Letters to My Girls

Fakery and Foolishness

My Darling Girls,

I know - it's been way too long, and suddenly, I have all these things I want to tell you about.  

First - let's start with you guys.  Izz - you are a few weeks shy of 9 years old and in the fourth grade.  You are absolutely beautiful, with big, blue eyes, and long, long brown hair.  You have fair skin and a gorgeous smile.  Since you were a baby, you've had the best sense of humor, and we laugh together lots.  You are in an advanced reading group at school - wow!  You've come so far, and books have become your sustenance - a thing I greatly admire in you.  Your favorite musicians are Pentatonix, and Linsey Stirling.  You hum or sing often when you think no one is listening.  I love you.  

Sophia - you are a month from turning the big 7!  Remember when you promised to be my little girl always?  Well, you broke your promise but I don't mind.  You have a mischievous and joyful smile that brightens the world and everyone around you.  You are a very responsible little girl when it comes to homework and doing things "the right way".  You are musical too and sing in the shower at the top of your lungs - something that makes me so very happy.  You're very snuggly, and even though you don't fit into the crook of my arm the way you used to, you take your spot there just like you did when you were tiny two.  Snuggle time with you is my favorite!  

So, it's 2014.  We survived a flood last year of the basement of our home.  Obama is still President of the United States.  (I'm hoping for Hillary Clinton as our next, and first woman, president.)  The Internet and technology continue to be huge factors in the way our lives operate.  And that brings me to what I want to say to you today.  

By the time you are adults, you won't be able to believe much of what you see with your own two eyes, and if we continue the way we are now, it's going to be very confusing.  Even your old mom gets schnookered by it every so often - and I should know better!  

About two years ago, I started wanting my eyelashes to look fuller.  Why?  Well, I'm getting older and my lashes aren't growing like they used to.  They are getting a little sparse, and putting too much mascara on them just makes me look like I stuck spiders onto my eyes.  I kept seeing friends and people on media with these gorgeous, full, impossibly long lashes, and I wanted that, too.  Every magazine I opened, every TV show I watched, would have these beautiful women with perfect eyes.  And, it wasn't just the eyes - it was the silky smooth hair, the perfect snow-white teeth, the poreless skin, and the perfect photos of all of this, that got me wanting to change what I saw in the mirror.  

I'm smart enough to know that women have plastic surgery to keep them taught and firm.  I also know there are teeth whiteners, skin brighteners, thigh tighteners (otherwise known as SPANX).  I know there are skincare doctors, and makeup artists, brilliant photographers and lighting specialists.  I know there are custom-made gowns to perfect flaws, and I also know that much of what we see in print is altered.  

What I didn't realize, is that I still get sucked into the fantasy that women should look a certain way, and to do so, they just had to use the right cosmetics, work out more often, have a specific style, and all the right hair tools.  I thought that the women I see in media were the "real" ones and that I was just a pale, awkward, unbeautiful and unlucky person.  

Anyway - I tried fake lashes, at least for stage performances, and I liked them.  You could tell they were fake, but if they kept me from looking like a ghost on stage, I really didn't care.  But after wearing them a few times, my real lashes just seemed to disappear.  Some of my friends had long, lush, lashes, so I thought - maybe a different mascara?  That didn't work.  

Soooo...I decided to go have lash extensions.  Lash extensions are fake lashes that are glued, long-term, onto your lashes.  I'd seen a few people with them, and they looked pretty good, and I figured it was worth not having to put mascara on, so I paid the nice lady at the window, and closed my eyes for the procedure.  

When I opened my eyes again, with a mirror in front of my face, I was pretty sure the gal had stuck spiders to my eyes.  No - seriously - they were plasticky, black spikey things with globs of black glue at the lash line.  Since I had seen some people with gorgeous lash extensions, I tried to tell myself I was supposed to look like my eyes preceded me by four feet.  But, no.  It was just a hack job.  I spent hours the next evening with a bottle of lash-remover (basically, acetone) and eventually had to cut them out.  I was embarrassed and angry with myself.  

After that experience, for awhile, I figured maybe those women with the gorgeous lashes really did just have great lashes, and I was just born a poor, lashless child.  My pores started looking bigger in the mirror.  My acne scars were uglier.  My teeth were browner.  It was depressing.  I found myself studying celbrity photographs again, and all the people around me that just seemed to be blessed with perfection.  What was it that they were doing that made them look so perfect?

Around this same time, I became obsessed with French manicures, and tried a bunch of different at-home and salon treatments to get that look.  Needless to say, my perfectly manicured nails still had deep ridges with uneven edges - each one its own little snowflake, with it's own personality.  Again, I was miffed that, even though I had long considered my hands to be my greatest asset, that next to the modern-day manicure, mine looked like I had worked in a coal mine no matter how much fussing I did.  It was summertime, and I had just seen a woman walking around with perfect French manicured toenails - no ridges, each one perfectly painted, each nail perfectly rounded the same, each one shiny and new looking.  Why couldn't my manicurist do that? Worse yet - why wouldn't my nails just cooperate and look like that?  

I happened to be at the drugstore that week, and went to the manicure aisle to see what nail-perfecting products they had.  Low and behold - right there at the cosmetics counter - were the toenails of the woman I had seen earlier.  No - seriously!  There was a little rectangular package with perfectly manicured toenails and a bottle of glue.  I though, "Noooo...that can't be it!  I've tried fake nails before!  They look like...well, fake nails."  So I quickly bought them, took them home and applied them.  

And behold...I had that woman's toenails on my toenails and they looked just like hers.  And, they were PERFECT!  Go figure.

In retrospect, being the reasonably intelligent person that I am, and having had experience using Photoshop to makes things appear brighter and better than they were, you think I would have known better.  You would think that after years of blowing off salespeople who tried to tell me their products was erase my pores, make me look flawless, or tell me I look fantastic in red, I would have known that people just outright lie when they want to make money.  But, no.  There I was, bombarded with media images, still thinking that there was something I should be doing to make myself look like Kim Kardashian.  

For several years now, the secret is out that most of the photographs we see online and in print, are fakes.  Photoshop can make skin appear flawless, stretch eyelashes, erase cellulite, perform miracles that blob on the inside of your thighs, smooth your hair, whiten your teeth, and put you against a background you've never seen in your life with a man who you've never met.  You can find all sorts of examples of before and after shots of actresses who have been photoshopped within an inch of their lives to look "perfect".  I hope that, any time you guys start feeling like you aren't enough or have some flaw in your skin or hair, you go look at those shots and see just how fake media really is. I'll also add that, if you have a partner, make sure he or she knows the difference, as well.  

I'm not saying that you shouldn't try to look beautiful.  You will run across things to "dress up" in that will make you feel like a million bucks.  I'm OK with you having your teeth straightened, and taking medication if you end up with the bad skin that I had.  I will support you to do those things, if you want to do them.  Make no mistake, though - I also hope I can somehow demonstrate to you that there is beauty in so many things that have absolutely nothing to do with flawless perfection, and that there is absolutely no way to achieve physical perfection for yourself, or for anyone else.  

Over the past few years, I've taken a really hard look at what I thought I wanted to look like.  I still would love to erase the years that resulted in my face being pitted and scarred.  I'd also love to fix a few other imperfections on my body.  BUT - I started really looking at my friends and acquaintences.  I started to study photographs of people who weren't airbrushed against photographs that were.  And, you know what I found?  The beautful untouched faces around me were not as perfect as I thought - but they are, in fact, beautiful.  

Now - I will tell you that I did eventually find a type of medicine that helps your lashes to grow longer, and as of this writing, I use it.  It looks natural.  I still have to wear mascara, but not as much as I used to.  And, while they aren't as black or perfect as the pictures I've seen - I'm OK with not looking like that.  

I challenge you girls to look hard at the people you think are beautiful.  Study them not just for the parts that are dressed up and polished, but also for the parts that don't draw your eye.  Really study the thighs of that bikini beauty against the thighs of the girls you see around you and ask yourself - does anyone really have a 3-inch gap there?  Don't get so numb to the media around you that you forget that perfection is not beauty.  Develop for yourselves an appreciation for true beauty - the sparkle in the eye, the joyful smile, the eloquence of speech, the intelligence of the mind.  

I love you both so very much,

Mommy

 

Truths We Find to be Self-Evident, Part Two: What It Means to Keep Your Mouth Shut

If you're joining me here today, you might wish to read Part One of this story:  Truths We Find to be Self-Evident, Part One: Mommy and the Catholic Church

Dear Darling Daughters:

A few people have asked me why I can’t keep my mouth shut about what happened at our school and just move on.  I was told at one point, “Oh, well, we are over it and moving on.”  Someone else said to me, “Lorie, I really think if you would just read the bible with an open heart, you would see that homosexuality is wrong.”  Really? 

I feel a very strong “calling” if you will, to speak up on what I consider to be a tragedy of epic proportions.  I’m not exaggerating.  “Calling” is the best word I can use to describe the sense of urgency and spiritual persistence I feel in telling this story.  And “epic tragedy” is an absolutely appropriately term to describe what I think is so very wrong about the decision that was made. 

I think anyone who has ever studied God or religion has some basic understanding of the moral objectives behind any sort of spiritualism.  Basics:  be kind to others, do unto others, don’t covet, don’t murder, don’t lie….  I don’t need to list the 10 Commandments here for anyone, and in particular, church heads, to know the basics. 

I don’t and will never understand any organization that would choose to be unkind to anyone.  Don’t we attend church to learn, to be accepted into a community, to find unconditional acceptance, to obtain guidance, and to bask in the love of God for all of us? 

And, if that’s the case, why do so many participants of organized religion so readily accept the systematic elimination of anyone who challenges the organization’s interpretation of what is meant by The Bible and the rules of the organization?  How is it possible to commit to an organization that ostracizes certain people, for whatever reason, and still believe that the greater good is being met even when the most basic precepts of spirituality are being ignored? 

Someone told me that I should evaluate the school based upon its merits and those exceptional things my children would gain such as a superior education.  I wanted to say to that person, “Would you allow your children to attend the best school in Boulder if they segregated African Americans?”  I’m betting the answer would be “no”.  What message does it send to our kiddos for us to say, “Oh, well, we don’t really believe in what they did, but we sent you there anyway because it was a good school.”

I also recognize that some of my peers at the school do believe that homosexuality is a sin or a choice and should be shunned.  If that’s the case, I would suggest you consider what you will do when one of your children comes to you with the news that s/he is gay.  Some of you will find this out while they are still at the Catholic School.  Will you allow them to continue at a place they are not accepted?  Will you speak out on their behalf?  Do you really believe that your child is somehow bad or damaged and won’t be accepted by God if she is lesbian?  I urge you to challenge your own thinking. 

I know that some would say I should have stayed with the school and tried to create change.  The fact is, I’m not a member of the Catholic Church and I don’t have the kind of financial input that I would need to have to influence anything that happens at the school.  The only ways that I can object and try to make a difference are to pull what financial influence I do have in the form of tuition, and speak clearly and loudly about what happened.  I still might not have any impact, but these two-and-a-half years later, I can still make it uncomfortable and memorable.  You’ll also notice I haven’t tried to take any individuals to the mat over this because I believe that would be as cruel and un-Christian as the original event.

So, why don’t I keep my mouth shut?  Remember that “calling” I told you about?  Part of it is knowing in a very profound and definite way what is right and what is wrong and having the spiritual strength to say so and act accordingly.  I believe that calling is as substantial and enduring as any religious figurehead who feels called to preach on Sunday morning.   The Catholic Church had its say in a very big way and now, it's my turn. 

My girls, there’s still another critical piece to this story that I will tell you in the coming weeks. 

My love to both of you!

Mommy

Truths We Find to be Self-Evident: Part 1: Mommy & The Catholic Church

Darling Girls,

I have a complicated story to tell you.  It's one I've held back for almost three years now as I've worked through one of the most difficult times I've experienced in my social and religious education.  You were uniquely involved, and I want you to have the story, from my perspective, so you can evaluate for yourself the complexities of these events.

Dad and I enrolled you in a Catholic School here in Boulder.  We were both brought up in the Catholic Faith, and as you know, we have members of the family in the Priesthood and in other roles of service to the Church.  Dad and his family attended the same Catholic School you did.  We have friends in the school and the church that go back decades. 

I suppose organized religion can be a wonderful thing.  In theory, the Church provides a gathering place for like-minded people to express their faith and support each other.  And, if you believe in God and are curious about religious philosophy, churches are a place to learn, ponder, and discuss the possibilities that exist within spiritualism. 

From very early on in my life, the Church was not a place I found to be comforting or loving.  I remember crying through my First Confession because it took place in a scary, dark, church hallway.  I could hear my heels clicking on the floor as I walked alone, not understanding what I was supposed to do or why I was there.  I was terrified and the Priest had to come out from behind the curtain to show me where to kneel and he told me what to say.  I'm sure he intended to teach me something, but when he forced me to tell him I had been mean to my parents so that he could "forgive" me and get through the excruciating session, the experience was branded onto my memory.  I knew something was very wrong - but it took me years to figure out how to reconcile that feeling with everything I had been taught about God and religion. 

Later in life, I attended and committed myself to the Methodist Faith, but found I was no more suited to it than Catholicism.  I studied The Bible in college, and I longed to understand the connection that so many had with God, that I did not.   Dad and I both travelled to Rome and The Vatican, which is the center of the Catholic Faith.  We had opportunities to study the politics and economics of the church.  We attended a blessing by the Pope.  Through these experiences, I became uncomfortably aware that I would never connect to spiritualism through the facade that belies organized religion.

When you girls were born, our families wanted us to have you baptized into the Catholic Faith.  It was understandable, as all of us had been baptized, and it was, if you will, a "rule" of our religion to do so.  Dad and I had long since stopped worshipping at the Church, however, and we were not married in the Church, so getting you baptized was not as easy as you might imagine.  And, I wasn't sure I wanted to baptize you into a faith I was no longer a part of.  This is what started us on a years-long journey that took us down some very unfamiliar paths. 

I'm going to fast-forward to the day that completely changed me in ways that both propelled me away from the Catholic Faith, and compelled me to solidify a new definition of spiritualism for myself.  One day, your classmate was told along with her brother, that she could no longer attend your school.  She was told this because her parents were lesbians and the Catholic Faith believes that homosexuality is a sin.  Never mind that her parents were part of the Church and had supported it with both their hearts and finances.  Never mind that those two children had been baptized into the faith.  Never mind that this was a loving, progressive, sweet family whose Christian beliefs set the bar higher for the rest of us. 

As you can imagine, the outcry from that decision was enormous.  The local and national press was involved.  Groups came to demonstrate at the church.  Parents got together to sign petitions and write letters to question the Archdiocese.  Some people upheld the decision.  For me, it was the absolute end to any shred of connection I had to Catholicism. 

When I say "Truths We Find to be Self-Evident," I'm talking about the fact that, as human beings, we inherently know how to love and cherish each other.  We know the difference between right and wrong.  We know that it feels good to embrace others wholly and without judgement.  It is whatever education we receive throughout our lives that causes us to choose not to be open to others.  So, when the decision of the Catholic Church was one that placed you girls into an education of intolerance, fear, and forced condescension, I couldn't possibly allow you to stay there.

What is self-evident to me?  The most exceptional and primary reason for the existence of this thing we call "God," The Bible, and the Christian Faith, is to embrace and accept each other, in all of our maginificent complexity and beauty.  Period.  No exception. 

Speaking out has had its disadvantages.  The fact is, I love and adore the people at the school.  Our friends from there are some of the best people I know.  The teachers - brilliant and unwavering in their dedication to the art of education.  Some of our friends with similar beliefs also pulled their children and support for the school.  Others chose to stay and try to create change.  I have friends who credit their Catholic communities and faith with their survival of some incredibly difficult odds.  Everyone has the right to make his/her own decision, and I very much respect that. 

There is so much more to this story that I'll tell you in the coming weeks.  Before I go onto Part II, I want you to know a few things about this story:  First, it is each individual's right and responsibility to exist in spiritualism in whatever way they choose.  I fully respect (and in some ways, envy) those who choose to participate in organized religion.  Second, the journey I took over the years was mine alone.  While I've had frank discussions with friends and family, I don't believe it is my right to push my beliefs on anyone any more than I would expect them to do that in return.  Finally, discussing these issues, particularly in such a public way, is gut-wrenching.  It's something I feel uniquely compelled to do because of the way the journey has changed me.  The point of this, however, is not to breed discontent, criticism, or angst, but to stand for what I believe and to support those who were wronged along the path.  It is, in my opinion, the right thing to do.

I love you both so very much,

Mommy 

 

 

 

 

 

To Test or Not To Test. Cancer is The Question.

Dear Girls,

I went to the doctor recently to find out how much closer to menopause I am now than I was last year.  During the appointment, along with the usual tests that are ordered, I was offered a new test to determine if I have a certain cancer gene.

The test is for relatives of those who have had colon cancer, uterine and ovarian cancer, and pancreatic cancer.  The three cancers are linked, and there is a common gene that, if identified by the test, increases your chances of developing one of those cancers by as much as 70%. 

Unfortunately, I have all three of those cancers in my family, so the chances that I could test positive for this gene are reasonably high. 

Now, I'm not afraid to find out if I have that gene.  The fact is, since my dad, my sister, and my grandfather have all died from those cancers, I've been more vigilant about getting unusual symptoms checked.  I learned a long time ago that worrying about getting cancer is useless, so finding out my chances are high doesn't make a huge difference to the way I live my life. 

Nevertheless, making a decision on whether to have the test, or not, has been difficult.

Sure, if I knew I had the gene, I could be even more focused on testing and prevention.  I could have a hysterectomy to prevent the possibility of getting estrogen-based cancer.  I could get mammograms and colonoscopies more often.  There could be drug studies or treatments open to me that might not be without knowing.  You might think this is the most responsible way to respond. 

Beyond the obvious - the stress of knowing cancer would be lurking in the background for the rest of my life - there are even more difficult issues we would have to face.

It's clear that insurance companies deny claims and/or eligibility to people who cost them money.  Just because it's illegal for insurance companies to deny coverage for people who test positive for this cancer gene, doesn't mean they won't, either now or in the future.  Laws change.  The denial of coverage could wipe us out financially. 

Suddenly, the decision isn't just about me anymore. 

Then, there's the very real possibility that, if I have the gene, you may as well.  I am not only completely mentally unprepared to test you children, the idea of trying to explain to you how to hear and respond to the information is beyond daunting.  As adults, we can deal with the realities we face when it comes to our own life, illness, and eventually, death.   I can't even conceive of what it might be like to manage my own child's potential health concerns.  And, I have no idea what it would be like, as a child, to manage the constant threat of illness.  

I've asked the advice of friends and family.  And, I sit quietly with the idea of having the test.  I haven't decided yet.  I can see benefits and drawbacks to either decision.  I don't particularly want to be a martyr, but I certainly don't want to cause the mental or financial demise of my family.  I don't want to have cancer, but knowing I have the gene doesn't mean I will or won't get the disease.  We also have heart disease in my family, a deadly alternative, and I don't do much to prevent it for myself.  There are other types of cancers on dad's side of the family.  I drive a car.  I occasionally cross busy streets on foot.   I drink cola every now and then.

Making decisions isn't easy.  There are always consequences to making decisions, some foreseeable, some not.  You'll make mistakes, and learn from them. You'll change your mind. You won't always have support from others for decisions you make.   No question - these life-changing ones are tough, but infinitely, life-affirmingly, worth it. 

I love you both,

Mommy

 

For Sweet Sophie on Her Fourth Birthday

How lucky am I to be your Mommy?  I think the heavens dropped you from above, my sweet Sophia, with your sparkling eyes and constant grin.  You wake up and immediately, you're talking and happy and excited to be alive.  You make everyone around you smile. 

You're the best snugglebug I could have asked for.  For whatever reason, you just fit exactly right against me when we are sharing hugs and smooches and little secrets. Your giggle is most precious sound on this earth. 

Here you are, four years old today, and babyhood is a distant memory.  You've conquered all the rites of passage that a little kid can manage.  You like to do things on your time schedule, and I'm learning to be a more patient mama as a result.  I don't really need to push you, though - you know what to do without my even telling you, don't you? 

I love that you are independent, but also love to have people around you.  I love that you adore your sister and can manufacture the world's funniest giggle-fest with the simplest of games.  You have a little naughty streak in you, and if I catch you playing in your room at midnight anymore, boy, I'm gonna....probably laugh at you because when I've come in to find out what you're doing, you always have a very righteous and proper explanation. 

We aren't quite certain how we came to parent a blonde child, but here you are, light as a daisy with your beautiful hair and big blue eyes.  You love that you are different - my goodness - what a valuable gift that will be into the future. 

Most of the time when I pick you up at school, you are coloring.  You love crayons, while most of the kids are into markers at this stage.   If I gave you scissors, I know you'd cut all sorts of things, including your hair, and probably Izzy's too.  That's why I don't give you scissors - you take your artwork very seriously.

You still love Ariel and always have, though I sense you will start keeping that fact to yourself from now on.  The only thing you wanted for Christmas this year was the Ariel Hair Salon, and Santa dutifully brought it.  The little bike we gave you today for your birthday seems more your style, though I think what you really want is some sort of eternal, authentic magic.  Maybe we can find a way to make that happen for you, dearie!

You are too busy with activities to care much about whether your hair is pulled back or your face is clean.  It doesn't really matter, though - your infectious smile makes all the chocolate, spaghettio, mac 'n cheese mush-mouth look precious. 

Your voice is still in that cute Minnie-Mouse stage, where everything you say seems so intelligent, yet so comical.  You have the cutest little fake cough that comes up every time you think you want medicine, and you still get angry when we don't believe you.  We still bandage your imaginary boo-boos because it makes you feel better to have a Scooby Doo bandaid on a finger and then show us how, magically, the boo-boo has gone away, at the end of the day.  

You asked me yesterday if we could fix your thumb for your birthday.  Your little thumb is bent and locked at the first knuckle, and we don't really know why that happened.  You've had it since you were a baby, and while we want to get it fixed, neither of us wants to put you through a surgery.  Not that you'd have any problems!  You got through five stitches without even flinching this year after cutting your eyelid open.  I wouldn't have guessed you'd be my emergency room girl, but we've had quite a few trips, haven't we?  Well, maybe mommy can take a cue from her daughter and be a bit more brave so we can get your thumb fixed.  

One thing I secretly adore is that you love "Mommy~Sophie" day.  Each week, on Monday and Friday, when Izz goes to school, we get to spend time snuggling in bed, running errands, playing, and sometimes we go to the coffee shop for a pumpkin muffin-top.  When we go to get Izz at school, you tell everyone that "it's Mommy-Sophie day" with a proud little bob of your head.  

My darling, you have absolutely soaked into every inch of my heart and soul, and I love you so.  You sweet, funny little girl - you've changed my life forever and I'm so very grateful you are mine.  I love you!  

Kisses,

Mommy 

 

Thoughts for My Izz on Her 6th Birthday

Darling Izz, 

One of the most difficult moments of motherhood was the day we dismantled the crib, signaling that the season of babies had passed and would not come again.   We made so many special preparations for you.  The perfect sheets, the perfect shade of pink, bees all 'round your room. We created a little kingdom for a tiny little life coming to join our family.  Babyhood is so very short.

I was thinking back to your birth - how incredible pregnancy was and the bond I developed with you before you were born.  As soon as I awakened from surgery, they tucked you up around my neck and I couldn't believe how tiny and warm you were - a little bundle of humanity and promise all wrapped up, with your little forehead and nose pressed against my cheek.  I spent many afternoons just enjoying the sensation of having you on my shoulder. 

So, as I walked through the Disney Store the other day, hard pressed to find anything I thought my little girl would enjoy, I realized we reached another milestone this year.  You're turning six years old, and princesses, castles, and kingdoms are starting to fade into the mists of childhood.  Is it really your last year for Ariel and Tiana?  Did I really just purchase Sally from The Nighmare Before Christmas, because I finally let you watch the movie and you are so incredibly into the fantasy of it?

When I came up to tuck you in tonight, you were playing with your dollhouse, pretending to be mommy and managing your household of dollies.  Our gift to you this year on your birthday was a doll - a big-girl doll that you'll have to take care of - and I have no doubt after watching your quiet play for a few minutes this evening, that you won't have any trouble in your new role as a responsible big kid. 

We had a birthday tea-party for you yesterday at a grown-up restaurant with all of your friends, and you were quite the hostess!  I am so proud of the way you behaved.  You were truly fascinated with the company, the tea, the cake, and just enjoying a few moments of fun that was all for you.  You were kind to all of your girlfriends and guests, and while still a little girl, I can see, in your quiet enjoyment of the afternoon, a glimmer of the woman you'll become . 

This year, your artistic talent has really blossomed and you're drawing pictures that are beautiful and logical.  You've learned to read all sorts of words and have the very beginnings of an interest in reading books for yourself.  Reading will open so many wonderful pathways to you and will add a whole new element of comprehension to your world.  I hope we can always curl up on the couch together, though,  and read stories together like we did today. 

You've become interested in dance and music, and we've encouraged that through musicals, plays, concerts, ballet classes, recordings, singing in the car...  You even choreographed a little dance the other day to a Little Mermaid song!  You're also interested in swimming and recently went rock climbing at another little girl's party.  I watch you from a distance, and see you dreaming to yourself about what is to come. 

You love Scooby Doo and I think your secret dream may be to open your own private detective agency, though you placate me by telling me you still want to be an eye doctor like you did when you were four. 

You've been so lucky to have the most wonderful teachers in your short time at school.  You've spent these past few years in a caring place, where the kids are taught to be respectful to one another. It's a warm, cozy environment.  You are concerned about everyone and demonstrate your love by giving hugs and asking after people's lives.   Your ever-increasing affinity for welcoming others and doing little things to "make their day" is an incredibly valuable skill.  At your tea-party, you made friends with ladies at adjoining tables as you frequently do in restaurants.  

You are now, and have always been, a little comedienne, your sense of humor keeping us all laughing daily - just like Dad.  I love that you think you're silly and thrive on laughter.  You've developed your own sense of style - and boy, do you know how to model clothing!  I can tell you have good taste already - just like Mom! 

So, what should we do this coming year?  Shall we bake together?  Learn to play piano?  Get manicures together?  Let's read and see new places.  Let's laugh and snuggle.  Let's talk about politics and learn about money and time.  Are you ready to start sewing?  

We may be beyond the Disney Princess stage, but after spending a few minutes mourning the passage of tulle and tiaras, I'm thinking about creating the next set of dreams with you my funny, charming young lady!  

Happy Birthday, darling Izz!  I hope this day was as special and memorable for you as it was for me! 

 

Love and Kisses,

Mommy

 

Why This Mommy is Losing Her Mind!

One of the reasons I started blogging was to commiserate with other menopausal mommies.  I sort of expected them to come out of the woodwork once I let the secret out that, hey, it's OK that your uterus is shriveling up and you're still changing diapers! 

Let's get rid of the boring factoids right up front:  Menopause is defined as the cessation of menstruation which usually happens to women in their late 40's.  For the lucky few, the process begins in the early 40's and in its entirety, can last, well, years. 

Even luckier are those (that would be me) who start the process early after just getting over the hormonal chaos caused by child birth.  Yes - menopause complicated by small children.  Joyful! 

You're going to hear more about this in the news as we career women who put off childbearing so we could "do it all" before "settling down" become more plentiful and start becoming the poster children for the condition.  Yes - I called it a condition, and condition it is. 

I don't know how other women began the process, but I can tell you all the weird things that happened to me:

Truth is, I've always had skin trouble, but was blissfully unaware of it while I was, a) on birth control pills (pre-tubal ligation) and, b) pregnant.  During that ten-year period, my hormones were balanced and while I had scars from years past, I didn't develop much that was new.  Over the past three years, I'm once again struggling like a teenager with over-active oil glands and breakouts.  I had to completely change my routine and I still haven't found any real solutions.  And yes, I've tried everything. 

I started having short-term memory problems, like the day I specifically left the house with kids in tow to mail a letter.  Got all the way to the wrong destination (ended up at the mall - go figure) and then suddenly remembered why I went out in the first place.  No letter to be found, and angry kids in the backseat, I drove home to find the letter perched on the counter, evidently right where I left it.  It could have been an alien abduction, but I think it was just my faulty hormone-soaked brain. 

I also used to be a really good speller.  REALLY good.  So good, that I was the go-to girl for all-things-writing.  Suddenly, I was writing emails and would find myself unable to recognize a word - and I'm not talking about big fancy words such as "snuffaluffagus".  I'm talking about words like, oh, I don't know, "out" or "like" or "crazy."  I would write a word, look at it with head cocked, and not really know if that was the word I wanted or if it was spelled correctly.  Then, I started making spelling and grammar errors - the really bad kind that make you look like a total idiot if you're a writer/editor.  Things like using "their" instead of "they're" or using the word "asses" which frankly made me look like one.  There was the word "philisophical" (my friend the rocket-scientist had a ball with that one..."Cream cheese?" he asked.)  The other day I very thoughtfully and methodically wrote the phrase "right of passage" even with my grammar alarm ringing loudly in my brain.   

I literally thought I was losing my mind.  And, hoping, praying, that I wasn't losing it to early onset brain necrosis due to the infiltration of Amazonian worms, found out from my doc that I was "entering that stage of life..."  Hater. 

I'm also exhausted.  I know - it could just be that I run around after two small kids every day, and awaken to crying a few times each night.  The thing is, this is the kind of exhaustion that makes a fire in the living room a non-event, if you know what I mean.  I'm waiting for the day when the kiddos figure this one out and begin asking for all sorts of favors when my eyes glaze over and they see that I'm no longer able to discern the difference between the words "toy" and "boy." 

I can't remember who anyone is anymore.  I can look at someone I'm quite certain I know and have no idea where that person fits into my life.  This is really a drag at school when I can't remember the names of children or mommies.  It gets worse.  The other day, I found myself introducing my daughter to "Tommy's mom" when she shook her head and whispered to me, "No - I'm Ellen's mom."  Rather than just believe her and move away quickly to cover, I found myself just about to insist to her that, yes, she was Tommy's mom. 

I've also arrived at the "turning into my mother" phase of menopause.  My neighbor-two-doors-down was standing on her roof the other day cutting branches.  I heard myself yell across the entire distance in a disapproving, sing-song rant, "What [the hell] are you doing up there?"  It must have been one very impressive motherly moment because she came over later that evening to let me know she survived.  Oh, the horror of it!  

By the way, I'm just about to move into the "discussing minutia of illnesses" phase, so you better steer clear of me if you have a runny nose or a tummy ache.   

I know - you're waiting for me to talk about the really fun parts of menopause like constant hot flashes, night sweats and the "permanent cessation of menses."  Don't rush me - I've only just started on the odyssey of physical symptoms, and at any moment I might burst out with a slew of fascinating facts about sweat. 

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Tell me your mommy menopause stories!  What are you experiencing?  Do you feel like you're losing your mind?  Comment below! 

Between the Stirrups

So, that guy - the one with the white jacket and blue face-mask?  The one whose eyes are smiling at  you from beyond the white drape, holding just beyond your sight a long, thin tube with some stuff in it?  The one who you might have fantasized about once or twice because, after all, he will ultimately be the one who impregnates you?  The one who is about to bill you $10K for the next five minutes of his time? 

Yeah - that one! 

This is what he's not going to tell you about the baby he's about to put in your belly and what happens to you as a result:

-  You will bake approximately 18 dozen cupcakes by the time the child is 5 years old. (Exception:  Those who get the cupcakes at the bakery, slide them into a pan filled with "Ariel" paper liners, and swish a bit of canned frosting on top, all in the interest of appearing as though it matters that they should look home-made.)

-  You will stress over teacher's gifts every year for the rest of your child's schooling.  (Should I do this or that?  Did I spend too much?  Are the other mommies doing gifts?  Will it be tacky if I sew something? Once I do this, does it set a precedent for next year?)

-  If you have a C-section, unless you have cosmetic surgery insurance, the area between your breastbone and bikini line will have numerous saggy bits that fold over or hang down lifelessly, like dead turkey skin.

-  You will be pee'd and pooped upon in the most extraordinary of circumstances,  however, the hormonal changes will render you incapable of being grossed-out or angry, and will leave you viewing everything through very Seuss-like, pinkish colored glasses.

-  After having seen a few Disney movies, your child or children will remind you that you're fatter, uglier, or meaner than the Queen in Alice in Wonderland.  All done, of course, with a sweet, innocent, and helpful little smile.

-  Your "slam dunk" choice of toys, books, games, dolls, and clothing for your children will be viewed by the little imps with complete disdain.  They will end up on the floor, be stepped upon, broken, soiled, stretched, mangled, hidden, tossed out the window, left in the mud, and/or forgotten before the next holiday.  Your child will then have the worst Target tantrum ever upon discovering a version of the dolly (scooter, ant farm, gun) she really wanted that you won't get for her.  Or, it might be that you refused to purchase the bouffant, blue-eyeshadowed, mini-skirted, boob-enhanced doll (fist-fighting, gun-wielding, mask-wearing, warlord) you wouldn't purchase for her if it only cost $1.22 on clearance.

-  Each meal - and I mean every single meal- from the time the kid is born to the time she leaves for college will be a struggle, made more complex by the inclusion of additional family members all requiring various and constantly changing dietary additions, deletions, or exceptions.  The only solution?  McDonalds. 

-  The one-time-only "fee" you pay to school each year is just something they put on a sales brochure to get you to matriculate.  After that, plan on dropping $50 per week on book fairs, tee shirts, very specific gym clothes, even more specific gym shoes, cheerleading outfits, birthday presents, ER visits, lost lunch money, backpacks, stuffies, valentines to give anonymously, valentines to give publicly, fines to the library, lost glasses, lost retainers, oh-and lunch off-campus at McDonalds, of course. 

All of this, made totally worth it, of course, by the hugs and smooches and an occasional "I love you Mom!"  Nevertheless, since you won't get a chance after the baby is born, take the opportunity whilst your feet are hoisted up in the stirrups to gently nudge that handsome egg-wielding doctor right in the teeth with your stiletto.  

Wait - you don't wear stilettos to the OB/GYN?

Wife, Mother, Sock Hoarder

My girls:

Sometimes, admitting failings can be cathartic, allowing us to let go and move forward.  I've decided to share with you one of my miserable failings, hoping I may now be able to conquer it, and hoping you won't suffer the same way I do.  Let me just get it out right now, and then we'll talk:

            I am your mother.  And I have a stack of single socks. 

I know, I know - you're embarrassed, and if there was anything I could do to spare you, I would.  But alas, it's not to be.  Your mother hoards socks. 

It isn't that I want to hoard socks.  I don't have a thing for them or collect them for their future value - nothing like that.  It's just that, once I lose a sock, I can't ever bring myself to throw the other one away.  And unfortunately, I have lost many, many socks. 

The problem started when I began to do your Dad's laundry.  I would put the socks in the washer, pull them out of the dryer, and a few would be mysteriously without pairs.  Every so often, we would find a single sock hiding in the closet or beside the washing machine.  For the most part, the sock pairs would come back eventually, and I took to keeping five or ten single socks in a box on the dryer.  I would check them every so often and, when I was lucky, would find pairs. 

Well, then you girls came along.  We had an explosion of pink socks.  Suddenly, pink socks began to disappear.  You would think since I had so many pink socks that I could pair them up, even if they weren't with their original pairs.  But no, I quickly discovered that my favorite place to shop for kid's clothing, Gymboree, changed the color of pink slightly each time they came out with a new line.  No one pair were exactly the same shade as the next.  I would find myself pondering ten single pink socks, all slightly different shades and impossible to pair up.  To add to the shame, you girls began to grow up and I then had pink socks of different shades in every size from infant to, now, five years old. 

I thought it might help if I started branching out to aqua, brown, prints, different lengths - but it wasn't to be.  My single sock pile continues to grow. 

I've now taken the first steps toward my recovery by tossing socks that are too small, hopelessly stained, or damaged.  I try not to be paranoid, but I think once the singles know their mate is gone, they re-appear to taunt me. 

I'm not exactly certain how the socks know to disappear, or why they prefer to remain in the box rather than be worn.  Are they rebelling because I don't do the laundry quickly enough?  Is it that they want me to rescue their friends from the store, so they think by losing themselves I'll have to go purchase more of them?   Or, perhaps the stores deliberately pair up socks of different dye lots that look the same until you put them into the washing machine.  They then come out different colors, and you have to go back to buy more.  Maybe that's it. 

But, no, in order to begin my road to recovery, I have to take responsibility for what I've done.  The fact is, I lose one sock from each pair.  I do it every time I do laundry.  I am completely ashamed and I hope you girls will find it in your hearts to forgive me someday.  

Let me offer you some advice so you don't have the same problem:

1.  Never, never do anyone else's laundry.  Plan to have a laundress employed at your home, or send the laundry out.  Tell your husband/boyfriend/children you are allergic to laundry and can't even touch it. 

2.  When you have children, purchase one year's socks at a time, and buy them all in the same color.  That way, when you lose one from each pair, you'll still have half the pairs left, and so on. 

3.   Don't fear throwing singles away after a few months.  They are just socks! 

4.  Perhaps by the time you are adults, they will have invented one-use socks.  Get them and use them if you can.  Or better yet, invent them yourselves!

5.  If you're really hard-up for socks, wear two different ones and tell your friends it's "the style."  Chances are, they are victims too and will support you without judgement. 

6.  Consider getting sock tattoos.  That way, you'll always look like you have a matched pair even if you've run out of options at home. 

Much love,

Mommy

What Can I Teach You About Spiritualism?

Dear Girls:

I had a lovely discussion with a friend this morning about spiritualism and existentialism.  Our conversation danced around children and family and how our lives are meant to teach us lessons that are sometimes difficult.  One of the many things we touched upon is what it means to be spiritual. 

Dad and I decided to place you at a local parochial school.  We did that for two reasons:  We wanted you to have the outstanding education we knew this particular school had consistently delivered; we also believe that an introduction to God and the Bible are essential to your understanding of everything else in your world. 

The fact is, the study of God and religion will be with you throughout your lives.   We will talk about religion, and we will encourage you to consider the options available to you in terms of developing your own beliefs.  Chances are, those beliefs will change as you grow and mature. 

I still find myself pondering questions of spiritualism daily.  This past year, my belief systems have been challenged on several levels, and I continue to study the world around me, listen to what others have to say, and strengthen my own "faith" as I confirm my approach to life within the spiritual realm.  (I use the word faith in quotes to describe strength within myself, whereas many people use it to describe their strength of belief in something outside themselves.)

I won't preach to you just what I believe, nor will I tell you what I think you should believe.  When the time comes and you ask me that essential question, "Mom, do you believe in God?" I will tell you what I think. 

So, what is the most critical thing you need to know about being spiritual?  That's a tough question to answer, and my first inclination is to tell you to always be good.   The problem with that phrase is that, as human beings, we are not capable of constant goodness.  In fact, I've come to accept that we are biologically programmed to have a dark side.    

I also brace myself against anyone who tries to define life in terms of "good" and "bad" because I've found that those words are frequently used as a stop mechanism to cut off any further exploration of gray area.  Don't fear negative feelings.  The idea that good and bad exist in every one of us is essential to your study of spiritualism and your acceptance of yourselves.

What I think we (the collective "we") miss in this lifetime is that the basis of all spirituality comes from striving to be kind and reverent...to everyone. 

The fact is, I am not always kind or good to other people.  No one is, all the time.  But, I try.  In fact, much of the conflict in my life arises from the feeling that I've failed someone, or that I'm misunderstood in my good intentions.   Kindness is a learned art.  I'm still learning. 

I can tell you from my experience in life that, in many instances where I judged someone or something to be "bad," I found out later that I was wrong.  I know that as a young adult, I was extremely critical of anything I didn't understand.  I know now that my behavior was borne from fear, which is a whole 'nother post.  The point is, of the things I regret in life, those times when I was critical of others stand out in my mind, particularly in those instances where I've had additional experience to support the opposite of what I felt then. 

On the other hand, there were times I was unkind to people out of instinct.  Those were times when I was very likely in danger, like the time a strange man started to walk with me through campus at night and got angry when I told him to get away from me.   At the time, I felt like I overreacted, but with my current knowledge of the world and the way it works, I know that my instincts were right on. 

So, I'm not suggesting you have to be good to all people at all times and to the detriment of yourself.   

What I am suggesting is that the perpetuation of hatred and misunderstanding is our responsibility within our spiritual existence.  

I'm suggesting that it doesn't matter what Bible you read or religion you adopt if you can't have compassion for other human beings.  

I'm suggesting that you can't possibly know everything there is to know about another being, about what she has lived through, what beliefs she has adopted, what weaknesses she has, or what her intentions are, so you shouldn't even begin to start judging her.   

I'm suggesting that, unless you are pushed to make an alternate decision, the best thing you can do in life is to be kind.  Practice patience with others.  Be good to yourself.  If you can do these things, your spiritual life will find itself on a straighter, less painful path.  Your efforts, I promise, will  bring rewards. 

I want you to learn about spiritualism, the story of God, and the history of religion.   I want you to study how you feel in the presence of kindness, and in giving kindness to others.  I hope moments of unkindness in your lives are few. 

You'll discover for yourselves what it means to be spiritual.  Start your journey with kindness and reverence for others.  I know you'll find your way. 

Your loving,

Mommy