Watching the US vs. Sweden World Cup Penalty Kicks yesterday morning was excruciating. No, I am not now, or have I ever been a soccer player. No, I don’t follow the women’s team with the fervor of a 10-year-old Club Team hopeful, either. But I watched my daughter play soccer from the age of 5 to the age of 21, learning in her crib, kicking with her Dad and brother, and soccer savant sports reporter Uncle, a myriad of coaches and other girls who helped her to become a strong and amazing player going in for her third goal as a senior in high school, at the big field at Boston University before tearing her ACL and temporarily breaking her heart in 1,342,487 pieces.
ADORABLE Ally at the beginning of her long soccer career.
Whether the loss is the proper function of a body part, or a game, the heartbreak of soccer is like a deep open wound someone slowly pours salt into–as in a the whole box of Diamond Crystal. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if one team plays perfectly from the minute they hit the pitch, about to bring it home, if the other team makes a lucky or accidental goal in the last millisecond, dream deferred. It never seems fair, or just. We’ve been taught to believe the better team will get the W. Silly us.
As every player interviewed said, “It sucks.”
Which means soccer is just like life. (Are you saying to yourself only a few posts ago it was how the weather is like life, and now it’s how soccer is like life? Yup, as it turns out, lots of things seem to be like life!)Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you get smacked across the face so hard your head spins like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist, like that crazy ride in a traveling carnival called The Scrambler, like the big wheel in WHEEL. OF. FORTUNE. You think you know what’s going to happen, but something entirely different shows up. You imagine yourself in one scenario and another barges in like that bossy friend you finally had to cut loose. You imagine you know the ending, but then suddenly you’re back at the beginning. You know you deserve to win from all the back-breaking, head-splitting, diligent and honest, principled and virtuous work you put in, but then you don’t. It’s a shock, a hit, a gut punch. When you could and you should, but you don’t. I guess it teaches us that no matter what we do or think or believe or deserve, we do not always get our much deserved happy ending. And this is why when things do line up, when you do get the Golden Ticket, when the best shows up at your door as planned, you gotta do the gratitude dance for maybe a week or two straight, yelling as loudly as you can and throwing in some Simone Biles moves, too.
Ah, the one and only Simone Biles. Even this extraordinary superstar has experienced The Heartbreak of Soccer, taking off two years for her mental health. Yup, who would’ve guessed it?
It’s important to remember that even when you bring your A game, you don’t always get what you should. It’s a slippery slope, a tricky little lesson in that silly control thing–thinking we have it, when, the unfortunate truth is, you, me, and everybody we know, have very little. I call those losses that bruise you so bad you think you’ll be in bed for a year, or two or three, The Heartbreak of Soccer. It’s what the women’s team just experienced. It’s what Megan Rapinoe will remember as she strolls into retirement, the thing we thought was a sure thing that wasn’t–that one moment when it could have, but it doesn’t.
There is some good that comes from this unfortunate malady of humankind, which is that when we do manage to pick ourselves back up (and out of bed), we notice all we do have (GRATITUDOSITY!) and all the good that went into the climb, and we do what we always do, we start again.
Usually, I’m wearing my pajamas, the flannel ones, might be the polka dot blue and white, or the elephant print, or maybe the ones with the intricate pink flower design while I write my red carpet best and worst blogs. but this year, this year was a little different. A little fucking shut-the-front-door, this-is-bananas and you’ve-gotta-be-kidding-me different.
I’ve been in California for the month of February and was heading to meet my son and his friends at brunch in Santa Monica yesterday, when I told my husband the SAGS were on that night. He asked me where they were being held. I looked it up and it was, as usual, at the Shriner’s Auditorium, “You gotta go,” he said. “WHAT?” I answered. “YOU GOTTA GO!” he repeated. I hadn’t even thought of this, and I’m not at all sure why. He was on his way to a work thing in San Diego after the brunch, so he couldn’t go with me and I’m a little shy about driving around LA solo, plus I figured the crowds were already lining up, and I wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. We dropped the subject. I mean, how ridiculous…
We ate brunch, including a share order of Squash Pancakes, which were green, and like all sorts of major delish. Note to self: throw some squash in the cakes next time.
When I was inside ordering, Peter had looked up directions to the show and found it was not at the Shrine, it was a short 10 minutes away at the Fairmont Hotel. So, knowing I’m obsessed with movies and tv, an award show junkie, and a celeb fashion slave, he convinced (FORCED) my son to take me. TO. THE. SAG. AWARDS. Yuh huh, I was one of the screaming fans, of which there were only a total of 12 and hardly any of them were screaming, except for three 13-year-old girls who were decked out in crop tops and sweats and had signs for Bobby Milly Brown.
And here I am, not exactly red carpet ready, since my foray to the Fairmont was totally unplanned, but I do have on Chloe flats, a Chanel bag, an All Saints jacket, a Vince shirt, and my Hudson wide-leg jeans that my husband says he doesn’t know why anybody would wear because they are totally shapeless. This from a guy who thinks Lululemon is formal wear.
Anyway, yeah, so I went to the SAG Awards! Ok, I went to the outside of where the celebs get dropped off at the SAG Awards, but still, RIGHT? Not in my pajamas, not on my couch in Boston, right there on the scene in Century City. All I needed was a mic, a better vantage point, a good dress and you’d have thought I was reporting for E!
Me, the thirteen-year-olds and the other few fans stood across the street from drop-off. While it was close to the action, we could only see the people who got out of the cars on the left-hand side. But was I complaining, was I bitter? Are you kidding, I was just a little bit out of my mind to be there at all, clicking something off my bucket list I thought I’d kick the bucket before doing. I mean, I was so wildly excited that I barely felt the cold. LA can get chilly in the winter, and while it wasn’t East Coast February weather, which you know how much I LOVE, it was in the shade and it was, well, let’s just say I thought my hands might be frostbitten at some point.
I did get pictures of the back of a bunch of celebs. And every time I predicted to my son, “That’s somebody,” he’d reply “Mom, everybody is somebody,” which really made me wonder if he’d truly come out of my womb. After all, I did have a c-section and they might have switched the babies…..BECAUSE C’MON, PLAY ALONG, YOU’RE AT THE SAG AWARDS.
I was clicking away at people I didn’t even recognize and will admit to thinking that the head Hotel guy was someone famous, when my son informed me he was just a Fairmont employee.
The high point? Up pulled one in a long line of black Escalades and out popped Jason Bateman and before i even knew what I was doing, I screamed, “Jason” at Jason Bateman like I was one of the 13 year old girls, and he turned around, looked right at me, and waved. TO ME, Toni of the pajamas-on-the-couch-blog and the frostbitten fingers. JASON BATEMAN, of Arrested Development, Juno and O-fucking-Zark fame, waved at me. He did. why the crowd of 12 did not call one of my favorite actor’s names defies logic. But no worries, I properly and embarrassingly fan-girled Jason and honestly, I had the distinct impression he was grateful was there.
Jason (we’re on a first name basis now that we’ve met) happens to be one of my absolute favorite actors, and reminds me a lot of one of my best friends from high school, Jerry, so this was pretty great on the scale of 1-10, ranking a cool 1,934,088.And then he won, my Jason Bateman, who is now my close, personal friend, right after he saw me! Coincidence, I don’t think so. (This photo is from People Mag, not my iPhone.)Here’s Elizabeth Debicki, i.e Princess Diana in The Crown. She is tall and absolutely gorg!Here’s Adam Scott from Parks & Rec and Severence pulling up his ugly tux pants. Have you ever thought, “wow, he’s short.” Well, you were right.Honestly, I don’t know who this guy is, but get a load of that jacket, wouldja?
Here’s Gidget, The Flying Nun, Norma Rae’s back! Sally Fields, why you have to get out of the wrong side of the car?
And here’s Julia Garner’s back. I love her, but not her dress.
Hey, it’s Jim from the office, John Krasinkski, I mean. Emily Blunt got out on the other side, dammit.
Laura Linney, another fave. That woman has the best hair.
Richie from The Bear’s Ebon-Moss Bachrach.
And here’s James Marsden, one of the cutest men on the planet wearing my prom date’s tux.
My phone’s battery finally died, and my son’s patience for the cold wore thin, so we hightailed it outta there, but lemme just say that going to the SAG Awards in my ugly jeans was one of those things I’ll never forget. I love stories, so of course, I love celebrities who make them into movies and shows and who’s personal stories are even much of the time as entertaining as their fictional character’s lives. No red carpet take downs today, no best and worst lists, just a happy camper who got to (almost) touch the stars yesterday. Grateful to my son for putting up with his mom. I know you did it for me, Jakey, and I know you’re unmistakably my boy, even if you didn’t want to shout at Jason Bateman with me.
This was the “before.” The “after” won’t load. Something seems wrong with the wordpress media thingy today, or it’s editing me!
I’m still full.
But I did make the best turkey of my turkey making career. It was my Uncle Louie’s recipe, (which my sister Joni, wrote about when she was writing for the Globe and if you want a, like PERFECT turkey, bookmark this for next time you make a bird). Joni was so worried about my skill (or her not having a good turkey to eat) she sent me a couple emails full of important instructions for not fucking up, including a video by Alton Brown on how to truss a turkey,(which, p.s. I had never done before, and I think might have made a difference, but seriously you had to be like a sailor, to do his knots and stuff). Anyway, she was right, because we remembered that last year my Christmas turkey didn’t cook properly (read RAW) and while we salvaged some of it to eat, we threw the rest out).
grateful for: ally (and everyone else who came to the table).
This was the first Thanksgiving without the Turkey Master, and fill-in dad, my Uncle Louie, and the first at my house, and not at my Aunt & Uncle’s in like 25 years. Connecticut came to us. And we rocked it. I did, however miss the double stop at Rein’s Deli, which is a tradition (ah, the rye bread).
And there were pies. We had seven pies for 10 people. Um, yeah. We’re sort of pie people.
Grateful. Damn grateful for the weather holding up, and the turkey working out, and the company of family. They shouldn’t really call this Black Friday, as much as Full Friday.
I love to decorate eggs. I did dozens and dozens when I was a kid.
My dad was Jewish and my mom was Catholic. When they married, they decided to give up their religions, and raise their children with no religion, allowing us to choose when we grew up. (Course, this was impossible, since we did not have any religious education.) But we did have all the Catholic holidays, because my mother’s family, who all lived 15 minutes away, were Catholic. And the town I grew up in was all Catholic. (I will get into this in another post in more detail one day.)
For my family, Easter is a re-birth of the earth and a celebration of spring. And getting really creative with eggs. And a reason to eat a lot of candy. And a lot of ham. And more candy. With candy for dessert. Topped off with a midnight snack of candy.
Hope you and your peeps (get it!!!!!) have a happy day.
Is she perfect? Maybe. Can we all be like her? I don’t think so. I’m not even sure I would have wanted to be.
Recently, I watched that show Rock Center on On Demand, which is a decent sort of a show. and because it’s taped, I can just fast forward to the best stories. I’m always a sucker for a magazine show, although none has ever been as smart or good as 60 Minutes. Anyway, I just watched Sheryl Sandberg interviewed. And then it seemed everywhere I looked, there was an article on her. I read a lot of them and it left me feeling grateful.
Sheryl Sandberg is Facebook’s COO. She’s a billionaire, and is still just 43. She has written a book called “Lean In,” which is about helping more women gain entry into positions of power in the workplace. She says women should, “lean in” to business, not be afraid to take risks and go for the bigger jobs.
Now, while I love the idea that a hugely successful women is out there breaking down doors for my gender, I am also feeling like this is a bit of a repeat. I think we’ve heard this “you can have it all” thing before. Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t we visited this feminist ground prior to Sheryl’s book? This woman is clearly is a superstar. She has her undergraduate degree from Harvard and her M.B.A from there, too. In rapid fire pace, she went from being an economist at the World Bank to becoming a chief of staff for Lawrence H. Summers, then Treasury secretary. Her next job? None other than a little start-up called Google. And then in 2008, she went to Facebook. This woman is smart, attractive, and hard working. She’s also married to a really successful entrepreneur, the CEO of Survey Monkey, and she has two kids. She has the whole enchilada. And good for her. But can all women have what she’s having? Is it realistic to think that all of us can get things to line up like Sheryl? Hmmmmm.
While things are wildly different and better for women in the workplace, in just my lifetime, I know there are more strides to be made, more changes to seek, more equality real estate to own. And I”m all for it. I am. i think women are amazing. I think, in many ways, they’re smarter than men BECAUSE of their biology. We are made to be multi-taskers. We have to know how to juggle a lot of balls, because we’re the ones who biologically grow and birth the babies. And I believe because of that our compassionate side, a more innate and developed characteristic of females, could do the world a lot of good. So, I get it and I embrace this idea that women should seek more high powered business positions. But……
But wasn’t the whole point of the women’s movement to give us choice? Wasn’t it to say, if you want to work in business and have a career, you can, and if you want to stay home with your children, you can. And if you want to do both, you can. I thought that was what the women’s movement had created for us: choice. Now I know Ms. Sandberg is trying to push us forward, but does she realize we don’t all get the golden education, the uber mentors, the husband/business partner that makes it all possible? From where I sit, you gotta have a lot fall just perfectly to make this thing work, and STILL YOU’RE GOING TO MISS STUFF. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE SHIT BOSSES. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO WEIGH AND MEASURE THE CHOICES YOU’RE MAKING. YOU’RE GOING TO MISS DANCE RECITALS AND BASEBALL GAMES, AND THE DAY YOUR KID WAS BULLIED ON THE PLAYGROUND. YOU ARE. I’M TELLING YOU. YOU ARE. I just don’t believe you can do two things at once and have them both work perfectly. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible.
And let’s discuss those women for whom Harvard isn’t an option, and for whom working is a mandatory. Let’s talk about women who hold down two jobs because they’re single moms, or because they’re husbands are out of work, or because they just plain need more money for their families.
I’m just one woman. One story. But for me, I appreciated having the choice, as imperfect as it was. I have been grateful to get to do both, but I sacrificed, and when push came to shove, I chose not to pursue the kind of career I might have if I hadn’t had children. Ultimately, for me, my kids won out. AND I’M GOOD WITH THAT, GRATEFUL FOR THAT. I’m grateful that I even had that choice, because many women don’t. I have been lucky to work in my profession in a less high powered way, than I might have had if I hadn’t become a mom, but I carved out a way that worked, and continues to work for me. I made a choice that was better for my family and better for me. And that’s what I thought Gloria Steinem was trying for. I say to Sheryl Sandberg, “You go.” But I also say, “We can’t all be just like you.” Life isn’t perfect for women who want to have it all. It’s possible, but it’s not perfect.
Fuck and shit. And damn and hell. And all the other bad words you can think of. Is there anything worse than when you get the spinny ball of death on your laptop? Yes, why yes there is. It’s called the black screen. Which is what happens when your computer crashes. As in, crash lands into the trash heap pile of all those near and dearly departed laptops who’s last beep, ding, or crumple of paper sound was made right before they went into a permanent sleep.
Well, yesterday, after watching the spinny ball for a while, my computer ceased breathing. Time of death: approximately 4:38. The screen went black and my stomach lurched like a real person had passed on. How could I feel so deeply horrible and emotionally pained at the thought of losing my computer, a machine with no heart or soul? I’ll tell you how, and perhaps you’ll understand. I DONT’ BACK UP REGULARLY. I am not a good backer upper. NO, I don’t generally fly with a back up plan. So, when i saw the screen of doom, I knew it could mean much more than the loss of my original MacBook Air. It meant the loss of years of my work. (Not to mention at least four in-progress gratitude-a-thons.)
And so it was with sadness in my heart and terror in my wallet, that I made my Genius Bar appointment and waited. It didn’t take long for the Genius to announce that my hard drive had indeed moved onto greener pastures. I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. And while the poor Genius was smart, he had not been trained to handle a sobbing woman who has just experienced a profound loss. Shouldn’t he have pulled out some Tequila and allowed me to swig a shot? Wasn’t it a bar, after all? He did ask me if I needed a minute, but a minute wasn’t going to touch the grief. But alas, I had things to decide. Decisions to make. Did I want to bring it to another private company who may be able to retrieve my information? Did I want them to replace the hard drive? Did I want to stab myself in the eye with a fork for not having taken seriously a message that appeared a week ago, which i cavalierly ignored, because I was too busy and not technically savvy enough to heed: “Your Startup Disk is Full.” Could this have been the beginning of the demise of my computer? Could this have been the warning sign? The gateway drug? I asked some questions, none of them probably made much sense, although this is what one does when a loved one dies. My Genius answered sympathetically. I decided against the expensive retrieval options, and started looking at replacement models. Yes, just like that, not dead for more than a day, and I was into an upgrade. Before the power cord was even cold….I had two really great guys work with me to make the right decisions and answer all my inane questions. They were young guys, and really smart and very sweet to me, which an old and widow, like me really appreciated.
I went with another MacBook Air. It’s being christened right now, with this post. I’m so grateful that I have another chance to start again. I will be going for my first One on One lesson today. I will learn to care for this Mac properly and I bought something called Time Capsule, which is a wireless back-up, which seems like I would want, even if I didn’t have a computer, it’s such a good product. Anyway, there it is. May my old MacBook rest in peace. Along with all my work from the past five years. Shit. Fuck. Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m still grieving.
I took a class with Nancy Slonim Aronie several years ago on Martha’s Vineyard, and a one day workshop in Boston before that. She is one of those people who sort of changes your life. If you’re into writing, or into having a really cool experience, you should take a class with her. Her son was diagnosed with MS when he was 27. Struck down in his hunky prime. But what Nancy learned from the experience of having a profoundly sick child, informs much of her teaching, and it had an enormous effect on me. I was lucky enough to meet Dan, and he was some kind of special guy. He lost his valiant battle back in 2010, but I’m pretty sure his spirit is flying free, now that he’s ditched that body that gave him such a hard time. I always find the above video to be a reminder of perspective. I think perspective is almost as transformative as gratitude. And I’m grateful to Nancy for both.
The eye. Day two. An inch lower. An inch. And I would not be sitting here today. I’d be in a nice wing of a nice psychiatric facility.
This weekend was a powerful reminder of how much control you don’t have as a parent. It was the kind of emotionally charged, fight or flight misery that comes from not being able to do a damn thing to help your kids feel better. Ah, but let me back up and give you the full scoop.
Ally’s team last year after winning the State Cup.
Ally is on an elite club soccer team. The girl is great. She is very close to her team. They travel frequently, and are very bonded to one another. The team won the State Cup last year, and after that gave the girls contracts. Some girls got a full year. Some got a half year, with a review. It has been a rather stressful six months for Ally, knowing that every practice, every game, was a chance to show her coach she was a worthy player. Saturday was not only a tournament, but also the day of reckoning.
As I was watching the second game, Jake’s face popped up on my phone. “Mom, I was playing lacrosse and a stick hit me and my helmet cracked and it cut above my eye and my friends are taking me to the hospital for stitches. Just wanted you to know”. His voice was calm. I don’t have to describe my response BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS. It was part babbling infant mixed with howling hyena. I did manage to say, “Call me as soon as you’re at the hospital.” I got off and told Peter, who said, “Oh, he’ll be fine.” Immersed in the game, he left me to my psychotic worry. I was already freaked out about the idea that Ally might not make the team, and couldn’t even eat the fabulous lunch a parent had made for us at her house, because my stomach was in the Olympic gymnastics event. Now, I had Jake to worry about. Did he have a concussion? Would the doctors know to do a plastic surgery type of job on him, and not slap together some stitches that would give him a weird scar. I called him over and over again, but he didn’t answer, so I called Jessie, his girlfriend, who I knew could use the magic power of her girlfriend-ness to get through. She calmly told me not to worry and that he was going to be fine. She told me she and her mom would go to the hospital if I wanted, but she said he seemed to be doing ok with his friends, and things were pretty straight forward. (Jessie is the best.) I felt 1% better. I continued to think about leaving and letting Peter and Ally get a ride home with another parent, but decided against it, knowing Ally might need me.
After playing two games in a tournament OUTSIDE, I might add (you know, where there is still SNOW and stuff) Ally stood on the sidelines with her coach to get her review. Peter and I stood several feet away, like statues, observing her profile for any signs of the outcome. Almost immediately, I could tell she hadn’t made it. I knew that the billboards for “Difficult Parenting Ahead” would be popping up any minute. Peter was in disbelief, as all signs had made him think her place on the team was safe. When it looked like they were wrapping up, I forced Peter to go and talk to the coach. I knew if I went over, bad things would come out of my mouth, and I might not be able to control my hands, or feet. Ally walked toward me and one of her other team mates, and told us both the news. She would play down a team for five months and be guaranteed a contract for 2014 on her current team. The coach wanted her to get more playing time, to play the whole game, instead of just 15 minutes, in an effort to improve her play. And although, I saw it as the coach’s commitment to her development as an even stronger player than she already was, it was not a scenario we’d ever considered. And for Ally, it was the first defeat she’d ever encountered. We went to the car and the tears started. There was some wailing. There was some sobbing. There was a lot of snot. Ally did not want to talk. This was hard because that’s all I want to do when something goes wrong for me, but I had to respect her process, so I sat quietly crying in the front seat. Peter drove like a zombie. Ally handed me her phone with a picture of Jake’s gash that was already circulating on Facebook. I have never felt queasy around anything medical, but I actually almost threw up. One inch, maybe less than one inch, and his eye would have been gone. GONE as in not there anymore. No question. One inch lower, and he would have been been blinded.
We sped home from Hopkinton, but not in time to get to the hospital. Jake was already on his way home. He looked very much like he’d been in a fight with Sylvester Stallone in the original Rocky, his forehead bulging with swelling, his eye practically shut. They had managed to sew his eyebrow together, and was given the directions not to exercise or do any heavy lifting. (oh great, the garbage was on me now.) I was already sorry he was playing lacrosse this year. As if Ally’s response to her news hadn’t already put me in a state, Jake just iced the cake.
My guilt for not having been there for Jake, AFTER HIS FACE WAS SLICED OPEN, was the size of Detroit, no Texas, no Switzerland (it’s prettier). But the truth was, that he appeared to be calm and ok (unlike moi). He had handled it just fine, was matter-of-fact (but clearly shaken) and taking it in stride in a way that surprised me. He’d had to miss the second playoff BHS basketball game, but as the Super Fan that he is, was following it on his phone like the president follows breaking news. Maybe Jake was ready for college after all. Maybe this was just to show me how ready he was to be on his own, because if this happened next year at this time, I wouldn’t be there either.
Ally continued to cry. She cried herself to sleep and actually woke up crying. I barely slept, I felt so out of sorts, so parentally unproductive, as in I could do nothing to help either one of my kids feel better. The events of the day were on a loop in my find, and kept me up most of the night, until I finally just called it at 5:00 and got up. I was meeting my roommate and old college friend, who I lived on Newbury Street with right after school, for the first time in 28 years, back down on Newbury St. for brunch. I was going to be really cute, what with the crying I did the day before and the no sleep! Anyway, I left Peter sitting with Ally, whose crying had made her look a lot like a blowfish, and who was still sobbing. I considered canceling my plans, but Peter had a way with Ally that made her talk, which I didn’t possess. These two have the most endearing and incredible relationship (which is a whole other post). They are a lot alike and speak the same emotional language. I knew she was in gifted hands.
I didn’t check my phone until after the brunch, but Peter had texted that the coach had contacted him to see if Ally could play the last game in the tournament, because another girl was sick. He said he was going to let her decide. I called him. He said Ally was icing her eyes, and they were on their way. This is how my daughter and I differ. If I were in that situation, I would have folded, and said, no, because I would have been too upset and embarrassed, and plus I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see my swollen eyes, and plus I would have been hating the coach so much, I might not be able to control my words, and also I would be so upset, I might have already enrolled in the witness relocation program. But Ally de-puffed her eyes, got on her cleats and was given a hero’s welcome by her team. She was the starting forward, and scored a goal within minutes of beginning the game. Her entire team embraced her, and she even got a surprise hug from her coach. She came home in a completely different frame of mind, having been supported by every girl, the coach, and the parents, and seeing that that this move was to make her an even stronger player for 2014. This was Ally’s first real bit of adveristy. And while she got a good tear duct workout, she rallied in record time. She’s done a lot of great things in her little life, but this was the most proud I’d ever felt of her. The girl not only has great athletic ability, she has great character.
As for Jake, he looked like a five year old who’d gotten into his mother’s purple eyeshadow on Sunday morning. The swelling was worse, and his eye was almost shut. He sat on the couch all day watching a mix of sports and movies. His fab girlfriend came over, and together we gave Ally a standing O when she walked in the door, high from her success.
This is what parenting can be like. Things happen to your kids, and sometimes there’s not a NUTHIN’ you can do about them. And the pit in your stomach feels like the cast of Riverdance is doing their thing in there. But it’s Monday, and we seemed to have survived. And I think, although we’re all a little wearier, we’re all ok. And most importantly, my kids showed me who they have become. Adults.
Lately, I seem to be reading about mom’s who are facing stuff that is hard. Like, really hard. In the most recent (mammoth) issue of Vogue I just read an article by Emily Rapp, who writes beautifully about her experience with living, loving and losing her sweet little boy Ronan, who was born with Tay-Sachs Disease. As I read, I could feel the pit in my stomach growing to the size of a small midwestern farm, not because this story had anything to do with me, but because as a mom, I could feel what it would be like if it did.
Which brings me to another blog, that of Jane Roper. I met Jane for like 5 seconds many years ago, at a writer’s group that I was thinking of joining, but quickly realized was made up of writers that were quite a bit more experienced than I was. (Translation: Writers who were way fucking better than I ever could be at writing.) But the cool thing was that I got to meet Jane, who was an advertising copywriter, like me, and had just been accepted into the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She was exceptionally friendly and nice. Since then, I’ve watched her success from afar, as she’s given birth to twins and written two books. And then, recently, I ran into her blog and read with rapt attention about how one of her adorable twins had received the diagnosis of leukemia. At five. It made me once again, hold onto my chair, because, well, I of the vivid imagination, could imagine how difficult this would be to go through. (By the way, Jane is such a gifted writer, she even makes cancer funny.)
Lastly, I found a blog posted by a Facebook friend, which really made me think. The blog is by Julie Ross and is called George. Jessie. Love. And it’s about Julie’s child Jessie, who was George until his 10th birthday. And I thought Jake not making the basketball team was a parenting challenge. When I think of how brutal kids can be at that age, I can imagine that parenting a transgender child must require some superb mommying. Julie shares her experience with honesty and wit.
Why I’m fascinated by, and grateful for all these stories is because, in each case, I see and feel the Mama Bear that’s at the helm, and she inspires me to dig deeper in an effort to be a better mom, myself. None of us know exactly what we’re signing up for when we give birth. And the baby comes, and the love that you feel is so powerfully big, so all encompassing, so passionate and deep, that what you do know is, nothing will ever be the quite same again. And it hits you in an instant, that you will do whatever it is you have to do to keep that child safe, happy, healthy, and able to be their best selves forever more. You know it, like you know the sun will make it’s way to the center of the sky the next day, and will go into hiding 12 hours later.
And that’s what I love about these women. The unexpected, searing pain that can come with being a mom and doing your job can sometimes feel unspeakably impossible. But never undoable. These are dynamic examples. I’m grateful that these women, courageous and honest, are able to share their experiences so eloquently, and show us that in good times and bad, being a mom forces us to learn and grow and find beauty and love in even the most difficult. And that at the end of the day, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
*the gratitude-a-thon 