reality check

this mother’s day i admit to really struggling with parenting.

i have the whole feeding thing down. we eat well. we garden, we spend time outdoors, we have a damn good connection to the earth. we still have a ways to go but i’m confident we’re on the right path. but if i could get through one day without wanting to pull my hair out it would be a miracle.

several months ago gunter and i got into it about something. i don’t even recall the details of it, but in the end his words to me that day were crystal clear,

“i don’t even like you anyways.”

and for some reason i haven’t been able to let that go.

gunter is my stepson, he’s almost twelve, and something like this, though honest, is very typical of someone his age. but my faith in myself as a stepmom, even as a mom, started to crumble that day. and i haven’t yet recovered. i have held it against him, i have distanced myself, i have checked out, i have blamed, i’ve been less than i should be to him and to my family. and things with amelie and harper seem harder to manage than they should be.

almost a year ago, when we knew we had to close our restaurant but hadn’t yet told anyone, our lives were miserable. i cried every day and confided in only a handful of people about my pain. and now we are in a different world. we have time, we make plans, we have new jobs (still no money) but we have a life. so why can’t i find it in myself to stop losing my cool with my children?

i think that maybe i’m being hard on myself. people lose their cool, right? and having children that are almost twelve, ten, four, and two means covering a large expanse of milestones. right now in our house we have the sweetest and smartest sass-mouthed middle school boy who keeps tossing his hair to the side even though it’s not long enough to toss. we have a ten year old girl who’s the official pleaser middle child and wants nothing but love, peace, and to figure out what tampons are. we have an almost five year old girl who is really starting to express herself in several mediums (mostly thanks to her teacher at school) but who still adores me and just wants to be heard. and then there’s harper.. almost three. she seems to be the one who tries our patience the most but really is no different than gunter was at that age. she is a beast, stubborn, vocal, smart as a whip, and with a great sense of humor. but still two. and two is two no matter how you slice it. maybe three will be better?

having older children and younger children at the same time sometimes gives you the illusion that your done with that hover/intervene/manage stage when you really are not. not yet. so thanks to some consulting with fellow colleagues (benefit of working at a school) i now have some new ideas for how to help keep my hair attached to my head a bit longer.

and lest i sound like all is gloom and doom, i should mention, most importantly, what i am thankful for this mother’s day. so here’s a list, in no particular order:

rear view mirror glimpses of singing or sleeping children

the annoying but ridiculoulsy cute hair toss

glove conditioning before a softball game

watching them say the words to the Lord’s prayer in church

daring leaps, rolls, tumbles

playing shortstop

dirty, snotty faces, paint-covered clothes

bird identification

soccer games

questions

writing “H for Harper”

storytime

sleeping in late together

sitting on the kitchen counter

planting seeds

smoothies

dancing

watching them standing on the church pew holding an open bible and singing along with hymns

just to name a few. when i have so much. so the lesson here is, live it, experience it, know that i am not alone and that i have the love, support, and the wisdom of friends and family. but most of all,

do not miss the beauty.

a few nights ago we were at a playground with family after dinner. amelie had to go to the bathroom and i took her into a local rec center. the bathroom had several stalls but no one was there. she walked into the first stall , pulled down her pants and shimmied onto the toilet. i asked her if she needed some privacy.

“yes,” she said. “can you come in?”

for now i am still part of her intimate, private, trusting world and for that i am deeply thankful.

that is the beauty.

i love you in spring

my amelie.

the sun was out today and it turned your cheeks a rosy red.

it dusted your nose with cinnamon freckles

and touched your hair with a beautiful golden color.

i laughed at lunchtime,

seeing your funny kefir mustache and

i was happy to hear you ask for more soup.

i watched as you ran freely outside for hours,

at home and at ease in the sweet spring air,

with a backdrop of budding trees.

i love you with all my heart amelie.

your dirty fingernails and knotty hair and

your hopelessly out-of-tune voice.

i love you in summer, in fall, in winter.

and today amelie,

i love you in spring.

fifteen minutes

{really, how do i come back to this after so much time? i’m sorry for not writing, mainly sorry to myself, because i miss having the ability to say things without apology and in return receive your words of love and support. thank you for coming back.}

This week through my school work I have listened to lectures and read articles by Dr. Bernie Siegel, MD. Dr. Bernie Siegel is a physician who has cared for and counseled thousands with life-threatening illnesses. He embraces a philosophy of living and dying that stands at the forefront of the medical ethics and spiritual issues our society grapples with today. His humor buffers his severe honesty about illness, death, life, and love and I could have listened to him for hours. This section of study prompted a discussion in which we were asked,

“If you had 15 minutes to live, what would you do?”

As someone who fears death, my own as well as that of my friends and family with every fiber of my being, it was shocking to be asked this question and downright frightening to think about the answer. Of course with each passing stage or event in our lives, the answer would change for each of us. Six or seven months ago when we owned Food Matters my answer would without a doubt include something about running as far away from that place as possible. There were times in that five years that we had the restaurant, and more often towards the end, that I was convinced that continuing to operate it the way things were going would for certain kill me. Every day I am thankful to have been able to walk away from something that had, after five (but really more like seven) years, taken all but the tiniest bit of energy, drive, happiness, and hope from our lives. Easily the most painful thing I have ever experienced, and seven months later, I am still unable to fully articulate my feelings. Perhaps in time it will unravel here, and I’ll be able to let it go along with the other things I have left behind.

I have spent the past couple of months intentionally taking care of myself, though not without a tremendous amount of guilt. A definite sense of calm has come over me without the distractions we had just a short time ago and I have been fortunate enough to spend lots of time with my children as well as develop much deeper relationships with my best friends. And so it is with a bit more clarity that I make an attempt at answering this question of what I would do today if I had fifteen minutes to live.

1. I would make love to my husband.

2. I would tell my children and my family that I love them.

3. I would forgive my father.

4. I would ask God to forgive me.

5. I’d ask my girlfriends to throw me a kick-ass funeral/party.

6. Finally, assuming I had the sense of calm and resolve about me that I hear washes over people before they die, I would hold on to my husband and children until the very last breath. I’m guessing that that would be the smoothest possible transition from life to wherever it is I am to go.

It is certainly the closest thing to Heaven that I have.

{i'd love to hear from you. what would you do with your last fifteen minutes?}

our grass harper turns two

beautiful day for your second birthday, harper. you are turning two just days after we closed our restaurant, food matters. the realization that you will never even remember our little dream of a business is not lost on me. it is a painful fact that made the decision to close even harder. i think because it represented everything that we wanted for you and your siblings. but you will have those things anyway, and now at less of a cost to all of us.

perhaps it is because you are the baby of the family, but everything you do just breaks my heart. mostly because each stage you go through seems so miraculous but so fleeting and i can't bear to let it go. i treasured our first couple of days together at the hospital. i am proud that i never once had to give you formula. feeding you is a daily joy, particularly breakfast, your favorite meal. you walked at nine months, i barely even remember you crawling. you hold a fork, a pencil, any tool, with such grace that it amazes us. such perfection from such little fingers. between the omnipresent nest of hair in the back of your head and your super hipster rat tail, i can't bring myself to bring you for your first haircut. listening to you sing happy birthday to yourself last night in bed was heavenly. some of your favorite words are strawberry, bath time, car ride, and i love you. not surprisingly, you love to announce mealtimes at home.

it seems that as mothers we not only want better for our children than we had for ourselves, but with each child we hope to perfect parenting a little more. your intolerance to wheat has challenged me to examine further how i feed myself and others as well. your constant need for my presence teaches me that i am capable of having more patience than i ever thought possible. holding you a little longer at night reminds me that nothing outside of our family should consume me.

i am excited and terrified to watch you grow up, harper. i hope that one day you will read this and be amused, but that you won't need to read it to understand how completely i love you. that i hope to show you every day of your life, for as long as i live.

happy birthday my sweet baby harper.

love,

mommy

ate by a wolf and shit off a cliff

bad news? that's how i feel.

good news? today means change.

i had decided a while ago that after closing food matters i would make some changes. despite my general tendency to eat well, my life has become extremely toxic lately, particularly since announcing our closing to the public six weeks ago. and while the wound is still fresh and i am not quite ready to talk about all the issues surrounding that place, i am ready to feel better. i have become so tightly wound that i am fearful of even stopping for a moment to take care of myself. i am afraid that even allowing myself to relax one bit will result in a whole new wave of emotion that i am not ready to face. so first step is that i do begin caring for myself and that means i face whatever comes with a clean and clear mind.

for thirty days i am removing alcohol, sugar, grains, beans, legumes, and dairy from my diet. i had planned to start with just the alcohol but i was inspired by a fellow holistic mom, sarah, who decided to do a strict Paleo challenge called The Whole 30 Challenge. since doing the Paleo diet (by following advice from the Paleo Solution) a few months ago and losing a whopping 15 pounds, i knew i'd benefit even more. so with a little will power and support from friends who have either been off the wagon for a while or are going on the wagon with me this month i plan on feeling a whole lot better in thirty days.

everyone keeps asking what tom and i will do next and we don't have an answer for them. things are exciting and incredibly frightening all at the same time. i have really come to realize how incredibly fortunate i am to have such amazing friends and family. they have come forward these past few weeks in ways that i could never have asked for and really carried our family through the process of letting our little dream go. i have learned a lot about leaning on people, something i have never been good at, and i am hopeful that the next few weeks will be a time of healing for me, for tom, and for our precious family.

and i promise to keep you posted:)