What's a smart woman like you doing at home?

I used to wonder if that's what people thought...when we made our decision to stay home with our kids, we didn't take it lightly.  It meant giving up a lot of things...A LOT of things.  It also meant taking in a few things.  I love every second of it - well not every second but for the most part, it's my life's work and I am proud.  For some they have no choice - for those who have a choice and choose to work, my hats off to you and I give my love and support to my working sisters.  For those of us who live in regret - both working and at home moms...I salute you.  We all do.  But...that being said...an open comment to a family member who took a few stay at home shots at me, if you live in regret because you work, let's talk about it...do not belittle my work.  I take it very seriously.

There's an interesting tug of war between working and at home moms.  Most of my working friends don't feel it - some do but most are very happy with their choices.  Many of my at home friends miss the office and commeraderie (and money) but all in all, are very happy at home.  Then there are the few that can't shake it off.  The ones at home because they feel they have to but are miserable and the ones at work because they need the money or the status and miss their kids.  I remember...I remember heading to work, as exciting news was, and getting the call that Maddie took her first steps...in daycare.  It made me physically sick.  Four years later, there I am, covering 911 and putting in 14 hour days - temporary yes but 9/11 was the grandmama of all news stories for producers...and hearing Ava on the phone at two telling me about her toys...or books...never could tell but it was her voice that I still hear in my head. 

I put in 15 hour days...I invest in my kids, I am truly present...I feel that volunteering in their schools and book clubs, reading and playing and being with them is my job.  I am proud of my work.  I am also sad when I watch the news and wonder if the team producing the Casey Anthony trial was as riled up as I was...I kept wishing I was back in the newsroom peeling myself up off the floor and figuring out how to headline it while keeping the gasping out of the anchor's voice. 

So my sisters in motherhood...we all work, we all bust our ass and we all live in some kind of regret because we can't do it all...the key is going to sleep at night with peace in our head and in our heart and if not, figure out how to get it and opening up with the truth is far more effective than firing a shot.

Origin or Choice?

I heard it said a long time ago we have two families.  Our family of origin and our family of choice.  Clearly my family of origin has some significance in my life but we hardly see them and my younger kids couldn't spot them out in a line up.  Then we have our family of choice - the amazing friends who have come into my life and my home and my spirit; helped me raise my kids, feed my soul, borrow my car, shop, live and laugh with us.  Every major decision has me asking them what they think - the sisters in my life who don't share DNA.  It's a great feeling to have this.  It's a connection I have craved since I was a little girl.  Growing up in my childhood home had its moments but connection wasn't among them.  We were actually quite disconnected - a blood line but no life line.  To feel safe to sob, laugh, be silly, make mistakes and grow out loud is a place I am at today.  I called it arrival before and it really is but when you arrive, isn't it fabulous to have someone waiting?  Isn't a finish line only exciting when there is cheering? 

I have sisters and brothers that I invite into my home and my life who adore me, love my kids, remember important things and say delicious things about wanting to see me.  There is so much self introspection that comes from growing up and part of it is realizing you want to be wanted and I do.  I spent a friend's 40th birthday celebration with women I not only admire, I truly adore.  Strong, loving, smart moms who took care of me when I was sick and celebrated with me in recovery.  It's a deeply rooted feeling of security to have that.  It's nice to be wanted.  It's nice to have someone just happy you are here.  I have a friend whose parents fight - seriously fight - about who gets to spend more time with their grandchildren.  I have no idea what that's like but I do know that may be me one day.  My poor children will be begging me to leave.  Maddie just said she sees herself with her children one day, coming to a family vacation home on all the holidays with her siblings and their kids.  I see that too but I am most happy she sees it.  I want her to feel wanted and to feel desired by her family. 

I feel success as a mom when I see that her family of origin may also be her family of choice.  Then I realize I have done it and she can leave realizing whoever said, you can't go home again, never had me as a mother.

Not Guilty...

Seriously?  Everytime I find myself very proud of our judicial system, a sucker punch of a verdict comes flying in from the back.  Not guilty.  With over whelming evidence, a long list of witnesses and a truck load of lies, Casey Anthony walks free as early as this Thursday.  I suppose this nation found the only 12 people who think duct tape over a child's mouth wasn't convincing enough?  That all mothers who lose their children have hot body contests and lie to police?  I'm not a lawyer, I'm not a witness, I'm not even a resident of their town yet I found myself drawn to the child whose murder will never be resolved. 

I just add it to my long list of "WTF's" when I die I have to pass over on a memo.  I think judgement day for a lot people will be an interesting experience but for me, like a CNN reporter, I will be doing the interviewing.  I have a lot of questions and certainly more comments.  When Gd and I meet, I will be asking him to get some coffee...this may take a while.

I hear karma can be a real bitch and I hope she's Casey's new roommate.  On second thought, I hear OJ is still single...there's a match made in hell.

Calling...

I used to think callings were what nuns got.  A call from Gd on the bat phone that means you need to move but I think I have one.  I think I've had it for a very long time.  Foster parenting.  Child advocasy.  Timely now?  Not even a little bit but how can you refuse a pull you have had for over 20 years.  I can't.  If Cancer gave me anything it's a new set of lenses.  One where I can weed out the toxic, bring in the good and realign myself with what I need.  I'm not a fantastic parent.  I can't impart the best advice on younglings - I can barely take care of my own at times but there is something about a child in need that puts it all in perspective.  I can love them.  I can feed them.  I can help them heal themselves.  I can give them family and tradition and support or at the very least, a warm, safe bed and hot meals until they are ready for more.  I can show my children the world is huge and sometimes unkind but we, not only as Jews, but as people can help.  Will it be crazy at times?  Chaotic?  Busy?  Not fun???  Well yeah...of course...so is life.

The kids are on board (more kids!  more fun!  more noise! ) but what we do know is we have a lot of love to give and a bed and that's all we need.  Time will come, space will avail itself, life will open up, our hearts will soar.

I do believe if we do the right action, the right thought will follow so here goes...it will be hard, gut wrenching, heart breaking, life filling and likely fun too...it's giving the gift of love and family and how can that ever be wrong?

Arrival...

At a very dear friend's fourtieth birthday celebration it came up...what does this new decade mean to you?  What does 40 bring to you?  At 42 I feel I can answer certainty but then to be honest, I don't know that I care if I don't.  Arrival.  It means I have arrived.  I am officially the person I am.  Some wardrobe changes, a tweak here and there, a nip and a tuck but overall, this is it.  This is as good - or as bad - as it gets.  For me it's liberating.  It means I can admit to not liking to cook when everything thinks I should love it.  It means adoring my girlfriends and sunbathing in their acceptance of me with every quirk and glitch I bring to the table.  It means saying what's on my mind and in my heart without fear of exposure but with that comes responsibility to filter - something I didn't always have operating in full capacity. Just because I feel it, doens't mean I have to say it...and not saying it, doesn't mean I don't think it.  I just means I care more about being happy than being right (or argumentative...which in my life, is the same:)  It means having a bullshit detector that never runs out of batteries.  It's the narrowing of expectations and defining of what really matters.  It means letting myself be who I am and not making excuses for what I'm not.  It means seeing myself the way my kids too. 

It means laughing at myself because it's 330 in the morning and we leave on a cruise in four hours, I have slept less than three but I'm such a head case I can't sleep until all the laundry is done.  Yeah - I love that about me.  Embrace it friends, it's who I am and anxiety happens to be the soup of the day in my life.

I used to joke that I couldn't wait to be at a place where I don't care what people think but the truth is, I care a great deal...we all do but in the end, what I think has slowly crept into first place and I am really pleased to see it. 

Arrival.  It means I am working on myself every day, wincing in the mirror, reading enough health and diet books to open my own section at Borders, knowing what I'm good at and what I should officially leave behind, making room for peace and that cherry bookcase I wanted, moving toxicity out and opening the door for more good ju ju because in the end, no matter what, if this is what it is, it is really okay and that is what it means to me, to have truly arrived.

The Little Buddhas

I've heard it said the days are long but the years fly.  No truer words were ever said.  It's like labor and delivery...that moment is excruitiating and exciting, painful and meaningful and then it's over...as fast as they are here, it is gone and all of the sudden - they are 15, 11, 5 and 3.  There are times I can't get over how they view the world...so naive, so innocent, so sure of themselves. 

My favorite Ava moment was when she started fifth grade - the very one she is leaving now - and told me about Holly.  Holly was her friend.  Her new, favorite friend.  Holly only liked to swing even though Ava liked to climb and run.  They were matched in everyway yet the playground forced Ava to swing if she wanted to be with Holly.  She never told me anything other than how much Holly liked to swing and would only do that.  Ava didn't mind, she never voiced any objection but I used this as a teaching moment.  I felt it best to express to Ava how it was okay to ask Holly to do something SHE liked to do.  I was teaching Ava compassion for herself - to also tend to her own needs but Ava seemed fine where she was - swinging with Holly.  I wouldn't let it go.  It was my responsibility as a parent to mold this person into not becoming a martyr...memories of my own upbringing :)

Then I went to back to school night.  I met all of Ava's friends' parents and had a chance to view this world through Ava's eyes and see what kind of kid my kid likes.  And then it happened...I met Holly's mom.  A sweet, smiling lady walking up to me with an arm extended.  She had heard so much about Ava she wanted to meet me - sure, I thought but even more eager to meet Holly, I shook her hand and told her that Ava, too, loved her daughter.  Ava ran from my side to greet Holly who walked a few steps behind her mom.  Without missing a beat, Ava scooted kids out of the way and walked beside her friend...Holly with her walker.  Y'see Holly has cerebal palsy.  She smiled at Ava and Ava back at her.  And then I saw it all...Holly would swing because it's all she could do and Ava didn't mind...and never said to me she was disabled because Ava never saw it.  In Ava's world, Holly was her friend and they would swing and Ava was happy.  It was sympatico.  And at that moment, I became the student and Ava, the teacher.  If only I could see possibility over limitation...swinging over climbing.  I realized Ava needed no teaching moments from me.  I actually needed to sit down, shut up and open a notebook while Ava took to the lecture circuit.  Ava saw only her friend and her friend saw acceptance in Ava.  It was the marriage of a perfect moment between them.  I was breathless with both pride and shame.

Who I was changed at that moment.  From that day forward, I pledged to Ava to look at the world and at people differently...through the eyes of my 11 year old who saw her friend as someone who wants to swing, not someone who can't do anything else.  Possibility over limitation.  Who knew?

17 Days...

Funny how things wind up easier when we tag a number to it.  Everything seems palpable when we can name it...nail it down, make it fit.  I leave in five days on a cruise.  School is out in four days.  Camp is in two days. Something about the number is soothing I suppose.  Well there is a theory that says a habit is formed in 17 days.  Not two and half weeks...that sounds like a light year...17 days.  It's my commitment to myself to eat better, work harder, get healthier, live cleaner and manage my cancer free status...beginning with a 17 day journey.  I can do this.  I'm fairly certain after beating Cancer, I can do just about anything.  I grew up a Vegan.  Seriously...it's hard to believe after seeing me tear into a ribeye like a monkey on a cupcake but we were very LA and with that came our Earthy, nutty mother and Vegan lifestyle...basically I was tofu when tofu wasn't cool.  We had to buy our food from health food stores that ran on wind panels and solar heating from guys who looked like Jesus and sold us our grains in paper bags with giant fans overhead keeping everything cool (and I suspect the bugs away) and local farmers which I still like to support.  Through the years, my reach for processed and frankly, easy food has gotten out of hand.  I admit - I find a glass of wine and take out Chinese far more appealing than bottled water and organic mung beans but let's face it...time to give my life an overhaul...and I will.  It's time to make my health a priority and show my kids that Subway isn't a weekly staple to the Smith menu.

So when I return in 13 days, I will begin my 17 day journey toward health with a book called the 17 Day Diet...to ease the burden, I shall speak only in days.  It's the little things.  For today, I can do this.

Writing to you live from Panera...signing out.