Waiting to get back to exceptional me (or just me would be fine)

So a week or so ago, a crazy woman caused Facebook to implode by writing a ridiculous, bombastic post about how she looks down on women with kids. You can read it here, if you want to fall prey to her desperate plea for clicks.

Or I can give you the gist (this is directly pulled from her post):

If women can do anything, why are we still content with applauding them for doing nothing?
I want to have a shower for a woman when she backpacks on her own through Asia, gets a promotion, or lands a dream job not when she stays inside the box and does the house and kids thing which is the path of least resistance. The dominate cultural voice will tell you these are things you can do with a husband and kids, but as I’ve written before, that’s a lie. It’s just not reality.
You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids.

Interestingly enough, with that last line, Crazy Lady hit me in the gut.

It's impolitic to say so, but I do feel like my life is basically on hold now that I'm raising children.

I'm doing OK, but exceptional I am not -- not at anything. Not at my career, or housecleaning or taking great care of myself, or at maintaining relationships outside of my home or at nurturing my intellect or broadening my horizons. I am doing pretty much nothing day-to-day, month-to-month, but working (to pay the bills) and raising my family. I am pretty good at wife and mother because I devote a lot of time and all of me to that. But I wouldn't say I'm exceptional at that either.

Yes, I know raising our family is important. And I chose to do it. It is an important choice and one that I do not regret.

But I honestly did not know, before having children, just how much of myself would have to recede for the children to get top billing.

Let me give a few examples:

*Sometimes I see something advertised, say, a class of some sort. And I think to myself, "Wow, that sounds so cool. I would really like to take that class." And then I note that it meets two nights a week for 10 weeks -- and there goes that idea. No way I can take two nights away from my kids for 10 weeks. No way do I WANT to.
 Or I'll note that the class costs $1,000. I can spend $1,000 to take a class for my own edification, or I can save that money for a better house in a better neighborhood/better school district, or to contribute to the OUTRAGEOUS costs of summer camp so my kids have somewhere awesome to go when school is out. Which one wins? My kids. Every time.

*When we had a decent snowfall recently and the roads were nasty, the company I work for closed its offices and asked employees to work from home. Schools were also closed and we told Michelle to stay home (if the roads were too bad for me to go to work, how could I ask her to risk driving in?). That meant there was essentially no "working from home," not while the kids were awake. It was a crazy day of trying to respond to email on my phone with one hand while swatting away kids who wanted my full attention with the other.  I had a headache the size of California by the end of the day from being half everywhere and fully nowhere all day long.
Meanwhile, Tom, my immediate boss whose kids are grown, drove carefully in to work and boasted the next day about how much work he was able to get done in our quiet, empty office. Lester glibly remarked, "If I was (the big boss), I'd hire all 'Toms' - people without kids who have nothing better to do on a snow day but come in and work." We laughed when he said it, but it's true. Without kids, Tom can focus - really focus - on work. He is devoted to this company. I love what I do, no doubt about it, but I am devoted to my family.

*I miss my friends - my old ones, my new ones, my sister, my Dad. We can manage to find snippets of time to chat on the phone or text or email, and every now and then we can slip away for lunch or drinks or dinner. But it's never enough time to really get that kind of soul-satisfying intimacy we used to get when we were childfree and could spend hours together while the hubbies were otherwise occupied. The love has not diminished, but my ability to really know what's going on with them, and them with me -- that is understandably diminished.  And so that's a part of me - a necessary part - that doesn't get fed as much.

*Some of you might remember me talking about how I have been feeling a pull lately to give back more -- really give back, not just sit on boards and donate money. Sometimes I think about devoting time at a nursing home or mentoring a young person - Big Brothers Big Sisters-like. But then I think: I don't have enough time with my own kids! When would I find time for another child? And if I'm really, really being honest, I also worry sometimes about introducing the potential for drama into my home. The kids who need the mentoring the most are often the ones with the most baggage. If it were just me and Lester, we could handle the baggage. We've seen enough of it in our own families to be quite expert at baggage. But should C, D and C have to deal with it too? I don't know the answer to that question, so I just put off thinking about it.

*I feel like crap because I don't take care of myself inside or out. (Another post coming on that...) My hair is really thinning and I need to see about it, but I don't have time to really care for my hair (or skin or nails) like I used to. I have gained 20 lbs., and cannot figure out a schedule that works for me to regularly work out. I just don't see how I can take THAT much time away from evenings with the kids or weekends with the kids and still get done everything else I need to do. I know other people do it -- I see them do it! I marvel at them! -- but I cannot figure out how to do it. Almost all my free time is spent with and for my kids and husband, with the exception of periodic board meetings or other obligations. But if I worked out as often as I went to board meetings, that would be 2x a month. Hardly worth it. Or is it? I don't know.

I know people will say this is a choice - that I find time to do the things I want to do - and to that I say, yes, they are probably right. It is my choice to spend my time with the kids and with Lester after work and on weekends. And I do not love working out. No secret there. But when there were no children, I did 30 minutes on the treadmill regularly, or power-walked around Lake Montebello. I went to hot yoga on weekends. I LOVED hot yoga. I really want to be fit again.

But I have a finite amount of time slots and the exercise slot got filled by children.
So did the friends slot. And the work-around-the-clock-and-still-have-time-to-volunteer slot. My slots are filled!! And I am TIRED!

Let's not talk about all the restaurants I want to try, all the countries I want to see, all the organizing projects in my house I so desperately want and need to do. (The bags and bags of photos and corresponding empty albums? Oh, how you haunt me.)

I could go on and on. But I won't. It sounds so much like complaining when I type it all out this way, and I don't mean it to sound this way. Truly.  And I know there are plenty of women who do all these things and more while still being completely devoted to their husbands and kids. Some of you who read this blog, for example, are so inspirational! I see you. I drop my jaw at your determination and awesomeness

Clearly, I am not one of those women. See? Not exceptional.

I believe I will get back to these things, back to more of myself, as my kids grow. So I'm not worried about it so much as I just think about it.

In the last three years, I have learned that "becoming" a mother means more than just giving birth to a baby. Instead, it is more like a transformation -- the slow "becoming" of something else other than what you once were. The more you become the one thing, the less you are the other. Like a tadpole becomes a frog, maybe. Or water becomes steam. It is a metamorphosis.

Sometimes I think about that and I wonder how it is I truly had NO idea that this was how it was going to be. When I was pregnant with the boys and contemplating family life, I really thought I would have the "time, energy, freedom and mobility" to do something else other than be a mother/wife. So far, that has not turned out to be the case.


I have not given up living so that I can be a Mom, but I have put a lot of my life on a back burner. And in so doing, I am not the me I once was.

The good news is I haven't lost myself completely. I am aware of the things I want and need; I still desire fulfillment from things outside of my family. And strangely, that makes me feel better. It would be pretty much a wrap, I think, if I was Mommy and wife and not one other thing and that was just A-OK by me. Just remove all the Tanika burners and replace them with baby burners.

But no. The burners are still there - just the turn of a knob away. I just wish I knew how long it would be before I'm able to reach them again.

This is marriage (A blog post by someone else, but totally endorsed by me)

I'm honestly not sure what the blog protocol is here, but I am going to re-post another blogger's work. I'm not taking credit for it. It's just that a link would not be enough.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-cariello/this-is-marriage_b_4661093.html

Carrie Cariello

This Is Marriage

Right now I'm sitting in a hospital.
I am waiting for my husband, Joe. He is gowned and unconscious, undergoing a surgery called a discectomy, where they cut a teeny tiny hole in his lower back and shave away the bulging disc that's been infringing on his sciatic nerve for five months.
This bulging disc has likely been in progress for years -- decades, even. Years of poor posture and carrying toddlers and stacking wood has contributed to the slow pop of an unhappy disc. And finally, a heavy deadlift at Crossfit was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.
About an hour ago I watched while Joe undressed and put on his pale blue hospital gown. I watched him kick off the new brown shoes I made him buy during a recent trip to the outlets, so I could get a pair of orange suede heels half off.
Dressed in light blue scrubs, the surgeon popped into the room just as Joe settled into the hospital bed. The two of them started to go over the procedure, to talk about how Joe would not breathe on his own during the two-hour surgery. I focused my gaze on the toe of his brown shoe sticking out of the shiny bag.
And I thought; this is marriage. One day you're shopping for shoes at the outlets and just a few weeks later, the new shoes your husband reluctantly bought for himself will sit, discarded, in a room down the hall while someone else breathes for him.
I write a lot about raising our five kids and our son Jack's autism and teamwork and blah blah blah-dey blah. But the truth is, some days this marriage is so hard. It is so hard I can barely breathe. No one -- and I do mean no one -- makes me as angry, as frustrated, as enraged, as this man does.
The biggest argument we've ever had -- and believe me, we've had some doozies -- was over Oreos. Yes, you read that right: the biggest fight I've ever had with my husband was over a chocolate wafer cookie. (To be fair, they were double-stuffed, and I think that ups the ante a bit.)
We'd been married less than a year, and I had to go to a dinner for work. It was incredibly boring, and I spent most of the long evening nodding my head and looking forward to going home, climbing into my pajamas, and eating a few cookies before bed.
I walked into our apartment just in time to see Joe holding the empty blue cellophane bag -- plastic cookie divider cast aside on the floor -- and shaking the last of the chocolate crumbs into his mouth.
I was outraged. How selfish! How greedy and thoughtless and disgusting. Before long, the argument took on a life of its own, launching itself from a Nabisco product to everything that was wrong with us as a couple. You never think about anyone but yourself! You overreact to everything!
We didn't speak for days.
In the middle of huge arguments like 'The Great Oreo Fight,' I often have the sensation I am teetering on the edge of a large abyss, that Joe and I are separated by the deepest chasm. Married, yes. But also so very alone.
I know divorce. I've personally experienced three divorces, not one of which has been my own. I am not afraid of divorce. But somehow, thus far, Joe and I have always managed to cross the gulf that separates us. To buy a new bag of Oreos and move on.
This is marriage. It is standing on the edge of the abyss and saying, I choose to stay. Today, I will stay.
As Joe's leg pain worsened and two cortisone shots did nothing to help the inflammation, to relieve the pressure on his aggravated nerve, it became clear that surgery was the next step.
Once he explained the recovery to me -- no lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk for six weeks, no driving for two, no twisting or bending -- I developed a plan for him. He would go to his parents for at least a week, where he could rest and recuperate without a 55-pound four-year old launching at him like a cannonball. When he came home I would drive him back and forth to work.
But Joe didn't want this. He didn't want to go to his parents for that long and he didn't want me driving him around and in general he didn't want me to be the boss of him. It was infuriating.
I confided in Jack's psychologist when we met to talk about his anxiety over fire drills, figuring she would take my side. She didn't.
Instead she said, "I hear fear in your voice. So why do you go straight to anger? Stay with the fear a moment. Let yourself feel it."
Sitting on her light brown couch with a giant Elmo peering over my shoulder, I did. I let myself feel my fear.
For the first time since June, I talked about how scared I was to see Joe's health decline, to see him wait ten minutes before getting out of the car. I wept describing how he struggled to toss the football with the boys and twirl our daughter Rose in the air.
How terrifying it is to see the strongest man I know falter.
This is marriage.
A few years ago I got up in the middle of the night for some water. I walked towards the door as Joe came out of the bathroom, and when we passed each other sleepily he reached out his arms and hugged me for a long moment.
For days afterwards I lived with that moment in my heart and my mind. I marveled that this person could love me so instinctively, so thoroughly, to reach out half awake and embrace me without even thinking about it.
It is this memory I cling to like a life preserver when the storms of marital rage and frustration sweep over me. This is the Joe I am thinking of now.
Shifting a little in my hard plastic chair, I go online and look up Webster-Merriam's definition of marriage. It uses weird words like state of being united and recognized by law and intimate union.
But to me, it's so much more.
It is sitting in a hospital fifteen years later and realizing it wasn't about the cookies after all, that I went straight to anger in order to avoid the really scary thoughts; you don't love me enough and I have made a mistake and this marriage will never work. To avoid my fear.
It is finding grace again and again in the small gestures; buying shoes and eating Oreos and spontaneously embracing in the dark hours of the night.
It is complicated and raw and tender and long and giddy and miserable and scary and exhausting and exhilarating and broken and yet whole and I know this is a lot of adjectives but they're all true.
It is waiting, waiting, waiting for the surgeon in the blue scrubs to tap me on the shoulder and tell me it all went fine, that within a few hours my husband will slip on his new brown shoes and walk out of the door -- sore from surgery, groggy from anesthesia, but free of the live wire that has electrified his leg for the past five months.
That he is breathing on his own so I don't have to do it alone.
This is marriage.

###

Yesterday, Lester was an hour late coming home from a meeting. He is so reliable and punctual and considerate of me being home alone with the kids that my first thought was that something was wrong.

When I called him and got no answer and then texted him and got no answer, I was certain he had died.

This sounds extreme and ridiculous I know, but you don't know how dependable my husband is.

I bathed the kids and put them all to bed, but inside I was jittery. When I imagined my life without him, the kids' lives without him, OUR lives without him, I actually started shaking. I would be bereft without my friend, my love, the best father to Cary, Dean and Clair ever. I prayed and prayed that he was safe.

When he finally called - his phone was in his checked coat, and his dinner date had extended their meeting unexpectedly - I was so relieved! I nearly cried.

But then I got mad: I don't care that you were late. I don't care that I had to do the nighttime stuff alone. I DO care that you didn't call when it got late; you know how I worry. Why didn't you have your phone on? You have three kids at home, you have to be reachable. What if I needed you? Why is it so hard for you to keep your phone with you??

I didn't "stay with the fear" because anger felt so much better!

It was shortlived. When Lester came through our front door, all I wanted to do was hold him, and press my face into his coat, which was cold from the night air. But his familiar cheek was warm against mine, and he was home; he was safe. He came back to us so I wouldn't have to do it alone.

This is marriage.

An anniversary story

Once upon a time, this little girl:

 Met and fell in love with this little boy:

They were just a little bit older than those photos suggest when they met, which is why they were able to go out on a first date to a restaurant that sold amazing sangria. Two pitchers of amazing sangria later, a lot of this happened:

Then, a year and a half later, -- on this very day in 2007 -- this happened:

Two and half years after that, THIS happened:

 And not quite two years later, THIS happened:

And now, the little girl and the little boy have achy backs and slightly-paunchy bellies and the beginnings of bags under their eyes from lack of sleep.

But they are the happiest they have ever been, and thank God every single day for bringing them together.  It's busy; it's noisy. The house is messy and the bank accounts are lean. But this has been, hands down, the most fun and fulfilling five years of their lives.

Happy Anniversary to my friend and partner-in-fun, Lester "LDiddy" Davis.

May we continue to live happily ever after!

Surprise Date! (and thoughts on marriage)

Yesterday at 4:30,  Lester called and asked me if I wanted to go out on a date.
Sure, I said. When?
Now, he said.

Huh?!

Turns out my honey had already made arrangements with Michelle to stay a little late, and he was on his way to my office to pick me up. Talk about surprised! I love how Lester still courts me. It's very sweet!

We went to a wine bar in Harbor East, had appetizers, drinks and salted pretzel ice cream (surprisingly yummy!) and then walked around the neighborhood, going in and out of stores looking at beautiful merchandise we can't afford, holding hands and enjoying the beautiful weather.

Then we ended up at a restaurant at the new Four Seasons hotel called Wit and Wisdom, which I think is a totally cool name for a restaurant. We sat in the bar area, in a little nook facing the water, and ate lobster corn dogs and just talked.

Lobster corn dogs!

It was unbelievably lovely.

We were home by 8:30 p.m. and even though I really, really missed getting to say goodnight to my littlest sweeties, I was so happy to get to spend a little adult time out and about with my original sweetie.

As parents, you sacrifice a lot to raise children. Some people might grumble about it, but we (mostly) do it happily (mostly). We wanted these children. We prayed for them. So if it means our evenings and weekends consist of Legos, reading, meals, bath and bedtime (plus some screaming, crying and whining) every single night for months and months on end, then so be it. No, we're not living la vida loca like celebrity housewives up in here, but we are living la vida feliz. And we know how blessed we are to be able to do it.

But that doesn't mean that we don't get to have time to ourselves. And in fact, keeping our marriage strong is just as important to the health and happiness of our children as anything else we do. Maybe even more so.

Lester and I are firm believers that we didn't become a family when we had the kids. We already were a family, and a darn good one, before they came. The kids added to our family, and boy are we lucky we got the awesome additions we did. But when those babies grow up and move on and get families of their own, it'll be me and Lester left behind, just the two of us.

And when that day comes, if we keep pouring into our marriage, hopefully we'll be just as in love as we were in 2007 when we said "We do."



Occasional evenings like last night help make sure that we still do.

Night off!

I went out after work for a friend who is leaving The Sun and Lester stayed home with the babies.
He said the night was fairly uneventful and meanwhile, I got to have some wine and dessert and chat and laugh with a lot of good friends who I don't get to see as often as I'd like.

I had a great time and it's lovely to be married to a man who makes it so easy to leave your babies at home. I honestly didn't worry -- not even once -- about them. I thought about them, of course, and bragged about them. But I didn't worry. That's because Lester is a rock star Dad. I gotta give it to him: Not too many men would relish a night alone with two hungry, sleepy babies who don't quite have the hang of staying upright in the bathtub. But Lester not only does the job magnificently; he actually enjoys it! He's the best! I really am blessed.

That does not mean, however, that I didn't miss seeing Dean and Cary tonight, so tomorrow morning, I hope they are prepared for the onslaught of hugs and kisses coming their way. I need my Davis baby fix!!

G'night babies. See you in the morning.