Make Your Mama Proud

I'm somewhat shamefully admitting that we've watched a lot of TV in the past few weeks. America's Got Talent, Chopped and other cooking competition shows (Cake Wars), and American Ninja Warrior have been top on our viewing list.

I've noticed one rather disturbing consistency. Aside from the fact that it's basically the same show over and over again.... Many of the contestants are in the show to "make someone proud".  

The contestants are on the show to make their children proud, their deceased mother, family in the country they've left behind, their boss at the very well known and famous restaurant....

And then they "lose".  "I just wanted to make my children proud."; "I wanted to show my family I left for a good reason."; "I let them down."

Do these people - these adult people - truly believe that it is their winning that makes their families proud? Is their mother not proud simply because they've taken a risk in the first place to come on the show? Is their family not proud of the fact that this person is following their dream and doing the best they can?

I hope that most of these people return home and realize their families are proud of them just for being themselves. I hope they are not berated for not winning, and that they receive massive points from their family members just for trying!

The smartest solution is probably to stop watching these shows, but - when you're tied up in bed - they are an easy time-filler. Instead, I've made it a habit now to point out the ridiculousness of this act to achieve pride. I always remark that I hope their families are proud of them for coming on the show, for doing what they love, and for being who they are. 

And, I always look for the opportunity to tell my children how proud I am of them - not for the things they achieve - but for the people who they are!

Two Weeks Notice - Effective Immediately

"Come here," I beckoned to my husband from the bed where I have spent most of the last week and a half. 

"I'm watching you," I said, "be - both - the mom and the dad... I don't want to be the mom anymore."

"I don't get it," he replied. 

"It's stressful," I whispered, about to lose all that is stuffed inside of me. 

"And you don't even drink," he said as he walked back out to face mothering and fathering duties, "I don't know how you do it."

Sciatic pain is keeping me from doing pretty much of everything. A slow return of a pain that led me to surgery two years ago when the founder of the SW Naturopathic College - known as Dr Anti-Surgery - asked me if I was afraid of dying on the table has come back full force. In fact, I think it is worse than it ever was. 

I have spent the past few months trying to remain neutral toward the erupting feeling of my leg being caught in a metal-spiked bear trap. I have thought and prayed and contemplated the deeper meaning and reason for my pain. What is my body and soul trying to tell me? Meditation will bring me into oneness with the pain - oh! I'm not even supposed to call it pain. Journaling will help me rise up to what it is I'm trying to tell myself. 

I've contemplated everything. Is it my marriage? A new career fear? Self-hate? Am I psycho? Out of touch? Too in touch? 

It's not difficult to lose energy when you spend most of the day lying down. It gets comfy in the pit. It's dizzying to stand - not to mention painful. I'm aware of every movement and how it feels. I was before the pain returned - grateful for every step that was a normal step. And now - when most movement carries pain. 

Just a week ago, I could not get to the bathroom without crying, seering, and tearing pain. 

On the other side of this tug of war between my soul and my Self is a worn out, tired, and pained self looking for the immediate fix. Turn it off. I don't care what it takes. I'll contemplate my soul and take care of her and nurture her when this is over. I promise. 

I can't do this anymore. As much as the Mommy-Time-Out might be 'nice' (did I really just say nice and sciatic pain in the same sentence?), it's not really that nice. And the longer it lasts, the harder it is to make my way back. That takes energy. Motivation. Stamina. 

Baby steps. Through the pain. To the answer. To life on the other side of sciatica. 

I Dropped the Hearts of Palm

I don't know about you, but the hearts of palm was what I was most looking forward to in my make-your-own-salad-salad-bar we served at a family gathering the other day. I love hearts of palm, and I had sliced and diced the entire mega-jar of them. 

The bowl was covered and they were placed carefully into the refrigerator along with all the other salad toppings. One opening of the fridge door - and that was it for the hearts of palm.... And the bowl that was holding them. 

And I just started bawling... And swearing.  David had to come help. I couldn't bend down. The already excruciating pain I had running down my leg exploded. I started to hyperventilate. I got dizzy. I had to go sit down. 

It passed quickly. Was that a panic attack? My first panic attack was over hearts of palm?!? 

It was my mountain piling over. We all have our mountains, and - as high or low as they may be - you never know what will make it come crumbling down. 

I regrouped, made a spectacular salad, and am still ever so greatful that someone (David) was there to help me pick up the pieces - literally and figuratively. 

Ooops!

It's summer break. It's 10:37 a.m. I have been up for hours. I left for the grocery store. One child was up and went back to sleep. One was reading in her bed. Two were still asleep. 

Didn't I tell her I was leaving? Didn't I stick my note on the door to my bedroom? I have several pre-written notes: "hiking", "out walking", "be back soon".  

And then I get a call:  "Mommy?!?"  "Where are you?! We've looked all over for you. We can't find you in the house."

Oops! Thankful I have a teenager - or two - at home and I didn't leave my children 'home alone'.

*HUGS*

I hate to admit this - I was annoyed yesterday by the amount of hugs incoming sixth (I had to change that as I wrote fifth grade at first) grade boy was asking for. I'm not a person who needs a lot of physical attention - at least I didn't think I was. 

Sixth grade boy does. He is a snuggler. Rub his head and he melts like butter. As he wakes up in the morning, he needs a touch of the hand. I always say he needs help coming down from the heavens each morning. And he likes his hugs - every time he passes you in the house; when he leaves for school; when he sees you AT school - lots of hugs. 

I KNOW. I should relish in that and cherish that and stand for 15 minutes with him in a hugging embrace. And, now, perhaps, I will. 

But yesterday, I was annoyed and impatient. I even considered that he was in the midst of some Freudian-love-for-mother phase. I offer my apologies to the goddess of peace and calm and all that is right in the world. 

Listening to Sara Gottfried this morning (hormonal expert and - yes - the peri-menopausal stuff is really happening), I was reminded of a good friend - oxytocin.  Oxytocin is the 'love' hormone. While it is released during labor and helps the uterus contract, it is also released when you hug someone. 

Hugging someone and raising your oxytocin levels not only makes you feel good - it lowers your cortisol levels. Cortisol is a hormone released by the adrenals in response to stress or your perception of stress. When you raise your  oxytocin, you decrease your cortisol and subsequently find yourself at your happy place. 

So, today, I'll focus on giving and getting those hugs. No half-assed, quick hip hugs - but the full embrace! ( personal space invasion accepted with joy)

Everything Shifts

I'm finally 'unpacking' from my week long stay in Chicago.  I still had my carry on bag items stacked on the floor of my closet. Perhaps I wasn't ready to close the door on my grandfather's death. The books and papers still not put away - a reminder of a life; an entry into contemplation of my grandfather's life and the lessons it held; a reason to pause from whatever it was that had me so busy...

I put the Haggadah - the book I took from his shelves - and the prayer book he used when he performed weddings (It was a Machzor, by the way.  It must have been the perfect size to hold and had all of his new-couple speeches tucked inside - in both English and Spanish) on a shelf in my office.

It didn't quite fit, and as I slid it on the shelf - the picture next to it fell over, the heart rocks had to be moved, and the animal fetishes needed to be lifted and placed on top of those new things on my shelf.  "Everything just shifts over," I thought.

And, yes. Yes, it does.  With death, everything shifts.  Nothing is - nor will it ever be - as it was.  Sometimes that's really painful. Sometimes it's filled with sadness - or, perhaps, relief.

Things will shift.  And, we will find a way to adjust.  We will find a way to keep you present in this world and in our lives while moving on at the same time.  We will continue to honor the contributions you made to our lives and to the world, and we will find a way to forgive the mistakes and oversights that were made along the way. We will hold on and release.  Celebrate and mourn. Cling to each other a little more tightly or - perhaps - we will push away.  

The world will never be quite the same. 

Love is All Around You

Last Year:  July 1st, 2015

The laughter?  

Due to the fact that this was the 7th time 

we heard the same exact speech.

I believe - when we die, we return to love.  That in the beginning and in the end and all through the middle - the most important piece of life is love. 

Love is the space where there is peace.  Love is the feeling that all is ok in the world.  Love is a delighted soul and a curious mind. Love is comfort, and love brings joy.

If you believe the teachings of my friend, the 'ghost whisperer' (my affectionate term) - we receive messages from those who have passed on.  A plant that hasn't bloomed in ten years.  A glance at the clock at a certain time every day.  A hummingbird fluttering close.  Or, if you happen to have had a friend like mine with bounce-bounce curls and a sparkle in her eye and her life - your message may come in a more unique way - say, a fly or something much too wild to write down on paper.

Love is all around you.  Do you take note of the love messages given to you throughout the day?  Do you appreciate the blooming rose out your kitchen window?  Do you marvel at the sunset and the sunrise each day?  Does your heart fill with joy as you watch the hummingbird land in its nest to sit upon its eggs?

Mine does.  And, whether it is an observation of Mother Nature or a "sign" from a loved one who has passed on - these moments are all around us.  They are constantly occurring, and it is up to us to embrace them - or ignore them.

Since my Pops passed away early Saturday morning, I have seen more hearts than usual.  It's almost freaking me out.  The angle at which I looked at my pool - the ice cream drip that fell on the floor - the onion peel that girl baby handed me (she saw it too) - the cracks in the floor I never noticed before - the base of a tree that was weathered away...

My response? "I see that.  Love is all around me."

In Loving Memory of my Pops - Judge BB Wolfe 

July 1, 1914 - April 9, 2016

That's a nice, long life!