I have read a lot lately about how Mother's Day is such a letdown for most of us moms. All of our expectations, realized and unknown, surface on this one day and instead of being the source of great joy - cause us to meltdown. Some of us meltdown in obvious ways - crying, yelling, giving the silent treatment. Others of us meltdown internally - never letting on how disappointed we are in our children, our mates, our families. Every year we tell ourselves that next year will be different. Next year our children will be older, our spouses more in tune, our needs less desperate. Next year we will not feel guilty for needing something from the people closest to us that they don't seem to have to give. Next year...
Well, it is next year...already. Here we all wait, in anticipation - ever hopeful that our children will not ruin "our" day with selfish behavior or our spouse will step up to the plate and have given "our" day the reverence it deserves and put a lot of time and attention into planning out the perfect day for us. Reservations will be made - presents will be well thought out and lovely - flowers will be purchased - children will be talked to - we will be revered...finally!
It is a set up, you know? We all do it to some degree - for some of us the day is ruined before it ever starts and for others the day dies a thousand deaths all day long. In all, none of us get through the day without reopening an old scar. And exactly what is that scar from? Motherhood in general? Expectations? I can only speak for myself - and it is all of the above. Motherhood in general is way harder than I ever imagined. It requires more from me than I often have to give. Motherhood requires that I forget myself over and over again and for a selfish person such as myself this is repeatedly painful. And oh those expectations - premeditated resentments really is what they are. Those thoughts and feelings that I allow to percolate in my head over and over again unchecked. Thoughts and feelings that finally solidify into a belief system that is so far removed from reality that is borders on delusional. And so it goes -year in and year out.
Mother's Day is not the only time I am delusional. It happens all the time really. I am not psychotic but I am often in a full flight from reality. And I know why - it is because I was born believing that "things" should be different. From birth I just knew that I was supposed to have different parents, be raised in a different community, have different colored and textured hair, be taller and thinner, be more affluent and the list is endless. From the beginning, I have a mind that tells me things - tells me that what is occurring right now is wrong or needs to be changed. And so it has gone for a lifetime...until recently. I have recently come up against this belief that I have and been confronted with REALITY! I have to say that I do not like it at all. And while it is so painful to let go of this reality-less state that I have created in my mind - let it go I must or my life is truly not worth living. A bit dramatic I know but true nonetheless.
So this Mother's Day and the days that follow I am going to try to remember that whatever is happening right now is what is supposed to be happening right now. It is not supposed to be different. My only task is to accept it all EXACTLY the way it is and then move on from there. My children are not supposed to behave on this holy day any differently than they do any other day. My husband is not supposed to be a mind reader or devote all his time, energy and resources to making sure that on this one day I am happy and taken care of. That is not my husband's job - never has been - never will be. My happiness and well being is my responsibility and I do not ever get a day off from that reality. I am responsible for my own self care and for providing myself with what I need to be happy - every day.
I think for me I have bought into this advertised notion that on Mother's Day I get a day off from being a mom. That on Mother's Day I am magically transformed into a demigod to be worshipped and revered raised above the laundry, dishes and needs of others. I am not to be disturbed, bothered or upset. I am to be set free from domestic drama and drudgery! I am supposed to get a one day reprieve from being a wife and mother. Bullshit! That isn't going to happen - ever. My delusional belief about this and my insistent demands that all who surround me bow to the almighty MOTHER has to be smashed - I must be rid of it if I am ever to find peace.
Turns out that this year I got my Mother's Day gift 5 days early. It was yesterday after school. It was a gorgeous day and I took the time to attend to my own needs. I went to therapy, went on a long walk, helped a turtle cross the road - I paid attention to me and therefore I was able to be present for my kids after school. This was miraculous just by itself but it got better. We decided to swim. Just me and the kids. And for the first time in a long, long time my kids got along. They played together nicely. They enjoyed each other's company. They had fun. They laughed. And I got to be there. I got to see that. I watched from the periphery and soaked it all in. The sunshine, the familial harmony - the beautiful day. It only lasted 10 minutes but it was the best 10 minutes I have had in a long time.
I decided right there and then that I would take that 10 minutes and say that was enough for Mother's Day. 10 minutes of uninterrupted harmony in a home where there is so much chaos - was enough. I didn't need a card or gift or breakfast in bed. I made a decision that what my children gave me yesterday was priceless and it was enough.
So come Sunday I am off the hook and so are my kids and husband. They don't need to bow down to me and I don't need to be disappointed and sad that on this one day they aren't capable of honoring and thanking me for all I do for them. This Mother's Day is taken care of and I am sure that if I pay close attention I can be more aware of all the small 10 minute miracles that happen all the time. All the 10 minutes that my husband and children honor me and thank me for all that I do. This year I am not resentful and bitter - this year I am free. Free from expectations - societal, familial, personal. This year I am getting out of the way and expecting nothing. When I decide that I have already received what I want and deserve - my mind is free to move on. No longer tethered to martyrdom, I am free to enjoy the people that gave me the title. I pray that you can do the same.
Happy Mother's Day!!!
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
So much time and change and so little peace...
The only place to start is today...right here and right now. And for the moment I am ok. Nothing is hurting - emotionally, physically and spiritually I am fine. (Deep sigh of relief). This is not my usual state these days. Most of the time I am disturbed, irritable, despondent, fearful, angry, upset, restless, discontented and teetering on the brink of a breakdown. There are many reasons for my constant state of loosely controlled apathy -
It seems that my life is run by so many things outside myself. I get so lost in my days and so little time is spent focusing on my own needs that I forget that I have them until I snap. My child doesn't say thank you for getting him a drink, my husband gives me a look when I make a simple request. And I snap - I lose it. I react - badly. Then I am so far gone that I don't even stop to notice that I am gone...those are really bad days.
Have you been there? So far past the pier that the beach no longer exists? Adrift in my own ocean with no raft, no supplies...nothing but a lot of salty water and me. Oh and fear of what lurks beneath the tumultuous surface. I dare not look. I don't want to know what fate awaits me - an out of the blue shark attack from below, a tidal wave that I can see coming but cannot escape, or my muscle fatiguing at a far greater rate than my progress towards the shore that I know instinctively is out there somewhere. Fear grips me and I want to just give up. It is pointless anyhow. It is just a matter of time before I go under either from the failure of my own power or by a power greater than myself be it tidal wave or oceanic beast.
I have live in that ocean of Erin a lot. Way too much actually. It is one of the main reasons that I left California...willingly. I was swimming towards the shore but I couldn't orient myself long enough to settle on a course and then commit. I had a great life from the outside looking in but inside living it - it wasn't fun - it was hard and I was so tired. I was floundering in my own sea and finding small islands upon which to rest. And as grateful as I was for the brief rest from swimming in circles - I still thought that I needed to find a new course. So off I would go in a direction that was usually suggested by one of my many island visitors - but it wasn't my direction - it was theirs and so I never landed on my own shore. And upon the visitors shore I would try to make it mine. I tried so hard - I worked tirelessly. But very shortly I would either be visited by a new influence or arrive dissatisfied in my own conclusion and off I would swim again desperately searching for dry land that would provide me the safe harbor from my storm. I was so unhappy but so unwilling to let go. As is always the case with me, when my grueling swim to nowhere exhausts me completely emotionally, spiritually and physically then and only then do I surrender. I admit that I simply do not know what course to take - that I do not know if that safe harbor will ever exist for me and in that admission of complete defeat I am saved. But never in the way that I think I should be...
And as it has always been, I do not seem to have that inner core - that place inside that is capable of talking louder than all the other voices that surround me - that inner compass that directs me to where I am supposed to be. I have always had to flail around, swimming in circles. I wish it were different but it isn't. It is just how I am. I have to be going under for the last time before I will ask for help - universal help.
And so I went under for the last time and held my breath and prayed the prayer that only the dying and desperate know - please, please, please help me. The prayer that doesn't ask for a particular type of help, for the help to look a certain way - to come wrapped in a particular fabric or paper. Just for help in any way, shape or form. And just as it always has - help came.
The help that I received that day came in the form of blurting words from my mouth. I don't know why this seems to be the way that help comes to me but it is. Help came in that form when I came to after my last drunk - "I am going to AA today!" I blurted out from the backseat of a car to people who didn't believe me. And so it was. Alone - desperate - beaten into submission I went to my first meeting and began a very long road to recovery. On the more recent day - I had been in bed for 3 days unable to summon the will to dress, bathe or care about much of anything. I was confronted by my husband. He wanted to know what was wrong with me. When I said I didn't know - he wanted to know what I planned on doing about it. I again said I didn't know. He then asked, "What are we going to do?" Then the blurting words..."I think we need to move back to Florida!" and so it was. This time I was not alone - I dragged 12 animals, 2 children, 2 semis full of household goods and 1 husband - beaten and desperate back to a town I couldn't wait to get away from once upon a time.
So here I am in Tallahassee. A town that I hit bottom in 19 years ago. A town that has family, my favorite football team, people whose faith I envy but does not work for me, weather that I detest, bugs, rain, some old friends and a past. A town that I do not fit into at all. I am not southern. I am not Christian. I am not racist. I am not a meat eater or hunter. I am not most of what I see all around me. Yet somehow I am coming into my own. I found a home group that I love. I get to see and spend time with my mom and she helps me with my children and gives us desperately needed respite. I have a sponsee that I truly love and enjoy. I am back to seeing my therapist that helped me get sober 19 years ago. My children are in a wonderful private school that is helping them grow and learn in a safe environment. My husband has access to VA medical care and has the opportunity to rest when either one of us will let him. I am finding help from professionals to assist our son and in turn our family. I am sleeping well. I have a lovely home - plenty to eat and too much time on my hands.
I have many things to be grateful for (as always) and also have many things that I wish were different (as always). Some days, I can only see all the things that are wrong or need attention or should be different. Then other days, days like today where I see it all plainly, simply and it is all ok exactly as it is. Nothing is supposed to be different, nothing is wrong, nothing needs my attention. I have allowed myself the time to write. The time to be alone with my thoughts and breathe. The time to allow my soul to open and to pour out on the page. I need this - I always have. I think I started keeping a journal when I was about 6. Having a family has really curtailed my writing even though they give me so much material to write about. I say I don't have the time but the truth is I don't take the time.
And that is what I have learned today - time passes, things change and life will always leave me adrift in my own ocean - awash in the myriad of minute details and dilemmas of my choices - achieving little peace. Or I can hold my breath, allow myself to go under the stormy surface - collect myself - decide to accept all of it exactly as it is in that moment and then resurface often in exactly the same spot that I went under but with a new perspective that allows for universal will to guide me to my next safe harbor. And safe harbor has always meant surrender and acceptance to me. Surrender allows me get out of my way long enough to set a course in the direction of meaningful participation in my life and the lives of those about me and acceptance allows me to achieve peace one moment at a time.
- my child is a mess,
- my husband's health rubber bands between relatively healthy to not functioning on a sometimes hourly basis,
- my other child is struggling to read and keep the rest of us from dragging her down,
- we moved 3000 miles away from the place that I loved, my sponsor, my friends, my climate - where my ego believes I should live,
- we are out of money and I have no idea how we are going to find jobs when my
- husband isn't well enough and I have a more than full time job keeping everyone going and the home fires burning.
It seems that my life is run by so many things outside myself. I get so lost in my days and so little time is spent focusing on my own needs that I forget that I have them until I snap. My child doesn't say thank you for getting him a drink, my husband gives me a look when I make a simple request. And I snap - I lose it. I react - badly. Then I am so far gone that I don't even stop to notice that I am gone...those are really bad days.
Have you been there? So far past the pier that the beach no longer exists? Adrift in my own ocean with no raft, no supplies...nothing but a lot of salty water and me. Oh and fear of what lurks beneath the tumultuous surface. I dare not look. I don't want to know what fate awaits me - an out of the blue shark attack from below, a tidal wave that I can see coming but cannot escape, or my muscle fatiguing at a far greater rate than my progress towards the shore that I know instinctively is out there somewhere. Fear grips me and I want to just give up. It is pointless anyhow. It is just a matter of time before I go under either from the failure of my own power or by a power greater than myself be it tidal wave or oceanic beast.
I have live in that ocean of Erin a lot. Way too much actually. It is one of the main reasons that I left California...willingly. I was swimming towards the shore but I couldn't orient myself long enough to settle on a course and then commit. I had a great life from the outside looking in but inside living it - it wasn't fun - it was hard and I was so tired. I was floundering in my own sea and finding small islands upon which to rest. And as grateful as I was for the brief rest from swimming in circles - I still thought that I needed to find a new course. So off I would go in a direction that was usually suggested by one of my many island visitors - but it wasn't my direction - it was theirs and so I never landed on my own shore. And upon the visitors shore I would try to make it mine. I tried so hard - I worked tirelessly. But very shortly I would either be visited by a new influence or arrive dissatisfied in my own conclusion and off I would swim again desperately searching for dry land that would provide me the safe harbor from my storm. I was so unhappy but so unwilling to let go. As is always the case with me, when my grueling swim to nowhere exhausts me completely emotionally, spiritually and physically then and only then do I surrender. I admit that I simply do not know what course to take - that I do not know if that safe harbor will ever exist for me and in that admission of complete defeat I am saved. But never in the way that I think I should be...
And as it has always been, I do not seem to have that inner core - that place inside that is capable of talking louder than all the other voices that surround me - that inner compass that directs me to where I am supposed to be. I have always had to flail around, swimming in circles. I wish it were different but it isn't. It is just how I am. I have to be going under for the last time before I will ask for help - universal help.
And so I went under for the last time and held my breath and prayed the prayer that only the dying and desperate know - please, please, please help me. The prayer that doesn't ask for a particular type of help, for the help to look a certain way - to come wrapped in a particular fabric or paper. Just for help in any way, shape or form. And just as it always has - help came.
The help that I received that day came in the form of blurting words from my mouth. I don't know why this seems to be the way that help comes to me but it is. Help came in that form when I came to after my last drunk - "I am going to AA today!" I blurted out from the backseat of a car to people who didn't believe me. And so it was. Alone - desperate - beaten into submission I went to my first meeting and began a very long road to recovery. On the more recent day - I had been in bed for 3 days unable to summon the will to dress, bathe or care about much of anything. I was confronted by my husband. He wanted to know what was wrong with me. When I said I didn't know - he wanted to know what I planned on doing about it. I again said I didn't know. He then asked, "What are we going to do?" Then the blurting words..."I think we need to move back to Florida!" and so it was. This time I was not alone - I dragged 12 animals, 2 children, 2 semis full of household goods and 1 husband - beaten and desperate back to a town I couldn't wait to get away from once upon a time.
So here I am in Tallahassee. A town that I hit bottom in 19 years ago. A town that has family, my favorite football team, people whose faith I envy but does not work for me, weather that I detest, bugs, rain, some old friends and a past. A town that I do not fit into at all. I am not southern. I am not Christian. I am not racist. I am not a meat eater or hunter. I am not most of what I see all around me. Yet somehow I am coming into my own. I found a home group that I love. I get to see and spend time with my mom and she helps me with my children and gives us desperately needed respite. I have a sponsee that I truly love and enjoy. I am back to seeing my therapist that helped me get sober 19 years ago. My children are in a wonderful private school that is helping them grow and learn in a safe environment. My husband has access to VA medical care and has the opportunity to rest when either one of us will let him. I am finding help from professionals to assist our son and in turn our family. I am sleeping well. I have a lovely home - plenty to eat and too much time on my hands.
I have many things to be grateful for (as always) and also have many things that I wish were different (as always). Some days, I can only see all the things that are wrong or need attention or should be different. Then other days, days like today where I see it all plainly, simply and it is all ok exactly as it is. Nothing is supposed to be different, nothing is wrong, nothing needs my attention. I have allowed myself the time to write. The time to be alone with my thoughts and breathe. The time to allow my soul to open and to pour out on the page. I need this - I always have. I think I started keeping a journal when I was about 6. Having a family has really curtailed my writing even though they give me so much material to write about. I say I don't have the time but the truth is I don't take the time.
And that is what I have learned today - time passes, things change and life will always leave me adrift in my own ocean - awash in the myriad of minute details and dilemmas of my choices - achieving little peace. Or I can hold my breath, allow myself to go under the stormy surface - collect myself - decide to accept all of it exactly as it is in that moment and then resurface often in exactly the same spot that I went under but with a new perspective that allows for universal will to guide me to my next safe harbor. And safe harbor has always meant surrender and acceptance to me. Surrender allows me get out of my way long enough to set a course in the direction of meaningful participation in my life and the lives of those about me and acceptance allows me to achieve peace one moment at a time.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Time is not my friend?
I haven't written on this blog since 2010 - how is it that so much time has passed and I didn't even think about it? I met a woman at a meeting yesterday that flew all the way from Boston to come to Ojai to talk about blogging. And it triggered something in me. I need to write! I need it. I don't enjoy doing it, I don't want to be a writer. I just need to do it. The same way that my body needs pounding exercise, I need to write. But like exercise and so many other things in my life, I neglect it. I become too busy or too lazy. I let meditation, exercise, writing and eating well take a backseat to the more important things that take up space in my life. Not cleaning (that is for sure) or even shopping (I don't have the time) but hundreds of little tasks that somehow eat up my time and days.
Due to a dog, I am up at 4 am. This is happening a lot lately. This would not be my choice. I am an early riser but 4 am is pushing it. However, I have a dog that has decided that I should not only be up at 4am but that I should also be up many times a night. So here I am. While I am irritated and grouchy, I am awake and have found time to meditate, stretch and now write. So I guess I should be thankful to the dog but I am not. I have another dog pawing at me now as I write but I am not thankful or grateful...just irritated. I spend a lot of my life irritated. The things that irritate me are endless. Depending on the fitness of my spiritual condition, my reactions to this irritation are mild to explosive. I do not like this about myself but it is true.
So here I sit, coffee in hand writing. I have accomplished this morning three things that I have been meaning to do for ages: meditation, stretching and writing. And if I hadn't written this morning, I would have missed the opportunity to be grateful. Life gives me so many moments to be grateful but I am usually too busy and irritated to notice. But not today. Today I am going to surrender my irritation and focus on being grateful that I am up writing. I so wish that I had the kind of mind that saw the lesson in everything and was able to conjure up an appropriately grateful mental state. However, that is just not me. I have to work at it. I have to spend all day, every day bringing myself back to the present moment where my life is happening. I miss so much of life. Time is not my friend...because I choose to see it that way. Perhaps, just maybe if I changed my thoughts I would change my life or at least my perception of it.
So today I am grateful for the little sleep and the dogs that are needier than my children. Today I will make a humble attempt to be grateful for what it is. Wish me luck!
Due to a dog, I am up at 4 am. This is happening a lot lately. This would not be my choice. I am an early riser but 4 am is pushing it. However, I have a dog that has decided that I should not only be up at 4am but that I should also be up many times a night. So here I am. While I am irritated and grouchy, I am awake and have found time to meditate, stretch and now write. So I guess I should be thankful to the dog but I am not. I have another dog pawing at me now as I write but I am not thankful or grateful...just irritated. I spend a lot of my life irritated. The things that irritate me are endless. Depending on the fitness of my spiritual condition, my reactions to this irritation are mild to explosive. I do not like this about myself but it is true.
So here I sit, coffee in hand writing. I have accomplished this morning three things that I have been meaning to do for ages: meditation, stretching and writing. And if I hadn't written this morning, I would have missed the opportunity to be grateful. Life gives me so many moments to be grateful but I am usually too busy and irritated to notice. But not today. Today I am going to surrender my irritation and focus on being grateful that I am up writing. I so wish that I had the kind of mind that saw the lesson in everything and was able to conjure up an appropriately grateful mental state. However, that is just not me. I have to work at it. I have to spend all day, every day bringing myself back to the present moment where my life is happening. I miss so much of life. Time is not my friend...because I choose to see it that way. Perhaps, just maybe if I changed my thoughts I would change my life or at least my perception of it.
So today I am grateful for the little sleep and the dogs that are needier than my children. Today I will make a humble attempt to be grateful for what it is. Wish me luck!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Hell, Fire and Dalmatian!
So it all started with wanting another Dalmatian. I got my first one at 20 and had her for 13 years. We had a bond. I am not sure that it is possible to be codependent with your dog but we were. I used to say that Kenya was ACOA – adult canine of an alcoholic. She had all the signs of being raised in an alcoholic home. It was both sad and interesting. But this is not what I am writing about. Fast forward three other Dalmatians, a min pin and a mutt rescued from the pound, two babies and a step son. There was no argument that I was lonely, I was never alone. Still my son was approaching kindergarten in the fall and I just couldn't stop wanting another Dal. I fantasized about it all the time. Mind you that despite my three kids, two dogs, three cats, and a fish I was not wanting in the things that need me department. I had lots of beings that looked to me for pretty much everything yet here was this desire for more, for different. I went to the pound and found a lovely little pup named Skeeter that the kids campaigned to bring home for a week. I was moved to get the little guy but selfishly I protected my right to get a Dal. I knew that my husband's tolerance and our wallets had a limit and it was somewhere around three dogs.
Being on a spiritual path and practice, I decided to sit with this. To just be curious about my obsession. There were the obvious reasons – my children were growing to the point that they didn't need me as much anymore. Logan was starting school and Grace was in the throws of the threes and not a lot of fun to be around. Alek was only with us for brief periods and was showing signs of impending teenageitis. So there is that. Then there is that I am now 40. I got Kenya my 20th year so that seemed to make sense to me. A companion to last into my 50s. Again, not the reason. I came up with lots of things like that. Trying to reclaim my youth and a time that had passed. A chance to do it again but better now that I am in recovery.
Why did I want to complicate my life with a dog that is known for their stubbornness, high energy and lack of attention. I have three children that all fit that description, I was not lacking in that department…not even for a moment.
Then there are the dogs that I already have that I do not take on walks daily or even pay close attention to. They are an ornament in my life. I feed them and give them water and occasionally pet them. They sleep like uncomfortable lumps in my bed. I spend most days yelling at them to stop fighting with the dogs next door through the fence. So why can't I just love them like I think I am going to love this Dalmatian. Why don't I take the dogs that I have camping, hiking and with me to run errands. Part of that is answered by spending 5 minutes with Sonic, the min pin. He is so high strung that even getting close to the car causes him to hyperventilate and almost pass out. His aggression to other dogs is also a factor. As I am writing this, a cat jumped on the bed and he lunged at her. So Sonic is relegated to the home front due to antisocial behavior and my inability to deal with him. Trixie the pound puppy is much more manageable but I just don't love her or want to spend time with her. I am not sure why. I feel horrible about this but it is true. I keep her out of commitment and work on deepening my feelings for this gentle and loving animal for which I seem to only be able to conjure up the most basic affection.
The longer I sat with this the more urgent it felt to get the Dal and I also began to see why I wanted her so badly. This was how I lived my life. I didn't participate in the life that was occurring right in front of me. I was in love with the life that I didn't' have on many levels. I was happy living the life in my head with the dog that made me feel the way that I wanted to feel without the trappings of that pesky thing called reality.
Yet I kept calling breeders and rescue groups trying to find that right dog and had a couple of close calls that didn't materialize for one reason or another. So I had just turned one breeder down and was getting ready to turn down the last one when I got a phone call. It was a rescue group out of Orange County. They had a pregnant female Dal in a shelter and needed someone crazy that would foster her. I didn't hesitate! I said I am that crazy person. So today I am loading up my very present and real family and we are driving to Rancho Cucamonga to pick up the dog and her mate and bring them home and get them settled in. I haven't decided if I am keeping them or not. I am going to stop making plans as mine are always less grand and exciting than the universe has in store for me. Life is good and always unfolding right in front of me. So I am going to try to work on being present for it and to be of service along the way…with a sense of humor of course! I mean you have to have one right? How many people do you know that want a puppy and end up with an entire litter! I am sure that this experience will bring me a ton of new, interesting and painful lessons and I say bring it on!
FOOTNOTE - I wrote this two years ago. My animal count now is 4 dogs (1 dalmatian), 4 cats, 6 chickens, 5 parakeets, 3 rabbits, 3 ducks, and 1 parrot. I fostered the two Dalmatians that I picked up at the shelter (turns out she wasn't pregnant), fostered another Dalmatian and finally ended up with the Dalmatian that I have now (also a rescue). It is official, reality says that I have taken leave of my senses.
Being on a spiritual path and practice, I decided to sit with this. To just be curious about my obsession. There were the obvious reasons – my children were growing to the point that they didn't need me as much anymore. Logan was starting school and Grace was in the throws of the threes and not a lot of fun to be around. Alek was only with us for brief periods and was showing signs of impending teenageitis. So there is that. Then there is that I am now 40. I got Kenya my 20th year so that seemed to make sense to me. A companion to last into my 50s. Again, not the reason. I came up with lots of things like that. Trying to reclaim my youth and a time that had passed. A chance to do it again but better now that I am in recovery.
Why did I want to complicate my life with a dog that is known for their stubbornness, high energy and lack of attention. I have three children that all fit that description, I was not lacking in that department…not even for a moment.
Then there are the dogs that I already have that I do not take on walks daily or even pay close attention to. They are an ornament in my life. I feed them and give them water and occasionally pet them. They sleep like uncomfortable lumps in my bed. I spend most days yelling at them to stop fighting with the dogs next door through the fence. So why can't I just love them like I think I am going to love this Dalmatian. Why don't I take the dogs that I have camping, hiking and with me to run errands. Part of that is answered by spending 5 minutes with Sonic, the min pin. He is so high strung that even getting close to the car causes him to hyperventilate and almost pass out. His aggression to other dogs is also a factor. As I am writing this, a cat jumped on the bed and he lunged at her. So Sonic is relegated to the home front due to antisocial behavior and my inability to deal with him. Trixie the pound puppy is much more manageable but I just don't love her or want to spend time with her. I am not sure why. I feel horrible about this but it is true. I keep her out of commitment and work on deepening my feelings for this gentle and loving animal for which I seem to only be able to conjure up the most basic affection.
The longer I sat with this the more urgent it felt to get the Dal and I also began to see why I wanted her so badly. This was how I lived my life. I didn't participate in the life that was occurring right in front of me. I was in love with the life that I didn't' have on many levels. I was happy living the life in my head with the dog that made me feel the way that I wanted to feel without the trappings of that pesky thing called reality.
Yet I kept calling breeders and rescue groups trying to find that right dog and had a couple of close calls that didn't materialize for one reason or another. So I had just turned one breeder down and was getting ready to turn down the last one when I got a phone call. It was a rescue group out of Orange County. They had a pregnant female Dal in a shelter and needed someone crazy that would foster her. I didn't hesitate! I said I am that crazy person. So today I am loading up my very present and real family and we are driving to Rancho Cucamonga to pick up the dog and her mate and bring them home and get them settled in. I haven't decided if I am keeping them or not. I am going to stop making plans as mine are always less grand and exciting than the universe has in store for me. Life is good and always unfolding right in front of me. So I am going to try to work on being present for it and to be of service along the way…with a sense of humor of course! I mean you have to have one right? How many people do you know that want a puppy and end up with an entire litter! I am sure that this experience will bring me a ton of new, interesting and painful lessons and I say bring it on!
FOOTNOTE - I wrote this two years ago. My animal count now is 4 dogs (1 dalmatian), 4 cats, 6 chickens, 5 parakeets, 3 rabbits, 3 ducks, and 1 parrot. I fostered the two Dalmatians that I picked up at the shelter (turns out she wasn't pregnant), fostered another Dalmatian and finally ended up with the Dalmatian that I have now (also a rescue). It is official, reality says that I have taken leave of my senses.
The Baby Bird Lesson
It is a Monday afternoon and the kids and I are at home. Gracie is getting ready for speech therapy or rather she is playing awaiting nothing at all. Logan is getting on my nerves. I am contemplating dinner – the one that I would like to prepare – organic, wholesome, not out of a box and coming to terms with the reality that we will have something out of a box in the freezer. I comfort myself that it will be vegetarian…not that anyone but my husband cares. The kids would be fine if I let them eat cereal and mac and cheese for every meal. Then my mind drifts and I wonder if I am like most moms or am I just a failure. Because that is the term that you use when you can't think up a nutritious dinner…failure! I am so dramatic! There is a knock at the door and I am jarred from my preoccupation with dinner into the reality of Gracie's speech therapist. Shortly thereafter my husband arrives home and provides much needed respite from trying to manage Logan's constant interference with Gracie's therapy so I can sit and be present and delight, if just for a minute, my daughter's progress in learning to speak.
But not for long…I am drawn from therapy to yelling coming from the backyard. I jump up and run out there. It is my husband yelling at the cat to drop the fledgling mockingbird. Tom is successful in getting the cat to drop it. I grab a box and my gardening gloves from the garage and scoop up the tiny bird. It is not harmed but very scared. I see its mother hovering above me but she keeps her distance and watches me. After we are sure the bird is not mortally wounded, we begin trying to find the nest so that we can reunite it with its mother and safety. My son is very excited about this whole ordeal and has lots of ideas about what we should do with the bird – it can sleep with him – really he doesn't mind. I sit him down and explain why that is not possible and encourage him instead to help me find the nest. This is complicated by the fact that the nest is somewhere in the hedge that is in full blossom and full of bees. Patience not being my strong suit, I quickly delegate this nest finding task to my husband and son and return to my daughter's therapy session and my thoughts of dinner.
Shortly, my husband yells again for me to come there. He has found another bird hiding underneath the hedge and we decide to return this baby bird to its family. Out of the box and into the hedge with a running start! Once we are a safe distance away the mother bird quickly swoops down and the family is reunited…for the moment. The baby bird will not stay underneath the hedge! It continues to come out into the open, dangerous yard and chirp its little heart out. We get the dogs, cats and kids inside and trust that all will be well. Gracie finishes her therapy session and so ends the bird drama. Now I can devote my entire attention to the dinner drama. I decide on pasta and begin.
As I am standing at my kitchen window, I see the little bird darting around the yard. I can hear the mother bird calling to it and see her swoop down to herd it into the bushes. But the little bird won't listen to its mother and in a horrifying instant is killed by a crow. My husband runs out to save it but this time he is too late. He helplessly watch life leave the little bird and looks to me at my window. I am grief stricken and destroyed. I watched the life drain out of that being as I stand helplessly at my kitchen sink. I was totally powerless and I hated it! My husband leaves the fracture, feathered body where it lay because he is just too distraught to do anything else. He comes in for dinner.
At the dinner table, my son, fully aware of all that has occurred, is full of questions. Why did the crow do that? Why are crows so mean? Will a crow eat him or Gracie? Should we try to kill crows for killing baby birds? My answers for him are limp and unsatisfying even to me because I am hating the crow too. I am grief stricken that the life that I just held in my hands a few minutes ago is now gone forever.
While I am grappling with my sorrow, I find that I could careless about dinner and don't think that I will be eating anyway. My son is relentless and the questions are coming rapid fire now. I want to escape into my room and let Tom handle this but know that I can't. I turn to my son and begin. I tell him that crows aren't bad, they just are the way they are. They eat other animals and that is how they survive. It isn't about being bad or good. It is just that some beings kill other beings to survive and some don't. And in my explanation to him I realize why I am a vegetarian – I am a being that doesn't kill to survive and this thought brings me great peace. This peace helps me to endure the rest of the evening and the following days of my son's searching questions.
This event has caused me to realize that as a mother, I can only do so much to protect my kids. I am just like that mother bird. I can scold, herd them to safety, and swoop down on them but that ultimately my kids will exercise free will. They are beings in their own right and their ideas are going to cause them to behave in ways that I do not understand, agree with or condone. Devastation is the focal emotion when I very painfully take in how much like that momma bird I am. I close my eyes and pray with all my being that my "little birds" meet with a kinder fate. Still, I am overwhelmed by powerlessness. After all the running around to save the bird from the cat, it was killed anyway. It is times like this that I cannot rectify that it feels that some beings are on this planet just to be killed. I cannot get past how unfair and wrong that feels. I find myself a bit despondent about life and death. But my son's comment quickly jerks me into the present. "Mommy, crows are bad and I am going to kill the next one I see!" Jarred by his honest, deeply felt and adult like speech, I get down on my knees, look him in the eyes and say, "then there would be two dead birds and don't we feel bad enough that there is one?" And like a bolt, I realize that killing is sad no matter what the circumstance, it is not what makes us bad. There is no good and bad – just my judgment about events that happen every day. I want to explain this to my son but how can I? It has taken me almost 40 years to even begin to get this lesson and despite my strong desire, I cannot give it to him. It is a lesson that he will have to learn himself and my job as his mother is to be present and available when he seeks to access my wisdom.
I feel in awe of the cycle of life which includes death. Somehow this experience has made me feel more connected to other beings. I see more clearly the cause and effect of all actions. That there is no vacuum in which one action does not deliver unintended consequences. I expect to feel depressed and lost but instead of feeling destroyed by this experience, I feel strangely uplifted. My witnessing and participation in this event has affirmed my vow to not cause harm in this life. That I want to be in this world in a peaceful, loving and non-harming way. I know that my life changed because of the little bird and I know that my son was affected too. And as always, I don't know what lesson he learned from this experience. What I do know is that I was able to be present, honest and loving as we tried to sort it out together. I know that I may not set a good example of compassionate living everyday but on this day I did. When I look out my kitchen window, the little bird is gone. The crow came back and took his dinner home. And I am relieved. Relieved that I don't have to dispose of the body and that the little birds death was not completely in vain. Another being will live another day because of its sacrifice. I do not like the way world works frequently but if I stay present I get a chance to be present. And the present is the only place that I have a chance to protect my own "little birds".
Motherhood...a lesson in trudging.
I never wanted to be a mother - a wife or a mother. I was adamant that I did not want to be a wife and entertained the completely reckless belief that being a single mother was something good to choose. Knowing what I know now, being a single parent is heroic. But knowing what I knew then, my ideas about being a single mother were just ill informed, grandiose and stupid.
I am currently being paged by my two year old daughter – she wants me to tuck her in…AGAIN! I swear tonight is an all time record – this is now the 5th time that I have tucked her in. There aren't many people on this earth, save my children, that I would lovingly stop what I am doing, go to them and be nice. My husband surely would not get that treatment – admittedly maybe he should but he doesn't and isn't likely to. Even my own mother, whom I adore, would get some form of exasperation from me. And, on my not so good nights, so do the kids but tomorrow is Mother's Day so I am on my best motherly behavior.
Before I go any further, I need to own up to the fact that I find mothering very hard. My time in the motherhood trenches has been not unlike mortal combat. I still have days, perhaps weekly, that I would trade both my kids in for the mere promise of a day at the spa or Nordstroms. Fortunately, those moments pass and I am able to return to the present and see that, for the most part, my life as a wife and mother is enjoyable and rewarding.
So tonight Grace got the better me - five times in a row! This is a truly rare occurrence! As a mom, I feel that I am frequently not up to the task. That I have more bad days than good. But tonight I feel blessed. I do not mind the inconvenience of attending to her needs. Tonight, in the moment, I am content with the life that I fell into and amazed at how far I have come - completely contrary to all my plans and ideas.
I always thought of love and marriage to be a kind of trap - one that I should avoid - much like one avoids falling off 40 story building or down a mine trap. Yet here I sit on my Temperpedic mattress in my suburban home, SUV in the driveway, two dogs at the foot of my bed, two kids sleeping or rather not sleeping upstairs, writing while I mindlessly watch hockey with my husband. 10 years ago, this image would have sent me on a self-indulgent spending spree at Nordstroms, so how is it that I sit here and can't imagine my life any other way?
The truth is that I don't have a clue. I am living the American dream – my former nightmare and I am content. I have all the trappings of modern life yet I do not feel trapped. Instead, I feel lucky…blessed even. Lucky that I got sober at 25, blessed that I didn't marry until 34, blessed that I spent my 20's and early 30's getting to know me, grateful for the brief but satisfyingly successful legal career, lucky that despite my advanced maternal age (35!) that I conceived and delivered two absolutely gorgeous, healthy children, lucky that since Logan's arrival I have been able to work from home and spend time with my children and witness childhood in progress. It is true that I am fortunate and my life miraculous. However, the miracle is not that all of this has happened, it happens to lots of women everyday. The miracle lies in that all that I have received, I never wanted yet somehow I have come to embrace, accept that this is all that I have ever needed. For someone like me, wanting what you have is nothing short of a miracle. Had someone told me 15 years ago that the life that I have today would be my fate, I would have surely jumped off of a very high bridge. But today I am content and deeply grateful that I didn't get what I wanted.
All of this was accomplished by not planning a thing. I, in fact, planned the opposite. I planned to be married to my career and maybe, if I felt like it, at 40 have a kid on my own so that I could hide from the thought that if I didn't choose to procreate that I was just selfish. Today, I feel deep gratitude that all my plans never came to pass. That somehow in the years between 25 and 34 the woman that would request to be resat at a restaurant if she was sat remotely near a small child has matured into a stay-at-home mom who loves her kids & husband. I even happily drove a minivan for a couple of years. (THE HORROR!) Unlike many other women I knew while pregnant, I didn't have a birthing plan or a coach or any idea about what I was getting myself into – I just knew that I had come this far just putting one foot in front of the other and didn't see any reason to change that way of being. When I look back at it all, I see that I am a trudger. I move forward with purpose. What I didn't know was that it was never my purpose. I apparently have always answered to some higher purpose even in those moments that I have so talked myself into believing that my purpose is the right purpose. So like becoming a lawyer, getting married and having kids, I just trudged along and tried to stay out of the way and let it happen.
Today I am so grateful. I love my kids – they are the best teachers I have ever had. But most of all I love who I have become because of my kids. They challenge me in ways that no other person on this earth can…or should for that matter. They demand from me that I am on the top of my game every day, day after day whether I feel like it or not. And they know they have me – they know that despite my rantings that I am not going anywhere without them. They make me want to dig deeper and work harder than I ever have worked for anything in my life. And believe me, working at getting sober was the most demanding and difficult thing that I ever took on, but it pales in comparison to motherhood. So on the eve of this hallmark holiday that can become so meaningless and trite, I want to say thank you to my kids (and well my husband too after all he did play a part) for allowing me to trudge my way into motherhood and morphing into a person that I never wanted to be and probably wouldn't have liked. Today, I see that I have never known what is in my best interest but if I trudge along, someone will show me the way!
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