This is a test, of the system called life.

Many religious people will tell you, if asked about a particularly difficult or trying time in their life, that they felt God was testing them. You know… checking out what they were made of. Making sure they didn’t get too comfortable.  They claim that the situation mandated a complete introspective overhaul. Made them come to terms with some thoughts and feelings that they had been avoiding, either accidentally or intentionally. They claim that they emerged better; stronger… more prepared to take on the world ahead of them. They swear that it was all for the best, in the long run.

 I’m not particularly religious, as many of you know. I do, however, have a strong sense of faith. And fate. Not in the sense that we are powerless to make change or that free will is just an illusion. Not in that way. But in the sense that some moments were not meant to work out, because something better was waiting in the aftermath. Or that some problems were meant to be presented, because your current mental state needed a boost and this problem was ideal to fuel that particular brand of growth.  

Adults talk about breaking up with a partner they thought would be their spouse, and the devastation of the loss, only to meet someone who makes them even happier than they imagined they could be. Medical diagnoses that provide a reality check, allowing someone to make their health a priority before it’s too late. You know… the silver lining of the crappy situation. It could’ve been worse…

My husband and I find ourselves in the process of making a big decision. Well, ok… it feels like a big decision to me right now. Who knows how I’ll view it in the rear view mirror. But right now, it feels huge. The solution is in progress, and the process of putting the details into place has made me think, really and truly think.

And I have some opinions that I didn’t know I had. Really. I’m not lying, at least not to you. Lying to myself… now that’s entirely possible.  But if you had asked me a year ago, I would have fervently denied such beliefs. I have fears I wasn’t entirely aware of because they were never called out. I have strengths I didn’t perceive the depth of because I had never been asked to draw upon them.  I have pre conceived notions that are not, in fact, a reality. Some of them are even too embarrassing to admit out loud. I am in the process of discarding them. Right now.  

So maybe I am being tested. Hmmm...

What makes this particular issue even more profound for me is that it isn’t about me. It’s about one of my kids. And he’s too young to contribute, so we have to think and act on his behalf. Attempt to read his mind, assess his needs, and react in a way that will give him what he needs.  I hope that we make the right choice. I’d hate to let down such a precious and innocent little soul. I’d never forgive myself.

 I have had the blessing of talking this decision out with a few wise and perceptive people. My parents, who are doing a great job standing back and keeping it our choice.  My husband, the wonderful man and best friend that he is. Friends that have tolerated my ramblings patiently, waiting for the essential and interesting content to emerge, eventually. It’s a blessing, not living alone in your stress. I will never take that for granted.

And as I write this, I am struck by a revelation. An epiphany.

I am not going to let my son down. If fact, I have already NOT let him down in the time, energy and love that I have invested in him and his needs. We may not be done solving this particular issue, but we are actively searching for ways to let him be himself. Just himself. And we adore him. And he knows it. Beyond a doubt.

All is well. Maybe this was a test of my calm. Or rather, a message telling me to calm down and maintain focus. For him. Because he deserves my best work and there’s no way he’s NOT gonna get it.

Thanks, whoever you are. I heard you. Message received.

Time traveling back to the 80's

Beautiful spring weather has hit early this year and we could not be happier. The kids are playing outside and I am in a tank top. Oh, and flip flops. YES!!!!! My toes are finally liberated. It’s about time. They were seriously feeling confined, my poor little piggies.

We have a screened in porch that is my own personal heaven. It’s lovely. The air moves through but the bugs stay out. I dare you to beat that.  It’s big enough for a big table (for the adults) and a little kid’s picnic table. The kids eat at their little table and dinner feels even more humane. Making a long story short… it’s awesome.

My husband, the techie geek extraordinaire, set up speakers on the porch and the TV streams music outside.  Last night, he put on an 80’s station. That man must really know that the way to my heart is through my musical memories. It was just what I needed at the end of a long day.

And I tell you this. Whoever said that time travel is impossible was not on our porch for what happened next. Anyone there would have known, beyond a doubt that I traveled back in time, landing smack dab in the middle of my teenage years. As I danced like a zombie to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, my husband laughed at me and the kids just eyed me curiously. Their eyes were clearly saying, “Mom… whatcha doin’?  You ok? “It didn’t get any better for them when Cindy Lauper started singing “Girls just wanna have fun”. I totally rocked out and they just observed, eternally amused. Song after song, my soul immersed deeper and deeper into the 80’s. When they played Flock of Seagulls, I was a goner.  I implore you. Just go away and leave me in the revere of my retro place. I’ll be back by bedtime. I promise.

It reminded me of an incident, years ago.

 During my high school years, I spent one fabulous summer at a theater camp. We stayed on a college campus and my dorm had one long hallway that cut the building in half. One side of the long hallway had balconies that backed onto the woods, while the other looked out onto a particularly boring view of campus. That particular summer there was an enormous amount of rain, so the woods always wafted a wonderfully damp smell. You know… wet leaves on a chilly night. My room was on the side that faced out onto the campus.  After lights out, I used to sneak out of my room and go across the hall to my friend’s room. We would sit on her balcony and talk all night. You know, the way high school girls talk all night about the most important “nothings” of the world. We would burn incense and listen to Enya. (I didn’t it was Enya at the time. I just loved the music. ). We would blow bubbles and watch them pop, moonlight shimmering on the fragile, mystical balls. By high school standards, some of my most profound and enlightening conversations took place on that balcony. Not that I remember any of the content, mind you. I guess the content wasn’t what was meant to travel with me after all.

A few years later, my freshman year of college, I was sitting in my room studying when I heard it. Enya. My window was open and the music was coming from another open window, not far away. It was like an electric shock. I closed my eyes, and magically, there I was. On that balcony. Surrounded by the combination of incense and damp woods. I could practically touch the bubbles. I was there. Transported to the past by some simple notes.

 It shouldn’t surprise you that I spent the next half hour walking down the hallway, knocking on doors. I was determined to find out who was listening to that song and learn the name of the artist. I was successful and have listened to Enya ever since. It still relaxes me in a way I can’t quite define or justify.

 I guess we all just need a little time travel sometimes.  It’s good for the soul.

Priorities...

I took a day off recently, got a sub for my teaching. Those of you that teach know what a project that is, getting ready for a sub. When you teach the class yourself it’s a ton of work, as you know, but at least you don’t have to write out every little detail. After all, you know what you’re thinking. An outline will suffice.

 Your sub, however qualified he or she may be, needs details. Lots of them. A lesson plan triples in prep time when someone else teaches your class for you. This is precisely why so many teachers go to work sick. It’s easier than staying home unless you are truly on death’s door.  

 This day, however, was a special occasion. My kids go to a Jewish preschool and it was Purim. A Jewish holiday. For those of you not well informed on Jewish holidays, it’s the Halloween of Jewish religion. It’s a carnival. Even the service in the synagogue has noise makers in it, no joke. I think it was the only one that didn’t put me to sleep all year when I was a kid.

 The preschool teacher did a fabulous job teaching the kids about the holiday. Enough detail to cover the basic story. Not so much detail to confuse spongy little 3 year old minds.  The language used by the teacher was hilarious. She reminded me of a great kids’ movie. The kids thought they got all the jokes but the adults heard every adult joke they missed. Everyone was paying attention.

 At first I wasn’t planning to go. But then I saw the signup sheet on the wall and I counted the names. Oh crap! My kids were going to be the only ones without a parent there. Talk about motherly guilt. It took about 3 seconds to write my name on the signup sheet. My kids were not going to be the only ones with parent involvement. No chance in hell.

 That was when it ceased to be a difficult choice. I found the sub. I wrote the sub plan. I even raced around to get the copies made and drop it off in time for the class. And I didn’t resent one second of the chaos.  My kids will never have to know how close they got to being disappointed.

As a mom of young kids, many of my friends are in the same boat. It’s no coincidence. After all, we hang out with those that understand our daily lives.

A friend of mine called me the other day, upset.  Basically, she felt like a terrible mom. She’s not a terrible mom, for the record. She’s an awesome mom. Her kids are proof of that. They are adorable. Sweet.  Funny. They love to play and laugh. They behave well for mostly everyone but her. You know, typical great kids. 

But she doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see the glimmer of curiosity in her kids’ eyes. A curiosity that she is fostering beautifully, by the way. She sees the tantrums and whining. And of course she does. She’s the one who manages these unfortunate (although age appropriate) behaviors and it overwhelms her perspective. Especially since she spends all day every day with them and getting in the car to go out is an event that requires multiple strategic steps. 

 I face the exact same predicament. After all, my kids are 3. So very 3.

But this pinpoints the essence of what it means to be a mom. Priorities and perspectives. What we see doesn’t always line up with others see. And we don’t always make the decisions that we wanted to make.

But sometimes we do.

Last week, my daughter threw the monster of all tantrums. Really. It was diaper and pajama time and she threw herself on the ground instead. She was pretty mad, to put it mildly. 10 minutes later, she was naked and still totally unwilling to get dressed. 5 minutes after that she was daddy’s job. Mommy’s restraint was gone and the temper I had lost up until that moment was going to look tiny when I really exploded. I walked away, tucked my son in instead.

But as I left his room, I walked back to hers. Daddy was about to sing her a song. She was content. Then she saw me. The lip pouted out and she got mad all over again. I leaned over her and kissed. I stroked her face. I told her that she was my beautiful girl and that I loved her. I told her I was sorry and that I knew she was sorry too. I told her that we would both be nicer tomorrow.

She let me sing her to sleep instead of daddy and she smiled at me when I kissed her goodnight.

I guess, in the end, I did the right thing. Sigh. Priorities…