This blog used to be about me being a new Mom. Remember that? Before I got all navel gazey? Those were halcyon days.
I'm still a Mom. Just not so new at it these days. Although, rest assured, motherhood finds new ways to surprise, shock and stump me on the daily.
One of the more fascinating (to me) things about motherhood is the very individual ways I can feel for my children. Of course, I knew that, as individual beings, they would inspire different things in me. But it's still so interesting to feel that as it happens.
With B, everything is fierce. I love, adore him fiercely. When I'm angry with him, when he drives me bananas, when he frustrates me down to my very soul, that's fierce. My fears regarding him are fierce. He takes a match to my world on a daily basis. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
With E, it's gentler. She inspires in me such a calmer, mellower sentiment. She softens me - my moods, my heart. And it's not that I don't have fears for her - she's a girl, they come with a whole set of fears unique to them, right? It's just that my fears for her feel different, too. She herself is a reassuring presence. Maybe it's a second born thing, maybe it's that she's the pregnancy that made it after the one who didn't...I'm not sure. But she reassures me where her brother terrifies me. It makes me grateful.
Of course, being a very dramatic 7 year old, B will occasionally drop the "You love her more!" bomb on me. And my answer to him is the same very true answer my Mom gave me when I dropped that one on her as a child, "I don't love her more. I may love her differently, because you are two different people, but it's not more or less."
Looking back, I think that message from my Mom was really important. Learning early in life that love takes many forms, and that love in all its forms is valuable, is a lesson with value beyond the nuclear family. But it's also reassuring for a child to know that different does not mean lesser, when it comes to a parent's love.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Christmas and Magic and...Existentialism?
The middle Saturday of December was most always Coop Santa Saturday - the day when my Dad was Santa in the Harvard Coop children's book area. I know I've written about it before. It was one of my favorite days of the year. We would all go and get our Santa fix, and then the whole big group of us would invade The Border Cafe for lunch afterward.
I was thinking of this today as I ran errands with my kids. I was missing my Dad, wishing we could've had more Coop Santa days. I was thinking I should've made plans with my sister to go to the Border today, to celebrate the memories. Something.
As I was thinking all of this as I drove Route 9 West, "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Philip Phillips came on the radio. This is the song that I associate with the days right after my Dad died. I kept hearing it at uncanny moments in those early days, and it started to feel like a message from him. Those of you who knew my Dad know that it was SO his sense of humor to use a song that repeats the words, "Like a drum, my heart never stops beating," as a message immediately after dying of a heart attack. At the time, I remember thinking, "HA HA. Real funny, Dad."
Anyway, it came on the radio today, literally as I was thinking about him and Coop Santa and all of that, and naturally I burst into tears. His absence is sharper around Christmas...which, I guess you'd expect with a guy who actually WAS Santa. I haven't had as difficult a time getting into the spirit this year as last, but that doesn't mean I haven't had several break downs. I have. Grief evolves and changes, but I don't necessarily think it ever actually goes away.
Likewise, almost fifteen years to the day after my grandfather died, I had a dream this week in which I had a rather profound conversation with him. That was pretty cool.
I know there are so many people out there who would tell me all this stuff is just coincidence. But to me, that seems like missing out on all the cool stuff.
I was thinking of this today as I ran errands with my kids. I was missing my Dad, wishing we could've had more Coop Santa days. I was thinking I should've made plans with my sister to go to the Border today, to celebrate the memories. Something.
As I was thinking all of this as I drove Route 9 West, "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Philip Phillips came on the radio. This is the song that I associate with the days right after my Dad died. I kept hearing it at uncanny moments in those early days, and it started to feel like a message from him. Those of you who knew my Dad know that it was SO his sense of humor to use a song that repeats the words, "Like a drum, my heart never stops beating," as a message immediately after dying of a heart attack. At the time, I remember thinking, "HA HA. Real funny, Dad."
Anyway, it came on the radio today, literally as I was thinking about him and Coop Santa and all of that, and naturally I burst into tears. His absence is sharper around Christmas...which, I guess you'd expect with a guy who actually WAS Santa. I haven't had as difficult a time getting into the spirit this year as last, but that doesn't mean I haven't had several break downs. I have. Grief evolves and changes, but I don't necessarily think it ever actually goes away.
Likewise, almost fifteen years to the day after my grandfather died, I had a dream this week in which I had a rather profound conversation with him. That was pretty cool.
I know there are so many people out there who would tell me all this stuff is just coincidence. But to me, that seems like missing out on all the cool stuff.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Sucker Punching...Myself
This is the place where I'm brutally honest (Not that I'm not normally...I tend toward overshare in general, if anything). About my feelings. About my foibles and flaws. And about my fears. Which are many.
I know I've discussed it before, but it's ongoing, so here we are. I have an issue with feeling...competent. With feeling good enough. This manifests itself in various ways, none of which are fun. Mainly, I have a really, really hard time forgiving myself for any mistake or misstep. Which is unfortunate because I am a DECIDEDLY human person, who can be flighty and forgetful. So, mistakes are...you know, de rigeur. But I pass up nary an opportunity to beat myself up over them.
Recently, I made a mistake at work. I fixed it and it turned out ok, and my coworker told me repeatedly not to worry about it, but I'm still slapping myself silly over it. And there is this little voice in the back of my head that keeps taunting, "See? It was just a matter of time, you dolt," and other super helpful things like that. I've gotten a lot better at ignoring that voice, for the most part, but that doesn't mean it's completely gone away. And something interesting occurred to me, as a result of it. One of the things my coworker said was, "We've all made mistakes like this." And I realized that in all my years at the old gig, NO ONE had ever said that to me, even though it was true there, too. Mistakes were so verboten in that environment that no one could ever commiserate, for fear of admitting their own mistakes.
Also, I recently discovered that something I thought I'd done, related to E's school, I probably somehow missed doing. I'm not sure whether I forgot something, or whether it got lost, or what. Stuff happens, you know? And it's not something that's a big deal, and it's something that I can re-submit. But BOY have I been having a field day, berating myself...which of course means I assume whatever went screwy was my fault. But that vicious little voice is back, too, telling me that the others in the group are going to think I'm an idiot, and will, as a result, not like me.
This is another thing that little voice does. I guess it's related to feeling not good enough, right? This feeling that people won't like me? It's a dichotomy within my personality - I'm a really social person. I love people. All kinds of people. Short of being downright mean, you're pretty much not going to find a way to get me not to like you. And yet, I CONSTANTLY fear that people won't like me. Believe me, I know how pitiful that sounds.
I remember having a conversation with a friend about 10 years ago, wherein I bemoaned my being so socially awkward. He looked at me like I was talking utter nonsense and said, "YOU? You're socially awkward? No. You're friendly and hilarious and warm. You're about the last person I would call socially awkward." I was legitimately gobsmacked. Granted, that was one person's opinion - one person who had known me for several years by then and was a good friend. But still.
As y'all know, it's a mantra of sorts, reminding myself that I'm a work in progress. It also helps to remind myself that you get back what you put out. And I strive to be the kind of person, mother, wife, friend, coworker, that I would want to have around me. And for the most part, I am. So, that little meanie in the back of my head and go kick rocks, because she is totally full of it. And I am a positive person, so her negativity is not welcome here.
I know I've discussed it before, but it's ongoing, so here we are. I have an issue with feeling...competent. With feeling good enough. This manifests itself in various ways, none of which are fun. Mainly, I have a really, really hard time forgiving myself for any mistake or misstep. Which is unfortunate because I am a DECIDEDLY human person, who can be flighty and forgetful. So, mistakes are...you know, de rigeur. But I pass up nary an opportunity to beat myself up over them.
Recently, I made a mistake at work. I fixed it and it turned out ok, and my coworker told me repeatedly not to worry about it, but I'm still slapping myself silly over it. And there is this little voice in the back of my head that keeps taunting, "See? It was just a matter of time, you dolt," and other super helpful things like that. I've gotten a lot better at ignoring that voice, for the most part, but that doesn't mean it's completely gone away. And something interesting occurred to me, as a result of it. One of the things my coworker said was, "We've all made mistakes like this." And I realized that in all my years at the old gig, NO ONE had ever said that to me, even though it was true there, too. Mistakes were so verboten in that environment that no one could ever commiserate, for fear of admitting their own mistakes.
Also, I recently discovered that something I thought I'd done, related to E's school, I probably somehow missed doing. I'm not sure whether I forgot something, or whether it got lost, or what. Stuff happens, you know? And it's not something that's a big deal, and it's something that I can re-submit. But BOY have I been having a field day, berating myself...which of course means I assume whatever went screwy was my fault. But that vicious little voice is back, too, telling me that the others in the group are going to think I'm an idiot, and will, as a result, not like me.
This is another thing that little voice does. I guess it's related to feeling not good enough, right? This feeling that people won't like me? It's a dichotomy within my personality - I'm a really social person. I love people. All kinds of people. Short of being downright mean, you're pretty much not going to find a way to get me not to like you. And yet, I CONSTANTLY fear that people won't like me. Believe me, I know how pitiful that sounds.
I remember having a conversation with a friend about 10 years ago, wherein I bemoaned my being so socially awkward. He looked at me like I was talking utter nonsense and said, "YOU? You're socially awkward? No. You're friendly and hilarious and warm. You're about the last person I would call socially awkward." I was legitimately gobsmacked. Granted, that was one person's opinion - one person who had known me for several years by then and was a good friend. But still.
As y'all know, it's a mantra of sorts, reminding myself that I'm a work in progress. It also helps to remind myself that you get back what you put out. And I strive to be the kind of person, mother, wife, friend, coworker, that I would want to have around me. And for the most part, I am. So, that little meanie in the back of my head and go kick rocks, because she is totally full of it. And I am a positive person, so her negativity is not welcome here.
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