher wrote on my report card, “Kathy makes things harder for herself than she needs to.”  Ha.  It’s still true today.  I’m always combing excessively through things to make sense of them.

Fortunately, I’ve had people in my life who break things down simply.  I used to work at a bar, and one of the owners was a cantankerous, loud, outspoken, gruff man.  He gave everyone one chance, when you screwed up twice – you were out the door.  A lot of college kids came back later in their lives and thanked him for his version of tough love.  So, one day when I was moaning about stuff my mom did or didn’t do – he shut me up pretty fast saying, “For Christ sake, she must have done something right. Look at you,  you’re just fine.  Jesus.”  He was right, thanks Bud.

Maybe I just need to stop trying to figure it out.  I got these kids, I just need to simmer them in love, add a dash of discipline, then in about 18 years – They should be “just fine.”

Marriage – The Ultimate Endurance Sport

I told my husband the other day that I was going to write a post on marriage. More specifically I said, I am going to compare it to a marathon. He’s said, That’s cool, blog on. Then even more specifically I said, I was thinking about that documentary, Running the Sahara, and how it compares to a marriage. He said, That’s not cool.  I asked, Why? He continued, What you’re suggesting is that marriage is a grueling marathon, run everyday, across a hot bleak dessert, full of doubt, where nothing good ever happens, until you come to the finish line and you win nothing? To which I replied, I see your point…How about the Boston Marathon? Done.

My point with this metaphor is that marriage is indeed work. Weddings, those are fun. We spend a lot of time and money at the party. But when the cake has been consumed, the guests are gone, and it’s time to wake up from the honeymoon – That sound you just heard? It’s the starting gun, are you ready?

Are you ready for the challenges? For the weight gain and loss, sleepless nights, job loss, chronic and unbelievably smelly feet (mine), poor investments, mood swings, and ups and downs in the course? But as people who run marathons know, if you are prepared, then with great work comes great reward…you can get over those challenges. And for marathoners the reward is indescribable. True camaraderie, a sense of accomplishment, runner’s high, and a wordless sense of joy. That’s what marriage is for me. As I struggled to describe my feelings to my husband, I realized that I didn’t actually have the words. I was trying to describe the challenges and the joy. I couldn’t explain how or why marriage is amazing, it just is.

A couple of co-workers of mine ran the Boston Marathon and said it was one of the most amazing experiences of their lives. When they talked about it to a group at my office, you could see everyone tearing up. They explained that just when you hit a stretch like Heartbreak Hill – you think, I’m not gonna make it. But then there is an almost transcendent sense of lifting up – people (complete strangers) all along the course telling you, “You can do it! You look great….just a few more miles!” Then once you come over Heartbreak Hill you see the skyline of Boston. Then you just run on…

So if compare my current marriage to a marathon – My first marriage then, must have been a sprint. Lots of energy and over very quickly. But that sprint trained me. And more importantly brought me here to Boston. And as everyone knows, if you want to really experience a race – ya gotta go to Boston. ‘Cause everything before that? Just training. Not only did it prepare me for the challenge, but also prepared me for the joy. The partner, the person who shares the challenges and the rewards…well, I just can’t find the words.

He noticed…

My husband just called me from Costco. He said, “Honey, your list mapping skills are amazing.” I think I just fell in love all over again.

This is my heart melting

It was the end of the day and I was plodding up the stairs. Bath time. I had thrown on one of my husband’s old flannel shirts ’cause I was cold. My hair looked like an experiment in static electricity. My face was puffy and I knew the circles under my eyes were showing.

My 5 year old son leaned over the banister and looked at me. He turned his head slightly…I was waiting for a loud whine or complaint to be hurled in my direction. Instead he said:

“Mommy, you look beautiful…”