The defining checkpoints.

September 23, 2015 

They filled the classroom bead jar for good behavior. GO KIDS. And like a well run democracy the group voted for pajama day as their reward. Not gonna lie, my friends, there are days I would definitely like to put pajama day up for a vote. 

^^ There is the six year old love of my life right there, walking into school in his unicorn jammies. A bright and colorful and fun My Little Pony long-sleeve top and fleece pants. He totally rocks those things.

But, it will get into the 80s today so I made several attempts to steer him in another direction. What about these pajamas, I’d say, while putting the hard sell on Mario or Angry Birds or Toy Story. But, these are his very favorites and no amount of sunshine or sweat or pressure from me was going to squelch his enthusiasm.

And, for real, why should it?

Then I realized something. Although convenient, the weather wasn’t really my concern. I mean, fleece in September may be a tad aggressive, yes. But it wasn’t REALLY my motivation. It was that knee-jerk reaction. The urge to shield him from judgment that rises in me, so swiftly. Perhaps you’re familiar with this urge, too.

The weather was my excuse for convincing him to not be authentic. To not be HIM. Because *fitting in*, well let’s be honest here folks, it is just less hard.

Judgment, he’s a real jerk that way, right? Because we choose to believe that he matters. Why do we give him so much power anyway? And then, the really tragic irony is that we subconsciously fight him by layering judgment with MORE judgment. And then it’s like that undeserving schmuck wins twice. Bleck, that is uggggggly.

“I like what I like. How does what I like affect you?”

^^ His response. What he said when I asked him how he would respond to the “that (color/ style/ character/ ANYTHING) isn’t for (boys/ girls/ insert endless list of other labels here)” remarks.

And in a dozen words he reminded me, yet again, about what really matters.

Kindness. Compassion. Authenticity.

I’m convinced a full and happy life sits at the intersection of these three powerhouses, friends. And, I hope this kid NEVER stops rocking unicorn pajamas, or whatever it is that makes him joyful. And, if he inspires even one person to feel brave enough to choose kindness over hatred, compassion over judgment, authenticity over fitting in, well….

*******

September 23, 2016

Life doesn’t define us. We define life.

What do you think, friends. Is it true?

A year ago today will always and forever have its arms wrapped tightly around my heart. Let’s call it a defining checkpoint. And such a big and important one in my evolving and shedding and BECOMING as a person.

A day that looked and felt much like any other, really. A bunch of kids that didn’t want to wake up with all of the associated moaning and hiding under covers and just-leave-me-alones and that confetti of toast crumbs sprinkled across my clean floor which I’ve come to rely on and me all YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE and ice packs inserted in lunch boxes and the begrudging brushing of all the teeth and me pleading JUST STAY AWAY FROM EACH OTHER IF YOU CAN’T BE FRIENDLY and socks forgotten in drawers and toddlers forgotten in high chairs and me sweating and stealing hugs and all HURRRRRY UPPP, PEOPLE. You know, just your average weekday.

But, this one was anything but average. In fact, this day looked me squarely in the eyes and said simply, “Choose.”

Will it be LOVE or FEAR?

Will you run towards authenticity or cower to conformity?

Will you be relentlessly brave and courageous EVEN AND ESPECIALLY when judgment and unkind words and hurtful actions beg for your silence?

Will you be part of making sure every human feels MORE THAN, or will you stand by and watch as ego has his way with our world?

And I chose. And I really recognized for the first time how much children teach us about ourselves, if we are listening. And I defined life. And it changed me, in all the best ways.

Go and be brave today, friend. Define it. Reap the rewards of becoming. Let love win.

The only way to shine.

Hey there, friends. 

The pause since my last post has lingered a bit longer than I’d intended. But, you know, when I started this little space the contract stated in bold font: NEVER FORCE IT. And it is a binding commitment signed in ink and, well, it also makes a good point. Blogs, as in life, should never be forced. So, here we are. It’s so nice to connect with you again.

These summer months have been a blur. But a magical blur, for sure. We mastered the art of a perfectly cooked bonfire s’more and buddied up with chlorine and sunshine and layer-upon-layer of SPF and soaked up special time with cousins and ate our collective body weight in ice cream cones and wore out all of the welcomes at our neighbor’s swing sets and racked up miles on our oversized familywagon visiting new and customary spots and pressed *ever so gently* on each other’s last nerve and got our money’s worth on all of these electronic devices and read books (amateur tip: modify your goal to zero and those five books spread across a trimester will feel GOLD STAR worthy) and burned energy and tossed kindling on imagination at day camps and went to battle in the backyard with plastic pistols and bottomless tubs of water balloon ammo and **FULL DISCLOSURE** slowed the cadence on showering and teethbrushing and sleeping. Psssh, we were far too absorbed in dodging rules and order to give attention to such details.

In recent weeks, my oldest son and I had the opportunity to visit Scotland with a small group from our soccer club. And holysmokespeople talk about MAGICAL. Glasgow, Stirling, Loch Lomond. As though lifted directly from the pages of a beautifully illustrated novel. Or really any and every scene from the movie Brave. Either way, it was love at first earful of bagpipes and biteful of delicious fish and chips. And Edinburgh, my love, a piece of my heart was left there with you and I can only assume it is now lounging blissfully on Archer’s Seat relishing in that magnificent 360 view. Swoon. Unforgettable moments with my firstborn that will be deposited in the happiness memory bank for eternity.

I had big plans to write my way through this summer, you guys, documenting all the big and little and painful and glorious. But, instead, I just lived it. And I’d give this exercise in detachment a rousing two thumbs pointed toward the sky along with this review:

  • Make space for simply witnessing.
  • Allow all to be as it is.
  • Reap the rewards of presence.
  • Find your place to feel inspired and GO THERE OFTEN.
  • Breeeeeeathe.

I garner much of my inspiration from nature. I guess it’s that exquisite coupling of Mama N’s undeniable majesty wed with the deepness and focus that can only be unearthed in the quiet of listening and finding and admiring and allowing. When wind makes trees dance or clouds part like stage curtains giving way to a harvest moon or a caterpillar edges slowly across the sidewalk or birds sing or soar or blow-our-flipping-minds by doing both at once or anything whatsoever to do with the sun rising and falling in the sky. Whenever I stop, REALLY STOP, to feel and see these moments, I understand life better. It all becomes clearer. Generally, I end up laughing (or sobbing) about at least 127 of my chosen reactions from earlier in the day. And after that self-discovery is behind me and I’ve dried my eyes from all those joy or sorrow tears, I notice it: 

There is a clarity to things that had gone blurry for a short or long while. And it all feels, lighter. More focused. More loving.

School starts for us this week. And based on the recent deluge of adorable and especially dapper backpack-wielding young people bringing smiles and heart emojis to my social pages, I sense a good many of us are rowing in the same back-to-school boat. I’d also wager that during this twelve week hiatus from a structured existence we have *maybe* at points found ourselves eager to jump in this boat and feverishly row these small people out of our homes. ANYWHERE BUT HERE JUST PLEASE TAKE THEM. But now, we’re holding these oars and ready to push off from the dock and suddenly the boat feels a little, unstable. And we feel less certain. You know?

Like, yesterday was all:
WOOOOO. I CANNOT WAIT TO GET MY KID(S) IN THIS BOAT AND START PADDLING. YIPPEEEEE, SCHOOL YEAR HERE WE COME!!! BUCKLE UP, FOLKS.

And, today is more:
What an exciting journey ahead! Kid(s), go put on your fancy clothes (yes the ones laying on your beds that after today will remain buried in your drawer forever now please for the love just go and don’t come back to me until they are on your bodies). And also toss those 45lb bags on your back because it’s time for school. WEEEE!! Oh geez. Okay, the boat is a bit tippy. I’d forgotten the waters are unpredictable out here. Will my kid(s) be safe navigating this tide? What if there is darkness or storms to weather? What if they hit choppy water and I’m not there to row them back to safety? And is my churning stomach excitement or trepidation?! (Psst… It’s probably both).

As the summer weeks have dwindled to days, I’ve noticed that familiar sensation rising in me. Perhaps you know this feeling, too. I wanted on that boat but now I’m wondering about things. I’m wondering whether my kids will have teachers this year who really get them. And I’m wondering if our elementary school credo priming kids to Be Respectful, Responsible, and Safe is, enough. Does it leave room to also teach and celebrate compassion and empathy and kindness? ARE MY KIDS READY. Will my 8th grader be brave enough to stand up and choose his own path when something doesn’t feel right in his gut? Will my 6th grader field enough comments to convince him that his small stature defines his character in any way other than perfect EXACTLY as he is? And is my sweet second-grader ready to resume defending his heart and soul to those that question how and why a boy could possibly love dresses and bright colors and all things that sparkle and shine? Is this the year he will decide it is just easier to be someone ELSE’S version of him to avoid the side glances and comments and judgment? Will any of them feel compelled to hide their true selves? 

All of the wondering. 

And then, I grabbed some distance to unplug from the wondering and saw this:


The sun was hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds, as it sometimes does. As we sometimes do. And while I stood there and stared at its shadowed figure for a long minute, I again began to wonder. The Sun is always the Sun. Totally not profound. But stay with me…

Do you suppose any planets or moons or asteroids or comets or other members of the solar system ever ask the sun: WHY DO YOU LIGHT THE EARTH? I mean, how come you have SO MUCH hydrogen, anyway? It’s weird, Sun, all of that hydrogen. Why not more helium? And seriously WHAT IS UP with your chromosphere? Eww. Why can’t you be more like the Moon? And Sirius is soooo much better than you at EVERYTHING. You should try to be more like her. 

No matter how unlikely, just sit with that for a moment. Let is steep a bit.

So, when I got home I decided to pose this to the 7 and 10 year olds (G & B). And as they both pondered the idea I followed with, “Do you think this might explain why the sun sometimes hides behind the clouds?” 

“Maybe,” they said.

So I pressed on, “What if when the clouds parted you noticed that the sun had changed into a moon or a comet or something else entirely?”

G: “That would be so weird.”
B: “But we need the sun to light the earth.”

This exchange took us on a twenty minute off-roading adventure that I desperately wish had been caught on hidden camera because we went down some hysterical paths: the Sun as a soccer ball or stickman or unicorn sparkle princess or Sylveon the mammalian Pokemon who evolves from Eevee (no clue) or a cheese pizza or a butt. Yes, a butt. And YES, we obviously lingered on this last one. Kids are so awesome.

Me: “Can you imagine the Sun being anything but the Sun?”

Collective, “Nopes.” Well, except the butt because we all agreed it would be HILARIOUS to see a butt in the sky. But, only for a minute and then we would want the real Sun back. I digress.

“Me neither, guys. The sun may hide, just like you and I do sometimes. But it never changes. The Sun is ALWAYS the Sun. Right? *Heads nod* And that’s good because the Sun is his very best and truest when he is shining brightly in the sky. Just like you are best and truest when you are being YOU. And if anyone ever tries to convince you to be or say or do anything other than what you feel inside, I hope you will be brave like the Sun. I promise to be brave, too. Let’s make a pact right here, right now: to celebrate our authentic selves and claim THIS IS ME AND I LIKE WHAT I LIKE as our battle cry and hold our heads high even and especially when it feels hard. Okay? And let’s never answer to fear. Let’s choose love instead. Because who gets to decide, fellas?

We do. Always. Just like the sun.

The importance of lighthouse moments.

Me: Okay, gang. I’m going for my run. Be back in about 30 minutes.

G: Ooooh, can I run with you, Mommy?

Me: Ehhhh. No, buddy, I think it would be sort of hard for you to keep up.

G: PUULLEEEEEAAZZE!?

He hadn’t asked me this before so it took me off guard, you guys, and before I thought better of it I felt these words escape over my tongue:

Not tonight, okay?

I didn’t wait to see what happened in the moments that followed, but it is safe to assume that his sweet six-year-old cherub face told a fateful tale of rejection and heartbreak. Meh. Not what I was going for, of course.

But, my evening runs are meditation. They are unplugging. They are wide open spaces. And I look forward to those 1800 seconds for me and my good pal Mother Nature to just hang out and catch up on life. You know what I mean? I pop in earbuds and crank my favorite playlist and offer unreasonable focus to carrying on with nose breathing as though to convince this three-mile stretch that I GOT YOU. And my buddy, Mama N., offers a steadiness and an ease and winds gently animating trees and birds gracefully soaring overhead as reminders to relax and just BE. Some days, especially of late, I’m honestly not sure what I would do without this quiet space. So many people everywhere are deeply hurting and parts of us feel less than and unheard and overlooked. It can make us feel helpless and desperate and afraid for our world, watching in dismay with aching hearts as we break apart at the seams.

On this particular day, the sky was dotted with clouds that shaded my path and the breeze was perfection and when I got back to the house I was feeling really good. Dare I say strong. Focused. Hopeful. Ready. And then I punched the garage code and hit the steps to our mudroom where his note greeted me and all good and strong feelings instantaneously made a mad dash for the exits.

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And as I paused for a long minute and studied his wishes scrolled across that paper in black marker, I realized something. Two somethings, actually.

Although these love notes and kid truths ALWAYS tug at my heart and often make me feel like I’m doing this parenting thing all wrong, I know that I need to protect these small spaces for me, too.

And the guilt that perches on Mom shoulders for taking this *extra* time away from our families is heavy some times. Isn’t it? I have found this to be particularly present for me since returning to a full-time office gig a few years back, which inherently skims a decent layer off of family time. But, you know what:

We need these spaces. All of us do.

Don’t we?

Whether it’s an evening run or morning yoga class or lunchtime kickboxing session or lending a hand to someone in need or sharing stories and a coffee with a dear friend or sinking into a page-turner before bed or knitting socks for your co-worker’s new baby or testing out a recipe in a quiet kitchen or meditating to soft music or rocking out to the hard stuff or listening to an audiobook or watching from the covered porch as a storm rolls in or catching a movie in a dark theater or swimming across the channel or climbing to the summit or admiring our world from under the sea or seriously insert any other thing here.

These spaces, guys.
They are lighthouses.

And when we find ourselves in a rocky tide or surrounded by darkness or just simply lost in the noise of everyday existing, these are moments that can guide us back to awareness. Right? They sense when we are drifting off course and act as a compass that lovingly points us toward the best and most whole versions of ourselves. They say: Hey, you there. I see that you’re struggling a little bit (or, a lot bit). Let me shine this light here to help you navigate safely back to your path. Okay? And regardless of the road we may be on in this moment of our journey, friends, we are all really just trying to make our way to the same place: Peace. Which sits at the corner of Love and Kindness.

We want peace, don’t we? We all want to feel loved and accepted and supported and cherished. We want our voice to matter. We want to feel connected. Inspired. Awake. And these lighthouse moments help us SEE our path and what is important. They remind us that peace is always there beneath whatever has us jostled and unstable and off course. They help steer us home.


^^ For example this spot here, you guys. This was the moment when all the noise in my brain parted and made way for this beautiful awareness: When parts of us are hurting, our silence toward their pain makes us an ally to complicity. We should be diligent and purposeful and kind in using our voices to help others.


^^ And then the second came right about here, as I approached this bend in the road. Each day I have the opportunity to spread love or fuel divide. And I have four sets of young eyes absorbing my choices. I can’t do everything, but I can make sure they see me leading bravely with love.

And these lighthouse moments link hands with my next something

Protecting these spaces for decluttering my mind and centering my thoughts and slooooowing down, even just briefly, arms me with the awareness and needed perspective to then also create room for HIM. Not to be confused with room-that-I-pretend-is-for-him whilst unknowingly remaining distracted by those 793 other *very important* things. Just. For. Him. Or one of my other kids. Or my husband. Or a parent. Sibling. Friend. When we are centered and moving purposefully on our path it allows us to give the best versions of us to others.

You see, when I’m dialed in enough to see it and recognize it, I’m aware that my six-year-old didn’t want to run with me. I mean, he didn’t REALLY want to run with me. He just wanted to be near. He wanted closeness. He wanted my undivided attention. A thing that can be tragically difficult to come by in a house full of siblings. Scratch that: A thing that can be tragically difficult for me to offer when I’m lost in choppy water and drowning in my own thoughts and too far from shore to be fully present.

And this is the ongoing challenge. Making sure we really see our people.

Right?

I stepped into the house after my run that evening and really noticed my kid for the first time all day. And we sat on the porch for a long while and he shared stories about his day and his dreams for what tomorrow could look like and I listened closely to his words and studied his face and his expressions and reminded myself of how grateful I am to be the Mom of this amazing human. 

What are your lighthouse moments, friend? Be sure to make space for one today. Allow it to steer you home.

XO

JJ

 

Liebster Award.

Hey there, friends.

You know what, I have always loved to write. For as long as I can remember it has been a part of my existence. But, it wasn’t until I took the leap and started blogging that I really recognized it:

The depth of community and connection and togetherness that can grow from the roots of our words and voices and sharing with one another.

And it has been more inspiring and marvelous than I’d ever imagined. I was so honored last week when one of my pieces was selected as an Editor’s Pick on WordPress Discover, and having so many people reach out to me with their thoughts and perspectives has made my heart grow three sizes.

I was further humbled when Meg from Particle Woman nominated me for a Liebster Award. Thank you, Meg. This recognition was like a big ol’ virtual bear hug and I am so very grateful for it!

As a relative newbie to the blogiverse I was unfamiliar with the Liebster Award. So, for any of you out there that could also use a quick crash course, here goes:

My favorite blogger.

1. Thank the person who nominated you, and link back to them
2. List these rules somewhere in your post
3. Name your favorite blog (that is not your own) with a short description
4. Answer the questions given to you by the person who nominated you
5. Nominate 5-11 bloggers for this lovely award, who have fewer than 200 subscribers
6. List 11 Random Facts about yourself
7. List 11 questions for your nominees to answer on their posts
8. Let your nominees know you nominated them

My favorite blogger. (6)

Hmmmmm. This is a seriously tough one, you guys. There are so many wonderful spaces on the interwebs to laugh and ponder and connect and be inspired, it is difficult to choose just one. But, as of late, I’ve been keeping a close eye on You Are In This World which follows the life of Cindy, a beloved mother and grandmother and friend and fellow human being who has battled with schizophrenia since her early 20s.

The story is told from the perspective of her daughter, Emily, who started this passion project as an opportunity to share her mom’s beauty and to show that suffering does not mean less important. She chronicles the hard and the beautiful and the gut-wrenching with a rawness and grace that I greatly admire. Thank you, Emily, for giving us a window into this illness and, most importantly, honoring your mom with such kindness and love.

My favorite blogger. (2)

1. How long have you been writing?
Writing has always been a love of mine. And, I had the good fortune of crossing paths with a professor named Gary Eller during college who ignited my interest in creative writing and storytelling. As for blogging, I just launched this little space about a month ago. So, *ahem* as a 40-something perhaps this categorizes me as way outside the bounds of fashionably late to the blogging party, but hey, today is the best and ONLY day we get so, onward, friends… Happy to be here with you all. ūüôā

2. What makes your house feel like home?
Absolutely and without question it is my tribe. My main guy and these four wild and funny and caring humans we created together and our big muppet and favorite goldendoodle, Sidney. The noises. The hugs. The frustration in one moment and forgiving in the next. The impromptu dance parties. The deep conversations around the kitchen island. The s’mores consumed around our firepit. The snuggles under soft blankies during movie night. The chaos. The living. Home to me is the people and the music of every moment strung together to make the most beautiful sonnet.

3. What is one misconception people have about you?
I think my outgoing exterior makes most people surprised to learn that I’m really pretty introverted. I adore deep conversation on the back patio or tucked in the corner of a restaurant, but I would do just about ANYTHING (seriously) to avoid small talk. Networking is not on my list of favorite things. I love my people fiercely but also crave alone time and space for quiet reflection. I don’t need an active social calendar to be happy. In fact, very little tops a quiet evening at home with my family.

4. What was a favorite toy of yours as a child?
Barbies and my Snoopy Snowcone Maker. Hands down. And a close third would probably be my imagination. There was an open spot tucked in the shrubs out front of my early childhood home that I affectionately called my castle in the rocks. I spent hours in that little space weaving extravagant stories and plotlines with my talented cast of make-believe friends.

5 . What is your earliest memory, and how old were you?
I am definitely not taking home any trophies for my memory, you guys. I’m that one. You know the one. The person in the story circle who generally follows the do-you-remember-whens with the sorry-nope-I’ve-got-nothings. Sadly, my mom did not hand me down her steel trap mind.

But, I do have a few vivid memories that pass by my brain occasionally to say hello. One that stands out is the moment I rode my bike without training wheels for the first time. I was across the street from our house and determined to do it all by myself because, headstrong. It was on that sidewalk that I found my center for the first time. And it was exhilarating.

6. What pets do you have, if any?
We have the most intelligent and gentle and patient eight-year-old goldendoodle named Sidney and she has totally ruined us to all other furry family members forever. Here she is judging a pretty serious hula-hooping competition between two of her brothers.

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7. Name a favorite of each: book, movie, tv show
I’ve enjoyed many books but one that has probably had the most profound impact on how I interact and engage with my existence is The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle. I first read it during a season in life that felt heavy and dark and just, hard. Perhaps you have found yourself in this season at some point, too. It helped me ground myself in the present moment and appreciate deeply that suffering can only exist in the past or future, not in this moment. This was life-changing.

If my husband could change something about me, he would FOR SURE make me a film buff as opposed to a marginally interested moviegoer. *wink* That said, I do love a great storyline and when paired with the right crew a film can be magic. One of my favorites is an unassuming film called About Time. I went in with no expectations and came away so pleasantly surprised by the story and characters.

Beyond copious amounts of cartoons and children’s programs, I honestly don’t watch much television. But, I’d go with Brain Games, So You Think You Can Dance, and The Goldbergs, because they are entertaining (we watch as a family) and also happen to be the only three shows that I catch with any degree of regularity.

8. Name a //least// favorite of each: book, movie, tv show
Book = My freshman Biology 101 textbook. Thank you for making it abundantly clear that I wasn’t designed for the sciences. Movie/TV = Anything violent. I’m a lover not a fighter.

9. Where/when would you travel first if you were a companion to The Doctor on the T.A.R.D.I.S.?
If nothing was off limits, I would love to go waaaaaaay back to the beginning and observe how our universe came into being. That would be kinda cool, huh? And if I could barter for a bonus trip I’d love to swing by the 1950s to meet my grandparents and see my mom and dad in their childhood.

10. What instruments, if any, do you play (or would like to play), and why did you choose it/them?
I’ve played piano, french horn, trumpet, and (beginner) guitar. And I still play them beautifully, in my mind. Sadly, it seems I have found my way to I-used-to-play purgatory and I’m not a big fan of this place. I still enjoy knocking out a duet of Heart and Soul on the piano with my teenager every now and again.

11. What hobby have you never tried, but would like to?
I am an amateur iPhone photographer, but since this isn’t really a thing and I’m *pretty sure* this doesn’t count I would definitely love to invest in a quality camera and learn the ways of photography. Capturing life’s moments brings me great joy.

My favorite blogger. (3)

Drumroll please…….
In the few months since becoming actively engaged in the blogiverse, I’ve stumbled onto some pretty fantastic spaces that have moved me in some way. Here are a few growing voices that I would be honored to recognize for this award:

1. Be Curious. Be Kind
2. All In This Together
3. Citymomco
4. Something’s Burning
5. Inspired New Horizons

My favorite blogger. (1)

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1. I don’t consider myself particularly romantic, but the first time I met my husband (the spring of our junior year in college) I knew almost instantly that I would marry him. Yea, kind of weird. Especially considering that up to this point I hadn’t dated all that much. We will celebrate 18 years of marriage this year and it just keeps getting better. He makes life fun. If living included nothing more than laughter, wouldn’t it be more than enough?

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2. These four people are the absolute loves of my life. I feel so lucky to be their Mom.

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3.  Ahhhhhhh. I’m convinced that hanging with Mother Nature can cure virtually any ailment. Especially the heart kind.

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4.
Here is the guy who first gifted me with the Mama badge. As you’ll note I still had him by a good inch or more in this photo. A month has passed and it is clear that my eyes will soon need to wander north to meet his. I love having a front row seat for his adventures.

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5.  The beach is my favorite place on the planet. The beach WITH my favorite people on the planet? C’mon now….

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6. This is my childhood tribe and I have immense gratitude for 30+ years of friendship with these women. They are strong and beautiful and HIL-AR-IOUS and I just adore that we still talk and see each other regularly.

7. I miss my college girlfriends and wish we could steal away to a private island for a month to just laugh and catch up on life.

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7. Here is my baby girl with her very favorite person. I just want to hold her little face in my hands and say, Don’t forget, little one, this…THIS HERE…is what love should feel like. Never accept anything less.

8. I’d love to write a children’s series inspired by my kids.

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9. When you are summoned to a water balloon fight by your people ALWAYS AND FOREVER GO ALL IN, YOU GUYS.

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10.
Here are my two middle dudes on the last day of school doing precisely what feels good and true and right for their souls. They are joy to me. My almost seven-year-old started wearing dresses whenever he felt like it this year. When others teased or questioned his response was steady: “Why did you decide to wear that shirt/color today? Because you like it. And I like what I like, too. Just like you.” Read that again, friends. Only this time, apply it to virtually ANYTHING ELSE in life. Notice how it still rings true. If we can’t be our authentic selves, then who CAN we be? A second-rate and unfulfilled and joyless version of what someone else believes we should be? Appreciate the offer but no thank you.

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11. I want nothing more than kindness as the legacy of my existence in this world.

My favorite blogger. (4)

1. Who do you love and what are you doing about it?
2. What is the very first thing you do when you wake up in the morning?
3. If you could teach anything to someone, what would you teach?
4. What can you not live without?
5. What is the best thing that has happened to you recently?
6. Describe your perfect day.
7. What situations make you feel most creative? How about most stifled?
8. If you could live anywhere for a year, where would you choose?
9. What are two things you consider yourself to be very good at?
10. What ALWAYS makes you smile?
11. If there was a movie written about the story of your life, what would the title be?

This was fun. Thanks for taking a moment to read it, friend. I’m linking arms with you and grateful to be part of this community. ūüôā

Cheers,

JJ

Why I’m raising soft kids.

Life, recently.

Sweet mother of all that is holy and good, you guys, my heart has been so weary.

It feels like my skin is flipped inside out and I’m staring wide-eyed directly into the blazing hot sun during hurricane-grade winds that just will not let up. So many of our brothers and sisters are hurting. Deeply hurting. And it’s making everything feel so raw and rough and threatening. The dark moments have blurred into one endless teardrop and we are sad and scared.

Here is my recall on recent days in a series of brutal soundbites:

A four-year-old boy slips away from his parents at the zoo. Perhaps you know this feeling, too. If you don’t, allow me to humbly confirm that it is excruciating. In the moments to follow, this little explorer makes his way into a cage where he meets eyeball-to-eyeball with silverback gorillas. Can you even imagine it.¬†The eldest gorilla, Harambe, is shot dead by zoo staff to ensure the child’s safety. The boy is returned to his parents with only scrapes and bruises. Thank you, God.¬†Social media explodes. We’re outraged that the gorilla couldn’t be saved. We argue about whether the zoo staff is competent to do their jobs. We are critical of the parents for being so careless and terrible at life. We blame the zoo for faulty cages. We form strong positions on how WE would have managed these circumstances if the shoe were on the other foot, and when people don’t agree with us we simply scream louder. And, with all the noise we sort of forget about this little boy and his parents who just experienced something horrific and were no doubt crippled with an intense and unimaginable fear as this situation unfolded.

A college student rapes an unconscious young woman behind a dumpster. He is tried in court by a judge who offers terribly misguided empathy in the form of an abysmally short jail sentence. Social media explodes. We’re outraged that the judge went so easy on this criminal. We hate this rapist. We despise this rapist’s family. We spend a good deal of time discussing his picture¬†and swimming career and passion for the culinary arts and his failing appetite. We toss around some memes because they have taken over the space where nervous laughter and awkward silence use to exist.¬†We argue about whether we should use the term assault or rape. Attempts are made to shine a¬†light on this victim and the brave young men that contacted the police. But, then more darkness strikes and we sort of forget about this girl who was left¬†wounded and vulnerable and no doubt crippled with an intense and unimaginable fear in the wake of the attack.

A talented musician is shot dead after a live show. We are shocked and sad but only for about a minute because the evil that hits next sends us directly to our knees and we sort of forget about this beautiful soul taken from earth much too soon.

Friends and lovers are dancing and enjoying life at their favorite nightclub when a man opens fire, spraying bullets into the crowd. People run for exits. People collapse into pools of blood. People are trapped in small spaces. People desperately text loved ones but then the messages just stop coming. Can you even imagine the receiving and then the waiting.¬†There is panic and screaming and helping and rescuing and sacrificing. The murderer is shot dead by police. Forty-nine people are dead. Many more are injured. The worst mass shooting in our country, ever. In an instant, everything is changed forever. Social media explodes. We’re angry about loose gun laws. We’re angry that people want to take our guns away. We argue about guns. We yell about mental health. We blame Muslims. We blame terrorists. We blame gay people. We blame the¬†government. We blame the POTUS. We’re scared for our children. We’re scared for us. We’re scared for ME and MY CHILDREN. It maybe becomes more about protecting ourselves than we might be willing to admit. And while we’re shouting at each other we sort of forget that forty-nine funerals are being planned. Fifty if you include the young musician that we’ve already forgotten about.

A family is vacationing at the most magical place on earth. Millions of families have visited this very spot. But on this night at this time, while wading in shallow water by the resort, their toddler is attacked by an alligator and they watch on in desperation as this giant reptile drags their son out into dark water. Can you even imagine it. Police recover the child’s tiny, lifeless body. Social media explodes. We write more articles about perfect parenting. We write more articles about empathy. We blame the hotel for faulty signage. We blame the parents for being just the worst ever. While we are distracted with tidying up our glass houses we sort of forget that SOMEONE’S BABY WAS JUST KILLED BY AN ALLIGATOR.

And, you guys, how¬†about the many among us who are quietly mourning life’s hardest moments from somewhere off camera, tucked away from social spaces? The five-year-old girl who just lost her battle with cancer. The mother who is saying goodbye to her transgender son who committed suicide because the bullying left him feeling absolutely¬†unworthy. The blissfully-in-love young couple whose vehicle is struck head on by a drunk driver, instantly erasing their plans for a beautiful future together.

The hurting is always there, with or without our yelling and blaming and anger and righteousness. Isn’t it?

And all of these hateful and ugly things are making people frustrated and defensive and scared. And I absolutely get it. I’m frustrated, too. It is frustrating that we use up precious real estate yelling at each other. Space where love could live. And all of our finger-pointing and asking for our problems to be solved outside of ourselves leaves me feeling discouraged. Because the only difference we can ever really truly make is an inside job. I’m frustrated by our unwavering desire to be right. How can we possibly HEAR anything over all of our rightness? I’m concerned by how much we allow fear to lead us. A lot concerned, actually. It’s disheartening that humans all over our world are still regularly persecuted for attempting to be their authentic selves. There is so much hurting, everywhere. I’m frustrated that privilege is still power and it continues to make parts of us feel less than.

But, honestly, our frustrations aren’t helpful unless they motivate us to actually HELP. Right? And our choices are so important. Like many of you, I am acutely aware of how my reactions to life impact my kid’s reactions. They see us. They hear us. They mirror us. What reflection do we want staring back at them, even (and¬†especially) when life feels unkind?

I recently read a sentiment that suggested we have “gone soft” as parents and this¬†has led to a generation of wholly ungrateful and undisciplined and disrespectful young people. Our young people. And while the message didn’t resonate with me, that’s okay (it is more than okay, actually). I’m grateful to this friend for sharing because it made me stop and think deeply about what I really want for my kids.¬†And it is this:

I want my kids to be soft. 

I do.

In a world full of rough edges and sharp corners, I want to raise humans who are gentle and kind.

When life is dark, I want them to always ALWAYS look for the light. And when fear’s grip tightens (which will happen because fear is a controlling a–hole), I want them to know that FEAR IS NEVER LIGHT. Ever. And this is the part where I hold their face in my hands and say, This is most important, baby. Please listen. Because fear is so convincing and it will take every ounce of their strength to remember in those hard moments that fear is never loving. Or kind. Or generous. Or compassionate. In fact, fear can’t survive in proximity to any of these things. When the world asks them to be scared and angry, I hope they are brave enough to lead relentlessly and unapologetically with love.

When they feel helpless and ready to toss up their hands to it all because they can’t do everything, I want them to remember that not everything¬†is never a better or more helpful choice than¬†at least something. And I hope the something they choose will be in support of WE not ME. And that they define WE as EVERY PART OF US. Because if their own comfort requires someone else to suffer, then that’s not really about us. That’s ego, and he is tooootally self-centered. And saying no to ego will be one of their most challenging life lessons. Because what could be more tempting than ensuring life feels great for ME and conveniently forgetting that all of those people over there are actually part of the very same humankind? Sweet child(ren) o’ mine, please BE HUMAN KIND.

I want them to know that life is mostly (read: completely) defined by our reaction to it. And this is a biggie, right guys? I mean, if we could band together and train up a giant flock of kind champions who also have the awareness needed to question their thinking and reaction to life, doesn’t that seem like some serious parenting triumph??

I want them to not only imagine what we would be capable of TOGETHER if we listened more than we defended, reached out more than we pushed away, celebrated our unique viewpoints more than we insulted our differences. I want them to DO and BE these things.

I want them to know that the path to peace is one paved with love. Love isn’t the solution. It’s how we get there.

The world needs our softness, kids.
Let’s do this thing.

The love we cannot hear.

image

^^ This cloud right here, you guys. ^^

She single-handedly brought me back to center yesterday. And I desperately needed it. My thoughts were reeling and I felt a bit unraveled and in need of a good head clearing so I opted to use a lifeline. 

I’d like to phone my friend, Mother Nature, please.

I collapsed into a chair on the back patio and that cloud and I just sat there together. Silently. Well, her silently. Me with relentless and wholly unproductive brain chatter about things like saving the world and being the change and raising kids who aren’t a–holes, and such. You know, small stuff. And as I welcomed more air into my lungs and admired her moving and shifting and melting into the seams of the cobalt sky, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination and calm sink deeply into my troubled heart.

Ahhhh, yes. Thank you. I waved at my new friend as she disappeared from view and before standing to get on with my day I took a moment to quietly affirm the one-and-only thing that I am absolutely certain of in life.

We’ll get back to that in a sec.

You see, I want to always notice and honor the good and the kind and the loving. Silver linings are my go-to and eternal optimism is my thing and yes of course I believe in unicorns and when asked to rate my day on a scale of MEH¬†to AMAZING¬†I am the Pollyanna that will always and forever swing for the fences because I am alive. And if you’re reading this *quick¬†fist bump* because that means you are, too. My eyes opened this morning and I’m breathing air and I get to experience this day and seize these moments. Yes, even the hard ones.¬†And I def-in-it-ely fall down and feel exposed and unsure and just ovvvver it sometimes. I believe in unicorns and f-bombs equally. *wink* But, I get to be here. WE GET TO BE HERE. And it is miraculous. Isn’t it?

It is everything and it is enough.

But then, there is all of this other noisy, human-y stuff. You know what I mean? And I am not immune (like at all, folks) to the ugly parts of our existence. The ways we speak to one another without listening and sling wasp nests full of words that sting at anyone and anything that dares to threaten our rightness. How parts of us wear privilege like a suit of armor and a birthright and somehow this has proven over and over AND OVER to actually be a legitimate way to make others feel less than. WHY IS THIS A REAL THING? And the ways we protect and justify this righteousness.

Ugggggggh.

How we READY >> FIRE >> AIM at each other with our thoughts and words and actions from behind tinted windows and then wag our finger and demand that the blame belongs OVER THERE. How we offer an objective lens toward data until and only until the facts no longer defend what we believe to be true. And then all bets are off (hey,¬†memes and reckless insults, that’s your cue).

Our anger is so noisy and overwhelming that we forget why we are here.

We forget what matters.

We forget to lead with love.

Because for every ounce of beauty that exists in our world (and especially in our virtual communities), we create and consume five gallons of ugly. Don’t we? And on this day, I had just seen too much. The overtly wretched that allows one human to assault another and leave her engulfed in flames as he saunters away with nothing but ashes on his swim trunks.

TOO MUCH.

And the easilytucked-away reality that many of our fellow humans are hurting and desperate and alone and wounded AT THIS VERY MOMENT and, yet, we find ourselves angry and screaming at each other.¬†While people all around our world are vulnerable and afraid and silenced. We attack each other with our fears and anger and need for rightness as though to say, we’ll see your¬†hateful ways and raise you our vitriol. And all of our screaming makes it impossible to HEAR anything. And our tinted windows make it impossible to SEE anything.

Almost every time I read a comments thread a little piece of my soul dies. And I feel helpless to it. All the ugliness.

Perhaps you do, too?

But as I sat there with that cloud, you guys, the stillness and space allowed me to remember what my angry and unsettled mind just couldn’t.

We simply cannot drive out ugliness with more of the same.

Hate in response to hate is a losing game.

Let’s not waste another second allowing anger to guide us, friends. Let’s stop screaming so we can hear what kindness is trying to tell us from underneath all of that noise.

Let’s instead invest every ounce of our collective energy into linking arms with one another and EVERY HUMAN who has been made to feel vulnerable and broken and less than.

Let’s BE kind humans.
Let’s RAISE kind humans.
Let’s CELEBRATE kind humans.

Let’s love one another.

 

XO

JJ

 

Empathy is easy. Until it’s hard.

It’s been two years. Almost to the day, actually.

My second guy was 8 years old at the time and we were on our biennial trek to bask in the glow of that adorable talking mouse and his magnificent tribe. It was our day at Magic Kingdom and in typical Disney fashion the crowds were akin to 4am at Walmart on Black Friday. Just obscene. And not particularly ideal for us introverts, guys, but obviously Tinkerbell sprinkles the joint with feel-good-fairy-dust and her spell makes me blinded to even the most absurd congestion. I mean, a 90-minute wait for a 30-second ride seems perfectly reasonable, right? Ahem.

As per usual we had sufficiently over-indulged on everything the kingdom could serve up and when the sun began to dip low in the sky our crew, and 98,000 of our closest friends, migrated instinctively towards Cinderella’s Castle for what was sure to be the most beautiful fireworks display at the ball. We were staking our territory (read: 2-foot square of concrete) for the big show when it hit me suddenly like a hot brick to the face.

Oh, Jesus. Where is Brennan.
He was just here, right? Right?!
HE WAS RIGHT HERE.
Or, wait. Was he?
When did I last see him?
Didn’t we get off that ride together?
Wasn’t he behind me?

I blamed my older son for not staying by him.
I blamed my younger two kids for needing so much attention.
I blamed the crowd for making it hard to see or move quickly in any direction.
I blamed my husband for, everything.
And then I stopped blaming and I cried.

WHERE IS MY BABY.

The next ten minutes shifted into slow motion and thrust me into the most desperate of places. As I looked out across that sea of unknown faces and bodies all swarming mercilessly, I wanted to scream out EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU NEEDS TO MOOOOOVE SO I CAN FIND MY BRENNAN.

I came unhinged.

Was he safe?
Was he crying out for me?
Was he scared?
Sad?
Confused?
Alone?
Standing still?
Running?
Did he think I left him on purpose?
Did we have a plan in case we got split up? Oh my god we didn’t have a plan.

WHY DIDN’T WE HAVE A FUCKING PLAN FOR THIS.

And then the darkest of thoughts came rushing into my mind like snipers and in seconds they annihilated any shred of hope that was clinging to my heart.

What if he is hurt.
What if he is in the arms of a predator.
What if we don’t find him.
What if I never see his sweet face again.

WHAT IF I LOST MY CHILD FOREVER.

The what-ifs grabbed me by the throat and tightened their grip until I was left gasping for air. I hadn’t watched closely enough. I took my eyes off of him and in a moment he was gone from my side. I let my child down. I had failed as a parent.¬†These thoughts strangled me until I could no longer see straight.

The parade would start in a few minutes and after that we’d be trapped on this island between the castle and the rest of the park. The streetlights began to dim in preparation for the show and darkness swallowed our view in every direction. We decided to split up and without words or a plan we moved in opposite directions frantically calling Brennan’s name into the night sky. I pleaded silently with the universe to give me another chance. I told her IF YOU DO THIS FOR ME I WILL NEVER AGAIN TAKE MY EYES OFF OF HIM.

With tear-stained cheeks and a rapidly beating heart in my throat I set off down a path feeling helpless but relentlessly determined. Just then as I looked up a group of people parted and in the space between, there he stood. My baby. Our eyes met and I don’t have much recall on those next moments, but I do know this: When he was finally wrapped in my arms again I instantly felt whole. Vulnerable and imperfect, but whole and OH MY LORD SO RELIEVED and just incredibly grateful.

Here is the part that has really stuck with me, though, you guys. In one of my lowest and most vulnerable moments as a parent and human I wondered WHY ME. Why MY child?! As though the pain would somehow be easier if it weren’t my own. As though the burden of that struggle would feel better if it just went somewhere else. ANYWHERE BUT HERE. ¬†That is hard to write and even harder to admit. But then, when we create enough space to be brutally honest with ourselves we know that empathy is easy, until it’s hard.

Right?

Until it’s someone ELSE’S mistake. Until it is HER vulnerability and imperfection when she fumbles¬†and takes her eyes off of that child for a minute and suddenly a knee is scraped or an eye is bruised or he slips away at the park or the mall or the grocery store or the zoo or the amusement park or for-god’s-sake from her own backyard. OR ANYWHERE. ANYTIME. Despite everything. And when we can distance ourselves from that discomfort it makes our rightness feel HUGE and that other person’s vulnerability small and insignificant. Maybe? It becomes so simple to say: DO BETTER. Instead of saying: I AM THERE WITH YOU AND I UNDERSTAND.

It could have been anyone’s child that went missing at Magic Kingdom on that day in June two years ago. But it was mine. And when it is HER turn for hard moments, or HIS, or YOURS, they are really mine, too. Ours. Aren’t they?

Because we are all imperfect. And vulnerable. And we all fumble and yearn for understanding from others. And empathy connects us. Right? It weaves together our hard moments and creates a safety net for us to land on when we stumble and fall. It reminds us that we are NEVER alone.

It says: I see your struggle, friend. I’m with you. And I understand.

Today, let’s be courageous enough to question our rightness and judgments and, instead, let’s offer this gift of understanding to one another. Even (and especially) when it’s hard.

XO

JJ

Hello, 41.

Well, you guys, I made it. Another voyage around that glorious and life-giving star is in the books. And it feels good.

Really good.

For whatever reason, birthdays tend to make me rather contemplative. Or, maybe my tribe would suggest this is just me everyday. *wink* Lately, though, my senses have heightened around our human tendency to face each passing year in adulthood with a deeper sense of apprehension. With more trepidation. It may even be fair to use the word dread here, yes? There is often a palpable sense of just UGGGGGH towards it all as we get older, right?

What is that all about, anyway?

I mean, sure, there are definitely aspects of getting older that could just quit it already. Like, say, if we had authority to fire the random hip/ back/ neck/ foot/ knee/ {insert yours here} pain that strikes without notice and seemingly with no just cause, we would TOTALLY do it. I think we can agree she isn’t a great team player. Or how about those fine lines that creep across foreheads and from the edges of eyeballs and corners of mouths AND FOR-THE-LOVE DOWN ONTO NECK SKIN ALL THE WAY TO BIG TOES?!? It sort of feels like those guys just want to make sure we are crystal clear on who is really in charge, you know? And our direct supervisor goes by the name Gravity, friends, and he is a seeeeerious micromanager. And what are we to make of unexpected memory lapses (GAAAH WHY THE HEEEEELLL DID I WALK INTO THIS ROOM) and hairs escaping heads only to reappear in less desirable locations and ladies DON’T EVEN with these hormone changes. It never occurred to me that chin acne would make regular visits at this point in the journey, but boy-does-it-ever, like some sort of scary clown arriving unsolicited at your door and belting an out-of-tune singing telegram. Just. All. Kinds. Of. Wrong. Weight gets harder to lose and gray hairs become easier to find. Too many cocktails (read: that third glass of wine which FOR SURE seemed like the right next move) offer gratuitous anguish and, in a weird twist of fate, climbing into bed before 9pm or sleeping past 8am (read: 6am) is equivalent to finding a unicorn or the pot-o-gold at rainbow’s end or any situation’s silver lining. Nothing but HAPPINESS.

But, I don’t know, when I push back a ways from this noise it all just seems so small and insignificant by comparison to this BIG chance we get each day.

And it is big … simply being alive. Right?

So perhaps this is the spot where I should insert a list of some sort. You know, like “8 Ways To Adult Like A Champ” or “11 Steps to Stop Giving Into All the Noise”. But, since it seems a hefty portion of real estate on the social interwebs is already leased for this type of thing, let’s try something a bit different. Shall we?

Do you remember the Saturday Night Live sketch character, Stuart Smalley? YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH. How about the impossibly soothing nature painter, Bob Ross? THERE ARE NO MISTAKES. BE YOU. Well today, or better yet how about ANY OL’ DAY that the critic (last name, Ego) threatens to steal joy, let’s all link arms and channel our inner Smalley and Ross. It could look something like this:

[E = Ego / TRY = The Real You]

E: My feet hurt when I get out of bed in the morning. I’m falling apart!
TRY: I AM HERE. LET’S DO THIS, SORE FEET.

E: More gray hairs?! Meh.
TRY: I AM ALIVE. WE ARE GOING TO ROCK THIS DAY, GRAY HAIRS.

E: These wrinkles make me look old.
TRY: I AM A BEAUTIFUL AND HAPPY TREE. YOU CAN’T STOP ME, WRINKLES.

E: Bleck, another birthday.
TRY: I AM A YEAR OLDER AND WISER AND IT IS AMAAAAAAZING.

E: I wish I was young again.
TRY: I AM NOT GOING TO WISH AWAY THIS DAY HOPING FOR ANOTHER. THIS WILL BE MY BEST DAY YET.

You get the gist. Let’s run this drill over and over (and over) again until we’ve crowded our minds with so much joy and self-love and acceptance JUST AS WE ARE TODAY that there simply isn’t space left for judgment.

A dear college friend has walked through fire this year and put up her dukes against many hard things. She is amazing. Recently, she shared this sentiment that I’d like to close with because there is just no way possible I could say it any better than this, you guys:

I have learned to surround myself with those that sincerely care for me, not to waste time worrying about the little things and be thankful for every single day I am given on this earth. I live in the little moments. Tucking my girls into bed is not a chore but rather a privilege! I am a changed person but hopefully for the better. Here’s to living BIG.

^^ Amen to that. Be extra kind to yourself today, my friend.

XO

JJ

Life, just as it is.

Teenagers. Right, guys?

If you don’t live with one currently you either remember living with one or being one or you have a tween or highly ambitious nine-year-old that’s on the fringe and providing you with ample glimpses of what lies ahead. In any case, what an utterly unique experience, huh? All awkward and jarring and whoa-these-hormones-mean-bizzzzznus. In one inhale there is closeness and sweet hugs from those gangly arms and bodies that somehow grew overnight and the next exhale dissolves to distance and escape and occasionally whispered but often thunderous requests to SERIOUSLY JUST LEAVE. ME. ALOOOOONE. *Cue dramatic door slam* There are limits pressed and battles for independence fought and dirty socks left on feet and clean shorts buried in laundry piles. Each and every moment drips with anticipation, like the plot line of an Oscar-worthy suspense film unfolding, as we eagerly wait to see what will happen next.

My thirteen-year-old is also the one who graced me with this Mom badge. Tyler made a noisy entrance into the world on an especially cold January night in Chicago, trailing his due date by just shy of two weeks. I was convinced he was NEVER going to make his escape from my uterus and I would be the first woman in the history of womanhood to tout a three-year pregnancy. Ahhh, a¬†special shout out to wildly unstable gestational hormones for all of that glorious rational thinking you afford us. *highfives* I also recall my enthusiasm on our hospital release day being quickly obliterated by a big plate of trepidation served with a generous side of panic. His fragile newborn body was SO TINY and that air was North Pole grade bitter and so we acted sensibly and buried him under a twenty-seven blanket pile up (because twenty-six obviously¬†wouldn’t cut it, folks) and set cruise control to 5 mph and HOLY HELL SLOW DOOOOWWNN became my battle cry for that menacing three-mile stretch. We lived in a one-bedroom loft at the time and had converted a storage closet (no joke) into a *fully-functioning* nursery. There was a crib and a changing table and a small dresser and just enough elbow room for one adult to delicately navigate the space for diaper duty. As a first-time mom and consummate over-achiever, I devoured ALL of the parenting books and I feverishly highlighted chapters as though studying for a high-stakes exam and I heeded all the warnings and tips and tricks and I rolled up my new mom sleeves and I was so ready to tackle this thing.

Bring it, motherhood.

And then our new housemate began to play his hand. And, oh-my-lord friends, his deck was stacked. Perhaps you’ve also given birth to a grizzled poker player with a bottomless bankroll. You guys, I was just so certain the Baby Whisperer authors were speaking directly to ME and MY CHILD and if I heeded their words and counsel it would carry us straight to the nighttime sleep schedule promise land. So certain, in fact, that even after months of testing every strategy with a zero percent success rate, I forged on completely undeterred for another several months. If anyone dared set that child in a spot other than DIRECTLY into his crib for nap time or bed time or at the mere inkling of a yawn or drooping eyelid and OF COURSE after activity time which was subsequent to eating time (babies are complicated) I’d follow with something level-headed like, Yes, I have eyeballs and I can see that he is sleeping soundly in that swing but it’s just ALL WRONG.*Cue wakeful baby* *And weeping, sleep-deprived woman*

I made plans, guys. big plans. But this renegade baby had an alternate agenda. One that included mostly wide-eyed amazement at his new world (always and especially when laid ever-so-gently in that FREAKING CRIB) and relentless testing of his voice box by way of high octane screams and definitely very very (let me be clear, VERY) little sleeping. We piloted so many well-intentioned parenting protocols on this kid, and thankfully despite an impressive track record of failed plans, we all survived. Well, all of us except that Baby Whisperer paperback. She found a happy new home at a used bookstore.

And now, thirteen years later, as I stand eye-to-eye with that same blue-eyed tow-head with the magnetic smile and perpetual spark and kind heart and competitive spirit (and continued take-it-or-leave-it attitude towards sleep) that I use to cradle in my arms, I can assure you this much is true…

I still don’t know what I’m doing.

And I still make a lot of mistakes.

And I still make plans that fight with reality.

I mean, us humans really LOVE a good plan, right? And we build these elaborate mental roadmaps of how we think things will go. And we don’t ask for much, really, we just want our thoughts to translate perfectly in real life. We simply desire for our vision of what should be to match what is.

But, life is our greatest teacher. And, friends, despite our best-laid plans and mental projections of what should be…

Sometimes, the due date is merely a loose suggestion.

And the birth plan is trumped by a medically necessary C-section.

And the baby just. will. not. sleep.

And the screaming infant can’t be soothed.

And the toddler will melt into a puddle over the purple cup when you DARE to provide that god-awful yellow one.

And the picky one seriously won’t eat that broccoli, you guys. Or those other 247 food items that are also disgusting.

And the young boy will come home carrying hurtful words and the fears of others in his backpack for attempting to be authentic in a world that craves conformity.

And the tween girl will get told that she isn’t welcomed at THIS lunch table because they don’t like her hair. Yesterday it was her shirt. Tomorrow it will be the way she talks. And she may consider changing these things to feel accepted.

And the teenager will stand near in one moment and hunger for space in the next. And he will say the wrong thing sometimes. Maybe a-lot-of-times. And all of these bizarre new emotions will frustrate him, but he may not know how to show it. And this boy who was once honest to a fault may start holding certain cards close to his dri-fit tee. And his intelligence and potential WON’T stop him from missing homework assignments. And he may not even SEE those clothes on his bedroom floor. And he will probably elect for faster escapes from the car when friends are watching. And he will make all of his own mistakes to learn from in spite of countless desperate attempts to protect him from ev-er-y-thing.

We love plans. But, when we love a plan so hard that it puts us at war with reality, we suffer. Don’t we? And in this painful place, it becomes almost impossible to see beyond our rightness. We get so consumed with protecting what we want it to be that we simply can’t connect with LIFE AS IT REALLY IS.

Today, let’s give one another permission to step back. Let’s breathe. Make plans. Make grandiose plans if it feels right. But, let’s also find moments to stop and create space for awareness. Let’s observe the it-is-supposed-to-be-THIS-way thoughts that are fighting reality. Let’s feel the pain and get irritated and allow our frustrations to run wild and free. And then let’s breathe again (like we really mean it this time, guys). Now stop, and notice it.

Life continues happening with our suffering, or without it.

*Cue warm, peace-filled hugs*

XO

JJ

 

Mothering.

Hi, friends.

Yesterday offered an unanticipated free moment to STOP and do nothing more than sit on my back porch. So, I took it. Because when the universe opens her hands and says “here is a quiet minute just for you, my dear,” always and forever SAY YES. And, guys, it was glorious. I admired the sun as it slowly melted behind trees and I took deeper breaths and I closed my eyes to soak in all the familiar. It sounded and smelled like summer nearing and even now just reflecting on it I can’t stop with all the smiling. Has anyone ever dumped a warm load of bath towels fresh from the dryer over your body when you were feeling chilly? Yea, summer’s big return is JUST like that to me. Warm and comforting and cheerful and GOOD LORD SUMMER DON’T EVER LEAVE US AGAIN. *Pretty please*.

As I sat there fading in and out of my rock solid intent to meditate, my mind stumbled onto this whole mothering journey. It is also one of seasons, right? But, instead of roughly four there are, let’s say, THOUSANDS of them. I mean, give or take. Many, many seasons. And higher tides to weather and more storms to wait out and bigger sunrises to marvel at and don’t even get me started on the earthquakes and toddlers, er, I mean TORNADOS, you guys. And all the marvelous and humbling and blissful and sometimes agonizing ways that these seasons intersect, often moment to moment.

Do you feel it, too?

Calming breezes can sit in the same space as cold and murky waters, uplifting bud-covered trees can stand tall next to tumultuous storm clouds. Our hearts can simultaneously explode with an overwhelming love, like doves cooing on rooftops, and be ripped in two by the brutality of loss, like a harsh and unrelenting tsunami that leaves us tattered and gasping for air.

Mothering isn’t static. Ever. It is the sum of many moving parts, endless shifting and changing seasons. It’s the toddler gently rocking a baby doll and the teen caring for younger siblings and the college student helping a roommate who desperately misses home. It’s mothering at the vet’s office and the pediatrician’s office and the nursing home and the rehab facility. It’s the elation that accompanies those two pink lines and the shoulder that supports tear-stained cheeks when the heartbeat is lost. It’s the magic marker line inching up the garage wall and the I-cannot-BELIEVE-how-much-you’ve-growns and the denial when your gaze must now point north to meet the eyes of that baby you once carried in your arms. It is feeding hungry tummies at 2am and healing scraped knees with magic kisses and cheering from sidelines and clapping-above-head standing ovations in auditoriums and letting go of hands and bike seats and car keys when it’s time for wings to be spread.¬†Mothering is glorious and POWERFUL and warm and unpredictable and HAAAAARD and authentic and intimidating and sometimes brutal but also awe-inspiring.

That adorable artwork below was on the card my ten year old made for me today, guys, and like a crisp fall breeze it momentarily took my breath away.

Mothering is seasons. It is life. It is ALL OF US just caring for one another.

Mothering is AS BIG AS THE WORLD.

I hope the sun shined brightly on you today, friend.

XO

JJ

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