Letters to My Girls

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. 

______________________________________________

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

Why You Want Toys (and I Won't Buy Them)

Darling Daughters:

You girls have already become addicts to advertising.  Yes, I let you watch TV a little bit each day and I know you'll be in years of therapy because of it.  For the most part, I let you watch what you want unless or until I see gratuitous violence or content that I think is beyond your years.  Lately, I'm more inclined to put on a video rather than let you watch the tube, but there are those days when you want to see some new Scooby Doo or Dora, and therefore, you are exposed to the wonderful world of TV Advertising. 

To make matters worse, I get a few catalogs in the mail just about every day, and you girls love to hang out on the black couch in the living room, poring over the glossy pages and commenting on the toys, books, and pretty things you'd like to have for yourselves.  Sophie- as young as you are, you've figured out how to justify any purchase, a skill that, while annoying at the moment, will come in handy someday!  Izz - you're more particular, but you want things that are well beyond your years.

The thing I find so interesting is that the ad exec's have figured out how to draw you in already.  You girls love to see commercials and ads because they make you believe your life is incomplete without the thing being hawked in the ad.  I get that.  Me too, sometimes. 

A few months ago, I finally broke down and bought you guys these ridiculous waxed strings  that were advertised to be the next best thing to crayons.  You're supposed to sculpture the strings by coiling and bending them into literally unlimited small creatures, food items, pasties, vacation homes, and alternative fuel vehicles.  OK - I didn't buy those claims, knowing that you girls were unlikely to build anything particularly useful, but I admit to believing they might just be "hours of fun!" 

The thing that really annoys me is that, as an adult, I should know better than to believe that anything that sticks to itself well enough to sculpture and hold it's shape is not likely to be "mess free."  I'm irked that I read and re-read the package about ten times, looking at that phrase "mess free" over and over again, and still bought the item after you begged me incessantly for months and I was out of ideas for keeping you occupied. 

We brought them home, unsealed the package, and I started to separate the waxed strings from the cellophane.  Low and behold...the wax not only left an icky, slimy mess on my hands, but by the end of the play session, you not only failed to build the Taj Mahal, but there was icky, slimy stuff all over my kitchen counter tops, your hands, faces, and clothing.  Furthermore, the smell was awful. 

Now, being the normal children you are, you didn't care about the mess or the smell.  You were, however, disappointed that your artistic efforts resulted in tangled masses of odd-colored spaghetti and meatballs instead of perfectly executed, color-appropriate couture fashion.  (Yo - Project Runway - I feel a challenge coming on!) 

It was me who, packing up the remainder of waxed string to "donate" to an unsuspecting charity, was chagrined at the fact that the company claimed it to be a no-mess toy that turned out to be, well, messy.  They didn't completely disappoint me, though, since I thought the "mess" would be crumbled wax all over my floor, and that did not happen.  No - it was the sticky ick that turned out to be the messy stuff. 

OK- changing gears for a minute.  The government went after the makers of Pom pomegranite juice this week, for claiming health benefits from their product that have no scientific proof.  There will always be the "it" items that may or may not work, depending upon your chemistry and the company's desire to sell it's product.  Many of them don't do what they are advertised to do.  Some will.  But, why is the government spending thousands of our tax dollars going after a product that won't likely ruin our lives, rather than investment companies, tobacco manufacturers, drug companies, and their own failed programs?  Really - isn't that sort of a waste?

Yes, I have a point.  Let me get to it now. 

Your desires can sometimes supersede your common sense.  But, common sense is not only instinct, but also intelligence based upon history and knowledge.  The "knowledge" I'd like you to start with is this:

-  All ads are meant to get you to buy something.  I don't care how sincere the pitch, or what the product claims to do.  Just because something is shiny and new doesn't mean it works. 

-  Claims are just that, claims. 

-  The people in ads or infomercials are always, always paid.  Those folks may, in fact, benefit from the product, but you have no way of knowing, so ignore that advice and look for other types of evidence.

-  When you choose to purchase something, do it because you have the disposable cash, and because the product may enrich your life.  Know what your budget is.  Take advice from friends and family.  Do the research. 

-  Keep mental track of what you buy that doesn't work, and stop supporting those companies with your dollars.  There are certain mascara manufacturers that I won't buy from anymore because they re-package their products every year and make new claims about how luscious your lashes will be, while showing you computer-enhanced images of false lashes that grow magically before your eyes instead of showing you real lashes with real results. 

-  If an ad claim seems so good you can't resist it, try to resist it. 

-  Know that you are fallible.  Ads are meant to appeal to your innermost desires, and ad companies do a stellar job at it.  Even with the best education and  brain smarts, you will make purchasing mistakes.  Just try not to repeat yourselves.  

So, I'm sorry I won't be buying the sand that never gets wet, or the clay that stays fresh for decades.  I might purchase a doll or two, but not the really expensive one that talks in a cute voice, sings, poops, and really does love you.   I won't lay money down for any ride-on toy that has an accelerator.  I won't buy the deluxe makeup set and hair salon so you can start your own business and be an entreprenuer by the time you're 8.  I will not buy any moresets guaranteed to teach you how to read by the time you're out of diapers, or to have you speaking Mandarin before you can say "Mommy."   I will not believe any ad that says a battery operated machine can make an authentic French croissant, cotton candy, or real snow cones that don't taste like stale freezer air.   I will turn a blind eye to anything that is both a pet, a pillow, a sleep sack, and also doubles as an easy-fold, multi-room tent.  And, I'm cancelling the movie club right after I fulfill the purchase requirement. 

By the way, Izz - I think it's very clever that you told the high-pressure hermit-crab seller that you wanted to purchase a few to take home and eat.  That's really the only good reason to bring a live crab into the house. 

Your loving, over-protective, and really mean Mommy

Naomi's Story: Infertility, Loss & Love

When I asked my friend, Naomi, to be my first guest blogger, and knowing what a devoted mother she is, I knew she would have stories to tell.  I've read this one now a half-dozen times, and I still feel a little piece of me fall away each time the message hits me.  This story poses those "why?" questions we so often never find answers to, and end up carrying with us throughout our lives, the possible answers (if there are answers) changing as we grow and become wiser. 

Sit down with a box of tissues, and read about what this brave mommy had to endure. 

My admiration and thanks to you, Naomi, for sharing your story.     

___________________________________________________________ 

As a child, I always envisioned myself as a mother.  I would get married and have 2 or 3 kids.  They would be little stair steps like my sisters and I.  They would grow up fighting over crazy little things and be there to comfort each other when the little kid down the block was being mean.  Never once in my childhood fantasy world did I see struggling with infertility.  Growing up I never heard about anyone not being able to have a baby or having a baby that was stillborn.  I never considered the possibility.

My husband and I got married in June of 1993.  In October of that same year we bought our first  house.  In November I was pregnant with our first child.  Everything was going according to plan.  I worked full time during the pregnancy and never had an issue.  Jordan was born August 12, 1994.  He was 8 pounds 5 ounces and completely perfect.  I was 23 when he was born.  I enjoyed every stage and every accomplishment.  Jordan started walking around 10 months old.  He would hold onto furniture and eventually started racing around on his own little feet.  When he was 17 months old he stopped being able to walk.  His balance was gone.  He would stand up and just fall over.  We took him to our pediatrician and he thought it was something viral but wanted to do an MRI of Jordan's brain to make sure.  We went to Children's hospital and had an MRI.  Our worst fears came true as the doctor told us Jordan had a brain tumor.  It was on his cerebellum and that was causing his balance issues.  Jordan immediately had brain surgery and the tumor was completely removed with two surgeries.  His recovery and stay in the hospital is enough for a whole different story that I will tell another day.  He made an amazing recovery and we feel blessed every day for that!

 Once Jordan was home and healthy John and I decided to have another baby.  It truly was like that….hey let's have another baby.  It came so easily the first time, we assumed it would be the same.  Jordan was two years old when we started trying.  Every month was another disappointment.  When Jordan turned three we figured it was about time to see a specialist.  I went and saw a fertility doctor the fall of 1997.  He assured me that my body just needed a little push to get pregnant again.  I went on Clomid for a few cycles, the pill for a few cycles after the Clomid to regulate my system.  Next thing I knew, it is December of 1998 and still no pregnancy.  That month John was transferred and we moved to Indiana.  After unpacking the house and getting us settled, it was time to find a new fertility doctor.  This doctor said I needed surgery.  In the spring of 1999 I had scope surgery to determine if I had endometriosis.  During the procedure it was determined that I did in fact have endometriosis and the doctor removed a bunch of "stuff.”  I'm not sure what the official term is, but I knew this stuff was supposed to be keeping me from getting pregnant.  After recovering from the surgery the doctor suggested we try insemination.  This was the next step, the next push my body would need to get pregnant.  We did two rounds of insemination….no luck.  Now it is December of 1999 and guess what?  John got transferred again.  We packed up the house and moved again.  We arrived in our new town, I unpacked the house, John went to work, and Jordan started preschool.  Preschool?  I couldn't believe my little boy was old enough for preschool and still had no siblings!  Next on the to-do list was find another new fertility doctor. 

 In the spring of 2000 I found a wonderful fertility doctor.  He patiently listened to all my stories, what we had already tried, what surgeries I had, what I felt.  He suggested a dye test, injecting dye into my tubes to make sure all was open and well.  Of course they were and he wanted to try in-vitro fertilization.  John and I agreed and this started the year from hell!  As anyone who goes through the in-vitro process knows, it is a mind twisting, body tangling, confusion inducing process.  The first obstacle for me was giving myself shots.  They were daily and required a self pep talk every time I looked at that needle.  Then there were the egg retrievals where they use a drug called Versed which puts you in la -la land but you are still awake.  I once woke up to a room of laughing nurses who told me I said I was "dreaming of the Backstreet Boys."  Next up is putting the fertilized eggs back in.  Once that happens, you stay in bed for a few days hoping they will implant.  Then the real fun begins with every other day blood draws and ultrasounds.  The doctor monitors all sorts of levels in your blood and changes on the ultrasound.  After two weeks of this when you are very cranky and almost annoyed with the process, the doctor calls and says the words you have waited to hear forever…..YOU'RE PREGNANT!

I heard those wonderful words in December of 2000!  John and I were so excited but with reservations.  We knew it was so early and we could lose the pregnancy but I just felt like it was all going to be okay.  In no time we made it through the first trimester.  I was ecstatic!  Now nothing could go wrong!  That honestly was my thought!  I am good as gold!  In April we went to Disneyworld.  John's parents came with us.  It was our last big hurrah with Jordan as an only child and we wanted him to have a blast.  Three days into the trip we were standing in line for a show.  I felt like I was peeing my pants and realized I was leaking amniotic fluid.  I ran to the bathroom and John's mom followed.  We both knew this was not good and someone called an ambulance.  I made John's parents take Jordan back to the hotel because I didn't want him to see me loaded into the ambulance.  John and I went in the ambulance to the hospital.  They did an ultrasound and put a heart rate monitor on me.  The baby seemed fine.  There was still enough fluid and they couldn't tell what was causing the leak.  I stayed in the hospital for the next 4 days.  The fluid stopped and they released me on the last day in a wheelchair to catch the flight home.

We arrived back in Ft. Wayne and my first trip was to the OBGYN.  He for the first time used the word that I came to hate….fluke!  He saw no signs or issues from the previous week.  He put me on modified bed rest at this point.  No lifting, no exercising, etc.  I felt relieved and again felt like we had made it through what would be the worst and the baby would be here in a few months.  May and June were uneventful in a good way.  The baby continued to grow and all was well. 

I woke up the morning of July 24, 2001.  I was getting my haircut that day.  I showered, got ready and Jordan and I went to the salon.  John came and got Jordan and they went and had lunch while I got my hair cut.  That afternoon Jordan and I went home.  I felt something was off and I wasn't feeling the baby move.  I took out my trusty What to Expect When Expecting book and read about less movement later in pregnancy.  The book suggested drinking some fruit juice and see if the baby moved.  I had some apple juice and nothing happened.  I called my friend and asked if I could drop Jordan off.  I called the doctor and he was out playing golf, but suggested I go to the hospital where they could monitor me since his office was closed.  I arrived at the hospital feeling sort of silly.  I thought the nurses would all think I was overreacting.  I got checked in and the nurse tried to find a heartbeat.  She couldn't.  Then she brought in an ultrasound machine.  I had so many ultrasounds during the pregnancy that I knew what to look for.  The nurse also assumed everything   was fine because the screen was facing me.  As the ultrasound started, the screen became clear and the nurse quickly turned it away.  She was not quick enough as I had already seen enough to know that baby was gone.  The baby was lying across the top of my belly, arms hanging down.  I was 35 weeks and 4 days.

At this point I was still at the hospital alone.  I hadn't called John because I figured all would be okay.  I had to call him and tell him over the phone that the baby was dead.  I honestly don't remember making the call.  I do remember him asking if I was sure.  He came to the hospital and we just cried.  Neither one of us could speak.  Then the reality of it started to hit.  I had to have a C-section.  John had to go get Jordan.   Someone had to tell our families.  The next couple hours were truly a blur.  I don't remember all the details.  I remember being wheeled in for the C-section, the epidural, again being given Versed so I wouldn't remember.  Soon I was in recovery and the nurses were bringing me my little baby boy, wrapped in a blanket, a little cap on his head.  He was perfect.  The chaplain came in and prayed with us, baptized him.  We named him Austin John, as we had always planned to do.  We both held him.  We cried.  We said goodbye. 

 The only explanation I have is that word…..fluke.  There was no explanation.  There was no separation of the placenta.  The cord was not around his neck.  Maybe the cord wasn't strong enough.  Maybe the blood supply wasn't enough.  Maybe if I had gone to the hospital earlier.  All these maybe's that are still there as I type this 9 years later.  I will never know why Austin was stillborn.  I will never know why my body decided to betray me.  All I know is that this long and winding road has made me appreciate my son Jordan all the more.  If it weren't for Jordan, I don't know that most days I could've gotten out of bed.  He was my light in a very, very dark tunnel.   This road also led me to Jillian.  Without Austin I wouldn't have Jillian.  That is what I always tell myself.  It is the only explanation that I have.  He was my light that led me to her.  I don't understand it!  I don't think I ever will, but I have two amazing children that I get to look at every day and one that I talk to every night in my prayers and my dreams!