Two apples

Getting out of the house on a Monday morning is no small feat.  Addie left mad at the world because I somehow lost her jog-a-thon envelope that I have never even seen.  Bryson wanted me to read him a lego magazine comic, but of course I didn't have time for that, so he slinked away and said, "That's okay, I'll just look at the pictures for now".  I let him watch Curious George to ease the guilt, just a little.  I could have had time, I thought, if I didn't need to eat, and wipe the counters, and make some coffee.  All in all, we got out of the house by 8:15 after I ransacked three cupboards through piles of papers tucked away during house showing with no sign of that damn jog-a-thon envelope and got Bryson to school by 8:25.  Beds made, laundry in hampers, cushions smoothed, hair cleaned off bathroom surfaces, sinks cleaned, toilets doubled checked for flushing, all just in case someone wants to look at our house to maybe buy it today. 

I got to school and Bryson's teacher asked me if we brought in two apples.  We did not.  Nor was it on my radar.  I asked her if I could bring them in on Wednesdays, she said that by Wednesday they'd be made into applesauce, today was for cutting them up and tasting.  She said I could bring them in after school when I picked him up.  But after school he goes to daycare, and I get home at 6pm at the earliest.  I left and thought about how I could get those apples to her after school.  Call our nanny, call another mom from the class? I ransacked my brain, trying to think if I knew about this at some point or not.  I could imagine a cartoony calendar, one from a month ago. Where was that thing now?  How could I let this happen.  I beat myself up most of the way home to get the apples. 

It's not the end of the world, you know.  

My friend is mourning the loss of her father
My friend is watching three of her kids thrive in health, and one in multiple therapies to regain mobility
My friend is worried that her marriage is hopeless
My friend is trying to understand her son's debilitating anxiety.
My friend is a newly single mother, worried that she cannot do it alone
My friend is pushing through the pain of her foster children.
My friend was in a car accident
My friend is worried about her mom's chemo treatments
My friend is struggling as she watches her daughter not recover well from surgery

I forgot the apples.
I had time to go home and get some and drop them off.
I still got to work on time.
I emailed the jog-a-thon team, new form will go home tomorrow.  
What is my problem then? 

My life with it's little blips each day is okay.  It's better than okay.  Today, I don't have any of those worries that I listed above and people I love have those, and that is a blessing.  Bigger than a blessing.  My day will come with some life shattering worries, I'm sure of it, but today was not that day, and if I pretend that it is, then I am a liar and a thief of my own time and joy.  

I will not let the liar into my head who tells me I am a failure because I forgot to bring some fruit to preschool.  Or that a mad kid over a lost fundraiser form determines my worth.  That my struggles are big or real, in the way that they have the power to take away my victories.  I will not let two bad apples rot away the tree full of good apples.  

I have to proactively work at this thinking.  We all do.  For some reason, it doesn't come naturally, not unless you practice it.  To wake up each day and remember to listen for the Voice of Truth over the lies of the busy and condescending world.  Each day starts anew, you have to remember again and again and again, until you are weary wondering how many times you have to learn the same lesson.  But then, there isn't a better feeling than feeling perceived failure pushing you down, sinking lower…only to remember the brightness of the good truth, and to feel your heart raising up, the fog lifting, the truth about who you are and what matters carrying you high.  

So today started with a feeling of defeat, but then, then I remembered.  

And now my heart soars with gratitude.  

The Rawness of Back to School

All the back to school busyness has left me kind of raw.  Very raw actually.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure out why.  Is this year different?  Is it because my baby is in preschool now, and Addie in full day?  Is it because we no longer have our nanny?

There is certainly the fact that my babies are getting bigger.  That’s great.  And hard.  And sad.  And awesome.  And fleeting.  But that alone is not at the heart the rawness that I feel.

Third grade.  Lily is a 3^rd grader.  That’s part of it.  Man, kids were mean to me in third grade.  As an adult, a successful, well-adjusted adult, I have had multiple people come to me as adults to apologize for how they treated me as a kid.  I’ve always brushed it off as ‘kids are mean’, as that is what we said before bullying was a district-wide curriculum word.  But just the other day, I was thinking about this rawness.  And third grade was rough, they were mean.  Mean, mean.  The fact that adult men and women, who have lived 25+ years of life since that time still feel so sick and guilty inside for the way they treated me, the fact that they contact me on Facebook to apologize…well that’s how mean.   So, it’s okay if I have a little bit of scarring when I think about sending my kid off to grade 3. Don’t get me wrong.  I had friends, I didn’t walk around school with my head held low, my mama loved me like nobody’s business, I was the best big sister on the block, I was too smart for my own good…I didn’t let it ruin me.  But when my little girl walks out the door to third grade…it hurts.  The little Jenny inside of me feels afraid for how third grade feels.  The mama in me knows that she is different and wonderful, and the kids she hangs out with are different and wonderful.  But still, I’m scared.  Because kids are still mean.   

The next thing I’m noticing about back-to-school is the constant state of comparison I have going in my own head.  The tireless what if…what if I was that kind of mama?  what if I didn’t have to worry about this or that?  what if my kid didn’t have to ride the bus?  what if I volunteered more?  what if I got to work earlier?  what if we had less toys.  Seriously.  I’m reading blogs about it, validating blogs, articles about how we are all doing okay.  Things we all should read.  Your okay and my okay don’t look the same and that’s okay.  How liberating.  But why do I feel the need to read another mom’s articulation of what’s okay for her to make sure I’m doing alright?   I am an advocate of other moms and of myself.  I never want to be in any discussion that reeks of mom vs mom.  My ways barely work for me, so I certainly won’t push them on anyone else.  I can feel convicted about how I want things to be, regardless of how different my reality looks, I will even work hard for those things, but I won't judge others in order to see the value in myself.  It makes me sad that by the time I get this all figured out, it will be nearly over and re-do just isn’t an option.  My kids will be out there in the world with all the best and worst of how I've treated them and how they treated each other. 

Last week I go to preschool with Bryson and I feel nervous and awkward.  I’m the only working mom in the class, I’m the only one who has a youngest child in the class.  I’m not used to that.  My hands feel weirdly empty, like they should be busier soothing a baby or picking up a puzzle that my toddler spilled.  I’m not in yoga pants because my nanny will be meeting me in the parking lot after this little orientation so I can rush off and be late to work.  I’m not doting on him like a first child, and he doesn’t need me like the other kids in the class seem to need their moms.  He can't get enough of his new teacher.  Want's every minute of her time.  This feels awkward, like I’ve never felt before, and I leave feeling like I won't fit in with all the wonderfully nice moms I've just met, and that makes me sad.  But then 5 days later it is time to drop him off for his first real day of preschool.  The first day when the mamas leave.  What was awkward a few days ago, feels good now.  Some of these three-year-olds have never been left before.  They are crying out in pain and anguish.  Their mamas are crying too.  The pain in the family is palpable, and in one case, seeing it brings tears to my eyes, I’m hurting for how much they are hurting.  Bryson goes in happily, confidently, and there is not a doubt in my mind that he won’t.  He is all joy.  He has been waiting for this day as long as he can remember.  He got toted here in a car seat, lost here in the halls as a toddler, and waited for his sisters many times at the end of the hall in the parent area.  Now it is his turn to go into his classroom, and his heart could not be more full.  I look at him and I feel proud.  I look at the crying kids and I feel bad that my boy happily waves “ga-bye mama” after a quick hug.  I know I shouldn’t.  I’m happy because my boy is not sad.  Am I a better mama because my kid didn’t cry at preschool drop off?  No, of course not…

But I’m reminded for the millionth time in this parenting journey that there are more ways than one to do this well.  I'm getting validation from my child's happy face.  The one of three faces where I should be looking for it.  

So raw isn’t a sad word or a happy word.  It’s that my heart feels more on the outside that usual.  Which is, you know, saying a lot coming from me.  I’m noticing my failures and my successes a little more often.  I’m loving what I am, but mourning what I am not.  I can taste the tears and laughter of my own childhood.  And during this time I take a few vacation days to savor the time with them.  Then I work hard and efficiently to make the most of my time at the office.  Then I wake up early and stumble to the coffee pot to remember I am God’s child and spend time being still.  To feel that God is love.  And I am loved.  

And this raw life is beautiful and good, and it’s mine and I’m proud of it.  My kids will have their own kid hurts that make them raw, but it probably won’t be the third grade, or going to preschool for the first time.  It will be things that I can’t and do not want to anticipate.  There are beautiful blessings everywhere.  Tomorrow I will be careful to notice them.  

Be where you are, because where you are is pretty great!

Three

The morning of Bryson's third birthday, I got in the shower and thought about the Blog I would write for my little man.  I remember how I wanted to describe him, paint a picture, of a crazy monster with the sweetest heart you'd ever known.  A kid that has turned my world upside down and back again, but who can make the very best of all my days.  He made sure I didn't get too high on my parenting horse with his entrance into the world with colic, then his instant heft that would give my back a run for it's money, then his walking at 10 months, then his getting-in-to-everything-and-running-to-the-most-dangerous-corner-of-the-----everywhere.  With his brilliant big smile he warmed my heart and let me know that I had much less control than I thought I did.  Also, more love than I thought.  Again.  

On the day of his Third Birthday, I took the day off work.  That morning, I got the girls on the school on the bus.  The day was in front of us and I couldn't wait to be with my boy the whole day, just the two of us.  It was the first day we'd ever done something fun, just the two of us.  I felt a little guilty about that, but we were going to change that today.  

The day was December 14.  

I got a text message from my friend Carrie while at the new Portland Aquarium.  Bryson and I were trying on shark costumes.  She told me of a shooting in Connecticut at an elementary school.  My heart skipped a beat and after a little back and forth, I learned K-4, 26 dead, I quickly put my phone back in my back pocket.  I took it out twice to take a picture, but I didn't want to know more.  I wanted to enjoy this time with my baby.  Each time he came in for a hug, I held him a little closer.  And each time he ran away, I felt my heart panic, I needed to be near him.  Part of me wanted to race to school to pick up the girls, but I was an hour away, and I knew Addie was already home with our nanny, and Lily only had 2 hrs left of school.  

Bryson and I went to Red Robin, played with play doh and ate lunch.  He picked out balloons, and made a big mess of his noodles, and I let him.  I didn't tell him one time to eat more, or cleaner, like I wanted to, I just drank him up.  Focusing on him, as I fought the urge to find out more.  They sang to Bryson and he loved every minute of this alone time.  

After lunch was over, I needed to get home and be with the girls.  I needed to be physically in our house with my kids.  I saw a message from our Kindergarten teacher that said some of the kids were Kindergarteners.  I didn't want to imagine and I didn't want to think about how or what to say to my kids about this, I hoped I wouldn't say anything.  I got home to excited girls who were ready, happy, waiting for the birthday boy.  They had no idea.  Of course they didn't.  Thank God they didn't.  They were absolutely full of joy and innocence that it hurt to look at them, but I was thankful.  

It was Friday.  TGIF.  A long awaited day for me.  For all the moms of the world. Pizza / movie night, the easiest night of the week in the Herman house.  We get into PJs before 5pm and we eat pizza in front of a movie until bedtime.  We cuddle on the couch and everyone likes pizza so much, we never have to coax a few more bites.  At bedtime, everyone is tired, relaxed, and ready to sleep.  Bedtime is easy.  All weekday long, we long for Friday night when we can collapse in the easy and comfortable and loving.  

My brother and Heather came over for cupcakes before their movie, and our nanny stayed a little late so we ate cake before dinner, and opened presents before getting into PJs.  It was lovely.  

Lily uncharacteristically complained a lot at Bryson's choice of movie, and as I explained to her that it was his birthday, his choice, and she didn't have to watch with us, but I hoped she would because it was her brother's special day.  I was annoyed with her and also filled with love and gratitude at the same time.  Thankful that this was my problem.  What if this wasn't the explanation I had to deliver on this night?  What if this wasn't the thing she felt the saddest about?  Having to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse instead of Annie.  What if I had to explain that her sister was gone, or that her friends were gone, or to try to make sense of a violation that could never be restored in all of her years.  What if?  

My heart aches when I think about the rawness that I felt that day, the day my little boy turned three.  The day I had so, so much to celebrate.  The day a community lost everything, if not their children, their innocence, their support network, their school.  I have never been so full of fear lurking in the world.  Waiting for me to send my children off to them.  

That weekend I had more patience than maybe I ever had in eight years of parenting.  I drank them up, I memorized their movements, their laughs, their tears.  I knew that whatever emotion I was feeling toward them as they pestered one another, or woke me up at night, I was lucky to be experiencing it.  I felt blessed and guilty.  Guilty for being blessed.  Guilting for it taking another's tragedy to wake me into perspective.  But that's what it takes sometimes.  

I was forever changed by the horror that happened to an elementary school 3,000 miles away.  I knew I would never forget the pain that I felt in my heart.  I hoped that was the worst thing I would ever experience in my lifetime, and I was sad because I knew it almost certainly would not be.  

And here we are.  Two months later.  Most of us have all but forgotten.  We think about it, we shutter, and we go on.  We make sure that we look at our kids in the eyes and tell them we love them before they get on the bus.  Say we are sorry before they run off for a day out of our control.  But we aren't gripped by the urgency anymore.  Maybe that's because emotionally it is too exhausting to live in that kind of fear.  We can't protect them from everything.  My friend, Melanie, touched me on that first painful Monday, when I had to send them back to school and I didn't want to.  She reminded me that my teachers love those kids as much as I do, and they will do anything and everything I would do to keep them safe.  I thought of my teachers, my friends, and...oh, that is so true.  It gave me comfort and courage to walk through that week. 

And in the weeks since I've prayed and I've thought endlessly about those families, those mamas.  I've read so many good blogs, like - I know what 6 looks like & I am Adam Lanza's mother.  I've read articles that have helped me to understand why this tragedy touched me so deeply, and how we are all victims here.  But I'm scared.  Scared of how easily my heart goes from broken to numb. I hope I can find a way to let this break my heart again and again, not because I want to feel the pain, but because with the pain came such clarity about what matters and what it really means to live in the moment and celebrate my present.   I want it to allow me to feel the compassion and gratitude in that big messy lump in my throat in those weeks after Bryson's 3rd birthday.  And if I'm totally honest, I want to love my kids as much as I did that weekend.  I want to love them so much that I never look away when they are talking.  I want to love them so much that I never grumble at giving another good night hug.  I want to love them so much that the mere sound of their voice gives me delight, every time.  And I will and I can.  As long as I can remember.  I can remember.  I want to remember.  

I'm posting below the things I wrote on Facebook last December.  I remember choosing each word carefully and from my heart.  Reading them again as I prepared to write this blog reminded me that they are important because they are mine.  

Every year, I will celebrate even harder that I have another year with my baby boy, and I will ache for the families out there who are hurting as they think about what should have been.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Matthew 5:4

Dec 14 - Bryson's third birthday - I was expecting this day to be filled with joy and tears but...I had no idea. It was hard to soak in our day and feel joyful knowing many were hurting in ways that I pray I never have to know. I celebrated my birthday boy, memorized his smile, his energy, and loved all my kids so much it ached to look at them and ached to look away from them. I tried to keep my trembling and worried mind at bay by staying in the present, enjoying the moments I have right in front of me. My heart and prayers are with those that lost everything today, and I am reminded how precious each and every life is. I'm so full of love and pain, and I imagine I'm not alone.

Dec 15 - My rockstar kindergartener on the last night of Hanukkah. I delighted in her every move today, every smile, and even in the mean stuff she did to her brother. I gladly gave in to "one more hug" three times during bedtime stalling. I simply can't imagine a world without her infectious laugh in it. I feel a little guilty but mostly so grateful for every single thing that could have gone unnoticed today but was not.

Dec 17 - Hurting like it's the first time I've ever left them. :(

Dec 18 - Jeanine and Carrie, I'm so, so thankful for you both. Laugh with me, cry with me, get angry with me, and love with me. I so needed what you two amazing ladies gave me today. Then I got in the car with Mr. Herman and the rest of my family in our pajamas with blankets on our laps and we looked at Christmas lights and ate junk and drank/spilled hot chocolate and sang songs and laughed, windows down, heater up. That was the other thing I really needed today. Still hearthurting and still grateful.

Jan 7 - Back to work. Back to school. It was still dark out at 8:30am. I miss my babies. I feel uneasy again. Dreary day in the PNW. Whoa. Is. Me.

Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones.  When you have finished your daily task, go to sleep in peace.  God is awake.  ~Victor Hugo~