Month: August 2016

If you say you are going to do something, do it…or if you don’t, at least acknowledge that you didn’t.  In general I do not consider myself a “needy” person.  For the most part I believe I am self sufficient and since being in a relationship with my husband there is even less that I feel that I cannot handle.  That being said, the last few years have been particularly hard.  Throughout these difficult times people have offered to do things for me (us) and then don’t and then just simply act like they never made the offer.

This behavior really started to impact me when my Mom was diagnosed with cancer and began treatments.  I still lived out of state at the time and my Dad wasn’t a particularly attentive caregiver or housekeeper.  So I was reeling from the news of her illness and the extent of the disease’s progression, I was not satisfied with the care she was receiving, and I was not physically there with her.  I could not see her or touch her.  Some friends knew how devastated I was and when I asked if they would stop by and visit with her (since I couldn’t) they said they would.  Just the thought of them stopping in to offer some socialization for and assistance to my Mom lifted some weight from my shoulders.  They would see her and touch her and somehow I  would feel more connected to her.  For whatever reason, none of them did.  None acknowledged the lack of action on their part…and I did not communicate my disappointment.

This is one example.  The offer to bring food by when I had Caspian or to help around the house while I was recovering are two more.  There are many more, but the point is not for me to list complaints. And, I am not saying the help was necessary.  I survived.  I am pointing out that even those who may appear self sufficient may benefit from some authentic support.  If it was genuinely offered and not done then it would be an automatic response for the person to follow up and acknowledge the fact that it didn’t happen.

Then on the other hand some people show support and kindness that caught me off guard and was completely unexpected.

While my Mom was alive some friends sent flowers or dropped of food dishes.  Some even called and texted her.  One day when I called my Mom she was very cheerful and started telling me that one of my friends had taken her to a movie.  In fact, this same friend had come by several times to play games and watch T.V. with her.  I was so pleasantly surprised and grateful.  I felt supported.

When my husband and I moved out to stay with my Mom during her last few months alive we literally closed up our home left the state for six months.  During this time a friend went out of her way to come by and check on things for us a couple times each month.  This helped relieve us from a concern so that we could focus our energy on spending time with my Mom. She said she was going to do something and she did it.

As our son’s due date drew near a family friend, who had provided support through my Mom’s illness and my grief, offered to come visit after his birth.  She was very specific that the visit would be to support us: help around the house and with the baby.  I thanked her and told her I would get back to her once we got home from the hospital.  The baby came and we were getting settled at home. She contacted me to check in and follow up on her offer.  She shared the dates (and there were several) that she would be able to come out.  Things were going smoothly and I wholeheartedly thanked her for her offer but explained that we were doing fine. Just the fact that she offered and followed up made me feel encouraged and supported.

Why do we feel the pressure to offer help, but not enough pressure to acknowledge it when we don’t/can’t follow through?  On the flip side, when someone offers us something and then does not follow through, why do we feel so uncomfortable asking that person about it? Perhaps we don’t do a good job holding ourselves accountable so then we are less likely to hold someone else accountable?  Even when we really needed the help or were looking forward to the support.  People please, don’t offer something that most likely won’t happen…and if you do offer something and cannot see it through, acknowledge it.  It matters.

“They grow up so fast” … a saying parents hear ALL the time. Although I know it is a cliche but I feel this way about our infant son. He is already four and a half months old and how much he has changed and grown leaves me in awe. Witnessing him get bigger and stronger…going from his body needing support in every way to him whipping his head from one side to another, turning to face whoever is speaking, reaching and pulling. When my husband and I are talking he will often squawk and squeal as though he is part of the conversation. He has started pulling anything he can reach to his mouth to suck on and gum. He laughs and giggles. We talk to him and exaggerate our expressions, encouraging him to listen and interact. He will arch his back when we lean down to his rocker, knowing we will need to slip our hands behind his back in order to lift him up. He will look over or around things as needed to be able to see us.  All of these things are examples of how he is growing, learning and changing. Perhaps the most obvious example of this is his improvement during “Tummy Time.”

Like many parents of a newborn we introduced “Tummy Time” when he was just a few weeks old. At first we were not particularly diligent about doing it consistently. At his two month check up the doctor flipped him on his belly to see how he reacted to being in that position. He squirmed and strained, she used her hand at the base of his neck to help him lift his head. During this exercise she encouraged us to have “Tummy Time” every day. Then she laughed and commented that he may be having a hard time with it because his head was so big (it is huge!). From that appointment forward we made it a point to have “Tummy Time” at least once, usually two or three times a day. He was always a good sport about it. After a few minutes of this exercise he would get frustrated and we would finish up. Slowly he would last longer and longer prior to getting frustrated. Then the other day as we were having our normal routine it hit me – there he was with his head raised high, looking around, up on his bent knees, reaching for toys and squirming…he was trying to crawl. He was squealing with joy while I clapped and praised him.

We not only expect, but encourage babies and young children to try new things. There is no shame in their attempts and subsequent failures because they are growing and exploring. They don’t know to be embarrassed when they are unsuccessful in their efforts. They don’t know to let their pride and laziness hold them back until we show them this behavior. So at what point do we no longer think “trying” is something to be celebrated but something to hide and be ashamed of? As though a skill or any improvement can be reached without the effort and possible embarrassment of the mere attempt. It hurts our pride to expose ourselves in this manner. For some reason, once we reach a certain point in our lives it seems as though the status quo is to maintain as we are – that may sounds redundant but hear me out. We become complacent. I know that too often this has been the case with me. I allow my inner skeptic to whisper doubt into my mind. Then negative thoughts float around my head while my motivation flies out of the window. The fear of failure ends up having far too much control over my goals and desires whether they are related to my career, physical health, spiritual health, relationship with my loved ones, etc. To try to improve at something or to start working on a new skill is scary and takes energy. It would mean exposing myself during the journey. Too often when an adult tries to expand, grow, change and/or improve it unsettles those around them who may have goals that they are too afraid to pursue. This unsettled feeling leads to apathy in the best case scenario and essential sabotage in the worst.

During “Tummy Time” our son doesn’t have a choice. We flip him on his belly and he works his little muscles to build his strength. We are there to encourage him and cheer him on. Seeing his improvement over the last few months has been a perfect example of how diligent effort, working through frustration and some encouragement can make a huge difference. At first you may feel clumsy and awkward when you are trying to make a change. Growing and improving can be uncomfortable, frustrating, painful and can leave you feeling exposed. But, if we are realistic about our goals and we are consistent in our effort, allowing ourselves the time and grace to struggle and regroup…isn’t it nearly impossible to gain at least SOMETHING from the journey? And hey, it takes a lot of guts just taking that first step, knowing that the end result might not be how exactly as you hope but giving it a try anyway.

It is fairly common and accepted that what makes a “family”  is not strictly biology. Members can be married in, like in-laws,  or honorary, like the neighbor who is considered and acts like they are related.  We can call a dear friend our sister or our child’s best friend one of our own children.  Lines are blurred and blended and it doesn’t seem to have any negative connotation.  Then, why is  it when the “step” child / parent relationship enters the picture that barriers go up and emotions run so high?

Perhaps one of the reasons is the events that led up to a “step” relationship. Typically there is some sort of break-up and heartache that causes the parents to separate.  The term often used to refer to this  home is “broken” and that makes me cringe! Somehow implying that divorce or separation means that the family and its members need to be fixed – because that is what we do with things that are broken, right?  The topic here is not about causes of divorce or separation, but it is that sometimes these things happen and when they do…then what?  The household and those involved are broken?

What does that term communicate to the child/children involved?  Are they broken?  If something is broken doesn’t it need to be fixed?  Does that mean the new partner for mom or dad is the missing piece, they are what will “fix” things?  But then how is the child supposed to feel about the other biological parent, are they still broken?  The fact of the matter is that some children’s parents will separate. Often one or both will become seriously involved with someone else. What does that family look like, what is it called?  Let’s change our terminology from “broken family” to “blended family.”

I know I did not create this idea, but I love it.  Our immediate family is made up of two parents and two children: My husband and I, the son we had together is an infant and my husband’s first son is officially a “tweener” as of this summer.  He and I have known each other and been a part of each other’s lives for over eight years.  I love him and to a certain extent  will always consider him my first son.  I am lucky to be able to be a part of his life and I know he has made me a better person.  We are fortunate, his father (my hubby) and mother have a pretty good, working relationship.  It is clear that I am not trying to replace anyone.  She and her family accept me and my role in his life. Which, as I see it is simply another adult who loves him and wants what is best for him.  Nothing and no one is broken and in need of being fixed. We are blended  and now my “step”son has a whole tribe of people cheering for him and supporting him and my biological son has an awesome big brother.

Our family is BLENDED not broken…check out this video!

This first post is a little long.

If you have read my “About Me” page you know that in the last two years or so both my Mom and Grandma have died. Often when we loose a loved one we will search for reminders of them or evidence that they are still in our lives. I know this was the case for me. My Mom loved hummingbirds and calla lilies. She would get excited and say, “Oh! Look at the hummingbird!” Seeing either of these makes me think of my Mom and I feel a connection with her. It makes her physical absence from our life somewhat tolerable, even that phrase “somewhat tolerable” doesn’t sit well with me but I will use it. After her death we packed up her house and I sorted through her things…desperate to find something that she wrote or set aside specifically for me. As time passed I stopped my search. Then, when I was six months pregnant and at the height of a very emotional holiday season, I found pregnancy journals that my Mom wrote during both of her pregnancies. She had never mentioned the journals, I didn’t know they existed and definitely didn’t know to be looking for them. Seeing her thoughts, concerns and hopes for us written in her perfect cursive was very intimate. Reading them brought me so much comfort during such a special and emotional time in my life.

By the time I delivered our son I had spent two nights in the hospital getting very little rest. On the Labor and Delivery floor I could hear families there cheering on whichever loved one might be giving birth to the newest addition. While walking the halls in my gown we saw visitors beaming with pride as they came and left the room they visited. I could imagine mothers in the room with the with their daughter. Only once did I let myself feel sad about the fact that I did not have any family other than my husband in the hospital with me. Even if I fought off being sad about it, this fact cast a shadow the entire experience.

Once we had been moved to our recovery room we were greeted by an experienced nurse who was supportive and an obviously strong advocate for her patients. Her name was Marianne and had a daughter who had the same birth month and day as me. My mother’s name was Mary Ann and she was a great nurse who was a strong advocate for her patients. Once Marianne left the room, my husband and I talked about our belief that this was more than a simple coincidence. We both were a little teary and in silence looked out the window. It was overcast outside and had been raining all day. The ground was soaked and raindrops were running down the window. My husband said that they were Mom and Grandma’s tears. That they were there with us.

After three nights in the hospital we were ready to go home. We went home as soon as we were given the option. So there we were, the three of us, the first night at home with baby boy. And we began our new life. All three of us were tired. My husband and I had dinner and we made our first attempt to go to bed. We were up and down with the baby all night. My milk had not come in and I was not sure if he was getting anything at all when he nursed. We swaddled him and walked with him. We spoke to him and rocked him. We were trying to work through our fatigue and exasperation. Finally, in the early hours of the morning I was walking with him. I was staring at his beautiful face his clear blue eyes were wide open and he was puckering then relaxing his perfect, pink lips. I was in love and felt insanely inadequate and helpless. Then without recognizing it I began humming a song. A song that I pulled out from somewhere deep in my memory. It was “You Are My Sunshine.”

A week or so went by and my Uncle sent out an email about my recently deceased Grandma with some paperwork attached. The attachment was some memoir type pages written by my Grandma for her grandchildren. On the pages she wrote things about herself like what she wanted to be when she grew up and what her favorite song was. She wrote that her favorite song was “You Are My Sunshine.” I stared at the page – I couldn’t believe it. The song that I had forgotten until that first night home was her favorite. That song continues to be my go to song to soothe him (and me :)).

So there without searching for them were several examples of how my Mom and Grandma were there with me during an amazing and scary time in my life. They could not hold my hand or hold my son, but they found a way to weave themselves into this experience. To wrap themselves around our family. I see my Mom in our baby boy, in his sparkling eyes and round head. I hear my Grandma’s voice saying, “Every baby is precious,” as she did during each conversation we had after I became pregnant. I will continue to cherish memories of my Mom and Grandma. I welcome the reminders that make their presence evident in our lives. Calla lilies will forever be my favorite flower. And when we are all out in the pool and a hummingbird flutters over us, I know it is my Mom checking in. I will smile and say, “Oh! Look at the hummingbird!”