Today was a day that began an argument in my home. My precious, dear son whom I love more than life itself, is also incredibly challenging in the parenting department -- and that is independent of his medical condition. It has always been this way with Toby...he was the infant who cried every night for six weeks straight wanting to be picked-up and rocked, refusing to be alone at night. All of the books and seasoned parents assured us that after a few rough nights it would stop. It never did. After six weeks, we gave up...and tried again...and again...and again. He's now six years old and still comes into our room most nights. He is a persistent little bugger. This is only one of a litany of parenthood traumas for me. But, I'll save the rest for later.
This morning I was irritated. With Greg to be honest. When Toby woke up clearly on the grouchy side of the bed, I new that the morning might be long. He began the day pushing pushing pushing me. My irritation grew as I worked not to take it all out on him....hustling him out the door for school...hurrying him along as he ever so gingerly chose his careful steps on our walk to school. At one point I said to him, "Honey, I am irritated and am sorry if I am taking it out on you. I need you to please cooperate so we can get to school on time." He threw a fit, turned his back, and threw something like, "You are a bad mommy!" in my face. Count to 10...deep breath.... More patient negotiation ending with two clear choices from me. More resistance from him. "Walk now," I insisted. The battle continued the five blocks to school and only escalated at the classroom door...tears from him, my threadbare patience breaking, and the loud bell signalling that we both best go to our own corners until the next round.
I ran home swearing under my breath something about how lucky Toby is to have a patient mother like me. A mother who is accountable and acknowledges missteps and parenting slips. My dear friend phoned when I got home as she had witnessed part of the sparring at school. Her words were encouraging and included an observation that Toby "just doesn't give you a break" with his persistence. Oh how true that is. It pains me to see how contorted with anger he can get...he feels so inadequate and small and constantly compares himself to others. He struggles to acknowledge the gifts of others instead choosing to be aloofly unimpressed by others achievements and advertising his own. My heart aches for his little spirit when I witness this.
I was determined to turn this around when I picked him up from school welcoming him with a big hug as he ran out the school doors. Within two minutes he was engaging in rough play with a peer. When I reprimanded him saying, "Toby, keep your hands to yourself! If you want to stay after school and play, you need to be gentle with your friends." He responded, "So." And walked away. When did he turn 13?! Needless to say, that was the beginning of round two. This included me dragging a screaming six-year old out of the playground and working incredibly hard to keep my cool. With the principal and music teacher watching, I worked to discipline Toby as he threatened me, shouted insults, and ran away from me down the path towards our house.
During our sojourn back home, I kept reminding myself that parenting is a lesson in loving those parts of me that are dark and murky. The parts that my child unabashedly flaunts to the outside world -- the smallness, insecurities, jealousy, envy...all of it. Sure it is easy to love and acknowledge the parts that are acceptable to the outside world -- he's incredibly smart, articulate, physically agile, responsible with his diabetes. If I can be present with him in his smallness, while providing him with solid, clear boundaries, I am not only showing up for Toby in very important ways, but I'm also healing my own wounds.
Talk about the long walk home. We found our way back to each other over crackers and cheese and Harold and The Purple Crayon. I felt fortunate to be his mother. In innumerable ways Toby shows me the path back to God. This path is not the one lined with gleaming emerald steps and pearly gates however. This path, at least for me, is a treacherous one that is often very dark and desolate. With unlit passages and uncertain turns, it is all I can do to stay committed to the journey at times. Forgiveness seems to be a torch that can quickly light my way if I let it. Certainly there are many rays of light and rainbows along this road but the murky hollows are never too far around the corner.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
Riding Chaos
I went to bed at 8:00 tonight.
My body felt tired from the week. How indulgent to crawl into bed so early and snap off the light rather than try to hold my eyes open to read more chapters in my book. I heard Greg come into the room at about 9:00. I mumbled at him, "What were his sugars, honey?" This, part of a constant dialogue between the two of us to communicate where Toby's glucose levels are throughout the day. He replied, "415".
Immediately I'm awake and familiar pangs of guilt fill me. "I shouldn't have let him have that small box of nerds after dinner tonight", my self-deprecation begins so readily that it is almost part of the blood that courses through my body. And then it turns outward, "Damn all these stupid commercial holidays with their fucking sugar!" Toby has a mound of Valentine's sweets from his class party which we slowly over time will dole out to him while I surreptitious throw some away.
My mental downward spiral is interrupted by more pressing needs...Greg is speaking to me, "What do you think?" "One unit?" I suggest. Greg concurs and administers one unit of insulin using the insulin pump that Toby wears.
I fall back to sleep but am awakened by Toby crawling into bed with us at 11pm. He is lying next to me doing the I-have-to-pee-dance rapidly shaking his legs. He jumps out of the bed after a few minutes and runs to the bathroom. This is a certain sign that his blood glucose level is high and he is peeing off sugars...thus the urgency. I hear Greg's grumbly voice, "Will you check him." I feel the familiar sinking feeling inside. Yes, of course, I will get up and check his sugars but no, I'd rather stay in the warm bed and have someone else do it. I flop out of bed grumbly myself for the disrupted sleep and snap at Greg when I can't find the glucose monitor. These are moments when we can really lose ourselves with each other.
I sit on the bathroom floor with Toby and he complains that he feels sick as I check his levels. 479. Yes, that would make him feel sick. I holler the number out to Greg like a diner waitress giving an order to the cook, "I got a 479, Hank, but I needed the 154!" I hear Greg's feet hit the cold floor as he shuffles into the bathroom with us.
This has become a familiar scene for our family. Greg and I have learned how, in the middle of the night when medical needs become high and patience with one another gets low, to show up for each other. Neither of us wants to be up which means we'll both be up until the crisis is managed. We determine that something must be wrong with the pump -- the insulin may have gone bad, the tubing may be clogged, the catheter set could be clogged. While I give Toby a manual injection of insulin, Greg takes the pump to troubleshoot the problem. Toby cries about having to get a shot -- using the pump has meant no more shots for a boy that once had up to 10 shots a day. A flash of resentment rises through my body, why him? Why us?
I put Toby back to bed and sit with Greg at the kitchen table while he reloads fresh insulin into the pump. This is a job that he is in charge of...I know how, but it's a role that has been distributed to him. I sit there, cold, tired, irritated...just quietly sitting. Showing up when neither of us feel like it -- so both of us do. This, I think, is part of what contributes to us having a better marriage today than 3 years ago.
When Greg's done, I go back into Toby's room to plug the pump back in...while I'm doing that I check the catheter set again and notice that the tubing is completely out of his skin. It must have popped out during the evening bath but the adhesive on the set secured it back in place so we didn't notice it before. Again, I holler to Greg, "His set came out!" I'm irritated. I say it in almost an accusatory way as if it is Greg's fault. Lovely.
This means one of us, me likely as Greg's back in bed, will have to put numbing cream on Toby, stay up an hour for it to numb his skin, and then insert a new set (we have to use numbing cream as the two inch needle is pretty gnarly for little guy). I'm irritated and want to throw it all at Greg. I walk back into the bedroom like a weary soldier from battle. Greg asks softly, "Do you mind...?" Big sigh. "No," I say. "I don't mind, I'll stay up." He quietly mumbles thanks as he quickly drifts off to sleep.
And so goes another night in our home.
This life demands so much from me on so many levels. I see myself learning to ride the waves of chaos with slightly more grace than I have in the past. Although sometimes it feels like all I can do to stay in my body and be with my feelings. But of course I realize that in fact, yes -- this is all I need to do.
My body felt tired from the week. How indulgent to crawl into bed so early and snap off the light rather than try to hold my eyes open to read more chapters in my book. I heard Greg come into the room at about 9:00. I mumbled at him, "What were his sugars, honey?" This, part of a constant dialogue between the two of us to communicate where Toby's glucose levels are throughout the day. He replied, "415".
Immediately I'm awake and familiar pangs of guilt fill me. "I shouldn't have let him have that small box of nerds after dinner tonight", my self-deprecation begins so readily that it is almost part of the blood that courses through my body. And then it turns outward, "Damn all these stupid commercial holidays with their fucking sugar!" Toby has a mound of Valentine's sweets from his class party which we slowly over time will dole out to him while I surreptitious throw some away.
My mental downward spiral is interrupted by more pressing needs...Greg is speaking to me, "What do you think?" "One unit?" I suggest. Greg concurs and administers one unit of insulin using the insulin pump that Toby wears.
I fall back to sleep but am awakened by Toby crawling into bed with us at 11pm. He is lying next to me doing the I-have-to-pee-dance rapidly shaking his legs. He jumps out of the bed after a few minutes and runs to the bathroom. This is a certain sign that his blood glucose level is high and he is peeing off sugars...thus the urgency. I hear Greg's grumbly voice, "Will you check him." I feel the familiar sinking feeling inside. Yes, of course, I will get up and check his sugars but no, I'd rather stay in the warm bed and have someone else do it. I flop out of bed grumbly myself for the disrupted sleep and snap at Greg when I can't find the glucose monitor. These are moments when we can really lose ourselves with each other.
I sit on the bathroom floor with Toby and he complains that he feels sick as I check his levels. 479. Yes, that would make him feel sick. I holler the number out to Greg like a diner waitress giving an order to the cook, "I got a 479, Hank, but I needed the 154!" I hear Greg's feet hit the cold floor as he shuffles into the bathroom with us.
This has become a familiar scene for our family. Greg and I have learned how, in the middle of the night when medical needs become high and patience with one another gets low, to show up for each other. Neither of us wants to be up which means we'll both be up until the crisis is managed. We determine that something must be wrong with the pump -- the insulin may have gone bad, the tubing may be clogged, the catheter set could be clogged. While I give Toby a manual injection of insulin, Greg takes the pump to troubleshoot the problem. Toby cries about having to get a shot -- using the pump has meant no more shots for a boy that once had up to 10 shots a day. A flash of resentment rises through my body, why him? Why us?
I put Toby back to bed and sit with Greg at the kitchen table while he reloads fresh insulin into the pump. This is a job that he is in charge of...I know how, but it's a role that has been distributed to him. I sit there, cold, tired, irritated...just quietly sitting. Showing up when neither of us feel like it -- so both of us do. This, I think, is part of what contributes to us having a better marriage today than 3 years ago.
When Greg's done, I go back into Toby's room to plug the pump back in...while I'm doing that I check the catheter set again and notice that the tubing is completely out of his skin. It must have popped out during the evening bath but the adhesive on the set secured it back in place so we didn't notice it before. Again, I holler to Greg, "His set came out!" I'm irritated. I say it in almost an accusatory way as if it is Greg's fault. Lovely.
This means one of us, me likely as Greg's back in bed, will have to put numbing cream on Toby, stay up an hour for it to numb his skin, and then insert a new set (we have to use numbing cream as the two inch needle is pretty gnarly for little guy). I'm irritated and want to throw it all at Greg. I walk back into the bedroom like a weary soldier from battle. Greg asks softly, "Do you mind...?" Big sigh. "No," I say. "I don't mind, I'll stay up." He quietly mumbles thanks as he quickly drifts off to sleep.
And so goes another night in our home.
This life demands so much from me on so many levels. I see myself learning to ride the waves of chaos with slightly more grace than I have in the past. Although sometimes it feels like all I can do to stay in my body and be with my feelings. But of course I realize that in fact, yes -- this is all I need to do.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Boundaries
Boundaries have always been difficult for me. Boundaries have meant to me "excluding possibilities" or "closing doors to fabulous and wonderful adventures!" Boundaries have not been fun and exciting...enticing...exotic...ripe with opportunity...or something to revel in. Erroneously, I have believed that new and great possibilities only come without boundaries...without fences that hem me in. Until very recently, I believed this was true. However, I am discovering something quite new and exciting...boundaries actually provide incredible possibilities unlike the possibilities I ever experienced without boundaries.
I am learning how to not only enjoy the boundaries in my life but set boundaries with others. This calls me to step fully into myself, take up space, and give voice to who I am. I feel like I am being invited to indulge in life...the capital L version of Life that is. When I am contained within my boundaries I am beckoned to sink in to deep parts of myself that I only skimmed the surface of before. I get to explore the depths of these fenced in areas that are sublimely vast and caverness. I look around and think, "There is so much in here for me! Why would I ever want to leave!"
It is also terrifying to go into these dark places as I sometimes want to hop the fence and find a pasture that is freshly groomed and sweet-smelling instead. Showing up for myself in these dark and new parts feels hugely important for me...like I am a pioneer woman on the dusty trail seeking great fortune in the gold out West. I am starting to understand, however, that my "gold" is actually right where I am standing this minute. It is in every nook and cranny of my being if I allow myself the chance to just mind my fences long enough to be with it.
I am learning how to not only enjoy the boundaries in my life but set boundaries with others. This calls me to step fully into myself, take up space, and give voice to who I am. I feel like I am being invited to indulge in life...the capital L version of Life that is. When I am contained within my boundaries I am beckoned to sink in to deep parts of myself that I only skimmed the surface of before. I get to explore the depths of these fenced in areas that are sublimely vast and caverness. I look around and think, "There is so much in here for me! Why would I ever want to leave!"
It is also terrifying to go into these dark places as I sometimes want to hop the fence and find a pasture that is freshly groomed and sweet-smelling instead. Showing up for myself in these dark and new parts feels hugely important for me...like I am a pioneer woman on the dusty trail seeking great fortune in the gold out West. I am starting to understand, however, that my "gold" is actually right where I am standing this minute. It is in every nook and cranny of my being if I allow myself the chance to just mind my fences long enough to be with it.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Searching for God
2007 was a year of searching for me...searching for something to give me solace for all of the challenge in my marriage, with my son, and generally on this sojourn called life. I did several things in 2007 to facilitate my hunt for the Great Mother and Father:
I joined a church...or rather, am in the process of joining a church. I attend weekly and to my surprise, I love love love going -- and not just because the minister is cute, smart, and hip! :-)
I purchased a bible...this was quite an endeavor. It was terrifying, troubling, and felt something like a subversive act for me.
I began a spiritual practice of morning dance to open myself to God...this I do with my friend Jenny two mornings a week at 6am in her studio. We've been engaged in this practice since April of 2007. In the summer months it was easy to get up, ride my bike to her house in the calm, warm air but now that it is blustery cold and dark, it has taken on a new level of meaning and commitment for me. Some mornings it is excruciating to crawl out of my warm nest into the cold house...to put on layers of clothes before starting my car...to let the car run for 15 minutes while I make a big mug of hot tea for my companion on the mile drive to Jenny's house. But, we are religious about this practice...and for the first time I'm beginning to understand what that expression means..."to be religious" about something....to be committed in the warm rays of the sun as well as the cold bite of the dark wind...to stay committed.
I also dance on Saturday mornings with a large group at First Congregational Church, Communidance...and although this takes commitment as well, it is not such a challenge to dance at 9am on Saturday. This practice has helped me to sink into the practice of movement and spirituality in new ways with each dance. It is never the same but always a great vessel for experiencing myself and witnessing others on their journeys home to themselves.
I have also found two books -- one very recently and the other several months ago -- that are tremendous guides for me in this process. The first, The Instruction Manual for Receiving God by Jason Shulman and the second, Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace by Kent Nerburn. These books hold such simple, profound wisdom they easily bring me back to a path more sane and pious than I've ever experienced in my life.
And finally, I have stopped praying to God to heal Toby. I have a different understanding at this moment that part of my lessons in this life are punctuated with our deep humanness -- which includes hurt, broken hearts, disappointments, joy, laughter, ecstasy, and illness. Toby's diabetes is simply part of what brings the richness of life into our home -- it punctuates both the feelings of despair as well as the periods of delight. Toby is helping me feel in to the depths of my own life in order to live my life fully and deeply.
Recently, a dear friend and like-minded spirit, asked me if I have any other names as "Jenny" just doesn't seem to fully fit. At first I thought to myself, Yes, I am a girl-child of the 1970's named Jennifer Lynn like thousands of other girl-children both during that time...Boring! But then I thought I want to engage myself...my commonplace name and my commonplace life, fully. I want to explore and experience every nook and cranny that this life offers me and no longer hold back for fear of being TOO MUCH...too joyful, too successful, too ecstatic, too upset, too fierce, too brave, too alive....
I want to engage fully and deeply what it means to be me...and what it means to be me held by the hands of God as I move through this world filled with opportunities to experience...to indulge in my humanness. Jason Shulman writes, "We need only embrace ourselves in conscious awareness, with deep knowledge and without judgment, to feel God." This is my continued work for 2008...
Wishing You A Joyful, Abundant, Decadent, and Deeply Human 2008!
I joined a church...or rather, am in the process of joining a church. I attend weekly and to my surprise, I love love love going -- and not just because the minister is cute, smart, and hip! :-)
I purchased a bible...this was quite an endeavor. It was terrifying, troubling, and felt something like a subversive act for me.
I began a spiritual practice of morning dance to open myself to God...this I do with my friend Jenny two mornings a week at 6am in her studio. We've been engaged in this practice since April of 2007. In the summer months it was easy to get up, ride my bike to her house in the calm, warm air but now that it is blustery cold and dark, it has taken on a new level of meaning and commitment for me. Some mornings it is excruciating to crawl out of my warm nest into the cold house...to put on layers of clothes before starting my car...to let the car run for 15 minutes while I make a big mug of hot tea for my companion on the mile drive to Jenny's house. But, we are religious about this practice...and for the first time I'm beginning to understand what that expression means..."to be religious" about something....to be committed in the warm rays of the sun as well as the cold bite of the dark wind...to stay committed.
I also dance on Saturday mornings with a large group at First Congregational Church, Communidance...and although this takes commitment as well, it is not such a challenge to dance at 9am on Saturday. This practice has helped me to sink into the practice of movement and spirituality in new ways with each dance. It is never the same but always a great vessel for experiencing myself and witnessing others on their journeys home to themselves.
I have also found two books -- one very recently and the other several months ago -- that are tremendous guides for me in this process. The first, The Instruction Manual for Receiving God by Jason Shulman and the second, Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace by Kent Nerburn. These books hold such simple, profound wisdom they easily bring me back to a path more sane and pious than I've ever experienced in my life.
And finally, I have stopped praying to God to heal Toby. I have a different understanding at this moment that part of my lessons in this life are punctuated with our deep humanness -- which includes hurt, broken hearts, disappointments, joy, laughter, ecstasy, and illness. Toby's diabetes is simply part of what brings the richness of life into our home -- it punctuates both the feelings of despair as well as the periods of delight. Toby is helping me feel in to the depths of my own life in order to live my life fully and deeply.
Recently, a dear friend and like-minded spirit, asked me if I have any other names as "Jenny" just doesn't seem to fully fit. At first I thought to myself, Yes, I am a girl-child of the 1970's named Jennifer Lynn like thousands of other girl-children both during that time...Boring! But then I thought I want to engage myself...my commonplace name and my commonplace life, fully. I want to explore and experience every nook and cranny that this life offers me and no longer hold back for fear of being TOO MUCH...too joyful, too successful, too ecstatic, too upset, too fierce, too brave, too alive....
I want to engage fully and deeply what it means to be me...and what it means to be me held by the hands of God as I move through this world filled with opportunities to experience...to indulge in my humanness. Jason Shulman writes, "We need only embrace ourselves in conscious awareness, with deep knowledge and without judgment, to feel God." This is my continued work for 2008...
Wishing You A Joyful, Abundant, Decadent, and Deeply Human 2008!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Happy Birthday Toby!
Six years ago today, I gave birth to a 7 pound 11 ounce baby boy. Today that now 40 pound boy is having a pillow fight in the next room with his best buddy (born on the same day!) Andrew.
Toby has enjoyed opening gifts, eating sushi for lunch (his request for which I am grateful), and generally being the center of attention. He has also relished listening to his birth story from the various family members who were there that day six years ago -- my dear friend Michelle, my mom, my stepdad, Greg's mom, and of course Greg. He especially likes it when Greg tells him that after 30 hours of labor his head popped out, he opened his eyes, and turned his head to look around. Greg was so stunned by this that the midwife had to cue him, "Are you going to deliver the rest of the baby?" Next, like most newborns, he promptedly defecated on both his father and mother in turn. Can't wait until he takes that one to school on Monday. :-)
This morning at dance I found myself in a pew praying to God for Toby's health and safety. Tears streamed down my face as I prayed and prayed with all of my might for his health...I love that little boy from the depths of my being and although I am accustomed to his health issues as they've become the norm, my heart still breaks for him every time I have to count carbs and give him insulin. This is only his second birthday having diabetes so I remember well his fourth birthday when he gorged on cheesecake (and not the Splenda version either) and candy from the pinata. My low-sugar birthday cake this year was far better than what I came up with last year and I have learned to put things like pencils and quarters in the pinata rather than candy.
So tonight as I prepare to tuck in the two six-year olds in the basement, I am deeply grateful that that 7 pound 11 ounce boy entered our lives when he did. Although I feel like I spend a lot of time being his nutritionist and his nurse, I have to remind myself that I am first and foremost his mother. I'm the only one that he has and I can freely love him up all that I want while he is still interested in my affection.
Happy Birthday Toby!
Toby has enjoyed opening gifts, eating sushi for lunch (his request for which I am grateful), and generally being the center of attention. He has also relished listening to his birth story from the various family members who were there that day six years ago -- my dear friend Michelle, my mom, my stepdad, Greg's mom, and of course Greg. He especially likes it when Greg tells him that after 30 hours of labor his head popped out, he opened his eyes, and turned his head to look around. Greg was so stunned by this that the midwife had to cue him, "Are you going to deliver the rest of the baby?" Next, like most newborns, he promptedly defecated on both his father and mother in turn. Can't wait until he takes that one to school on Monday. :-)
This morning at dance I found myself in a pew praying to God for Toby's health and safety. Tears streamed down my face as I prayed and prayed with all of my might for his health...I love that little boy from the depths of my being and although I am accustomed to his health issues as they've become the norm, my heart still breaks for him every time I have to count carbs and give him insulin. This is only his second birthday having diabetes so I remember well his fourth birthday when he gorged on cheesecake (and not the Splenda version either) and candy from the pinata. My low-sugar birthday cake this year was far better than what I came up with last year and I have learned to put things like pencils and quarters in the pinata rather than candy.
So tonight as I prepare to tuck in the two six-year olds in the basement, I am deeply grateful that that 7 pound 11 ounce boy entered our lives when he did. Although I feel like I spend a lot of time being his nutritionist and his nurse, I have to remind myself that I am first and foremost his mother. I'm the only one that he has and I can freely love him up all that I want while he is still interested in my affection.
Happy Birthday Toby!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Ode to the ABQ Mamas
I had the great fortune this weekend to travel to Santa Fe with my dear friend of 10 years, Michelle, whom I met in graduate school back in Tucson. We went to Santa Fe to celebrate and attend graduation with her second master's degree in counseling. Yeah Michelle!
On this trip I also spent an evening with my "mom friends" from Albuquerque. These are the women who got me through four years of learning how to parent and mother...talking me through sleepless nights, breastfeeding debacles, and the terrible twos.... Traversing the foreign lands of toddler discipline, marital woes, and weight loss plans (which included running with strollers carrying very heavy cargo). The majority of our time spent together included 4 then 5 then 7 little ones as their families grew. Our conversations were ritually held over cheese sticks and goldfish crackers during our regular playgroups at the local park. Coveted were the "mom's night outs" when we left our children with the dads' and treated ourselves to good wine, yummy food, and great company to laugh about our trials in the world.
Although, I valued these friendships when I lived in Albuquerque, I have a deeper appreciation for them today. Now that I am in a place of relative peace and comfort, where rest is an expected luxury every night and I have both free and available childcare regularly (thanks Mom!), I can look back and recognize the important role that these women played in my development into an adult. I can appreciate what it takes to be a part of a community of tired, restless, cranky mothers who are trying to etch out a meaningful life for themselves between nap times with two-hour trips to the local park. These three women tolerated more complaining and whining from me than probably anyone in my life. They laughed with me as I spent most of 2003 with my upper half soaked in breast milk, talked me through Toby's constant crying when he started daycare, and cried with me when Toby was diagnosed with diabetes in 2005. Each of these women, Amy, Nancy, and Alison, added a deep richness to what, at the time, felt like a mundane existence punctuated by blessed trips to the aquarium and the zoo.
Although I have now moved to another state and only speak to my mom friends every so often, they are each lodged snug in my heart. These women are such valued family for me and as I move into another community making new and wonderful relationships, I hold dear these women who helped me learn to mother my son by mothering me.
As I drove home to Colorado this morning, I felt a deep sadness in leaving behind this community who are carrying on our rituals without me (Art Club, Friday playgroup, etc...). Part of me longed to have the comfort of these friendships and activities close by once again. But, as I keep learning over and over, nothing lasts forever -- we are riding in an ocean of life that churns and crests and is rarely still. So I feel heart-filled gratitude for the gifts that they each shared in showing up for me in a profound way during a critical time of my life.
Here's to you each of you, with deep love and appreciation.
On this trip I also spent an evening with my "mom friends" from Albuquerque. These are the women who got me through four years of learning how to parent and mother...talking me through sleepless nights, breastfeeding debacles, and the terrible twos.... Traversing the foreign lands of toddler discipline, marital woes, and weight loss plans (which included running with strollers carrying very heavy cargo). The majority of our time spent together included 4 then 5 then 7 little ones as their families grew. Our conversations were ritually held over cheese sticks and goldfish crackers during our regular playgroups at the local park. Coveted were the "mom's night outs" when we left our children with the dads' and treated ourselves to good wine, yummy food, and great company to laugh about our trials in the world.
Although, I valued these friendships when I lived in Albuquerque, I have a deeper appreciation for them today. Now that I am in a place of relative peace and comfort, where rest is an expected luxury every night and I have both free and available childcare regularly (thanks Mom!), I can look back and recognize the important role that these women played in my development into an adult. I can appreciate what it takes to be a part of a community of tired, restless, cranky mothers who are trying to etch out a meaningful life for themselves between nap times with two-hour trips to the local park. These three women tolerated more complaining and whining from me than probably anyone in my life. They laughed with me as I spent most of 2003 with my upper half soaked in breast milk, talked me through Toby's constant crying when he started daycare, and cried with me when Toby was diagnosed with diabetes in 2005. Each of these women, Amy, Nancy, and Alison, added a deep richness to what, at the time, felt like a mundane existence punctuated by blessed trips to the aquarium and the zoo.
Although I have now moved to another state and only speak to my mom friends every so often, they are each lodged snug in my heart. These women are such valued family for me and as I move into another community making new and wonderful relationships, I hold dear these women who helped me learn to mother my son by mothering me.
As I drove home to Colorado this morning, I felt a deep sadness in leaving behind this community who are carrying on our rituals without me (Art Club, Friday playgroup, etc...). Part of me longed to have the comfort of these friendships and activities close by once again. But, as I keep learning over and over, nothing lasts forever -- we are riding in an ocean of life that churns and crests and is rarely still. So I feel heart-filled gratitude for the gifts that they each shared in showing up for me in a profound way during a critical time of my life.
Here's to you each of you, with deep love and appreciation.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
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