You Listened

How many times had you crept into their rooms at night and pressed your face against them to hear the soft hiss of baby breathing, to feel that warm, sweet milky breath in your ear, always needing that reassurance that yes, mama, those babies in your care are strong and sure and thriving. It only had to happen once, that pivotal moment when you had to choose: either tell yourself you're being ridiculous or trust your intuition.
You sensed the monster, the fire that slipped into his room, and before that, the carbon monoxide, with its vile tentacles spreading out from his lungs to veins to blood, and yours too. You listened. That voice. Check the baby. Check the baby. You pressed your cheek against his, heard that baby breathing, the steady rhythm. You listened. You laid down beside him. And because you chose to trust yourself, he still breathes today.

#tinystories

Today I Feel Like a Failure

(This was originally my private journal entry today - but I decided to out myself on the chance that some of you, maybe many of you, have felt the same.)


Today I feel like a failure. There. I said it.

The past couple weeks have been the worst: chock full of disappointments, rejection, disagreements. My career is flailing. Three big workshops I was supposed to teach were cancelled. I’m getting paid peanuts to write boring research articles that no one will ever read. My tax returns are an embarrassment to all tax returns. My little ones are fighting constantly and I’ve tried everything I know to stop it, but Friday ended in them injuring each other, and me crumpling to a heap and sobbing. (For the record, I don’t cry very often, so this is kind of a big deal.) And then I got on my damn knees and prayed. And cried. And prayed some more.

I feel like a complete failure in my career, an even bigger failure as a parent, and a general failure as a human.

One of my friends was shocked that I could be having a bad day. “Your life looks pretty great from what I see on facebook.” And to that friend I said, everyone has a bright and shiny life on facebook, because we post only the highlights. We don’t post things like “My kids are at each others throats and I can’t find any work and I haven’t made one dime on my book.”  Another friend said CHEER UP! which is the most invalidating thing you can say to a person who is hurting. Even during trying times we all have much to be grateful for – I absolutely know this. But it’s a challenge to enjoy the lovely weather while your ship is sinking. I need to acknowledge the fact that my ship is sinking. I have to figure out how to fix it, or jump out and learn how to swim.

Over the weekend, bolstered by the kindness of friends and my husband, I pulled myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and by Monday I was ready to take on the week. And then wham-o. At 8am, major rejection from an agent who had read my full manuscript. And it was a nice, thoughtful response. She loved my writing, said the part about us being trapped in the burning house had her on the edge of her seat and near tears. She liked the drama and the dark parts. But some of the other parts she found “banal”. I’m sorry, she said, I’m sure that time in your life didn’t feel banal to you.

It’s been running through my head ever since. It’s not just my book she’s talking about. It’s my LIFE.

Here’s how Websters Dictionary defines it.

Banal: So lacking in originality as to be obvious and boring.

Synonyms: trite - commonplace - hackneyed - trivial - platitudinous

I know, I know…She’s just one person. That’s just one opinion. J.D. Salinger got rejection letters, too. And it shouldn’t bother me but it does. You put years into a book, you put your heart out there, completely vulnerable, and it’s hard. I had pain in my stomach all day yesterday, as if I’d actually been kicked in the gut. 

But listen - this blog is not a pity party. I’m not posting it so everyone will say “You’re not a failure!” This is a moment in my life – a shitty moment – but a moment nonetheless. I don’t intend to stay stuck here, but I’m giving myself a minute to grieve over dreams not panning out, the powerlessness I feel, my inability to find work, getting older, the fear that I’ll never amount to anything, the worry over my kids. That’s all real stuff. I can’t change it if I don’t acknowledge it.

I also know that this feeling is just part of being human. Everyone has failed. Everyone has felt terrible about themselves at some point. It’s what you do after you’ve failed that makes or breaks you. I could throw in the towel. I’ve done that before. Or I could decide not to give up, like these people did.

  

Here is what author Kathryn Stockett has to say about rejection: 

 “I received 60 rejections for The Help. But letter number 61 was the one that accepted me. After my five years of writing and three and a half years of rejection, an agent named Susan Ramer took pity on me. What if I had given up at 15? Or 40? Or even 60? The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere.”

So I’ll keep sending my book out until I find the agent/publisher/editor who gets it because I know there are people who will find hope in my book- and hope is a much needed commodity in this world. And I’ll write these cheap research articles until something better comes along. And I’ll try each day to be the best parent I can be even when it doesn’t seem to be working.

Susan Sarandon said that every time she faces rejection, she celebrates because she knows she is being moved closer to what is right for her. I don't know if I'm that evolved, but hell, I like champagne.

Onward…

What We Can Learn From a 7 Year Old

Sophia paints Evan's face

Yesterday, my neighbor Lorie pulled me aside and asked if my son Evan had told me about the bench.

“No, what bench?” I asked.

“The bench in front of my house that he broke,” she replied.

Uh-oh, I thought.

She continued, “Evan knocked on my door and he said ‘Miss Lorie,  I was riding my scooter too fast and I couldn’t stop in time,” He pointed to the bench in front of her house, “and …I crashed into your bench and broke it. I’m sorry.”

At that moment, she said, his little friend Sophia piped in, “That’s called integrity.”

Lorie was so tickled by the two of them that she wasn't mad at all.

Today, Troy took Evan next door to teach him how to fix a bench.

Integrity is something taught in Evan and Sophia’s second grade class, and yet it’s rare to find that quality in adults.

Ghandi famously said, “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.” If that is true, then integrity equals happiness.

Living without integrity may very well be that the reason happiness eludes so many of us.

Are you living with integrity?

Do you take responsibility for your own actions?

Are you impeccable with your word, both to others and yourself?

Do you make promises (to yourself and others) that you don’t keep?

Do you gossip and talk bad about others (but smile to their face)?

Do you blame others for your unhappiness?

If you want to be happy, try taking a lesson from a seven year old. As Sophia said- it’s called integrity.

So simple...it's child's play.

Evan and Sophia with Snowcone tongues

And the award goes to...

This morning Troy and I went to Evan’s school to watch him receive an award. I assumed it was something academic, as that’s Evan’s thing. He’s the kid that asks to do “extra” homework because it’s fun.  Instead, I was happy to find that he was given the “Character Trait Award” that read:

For Evan Dexter: In recognition of demonstrating HONESTY.

I can not tell you how my heart swelled with pride. In my twenty-six years of parenting, this has been the trait I’ve stressed most to my children. And really, based on my life’s work, could there be a better award for my kid?

Just this morning as I was packing his lunch, he stopped me from putting a sweet granola bar in his backpack. “Mommy, you said no sweets for the week because I said a bad word yesterday, remember?”

And a few days ago, he and Ben had their first scrape with “the law”. Yes, that’s right. Our little five and six year old hoodlums got into a world of trouble.

On Sunday, Erin, Beth, Troy and I had spent the afternoon playing baseball with our boys. Afterward, Evan went to Ben’s to play. When I later called to check in, Erin sounded upset. “We have a situation…” she said. Erin and Beth’s neighbor had come to warn them that vandals were running loose in the neighborhood, and had smashed out the window of their Lexus. No worries, he assured her, we’ve called the police and they’re on their way.

Erin thanked him and shut the door, when Beth said, “Uh…did you check with the boys? They’re in the back yard.”

It turns out, Evan and Ben were continuing to practice baseball by seeing how far they could throw big rocks. Over the fence.

Troy and I rushed over, and the four of us sat the boys down to have a talk. We made sure they understood the seriousness of throwing rocks, and that even though it was an accident, they would have to take responsibility and tell the police. Evan processed the situation, as he often does, by drawing it out on paper.

We walked the boys next door, and they apologized to the neighbors (for a second time. Beth had taken them over immediately when she first found out.) We made sure they saw the damage the rocks had caused. Then we waited for the police.

As the two officers strolled up in their intimidating uniforms, billy clubs and guns in hosters, the lead officer said, “Okay, who can explain what’s going on here?” and before any of us could get a word out, Evan stepped up and said, “Mr. Policeman, we did it!” Ben nodded his head, “Yeah, we did it.”

“Well, Thank you for being honest boys.”  The officer shook their hands.

Evan continued, “Me and Ben were throwing rocks over the fence but it was a accident and here’s my drawing.”

The officer took the drawing, looked closely at it, then back at Ben and Evan. He was silent for a moment. Here comes the big lecture…I thought. This is good.

“I’m going to have to arrest you two…” he broke into a smile, “for being ADORABLE!” He chuckled, “You two are the cutest kids I’ve ever seen!”

Beth and I stood behind the boys, frowning and shaking our heads. This was not the intimidating life lesson we’d hoped for.

“But throwing rocks is BAD, right Officer?” I added.

“Yes, don’t throw rocks anymore, boys, okay?” 

They nodded, jumping up and down with glee. The officer looked back to Beth and I smiling. “Seriously, those guys are so cute…”

Ben asked Evan, “What’s gonna happen now?”

“Don’t worry Ben, we’re not in trouble! He thinks we’re cute!”

Beth was immediately on it. “Hey- you still have to take responsibility for this.”

After the police left, we sat the boys down again and told them they’d have to do some extra chores to help pay for the TWO brand new Lexuses that were damaged. (We’re still waiting to hear back for insurance on that…dreading the answer.)

Evan was excited about it. “Can we make a chores chart? Can I pick up trash? And sweep?”

I’ve had my ups and downs, my failures as a person and a mom, but one thing I’m proud of is teaching my kids to be honest. The most trouble Taylor ever got into as a kid was for telling a lie. It was over a silly thing (brushing his teeth) but I treated it with huge seriousness. I told him - when you tell a lie, you break trust with people. Your friends and family won’t believe in your words anymore. I won’t get mad at you for making a mistake, but I will always get mad at you for lying. In our house, lying was the most serious offense of all. Taylor threw himself face down on his bed and sobbed his eyes out for twenty minutes. Cristen, who was then about twelve, went and sat beside him, rubbing his back.

“Why are you crying, boopy-nose?”

“I TOLD A LIE!” He sobbed into his pillow.

Today, my daughter Cristen tells it like it is. She stands in her truth, lives her life on her own terms and, believe me, she doesn’t hold anything back.

Taylor is living a life of integrity and responsibility, and passing it down to his own son.

And Evan has just passed his first big “life test”.

I know it was just a silly little school award today, but I took it as a huge sign from the Universe that we’re on track.

As I know all too well, being honest does not win you friends, rarely are you rewarded for it, and never are you “awarded”. The true reward is the self-trust and self-respect you gain.  Living with integrity brings an inner peace – and that is what I want my kids to have.

The award today? Just icing on that cake.

Parenthood, for reals....

I dropped Evan off at preschool this morning and he was heartbroken, once again. This is supposed to be a positive thing for him. I wonder if it ever will be? Am I wasting our money to pay to take him somewhere that he hates? Will this be good for him developmentally?

I stayed with him for half an hour this time. Better than an hour last week. He clung to me, refusing to let go of my hand. At one point he mustered up the courage to play with some of the other kids but one kid was mean and bullying to him so he ran right back to my lap. I tried to distract him. I found a sow bug on the ground and taught him how to pick it up gently, and let it crawl across the palm of his hand. It is so precious to watch the wonder in a child’s eyes in such a small moment like that. But then he dropped the bug and stepped on it, squashing it flat.

He is doing so well in other ways. Troy feels certain that this child has perfect pitch. He will sit at the piano and learn a song by ear. He figured out “Funkytown" the other day. He would hum the notes first, then go right to them on the keyboard. He knows the scales and his DoReMis. He can figure out a tune in his mind, and say “I’m gonna sing Do-Ti-Do", and then he’ll do it perfectly. He had Taylor’s college friends in awe the other night. They are all music majors.

I want to make note of some things that are so a part of his every day routine now, so I won’t forget them later. You are so immersed in raising your kids, you think you'll never forget. but I have a 19 and a 24 year old, and sadly, you do forget a lot.

Evan always says “I want to hold you” to me, when he wants me to pick him up.

He eats nothing but breakfast foods.

He still, at almost 4 years old, is a self-imposed vegetarian. Refuses to try a bite of any meat or fish.

He is reading at a 2^nd grade level.

He goes to bed at 8:30 and wakes up at around 7am. He sleeps thru the night but has abandoned naps, much to my chagrin.

A few weeks ago, we were awakened at 3 am by the baby monitor. Evan was yelling. I ran downstairs, opened his door and there he is. He’s turned the light on , and is jumping on his bed singing Funkytown at the top of his lungs....Well I talk about it talk about it talk about it then he sees me and stops with the “ruh-roh” look on his face.

Our nineteen-year-old Taylor is dating Aya, a girl he met in Japan, who now goes to school here. She is learning English and he is learning Japanese. This is a very different kind of girl for him. He has always been with girls that were really strong and outspoken, kinda bossy. Actually somewhat like his sister, and maybe me.

I am agitated the past few days. A lot of worries are on my mind; family, kids, money, misunderstandings, you name it. And I guess life decided to make it more vivid last night. Just before we went to bed one of the cats sprayed in our bedroom, in addition to the fact that I had just stepped in a huge pile of cat vomit. Troy's response, as always...."Why does anyone want to have cats?" Flash forward to 3:30 AM - I woke to the sound of constant running water. I went downstairs and found the washing machine on a constant rinse cycle. As I turned it off it made loud gurgling and rushing sounds. I sat and watched it for ten minutes, sure it was about to back up into the house. Then I went upstairs to try to get to back to sleep and saw a huge black spider on the wall which I assumed was a black widow. Killed that thing, then went back into the bedroom and found a dead bug on my bedroom carpet which was being devoured by thousands of ants. So I had to get the vinegar and kill all the ants. By this time, Troy woke up and offered to help me vacuum the dead ants.

I sat on the bed, head in my hands, so overcome by the bizarre nature of all these things going on in my life all at once, and then I look up and it hits me. My husband is vacuuming, butt-naked at 4 am…..I just started cracking up. Then he starts to laugh too, and in his sleepless stupor he accidentally knocked the curtains down , so we were hysterical, rehanging curtains, all the while mind you he’s still naked, at 4am. It was beyond sitcom.

In other news, we have a new treadmill and I'm finding that running is a great equilibrium for anxiety. And Troy and I went to Salsa Boot camp yesterday and we are DANCING together! We are getting good! Sorta... Either way, I’m proud of us for trying something new.

I was so exhausted this morning, feeling the stress of last night, and all these other problems running thru my mind. Troy grabbed me around the waist, and said “Honey, let’s dance”…..and we did.