A Walk With A View

Nature walking has proven to be magical. In fact, I cannot recommend this enough to any mother out there who is also struggling with poor self-esteem and isolation.

So, yeah, self-esteem. I hadn't mentioned that, had I?

I have a low one. It's a deceivingly low one. As long as I am setting goals and striving for them -- and making some here and there -- I am OK. But the second things don't go my way, I look in the mirror and start blaming. Myself. Others. Mother Earth. You name it.

Anyway, walking has become my time. I've even found a way to mix it in with errands so that I'm not wasting gas -- because I drive to my walking destination. Monday I walked before a moms night out dinner. Tonight I walked and then hit the grocery store that's along the route to the park.

Cake.

Why didn't I do this sooner, I was wondering?

Easy. Life just was different. It's always different -- even when it's the same. The girls were born in the dead of winter. That spring and summer I worked outside the home. That fall, when I became a SAHM, I started freelancing and just relished my time with the girls. Winter came and went and my freelancing became my priority.

Essentially, I stopped thinking about me and only thought about my career as a writer.

A month ago, I stopped writing for money. At first it felt great. Then I was feeling inadequate. And now I'm trying to come to terms with this new life of not being a professional writer anymore. Just being a mom and a socially conscious woman who loves to write. I think this is who I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm letting these posts be whatever they are going to be now, too ... which is a mess, I realize, but my mind is a mess so it's all good.

Walking alone in a busy park -- preferably near really nice houses that appear perfect -- is my sweet spot. I like the longest trails I can find so I can't cut it short. I like a nice average walk, right now, because really I am in no hurry. If I lose some pounds walking I'll be happy but that's not my motivation.

My destination is also important. I walk all the time in our city. Walking has always been my sanity as a mother. In fact, I once walked the entire span of the west side one morning in search of yard sales that never existed. I am always the only mother walking her kids. I am always an outcast. I'm stared at because I am the mom with the really nice jogging stroller. Oh, and who has two girls who look very much alike and, oh, "Are they twins?"

And, to be brutally honest because that's my place right now, I am the only white, educated mom walking.

Basically, I'm a freak when I walk near my home. I've never fit in and will never fit in and that doesn't stop me from walking. In fact, I wore freakdom proudly yesterday as I donned a Maine Moose T-shirt -- just for my girls. Gawd, who knows who drove past! I never think about that until three days later someone at the grocery store says, "I saw you walking!"

So ... my purposeful walk in the suburbs is important for me. I love seeing the high school kids playing soccer and baseball, whole families riding bikes, newly married couples walking hand-in-hand and the aging walking their dogs or with their canes.

They all seem so normal. They aren't sitting on the curb, waiting for the homeless shelter to serve its next meal. They aren't standing on the corner looking suspicious. They aren't cursing across the street. They aren't smoking and carrying a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. They don't glare or even turn their head.

No, they smile. They say hello.

I had forgotten these images. I had forgotten the smell of trees. I had forgotten the sound of laughter. I had forgotten about the sound of a bicycle bell, and scooter wheels rolling on pavement. I had forgotten that whole families went out at dusk to get exercise.

These are not things I see and hear in my neighborhood. I see and hear many good things near my home, but lately those things haven't been enough for me. That sense of community is missing. Just another face in a sea of faces. Just another body in a crowd of thousands.

No wonder I've felt so alone.


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One day at a time

Wow, some really amazing women have shown up here this week. So many who I haven't met before. Some I've admired for a long time. Apparently, that last headline on my newspaper drew a crowd.

Thank you. Everyone. I really appreciate everyone's thoughts, ideas, well wishes, etc. I am still reading, re-reading and trying to respond to everyone personally as well. Because some of you were right there with me and you need to be heard, too.
Now that I'm a mostly functioning human being again ... let's see ... where to begin?

I am better. And, like always, I was able to do a lot of soul searching to get to the root of my problem. After all, I am, at heart, a problem-solver by nature.

In the past when I've felt down, I've had many resources to use to pull myself up and out of that dark place. I mean, that is why people drink, right? Unfortunately.

There I was, without a bottle of wine in the house, without using drugs or smoking cigarettes, without the ability to leave and go shopping, without even a dollar to my name due to some stupid extra expenses this month like when the heating unit in our house died just at the end of cool weather spring.

Food, shopping and wine. That's how I've been able to lift myself out of dark places in the past. Not more than a glass or two, a fatty cheeseburger or a sushi roll. Chinese. A new, crisp book off the shelf. These are the luxuries of life I have been missing because I know they are not needed; that diapers and food and saving for a new house or a new car is more important now. I never knew this in the past. I just spent. And spent. And spent.

No, we do not have any family close by to watch the two high energy toddlers. No, we really can't afford a sitter right now. However, a friend and I are swapping nights at each other's houses starting this Friday for us! Time out alone. And we don't even have to pay for a sitter. Awesome.

Anyway, yes, I need some me time. The funny thing is that I've known this and I've tried to do it every weekend, but I realized this past weekend that I wasn't doing it right.

Here's the three reasons why I fell into a bit of depression:

1. Stopped being goal-oriented: I actually decided to stop freelancing and just sit back and be a mom for two months -- until I start working. I honestly feel this might have been the biggest cause of my slump. I suddenly had no other purpose to my life and I felt it, instantly. OK, after a week of watching HGTV. Since Day One, I always had freelancing to occupy my time either with finding new work, making calls or writing. It filled my mornings, afternoons and nights. There was no time to just sit and think.

2. Engaged in bad behaviors for me-time: It's true. You do it, too, if you are here right now. Internet. Computer. Searching for coupons and good deals to save money. Reading blogs. (I do not feel that writing for a blog is a bad behavior, though). All of these things I had been doing -- including tearing down the wallpaper in two rooms -- wasn't about me. It was all a part of this great big journey that I've been on my entire life -- to finally find the next best whatever -- toddler recipe, printable coupon, bargain price, latest release, etc. (I hear Karen ringing her bells at me right now).

3. I'd gotten distracted: I've repeated this here before but my mind is truly a mess. I am an idea machine. A dreamer. A seeker. So many ideas pour through each day it's really, really hard to stay focused. While I do achieve many of the goals I set, there are many dozens more that never see any action more than being written down on a note pad. Even worse, many remain in my mind like little dust balls in the corner. Neglected yet staring at me all day long. Some of those dreams were unattainable at this point in my life -- like wanting to take yoga for exercise and mental clarity but not having any money or time. Like wanting to get out of the house but not wanting to spend any money doing so.

So, what I have I done differently to pull myself up? Well, for one I wrote about it. That's always the first step. And, I cried about it. In the meantime, the people I needed to hear from did reach out and that made me feel better. And, I journaled for several pages.

But none of that is really what helped me.

I helped me. I always do. I spoke up and was heard. That was key.

And then I walked.

And walked and walked. Alone. Without burden or responsibility. Without lists of groceries to buy or coupons in my pocket.

Deep into the heart of this long walk, it dawned on me. I could be walking for free to accomplish so many of my personal goals of taking time for myself, feeling healthier and being more fit. It gets me out of the house!

So, I have started an exercise regimen -- with very specific goals -- that is free and will hopefully get me started in the right direction for my mind's sake but also my body's.

I'm a goal-oriented person. Without specific goals I am exactly who I was last week and the week before. That's exactly why I have lists of what I want to do today, tomorrow, next week. I always try my best to achieve them.

As happy as I am in this life -- and I'm very happy because I am the mother to two of the sweetest, cutest and silliest little girls in our block and possibly the world -- and as frustrating as they are right now, I have always realized how lucky I am to have them to push my buttons all darn day. No, it's not easy mothering twins. There is a constant heartbreak underway. Someone always has to be put down or put second and when they are so little and still not able to fully communicate that makes it even more complicated.

But, more on this twin thing later in the week.

Again, thank you. I'm better. Really. I told you it would happen.

Then again, it's Sunday night. Ask me how I am on Thursday since that seems to be the day of drama around here. And, I'm without car wheels one extra day this week.

Will the saga continue? I cannot say. I can only say that I do truly hope not.

Is this my longest post ever? I am so anti-long posts so sorry. As Jadyn says now when things get a bit out of hand, "e-Nuff."

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Keep going; nothing to see here

There's this saying among law enforcement that graffiti is the newspapers of the streets.

I'll add to that.

This blog is the newspaper to my heart.

And last week I wrote a dark post that really was a call for help, a yearn for someone to reach out to me.

That post was ignored by everyone real in my life. No one called to see if I was OK. No one even e-mailed, as much as I hate email these days.

It's not the first time. In fact, just about every time I've written about how I'd love to have some company, some help, some support, a caring shoulder to cry on, my headlines go unanswered.

Family is still too busy to make time for us. The only company we have are from my mom's club.

I've even gone as far as asking people for specific help around our house only to be ignored, shoved off or offered some vague not really helping kind of help.

Today, I questioned my mental outlook as I cried, again, on the way home from the park this morning. The girls wouldn't leave; ran in different directions leaving my heart to leap with worry and fear, which always puts me on the edge. I am not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to outwit them anymore. I don't want to be the mean mommy. I don't want to cave in to their every want either.

Everything is a battle right now. This age, this stage. From the second we wake in the morning to the second we go to bed. When I walk through the door I am not who they want to see. When we walk downstairs, being home with me is not where they want to be. They argue over what book to read, what movie to watch, who gets what toy, chair, shirt, car seat and which way I should drive when turning out of the driveway.

They cry for daddy, for the park, for a car ride, for friends and family who we rarely see and won't be seeing for a long time.

I'm not sure if this is the terrible twos or if this is just what life is going to be like. It's hard to see past my own tears half the time.

They only miss me when I'm gone and I'm never gone. Ever. Who can leave when there's no one here to stay?

The responsibility of trying to keep them happy, entertained, uninjured by themselves and by each other is enormous. Much, much more than I ever dreamed.

I could handle all of this if it weren't for all the crying.

It's the crying that tears me up; that makes me want to run. Some days it's constant. There are some days when nothing I do works.

I wanted to be their life, but it's clear I am not. They want the world and half the time I can't even afford to buy them lunch.

I am trying so hard to be a good mom, a happy mom. I truly am. And I hate it when people tell me to cherish these days -- as if I'm not, as if I'm trying to rush past it all. I'm not. Not at all. I'm just trying to survive each day with some sense of knowing I did an OK job today. That I'm not ruining them for life, that they will be proud to tell stories of their childhood.

Dan is taking a day off today (Friday) to offer me some help. I hope it doesn't ruin his chances of getting the job he's trying to get. Just to help me. Then again, he hasn't taken a vacation day since, well, I do not know when. A year perhaps. Too long. Way too long.

I am going to try and mother myself for at least part of the day. Because, I think, ultimately that is really want I need, a mother for myself. Someone who actually thinks about me, my wants and needs, my hurting heart, struggling mind and wavering strength.

Why didn't I get the memo? Why didn't anyone tell me how hard being a mom is? Why did everyone pretend it's so easy and perfect and wonderful? I might have been more prepared.

But, go ahead, keep walking. Nothing to see here. Really.

Just everything.



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Happy motherly moments

It's no secret that 2 has been kicking my ass.
In fact, that might be an understatement.

However, in an effort to pretend that everything is perfect and sunshiny I am focusing on the positive moments today. This week. Maybe it will be a list to incorporate every week from here on out. At least until this phase of obstinacy moves past us.

Here are some happy motherhood moments sticking in my mind lately.

1. Watching the girls eyes go wide as they went down the big slides at their first carnivals with their daddy -- twice in one weekend.
   
2. Hearing the words: More ice keem; no likey; i sorry, mommy; Nana, look! Fire truck!; bun (which means fun); and, I wuv u whispered in my ear as a secret.
3. Seeing the two of them learn to really play and mimic with their dolls. Watching them feed them cereal or "lunch" with a spoon, give bottles, wrap them, unwrap them in blankets, push them in shopping carts, put them down to sleep only to wake them back up in seconds. The way they hold them and nurture them shows me that I've done my job even if it doesn't feel that way most of the time anymore.
   
4. Helping them make a tall stack of blocks just so they can knock them over and hear them crash.
5. And, finally, wanting to twirl along with them as they spin and spin and spin in the prettiest dresses in all of the land during music class.
   

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Swollen eyes, hurting heart

It's the kind of day that I could easily spend it in bed, under covers, crying. Ask what's wrong and I'll just nod and shew you away.

Everything. Nothing.

It's the kind of day that if I weren't a mother in charge of two human beings I would take a long drive -- to the beach, maybe -- and sulk in the wonders of nature.

All of it.

It's the kind of day I want to give up, pack up bags and go away and forget people's names and faces.

Including my own.

It's the kind of day when I feel paper-thin, fragile, so transparent that I'm invisible to the naked eye.

But no one is watching.

It's the kind of day when I feel like I could stop breathing and no one would know.

The phone never rings. The door never knocks.

It's the kind of day when everything is dark. And I'm not home. And, I'm tired.

So very tired.

I've been here before. I will bounce back. I have before.

But, a little Between the Lines hiatus is in order. Will be back next week sometime.

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And, just who is she now?

Tonight I will sit in a crowded movie theater reconnecting with that woman I used to be.

Funny how this movie is hitting theaters right around the time I'm preparing for a change in my life.

Funny how life works out, friends keep reminding me.

I don't care how this story ends. I only care about the journey. Will the ending be perfect? Probably not. Life doesn't work that way. I am OK with that, even for myself.

My mind has been spinning lately with worries and anxieties as I prepare mentally, physically and emotionally to return to the working world and leave Jadyn and Liana in the care of others.

So much of this past year and a half has been a blur in that I really truly spent most of it in the trenches of motherhood, barely coming up for air of civility or even adult conversation except for on this blog or on other blogs.

Sure, much of me is still the same as I used to be -- I think. I've barely had time to feel what has changed and what hasn't. Life has been too chaotic to even be able to feel many emotions other than the ones directly related to mothering.

I know I rise early to try and feel organized; that I go to bed late to fit it all in. I write more than ever; fix my hair much less. I am much more patient on one hand and not nearly as patient as I used to be on the other. I want less stuff except for stuff for my daughters and then I can never have enough.

Would I have gone to watch this movie alone five years ago? Hell no. I would have had a gang of girlfriends with me, I'm sure.

That's how much I've changed; that I'm looking forward to sitting in that theater, alone, with no expectations for myself, or for the movie. Just me and my best friends on the big screen chilling, letting our stories unfold one after another. We've been through a lot, these characters and me. I imagine they've changed just as much as I have. Will I see it in the aging wrinkles on their face? Will they be as tired as I am? Probably not.

What I've learned most these last 2.5 years isn't so much how I've changed, but how much more I know about life, human connections and what is truly most important.

And, it ain't books or naps.

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R U HAVING F-U-N?

A few times lately -- OK, more than a few -- I've been worried about myself, worried that I've lost my fun-factor as a mom.

I've always been decidedly involved -- the mom who puts off dishes and cleaning to sit and play. But, lately even dishes have seemed more fun. At least they don't throw tantrums or bite each other!

I'm still not ready to throw in the towel and say that 2 is harder than twinfancy, but it has gotten pretty challenging.

Admittedly, I've always stayed away from activities that might cause a fight, like those games when you toss your kid in the air over and over and over and you finally just want to quit because you're tired. Well, I have one more to deal with, too. That intersection of conflict and saying no and being tired doesn't work for me.

So, in the past, we just avoided it. Now, though, physical play is almost demanded at every stretch of our day.

"Mama sit."
"Mama run."
"Mama this."
"Mama that."

Time is more limited than ever. My thoughts are constantly invaded. Dishes and meals are no longer dishes and meals ... they are battles.

"Something has to get done today!" I yell, forcing myself to sit and play for the fifth time that hour.

Who have I become?

This is not the mom I wanted to be. The tired one. The one half-listening. The one watching the clock until their father walks in the door so I can just shut down my brain for five minutes.

No, this isn't Her.

We go in spurts around here with organized play, free play and winging it. I like to hold art and music sessions followed by free play. I always plan a craft project of some sort. And, we move from room to room, playing with things like the money bank in our room, to jumping on the bed in the guest room to watching You Tube videos in my office.

But, the free play part ... is not existent more than ever. Instead they cry or fuss and fight until I sit back down next to them and coordinate something else or have to put one in time out.

Or, until we get into the car and go somewhere.

Next post: A plan of action. Bringing the F-U-N back into motherhood with a challenge -- for you, too.



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Me. Me. Me!

By late Saturday morning, the LTMD household seemed like it might be headed to Normal Land, where the tantrums and crying only minimally cause moments or hours of insanity -- not days, which is where we were for the last 9 to 10 days.

Insanity.

Other than to go to the doctor's office for the routine checkup that turned into the discovery of both girls having ear infections, I did not leave the house all week.

Back to late Saturday morning. The girls went off for a short car ride with their dad and I cleaned and it felt so absolutely amazing. The sun shined in through the curtains I opened and it felt like the Dawning of a New Day. Truly.

I made pizza for dinner and we all gobbled it up with our running noses and coughs taking a slight backburner to enjoy it. We felt anew.

That night we even almost slept through the night. Not quite, but it was better.

Then, smack dab in the middle of Sunday's CVSing, gasp!, I got a horrendous feeling of fever and illness. So much so that I didn't give $6 in coupons and only realized that later in the day. Imagine my disappointment.

But, this post isn't so much about all of that as it is about Me Time and the fact that I have been in need of Me Time for well over a month or two. I can't remember the last Me Time, in fact. I do not count grocery shopping as Me Time. I should be expected to, either.

More than that, though, we are lacking in We Time as well.

So, I want to talk this week about Me Time and We time as part of Mamablogga's group writing project.

My issue is this: How do we fit it all in? Where's the time? The energy? The money?

I had already been ready to pay for a sitter so Dan and I can have a date even if it's to McDonald's (because that McNuggets rap commercial has worked on me). Then, I knew I was overdue in Me Time as well and needed to work that in to the equation as well.

But, week nights after 12 hours caretaking of the tots and neglect of myself, all I want to do is sleep. Usually I have to get some work done, as well. Remember: I work during the girls' naps (when they honor me with such a perk to this job).

So, week nights in the winter, at least, are just not good for me for either date night or Me Time.

Then, the weekends are catch up to everything that didn't get done during the week. The laundry, the cleaning, the errands.

Factor all of that in to the fact that we're finally together as a family for once all week. I want to do things as a family, which is a whole heck of a lot easier than juggling outings by myself.

I just feel like it's an endless cycle and that Me Time and Date night are just not that easy to make happen since we don't have family to rely on.

We are going to hire a sitter as soon as we are all well again and we don't care if the girls stay up and cry all night, either. It has to be done. Our last date was February 2007. We need to get out of this house!

But, I'm also going to make Me Time happen this week -- as soon as I feel better.

How about you? How do you make this all happen? What's your secret? Do you have relatives to help you out with either babysitting or errands or cleaning?


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Full of venom -- a post I may regret

It's been one of those days.

It's been the kind of day that I honestly think to myself that I want to quit this job, this mothering thing. I fantasize how I can escape, how I can beat it.

It's been the kind of day I just want to curl up in a hotel room and sob and hide under the covers and dream of the days that didn't involve throw up and tantrums and half-hour naps and snotty noses and two toddlers crying for an hour straight for no apparent reason.

It's been one of those days when I wonder what I was thinking when I wanted children so badly. It's been one of those days when I wished I didn't have twins.

It's been one of those days when the venom inside me permeates so strongly that I can taste it in my mouth. I can feel it bubbling to the surface. And it all leads back to this: that my mother isn't here to help me. That she will never be here to help me. That she hasn't been here to help me since the first week we came home from the hospital.

I recently told her that I am at peace with this fact. And, every other week but this one, I am. But this has been the kind of week where patience wears thin after night after night of sleepless nights and endless bouts of crying. The pushing and pulling of two toddlers at my clothes, on my legs, in my hair ... the whines and cries of two toddlers in the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms, the living room ... the tug of war over my cell phone, a stuffed animal, a curtain, a chair, a sticker.

It's the kind of week where I resent people. I resent them for not being here to help us. I resent them for missing out on nearly everything in my daughters' lives.

It's been the kind of week where I just want to give up, move far away and change my name and never speak to anyone ever again.

And, if we could sell this house, I might do just that. Not that that would help me get more sleep or help stop the crying -- unless, of course, I move to warm climate where winter and all of the germs it riles up is just a distant memory.

You've got double trouble!?

Since this is singlehandedly the No. 1 comment/question I receive as a Mama of twins (I am not alone, I know) I just thought I'd share that I do finally understand why this is uttered so very much.

Because after three days and two illnesses with one child ... I think we're about to do it again, with the other.

Stay tuned. I may need a blogging break this week. I'm sorry. I have a VERY NEW AMAZING, WONDERFUL deadline due along with two others this week and I'm sleep deprived.

Someone send me coffee. Please!

And, chocolate.

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Anchored to the earth

The air was so cold this morning that when the wind caught my face I lost my breath for a bit. The breeze stung against my cheeks. My thoughts froze in the moment as I waited for the air to fill back up through my lungs and not hurt.

The sting, though, felt good after a weekend of feeling helpless. First, my own illness that left me dead to the world, and, heartbreakingly, to my daughters. Then, one of them, too, got swept away in a virus that holds no punches.

Her little face pale, her eyes drooped. She'd lift her head to watch her silly sister or crazy father, only to quickly lay it back down again on my chest or my shoulder or my stomach. She'd twitch and turn and flop to get comfortable and then do it all over again in a minute.

I lay anchored to the earth beneath me, praying for her comfort, praying for my stillness to soothe her, praying for my ability to move freely again some day.

She cried. She moaned. She wrestled with the pains of the fever, she tried to take cover from the fierce, animal-like cough that belted out of her little body, and she grew angry at each sliver of fluid that dripped from her nose.

She broke my heart a million times in two days that put playing and food and drink aside to just lay with her Mama.

Tomorrow, dear girl -- tomorrow will be better.

It has to be.



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The Rising

This Friday, around 2 p.m., I will celebrate being a mom for two years. I am going to throw myself a small party during the girls' nap by watching my favorite TV show and drinking a cup of coffee with my mom's yummy biscotti.

I will spend a great deal of time thinking back over the past 24 months. I started new with practically everything in the last two years. With friends. With family. With socializing. With organization. With writing. With not writing. With living. With sleeping. With not sleeping.

Much like when I was in 7th grade and walked into the middle school gym as a new student, wearing my best jeans and spanking new Reeboks ... I have been awkward since becoming Mama. I've walked with my head low, my shoulders slumped and my hair in disarray.

But something has changed in the last few weeks. Something has changed in me. I am different, but in a good way. I am still Mama. I am still frazzled most of the time. But, I am walking more proudly. I feel lighter. I see more clearly.

I am practicing loving-kindness and not even willfully. It's just happening. Perhaps it is influenced by a wonderful book Dan gave me for Christmas called, "Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday," by Thich Nhat Hanh. Some parts of the book make me laugh out loud because it's very obvious this Zen Master hasn't raised twins. But, in spite of it all, his simple words are transcending me into mindfulness almost naturally. I can only assume it has to do with this book. I may be hooked on his wisdom.

I'm being less hard on myself and have caught myself saying the following to myself in times that might have otherwise left me feeling down (hopping on the scale) or negative (will I ever get to leave the house, again?):

"It will be all right."
"It will happen."
"You'll be OK."

I'm trying to be less hard on others as well. My expectations -- visions, really -- of what this life with children would be like was based on movies and novels, not reality. It has taken two years for me to realize it. I am learning that people give only what they can and I should not expect anything at all.

This inner peace could be happening because I'm waking up and meditating and doing yoga instead of rushing into my to-do lists. Perhaps it's because I've been off caffeine.

Perhaps -- just perhaps -- it's because I'm settling into my role as being a mother. Maybe I have found my voice. My self-confidence.

Maybe, I am a mother, Rising.

It could be, too, that I have found my village and see another on the horizon.

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In a word(s)

Words around here right now are very important. Just today I learned that Jadyn and Liana knew how to say "Wall." As in ... Jay-Jay hit her head on the wall and got a boo-boo. (Not fun for a girl who we suspect is getting an ear infection.)

Each day more and more words come to life and I'm truly flabbergasted with the amount of knowledge Dan and I have taught these future American female leaders. Not just words, but pictures and concepts, too. I guess I hadn't realized kids were this smart at (almost) 2.

Which makes me realize that I need to be on my best behavior ... even when they both cry incessantly like they did this morning.

After gazillions of written drafts in my life, handfuls of jobs, failed relationships, and mountains of mistakes I can truly look into their eyes and see perfection. Finally, I got something right. Finally.

Is it possible to give these girls the world without spoiling them? Without ruining them? Without setting them up for failure? For disappointment?

If 2008 is the Year of the Writing then this year's word has to be even more meaningful. But, surprisingly, it's not going to be about writing at all.

Or, perhaps that isn't surprising. What might be less shocking is that I can't choose just one, but instead, have to have a theme of words.

My words for 2008 (hereby called the Three Cs):

Contentment
Compassion
Creativity



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Lost in a sea of questions

If a mother who is running wild into the woods is screaming can you hear her?

And, if you do, do you ignore her, tossing her off as a weak woman, some mad, crazy witch of a woman?

Or, better yet, do you watch as she loses her mind, thinking rationally that she chose this life, that she made her bed ... but keep your distance? After all, no one helped you, right? You did it on your own, right? She'll manage. That'll teach her to want kids, to want a family.

It could be that you've forgotten how tiring it can be, those early days. And, in hindsight -- always in hindsight -- it seemed so easy back then, when they were little.

Or, do you remember and run after her, offering her a warm blanket and some hot tea? Maybe send her a note in the mail telling her she's done a great job this week.

I'm just wondering. What you would do?

Because there are plenty of mothers running and screaming every day, but so many are ignored, except for the ones that go screaming toward you with all their might, leaving you no doubt that you must help them, and now.

But, what about the rest?

I can't help wonder why their silent screams go unheard and unanswered.



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Two-fers are the best!

From the beginning, I just knew it wasn't going to be easy to get pregnant. Everyone -- and I mean every single human being -- that knew it was off to a rough start told me, just relax, it will be OK.

Da! knows that the last thing anyone should ever say to me is relax (or take a deep breath or chill or anything of that nature) when I'm stewing over something.

Thinking that you can't get pregnant and have a baby is the worst feeling in the world. Much more worse than slaving over the hot stove for an hour just to have that food chewed and spit out of their little mouths.

After a couple months of Big Fat Negatives, I did begin to worry. We had already bought this house, a lovely 4 bedroom, 2 bath Colonial with a dingy white picket fence and a fabulous backyard for said children to run in.

A year later, I was a mess. It's never going to happen, I told him. He consoled. He said all the right things.

One treatment led to another treatment and as our bank account savings dwindled, so did our hopes.

One last try, we said.

Then the waiting from hell begins. Two weeks. Fourteen stinking days of wondering, waiting.

But, I just knew. About a week in, I started feeling different. Something was VERY different.

"I have this feeling I am," I told Da! over the best chips and salsa we know. "I can't explain it, but I just feel something."

"You're pregnant," she said on that quintessential 14th day.

*****

The room was cold, and I was nervous. I didn't want sextuplets. I didn't even want triplets. I wanted one healthy baby, but we discussed it and we would gladly accept no more than three.
"How do you feel about two?" she said.
Staring at images of two kidney beans, I cried for the first time since I learned that I was going to become a Mama.

*****

"You wanted this," I remember my mom telling me over the phone as I cried to her about how hard it was for me as a new mother.
"You should be happy," she said.
I never felt more guilt in all my life. I vowed to never complain about it again.
Because she was right.
Why wasn't I more happy? Why wasn't I good at this mothering thing? Why couldn't I just smile? Why couldn't I get them to stop crying?
I should be happy.

*****

I'm grateful for having twins. I would have been a different mother to just one.

I would still be working and juggling and watching the time pass all too quickly.

I would watch a lot of television instead of sitting on the floor, as I do often, managing the fights, the squabbles, and the toys that seem innocent, but can easily be used as weapons.

I would stay on the computer more as the child played instead of limiting that time to before they wake and while they are asleep.

I would spend more money because getting to the car, and driving to stores and navigating the mall with a single stroller would be easy. I'd never be home, actually.

I would assume that the picky eater is just picky because of the food I made instead of knowing that it's not that at all.

I would think that the child who throws temper tantrums every other minute is frustrated with me instead of realizing that is just her nature. She was born that way.

I would think that the quiet, more reserved child was ruined for life by me, an overwhelmed Mama -- because I didn't get her out of the house enough when really she was just born that way.

Mostly, though.

Mostly.

I wouldn't hear the sweet babbles of two babies saying, "Mama. Mama. Mama."

I could go on, but I won't.

I'm grateful to know that in a minute they will wake and we will have a great day.

I just know we will.



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All or nothing

It just occurred to me that the past six to eight weeks had been filled with social activity unlike no other since I became a Mama. The writing class, the yoga class and story time at the library. I've been busy, apparently.

In fact, I've been so busy enjoying it all that I just now realized that it's all over. Every last bit of it ended in a matter of three days. Gone like the wind. Gone like that bag of chocolate truffles Da! brings home now and again. (hint hint)

Now, it's just me, two restless toddlers and some rainy, cold weather.

And, I'm supposed to find something to be thankful for here, right this second?

How about the fact that since I'll be at home more, again, I'll be able to get more writing done? I'm thankful for that. And, maybe I'll earn some extra arm chair money.

How about the fact that my girls have been freely demonstrating some sweet affection toward their Mama with kisses and hugs and snuggles in between their tantrums? That's progress, right?

How about the fact that today I didn't get a rejection letter from a national publication? I wasn't ignored, either. I was put on hold until later in the month. I'll take it!


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I'm just a mom ... 200th post!

Oddly enough, my 200th post, which is this one right here, coincides almost perfectly with the fact that I've been a stay-at-home Mama for one year.

Odd because a year ago, I didn't have a blog. A year ago I was mentoring teen mothers while trying to stay afloat as a new mother myself.

A year ago, I didn't know anything about HTML, blogging or social networking and marketing.

One might even say that a year ago -- which was two years after I quit full-time journalism -- I was a little behind the times, technologically speaking, anyway. If it couldn't be done in a Word document, I wasn't doing it.

My life is different because of blogging.

In the past year, I went from writing one blog post a month to one post or more a day. I've mastered the blogosphere enough to build an audience without, I feel, compromising my beliefs as a writer and a mother.

A year ago, I didn't know how to find free gadgets to upload onto a Web page let alone upload a site meter to track where my blog readers live and how much time they spend on my site.

Yet, I've learned all of this as a stay-at-home Mama. I didn't learn it while working 12-hour days covering and writing about homicides, government misuse of power or institutional racism. I didn't learn it while working two years as a program director at a non-profit.

No, I learned it by just being a mom.

Just a mom.

Now, I write this blog, and another one or two, for fun, as well as a third that actually brings a little grocery money into the house. And, the daily writing practice that it's become has helped me become a disciplined freelance writer for various publications, which bring in even more grocery money.

Let's face it: I'm running to the computer to see what people are talking about today, not because I want to write that business article. But, while I'm there ...

Not just that.

I've found purpose in what some mothers might consider the doldrums of motherhood. I can slip into my chair and write about my day -- good or bad, sad or happy, scary or peaceful, and find purpose to really pay attention (Zen) to the happenings in my day.

It helps me get up in the morning. It keeps me up way too late at night. It brings smiles to my face on days I might not have much else to smile about.

Plus, my blog is a place I can brag about my beautiful twin daughters. And since it's hard to do that in my real life, I love that I can show them off all over the world.

I couldn't be more thankful for discovering the blogosphere, and realizing that even I -- who is just a mom -- could be a part of it.

How about you? Has blogging changed your life?




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Perfection. Possible or not?

One can only imagine what Zen Priest Momma Zen would say about the issue of perfection. I'm sure she's addressed it. I'm know she's struggled with it herself as a mother to Georgia.

We all strive for it, even if the results are far, far away from being perfect.

What she would say to this post is you are what you are. Today is your best day. This is the year that was. All of her sound bites ring in my ears as I try and convince my girls to eat dinner, when I can't calm their incessant tantrums or bring peace over the precious wanted toy they are fighting over, and after I've lost my lid and, gulp, yelled and feel like I've just ruined their lives.

Last week was one of those weeks when the best I could do was get up in the morning and force a smile. Each day stacked up on top of each day and each was worse than the rest. If misery loves company I can't understand why we were so alone all week.

But, something beautiful happened (as it always does in Shawn's World) mid week: I read a blog post that affected me like I've never been affected. It spoke to me with special murmurs that only someone who truly understands the trenches of motherhood and life could. It gave me permission to let go of the countless worries that had begun consuming my mind, again.

The post grabbed my hand, led me in and offered the biggest, warmest hug I've gotten since being a mother. And I cried as each word passed my eyes. The more I read, the harder I cried.

And then it was over. Just like that. And so were the tears. So were the fits of rage. So were the can'ts, the don'ts, the doubts, and the millions of mistakes. I was more patient with myself afterwards. I was more patient with my miserable, cranky girls. I was more patient with my life.

I thought it was just me being some crazy blogging chick, again, but as I read my way around my corner of the blogosphere, I realized that others had been touched, too. They were printing it out -- as I had. They were moved beyond words and brought comfort by the steaming cupful.

To reach people in such a way, to me, is perfection. For a post to bring ME to tears means something extraordinary because I do not let them fall easily.

And, that is why I am awarding Karen with a perfect post award for her post The Parent's Little List of Trust. More of these awards can be read by visiting Lindsay and Kimberly. This is my first time participating.

It seems like yesterday when I Googled Karen's name in search of other moms who had read her book. Little did I know that I would find her. That we would connect in this vast world of words and images and emotions. That she would become a dear blogging friend. And, for that, I am so thankful.




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A love of labor for mothers

This list of statistics arrived today in my newsletter from Mothers. Startling, isn't? Or, is it? I can't decide today since I'm in a relatively miserable mood. I need not remind anyone of how incredibly hard my return to work was thanks to day care issues.

MOTHERS Stats - We can't believe it either ...

Bolivia - three months fully paid maternity leave

Peru - breastfeeding mothers receive a "nursing allowance" equal to twice the minimum wage

Chile - mothers may extend their guaranteed 18 week maternity leave period for up to a year without incurring a penalty from the employer

Venezuela - constitutional recognition of housework as an economically productive activity entitling homemakers to government pension (i.e., social security)

Brazil - four months paid maternity leave with a return to former job guaranteed, and free childcare for employees with children under age six.

Argentina - three months paid maternity leave, and child care expenses reimbursed for children up to age five

Colombia - 12 weeks paid maternity leave after birth or adoption - all businesses contribute to a fund which provides workers with cash subsidies to pay for child care

U.S.A. - nada, zilch, zero - how sad and frustrating!

Yes, how sad.

Again, though, why am I not surprised that our country of great freedoms chooses to spend billions on wars and killing people rather than on mothers at home taking care of their babies?

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Happy Happy. Joy Joy.

MPJ is hosting a group writing project, inspired by my first one held earlier this month, and so I must participate. Besides, it's a nice topic: write about your happy place.

Two years ago my happy places had many of the same elements: libations that either contained grapes and alcohol or java and caffeine. It probably meant dropping a nice chunk of change. Consuming and wasting, eating and drinking without cares, without worries, without responsibility.

That was then.

My happy place is much different now, and I don't feel it often anymore. Not since becoming a mother.

Please don't misconstrue my words: I am happy much of the time, but always with a heaviness of stress or anxiety or worries or doubts.

Motherhood has been very hard for me; harder than I thought it would be. And, so my happy place is a feeling; I associate it with feeling no pain, no worries, no hardship, no struggling, no setbacks, no heartbreak.

Just bliss, fleeting as that moment may be. In fact, it lasts only seconds, at least when I've experienced it.

I'm sure I experienced it before being a mom, but I didn't know then to relish it like I do now.

The last time I felt this bliss was about a month ago. My in-laws invited us over for dinner. They live only 10 minutes away, but we do not see them more than once a month. The time of day was perfect for our schedule so there was no rushing around, and unlike most of our family events, it was just us. No other relatives to vie for the last piece of bread.

There was a ton of great, home-cooked food and plenty of it. There was wine -- and coffee -- and iced cold water in between. There was lovely cinnamon bread, and dessert. There was someone to bring me my food, someone to clean the dishes afterward and adult conversation in between. I still had to lean down to pick up food that had been dropped; but it wasn't dropped on purpose like it usually is at home.

The dinner was wonderful and toward the end, as my belly felt full and my tension relaxed, I felt a moment of bliss.

I felt, for one of the very few times since becoming a mom, truly nurtured and taken care of. That dinner, in all of its forms, took so many of my worries away. Nothing else mattered, but us. The house that needed cleaned, the now dusty-looking for sale sign sitting unmoved, the cluttered counters, the insurmountable piles of clutter in the storage room ... it was all sent out in one big breath to the universe.

So, that's my happy place. It can happen when I least expect it, though it is extremely rare. It can happen anywhere, and most of the time I don't know it will happen until I'm in the moment, and suddenly catch myself smiling for no reason, for every reason.

Sure, the euphoric state of bliss is fleeting.

I'm fine with that as long as it returns to me again and again.