Family

The French Press Dilemma…

~ sharingmoxie ~ 3 Comments

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My daughter thinks she’s had a rough week. Her french press jammed and her Insta-Hot machine broke. Are you freaking kidding me? This takes #firstworldproblems to a whole new level. I’ve worked hard to make sure that my kids have been afforded different opportunities than I did, but I think I’ve gotten it wrong. Really wrong.

I’m taking my daughter to Europe next June, but now I really feel that what she needs is a mission trip. My intentions in supporting, protecting, and loving her to bits has been well intentioned, but maybe I’ve been missing the mark. Maybe we’re all doing a little too much here with this generation. If her world is rocked by her french press jamming…with her private tea collection…in her walk-in closet, um… good grief.

Let me be clear, this isn’t her fault. She hasn’t been exposed to the harsh realities of life, and that’s on me. It’s Memorial Day this weekend and when I think about past generations stepping up to serve, I am humbled. These brave men and women went into battle, whether they always agreed with the fight or not, to serve and to protect. They were moved by something greater than themselves.

As parents and grandparents, we try to do better, for our children and grandchildren to have more, better, and in greater abundance than we did. In all things though, there must be a balance. I think we’ve reached the tipping point. I’m not going to bash teenagers today, because I know some awesome kids with untapped potential. It’s easy to pick on “kids today”. I think we’ve always done that, which is a cop out. Today, I’m going to say “parents today”. I include myself in this merry gang of enablers. Let’s step up.

I don’t want my legacy to be a kid that crumbles over a french press, but one that leans in and serves. I don’t want to ask less or her, to make her comfortable, because it’s just easier for me to do things. I want her to know how to make a meal, take care of herself, look people in the eye, and help others. I want my daughter to be a person I want to spend time with, and that others do, too. This is on me. At a certain point it will be on her, but today, it’s me. And you.

The world is already full of wankers; let’s try to do better. Let’s say “no” more. Sacrifice is something that was once well known, it’s unheard of today. Delayed gratification was once a given, but it’s something that we must intentionally cultivate now. French press boot camp starts today. Hold on to your i-phones, this mom just got a backbone.

Keep sharing moxie.

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Find your tribe. Love them. Fiercely.

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It’s Mother’s Day. Find your tribe. Love them. Fiercely. Mothers and mothering take many forms. I am a mother, and I have many children that I look out for, whether I’m on their birth certificate or not. I’m lucky to have a mother, a step-mother, an adopted mother, bossy sisters, a mother-in-law, sister-in-law, best friends. My life is teeming with mothers. Some of them have biological children and some don’t. They all mother. Fiercely. 

I ordered flowers yesterday from a local shop in my home town. It was a somewhat surreal experience. I called in a order and they already had my name on file. I realized it’s because the last time I sent flowers it was for a funeral. Don’t start with me about how Mother’s Day is a commercial wasteland. I’ll use my teacher’s voice (and it’s scary). Order the flowers now. Don’t wait for a hospitalization or a funeral. Send the cards now. The texts. The two second Facebook post.

Your mother may be living or not. You’re still being mothered by someone. Mothering takes many forms. It’s beautiful and gritty and ugly. One day isn’t nearly enough to honor the sanctity and near sainthood that these women hold in your heart. Say something real to someone who has mothered you today. Make it count.

Keep sharing moxie!

Grief: The Third Rail

~ sharingmoxie ~ 2 Comments

If social security is the third rail of politics, grief is the third rail of life. Few want to talk about it and no one wins this battle in the end. It dims, changes, and morphs, but never leaves. I will not pretend to have the corner market on grief, because every person has their own story. Whether you have lost a parent, a child, a sister, a dog, a friend; grief changes you. It scrapes away the facade,  and what is left is often startling and raw.

I have a sweet picture of my son being held by his Grandpa. Shortly after the picture was taken, he lost the last vestiges of memory. He forgot where he lived and who we were. Every loss is unique, debilitating and, usually, devastating. Death is death. This is not a contest. Who wants to scoop up on the prize of greatest loss? Um, yeah, no one, that’s who.

I was once at a dinner where Rudy Giuliani spoke. I remember little of what he discussed other than the number of funerals he attended around the clock after 9/11. The one quote that stuck with me is this, “Weddings are optional, but showing up in times of grief? Absolutely necessary.” So true. It’s incredibly easy to be a part of the events where joy abounds: a wedding, a baptism, a graduation. To show up at a funeral, and embrace the awkward silences and tears? Those are the people you remember. “Grief forces you see: who matters, who never did, who won’t anymore, and who always will.”
I think grief is the 3rd rail because even though it’s always there, it’s something that we tend to want to smooth over quickly, to move past as fast as possible. I’ve decided recently though that there is something really beautiful in taking time to talk to someone, to listen, to see their eyes fill with tears, while tears well up in your own. It’s real, it’s raw, and it resonates.
Embracing someone in their sadness is often a forced pursuit. It doesn’t come naturally to most, and it’s actively avoided by many. In one of my first jobs I was placed in situations to sit at the bedside of others that were dying and didn’t have anyone to be with them. This remains, to this day, some of the most heartbreaking memories of mine. To be at the end of your life and have a stranger placed at your bedside to hold your hand? I’ve worked hard to establish and maintain relationships to avoid this very scenario, not dying, that will come for all of us, but to die alone or with a paid stranger? Please, no, no, no. If you want a reality check on the life you’re living, take a moment now to imagine yourself in your final moments. Who is there and who isn’t? If you need to get to work on some things, here’s your nudge of encouragement.
It’s been a sad week for some lovely people for a myriad of reasons. Perhaps you fall into this mix. You know the difference between the rushing “how are you” and “no, really, pause, pause, pause, eye contact, how are you?”. It such a gift to be listened to, isn’t it? I just don’t think there’s a replacement for it. So here’s my challenge for all of you, dear readers, grieve and let others be grieve with you. To allow someone in, really in, when you’re broken to down to basics and rubbed raw, is a gift, and such a compliment. That they would share this honest moment with you? Yes.
Be real and allow others be real, too. Be charitable when grief gets ugly, because sometimes it can be very, very ugly and angry. Look people in the eye and share their sadness. Grief is awkward, halting, consuming, and distancing. Cards are nice, e-mails are thoughtful, but showing up is priceless. Show up for the hard stuff. Even with your awkward silence, side hugs, and sweaty hands, show up for the hard stuff. 

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Keep sharing moxie.

Plan C, D, & E

~ sharingmoxie ~ 2 Comments

Going with Plan A is easy peasy. Rolling with Plan B?  Most can. It’s the person that can rock Plan C, D & E that I want in my bomb shelter and on my speed dial.

This brings to mind my Aunt Mary, a coffee can filled with pee, and a messed up pan of rice krispie bars.

My Aunt Mary rocked plan C, D, & E often in her life with panache. Quick to laugh at herself, she was able to carry off many things that would leave others crying in their coffee grounds. Family legend says Aunt Mary once brought  a pan of bars that had 5 different kinds of cereal, but really it was only 3. Families can have long memories about a little slip-up, right? 😉  As I recall, the bars started out as Rice Krispies, but running out of those, she added Lucky Charms and Fruity Pebbles. Those were some fine looking multi-colored squares of sugar, clearly illustrating making do with what you have. (This week I had my own Mary Moment resulting in a quick and dirty batch of no-bake cookies. These were made when plan A, B, & C were utter failures).

I’ve never been painted in a corner, but I have been painted upstairs. Honestly. I was playing with my cousin, visiting Aunt Mary, and she painted the stairs in a somewhat Amelia Bedelia move, with us on a upper level. Ever the problem solver, she pitched food up the stairs till we could come down without messing up the paint. Truly one of my favorite memories at her home.

Everyone has a Griswold family vacation story or two in their back pocket. Ours was a multi-family caravan road trip to Wyoming. Before cell phones, you’ll recall it was somewhat tricky to communicate between vehicles, not for us. We proudly flew a red sock out our window if we needed to pull over. After my younger cousin figured out that he got a break to check out a gas station whenever he had to go to the bathroom, why that red sock was flying ALL. THE. TIME. And then, he was given a can to piss in by his mother, you guessed it, Aunt Mary.

Aunt Mary had some big issues go down in her life as well, but she dealt with them, owned them, and made them a part of her history, not her future. I’d like to think I learned some things about living from her.

“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”, “the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry”, “roll with the punches”… I could go on and on. You get my point. Life is messy. If you’re sitting here reading this and living exactly the life you imagined and dreamt of as a child, yay you!!! Actually, wait. Seriously, who are you? If you have the keys to the kingdom…it’s only nice to share. MOST people have to move along to plan C, D, & E at some point. For me, it’s how you do it that says more about you than having to roll along to your 5th plan. You can go kicking and screaming, yelling, kicking the dog, or you can suck it up, straighten your shoulders, and do it. If you’re really talented, like Aunt Mary, you can just laugh.

It’s no easy task to laugh at yourself, to take ownership, and move on. I’d rather have one Aunt Mary than a 100 powerful people that would throw me under the bus at the first given opportunity. So this week, my sage sharing moxie advice for all of you, my dear readers, is this– be a Mary, not a Jackwagon. 

Keep Sharing Moxie!

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Phone Detox

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IMG_6585Picture yourself here, with a drink in your hand. It’s warm and there is a slight breeze. The people you love are running around playing. Ping! You look down at your phone. It’s an email from work and instantly you’re upset. You’re back in your office. And your pina colada sits there melting while you type a response.

Confession: that’s me, folks. A couple of weeks ago I was in this beach chair and I caught myself wasting time on a work e-mail on vacation. This is , admittedly, 10 kinds of pathetic. To add insult to injury, I’m a mental health provider.

PHYSICIAN HEAL THYSELF…

I have a few vices, like many others, they are as follows: caffeine, chocolate, wine, and…my phone. On the spectrum of maladaptive human behaviors or indulgences, I’m pretty small fry. The phone though? It’s getting to be obnoxious, even to me.

I’ve given up caffeine before. I’ll bet many of you have, too. The first few days are rough. Gah, the headaches can reduce you to tears. Going on a phone detox is similar, minus the physical pain. You don’t know what to do with your hands. You want to click through pages and stay caught up, but you resist. Or, even better, you’re in a place with no reception, forcing you to look up and around at other people.

My husband and I vacation differently. He wants to exercise every day. I want to read with a fruity drink in my hand. I’ve decided I like my husband and my kids more on day 3 of a vacation. They would say the same. I can’t run off to the Caribbean every week, so I’ll add that I also like myself more when I don’t have a phone in my hand…constantly. I’m working on it.

Some day I may look back on this beach moment as “hitting bottom”. This is where I realized how ridiculous the swirling whirling shitstorm of work and constant connectivity really is. I’m back to my real life now. I still carry a phone, but I am looking forward to next weekend for Easter. I have a planned three-day phone detox. Won’t you join me??? I’d love to hear how you feel after three days of being unplugged. I’ll still be consuming a load of Cadbury mini-eggs, my Caribou coffee will be present in my cup each morning, and a bit of wine will be in my glass at Easter dinner, but I won’t have my phone on. I think it’s a fair trade. One can’t cut out everything all at once. Right? Yes, that’s right.

Keep sharing moxie. Really! Send your friends to http://www.sharingmoxie.com so they can join the fun. A giant shout-out to my four new followers from Brazil! Olá! Obrigado!

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Me: day three of vacay. Much better. Don’t be a ninny like me, leave your phone at home (or at least in your room) when you go on your next vacation.

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Embrace life like a three-year-old

~ sharingmoxie ~ 2 Comments

Every age can be pretty awesome, but I think the three-year-old population really nails it. Here’s a top ten list of why everyone should have a preschooler in their life.

  1. They radiate happiness (and anger, and joy, and frustration in quick order). Just leave the camera on long enough and you can watch nearly every emotion ripple across their face.FullSizeRender (35)
  2. Carpe diem? Seize the day? A 3 yr old lives it. This kiddo wakes up every morning and yells, bellows might be a more apt description, “Look Mom, look, it’s another day!”. This is said with genuine excitement as in “Woo hoo! Can you believe it?”. It truly doesn’t matter if it’s a snowstorm or if he’s in Jamaica. This kid is thrilled that the sun has risen once again.IMG_6545
  3. Magic is real. When else would you ask for a live penguin for Christmas and be certain it’s a slam dunk?
  4. Life is full of big events and small ones and a three-year-old will narrate Every. Single. One. “Why are you in the bathroom? Are you going potty? Can I look? Can I flush? Why are you looking at me? Why can’t I watch? I like to watch. Don’t shut the door. I WANT TO TALK TO YOU!” All. Day. Long. One could start to feel like a superstar getting this much attention.
  5. Super duper helpful. See exhibit A. My assistant finished their job decorating for Christmas in record time. Keep it simple, people.

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 6. Naps.Sweet Nectar of the gods. Nap time. For you, too.

7. You can buy costumes and dress them up. It’s 50/50 on whether said costume  will be met with enthusiasm or regarded as a medieval torture device.

FullSizeRender (30)8. Preschool concerts are the best. You always have one nose picker, one crier, one loud and proud singer, the waver, and the commentator. One hopes that your kid doesn’t embody all of these roles at once. Children’s sermon is a wild card with the preschool set, but that’s why people sit up and pay attention when the kids start answering questions.       FullSizeRender (34)

 

 

 

 

 

9. The biggest gig they have going all year is their birthday and Christmas. When you’re feeling overwhelmed thinking about the 200 e-mails you have to answer it’s great to stop and listen to them invite and bar their sibling/friend/cousin from their birthday…in 6 months.

10. Let’s be honest, a 3 yr old hasn’t been knocked down by life. They’re still pretty fresh from God, but they can talk, emote, learn, and explore in a way that your rusty crusty brain has forgotten. They are bright shining lights and it’s pretty awesome to bask in their glow.

Here’s to all the preschoolers. The three-year-old set is out there nailing this thing called life. We could learn a thing or two from them.

Keep sharing moxie!

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Dear Tween, It gets better…

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Dear Tween,

It gets better. I promise.

Right now your teeth are too big, your mom won’t get you contacts, and your best friends are suddenly too cool for you.

It gets better. I’m old(er), and have a number of professional initials behind my name, so I speak with some authority. Trust me on this.

One day, and it will happen so quickly and slowly all at once, you will be happy and your life will feel like your own.

And then you will fall in love. And it will get better. And worse. Your friends will change. They will be more fun, and yet make you sad because they don’t know your history.

Soon enough you will grow into your teeth and your gangly legs. You will look around the room and know you are at the top of your game. Good God, relish these moments. They are fleeting, but it gets even better.

One day you will travel and your world will get bigger. You may get married. Or not. You might have children. Or not. Through it all, you will find your way.

Know this, it gets better and better. Heaven knows you shouldn’t have to have to carry off the triple crown of an ugly hair cut, huge glasses, and a lace trimmed blouse ever again. Many years from now, dear tween, you will find a picture of yourself so hideous, that you will feel compelled to laugh. And post it. And tell your younger self, and every tween you know, that…

It gets better.

Keep sharing moxie–

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Judging Grandma (& everyone else)

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My Grandma rolled with a lot of things in her life: the Great depression, losing a home to fire, the sudden death of a grandchild, becoming a widow. She didn’t judge much…except Fanny and her box cake.

It appears that high school never ends.

Many years ago Grandma asked me to go around to her neighbor Fanny’s house. I needed to pick up a cake she had made for a funeral. I made the mistake of commenting how nice it was that Fanny had done this. Grandma was less than thrilled. “It’s only a box cake. I know it.” And there it was, she should have known better. 

I just read something today about how women judge each other. Obviously, a lot of this centers around the main hot topics: kids, working, breastfeeding, maternity leave, stay-at-home vs. working moms. True, but already covered ad nauseam. There’s a great deal of research about teenage girls with their queen bees and wannabees, too. With Grandma, it was box cake.

It strikes me now that we are the most hateful, harsh critics of those that are most like us socially, ethnically, and economically. You’d think that the opposite would be true, being afraid and judgmental of those most different. I don’t think we are though. I’d argue that I give most people a pass. If we come from different cultures, most things can be explained because we come from different cultures. It they’re younger, it’s their age. If they’re older, it’s their age. If they’re my age, it’s game on.

Sometimes I’m the mom with the cute Valentines, fresh muffins, and craft activities. Other days I’m the sweaty mess that packed two different shoes for their kid, ran out of clean underwear and forgot an important meeting. Truthfully, this all happened…this week. Some days I shine, but on many more days I race, crawl, and drag my way to a finish line that never appears.

My Grandma didn’t judge me, but Lordy be, did she judge Fanny. And Fanny judged her. Two women in their late 80’s with the battle of boxed cake, tallying who had more guests seated at their table for the mother’s day tea, and keeping track of whose children visited them more.

Let’s be better, ladies. I don’t want to be stuck in high school, in mommy wars, or wanting my 90th birthday party to be bigger than yours.

Just get up, show up, and do the best you can.

I will, too.

Keep sharing moxie.

P.S. Shout-out–I do love what a fellow blogger and former high school classmate (@harvardhomemaker.com) has to say about sticking together. It’s a message worth repeating!

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Mister Rogers & My Cute Slippers

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Mister Rogers. It’s been a solid 35 years since I watched that show and I’m just beginning to appreciate some of the genius there. It’s Friday night and I’m in my slippers thinking about Queen Sara Saturday and King Friday in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.

I was a Sesame Street girl. I thought it was a little weird and poncy that Mr. Rogers changed his shoes and sweater when he came into his house. My dad is about as far from a cardigan wearing man as you can imagine. It’s only now that I can acknowledge the beauty behind this very marked transition from “out there” to “in here”.

Everyone has a very public and private self. Our work clothes and badges, doctor’s coats and uniforms, they’re all a form of armor. What defines us at home? For me it’s my slippers. What is it for you? A tattered college sweatshirt? The paint splattered yoga pants that you should probably throw, but damn it, you love them?

I’m my most authentic, ugliest, and loving self at home. Changing into my slippers allows me to cast off, as much as possible, my public persona. In today’s land of connectedness we could use a little more singing, cardigan wearing, trips into the neighborhood of make-believe.

I celebrate the idea of King Friday. In our home it’s pizza night, not by royal decree, just by lovely happenstance that became tradition. I look forward to Queen Sara Saturday. She gets real coffee with cream and the chicklets get to watch cartoons and eat crappy pop tarts for breakfast. What I enjoy most though is putting on my slippers and feeling like, while I’m home, I can create and reside in the neighborhood of make-believe. It’s ok to sing, fart, yell, snort-laugh and ugly-cry at home. Read and feeds, pajamas days, and lego marathons are encouraged. I think Mister Rogers would approve. And these slippers really are cute as hell.  Enjoy King Friday, my friends!

Won’t you be my neighbor? Keep sharing moxie!

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