It's the little things

I spotted it as I headed out for a walk.
And I smiled with delight.

There, in the lawn between the sidewalk and our front yard, it stood, proudly swaying in the breeze.
And I felt a surge of pure joy.

My house sits on a small hill which made mowing difficult, so in the years since we moved in we've slowly been seeding the entire front hill with perennials - cone flowers, black-eyed Susans, day-lilies. It's kind of wild and overgrown most of the time, but I love its riotous disorder, the birds and butterflies it attracts, and reducing the need to mow.

But try as I might, my husband has refused to pull up the grass in that space and plant it to flowers instead.

So imagine my utter delight when I spied the small black-eyed-Susan bobbing merrily smack-dab in the middle of this space. I could hardly wait to tell him how happy it made me that not only had the flowers seeded themselves there, but that he hadn't mowed them down.

It almost makes up for the time several years ago when I discovered he had systematically killed all the volunteer morning glories sprouting throughout the yard.

Almost.

I'm not sure whether this signals a true change of heart on his part or a simple, single gesture of love. Time will tell.

But I'm hopeful the crazy profusion of flowers will slowly spread and eliminate the need for mowing entirely. Even if it only happens one-seed at a time.

Stigma

So I came across a piece of writing a few weeks ago that upset me quite a bit.
Someone was extolling his at-home do-it-yourself treatment of his child's near-crippling anxiety disorder and declared it a success. Apparently it was successful primarily because this was "accomplished' without "labeling" the child with an official diagnosis.
The parent read a bunch of books on OCD and anxiety and used the cognitive behavioral therapy techniques described in them.

I just don't get this whole idea that a diagnosis equals a "label" of some sort that is harmful to the child. Any diagnosis I've ever received, for myself or for my children, has been a huge relief. A relief, that is, coupled with appropriate medical care.
No one worries about "labeling" a child with diabetes, or a a birth defect, or any of potentially thousands of other diseases or genetic conditions. What makes a diagnosis of mental illness or learning disability somehow detrimental?
I get that there is stigma. I have three children with severe anxiety disorders and suffer from depression and anxiety myself. As first one, then another, then the third of my children became unable to function without professional help; I had to confront my own hesitance to be open about our diagnoses.
I worried about what people might think. I tried to rationalize my way out of my own need for therapy. Through this I realized that for me children to understand there was nothing shameful about mental illness I had to be as open and honest with them and with the world as possible.

The only way to combat stigma is to confront it head on. When my children were first diagnosed, along with the despair and worry and fear of the unknown, came information, help for them and for myself, and treatment. Treatment that, frankly, allowed my children to make it to adulthood.

Then we were hit with the diagnosis of a genetic defect. Again, there was fear and worry, but also the relief of finally understanding the root cause of the symptoms we suffered, knowledge of the treatments, and help to manage the illness in the years to come. Did this "labeling" of the symptoms we suffered - pain, fatigue, gastrointestinal issues, etc. - somehow impinge on our feelings of self-worth or cause others' to cringe a little? Of course not.

I guess success for some might equate to continued sheltering of the child throughout adulthood, but that doesn't seem to be a whole life to me. Learning to cope and perhaps to overcome learning disabilities, sensory issues, and mental illnesses is essential to living a whole, full, independent life.
My adult children still struggle with their various illnesses and will their whole lives. But the tools they learned in therapy and the medications they take allow them to live full, whole, unsheltered lives.
Had I chosen to pretend that I could keep them in a cocoon of protection in which they never had to face the world what kind of lives might they have now? What kind of life would I have?
Don't be afraid of a diagnosis.
If you are, please face your own biases and fears about mental illness and don't pass them on to your child. There is no shame in diagnosis, no shame in taking medication, no shame in seeking help to deal with a mental illness. Hiding behind the false wall of "labeling"will only delay the help your child needs and will pass on the very stigma you are afraid of.
Burying your head in the sand won't help anyone; least of all your child.

Contortionist

Yesterday I was reminded of one of my mothering failures.
I saw a photo of a mom baby-wearing not just one of her children, but two. One in front, one in back. Holy cow! Talk about Supermom.
This amazingly beautiful photo took me way back to my early years of motherhood. A little more than 26 years ago, my second son was born.
He was a sturdy little guy, weighing 8 lbs.13 ounces at birth. He was in the 99th percentile for height and weight all through his infancy, quite a change from my firstborn who was always 99th percentile for height but barely made it to 50th percentile for weight.
I remember dressing my second-born in his brother's hand-me-downs and not being able to snap the top snaps!
So, as the mother of a toddler (2 years old) and an infant, I figured I'd give baby-wearing a try. I bought a sling, of sorts, but couldn't get the hang of it - and Zachary hated it!
We also had a backpack-type carrier my sister had given us, so one day I decided to try it out on our daily walk to the mailboxes.
We lived in graduate student housing in Lewes, Delaware, where my husband was working on a postdoctoral fellowship.
If you've never been to the Delaware coast, be forewarned; it's hot and humid as all get-out, there are slugs everywhere, and every outdoor adventure is accompanied by clouds of mosquitoes.
At least it was that way in 1990.
So, first of all, I had to figure out how to get my 4-month-old into the carrier. I'm really tall and nothing in the house was high enough to lay him on with enough support while I lifted the contraption onto my shoulders.
Somehow, the three of us ended up in the front yard. I had a blanket on the grass and decided to lay the baby in the backpack carrier down there and from a kneeling position hoist him onto my back.
Now, Zachary wasn't a tiny little guy, as mentioned above. By his two week checkup he weighed more than 10 lbs., and by 4 months he approached 20.
I am not a particularly strong person, and while I had a lot more stamina then than now, hefting my baby onto my back was almost more than I could manage. He also was only 4 months old at the time, and I couldn't really swing him around safely.
I also had problems with back pain, which coincidentally started when he was born.
Hmm.
I know now that my ehlers danlos factored heavily into my pain and weakness, but at the time I was unaware.
All I knew was that I had this 20-pound baby on my back and we had about a quarter mile walk to the housing complex mail boxes.
That doesn't seem very far, but I also had a 2-year-old. Walking to the mailbox was one of the highlights of his day and could take 30 minutes or more as we picked every dandelion, examined every crack in the sidewalk, and were generally amazed with everything in sight.
Don't get me wrong, I loved seeing the world through his eyes, but the weight of the baby pulled heavily on my back, I was sweating, and my patience was put to the test.
Somehow we made it there and began the trek back to our unit.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And with amazement at the world.
I grew sweatier by the minute.
As we got closer to that blanket on the lawn, all I could think of was getting the baby off my aching  back.
Finally as we neared home I realized I had no idea how to get the backpack contraption off while still protecting the baby's head. I didn't have the strength to kneel and swing it off one strap at a time. What was I going to do?
Thankfully, I was the only stay-at-home mom there and no one was around during typical work hours.
I managed to get down to my knees, then carefully onto my side, and roll onto my back without jostling or squishing the baby - in a somewhat modified back bend. I then wriggled one arm out of the strap, lowering the baby carefully to the blanket on the grass.
And that, my friends, was the end of my baby-wearing experience.
Instead I became adept at the centuries old baby-on-the-hip method.

Oh, and by-the-way, that baby is now 6 feet 7 inches tall.
And my back still hurts.

Lilac moments

All throughout the day I have bathed in the heady scent of lilacs.
The large lilac bushes - the ones with the enormous flower heads - are done for the season, but the bushes with smaller clusters of blooms are still in full flower
The first wave of scent caressed my awakening, carried in by the cool breeze of a May rainstorm. Eau de lilacs enveloped me in a gentle cloud of fragrance. I took a moment to inhale the bouquet of spring along with the sharply brazen smell of coffee.





As I let the dogs into the yard, another whiff of lilacs lured me to the porch, where I spent a moment inhaling the beauty before me; purple iris a riot of color in my not-yet-weeded flower beds, and glorious shades of hostas - from palest yellow-green, through stripes of white, to darkest blue green leaves, a lush study in monochrome.

Later, as I waste time on my computer instead of preparing for a class, lilacs' sweet aroma circles my senses, bringing me back to the task at hand.
A trip to the library and more lilacs, their perfume cascading from all sides, and my attention again focuses on the life and beauty around me. My smile, so wide and genuine, brings me a moment of connection with passersby, a shared appreciation for the day before us.
Later, as I practice a lovingkindness mediation, the gentle perfume of lilacs does indeed bring me peacefulness and ease.
I am happy.

Cultivation

Last year I wrote a happiness plan.
Then life got in the way.
I recently mentioned this in a small group and someone commented, “I hate when life gets in the way of happiness.”
My first reaction was agreement, but then I realized this wasn’t quite what I had meant.

While upheavals in my children's lives derailed that particular plan, I’m not sure that my happiness was completely quashed.
Oh, I definitely wasn’t happy as first one child, then another, then another, had major mental health crises. In fact, their dips into major depression and anxiety took me to the precipice of my own mental well-being.

But these were just circumstances; events that have been an all too frequent part of my life since my children's illnesses became apparent. And before that, I had my own struggles with depression and anxiety. And while the pain of watching my children's suffering is excruciating, somehow I’ve learned to maintain my own core of contentment.

I hope this doesn’t sound crass or lacking in empathy. The number of tears I have shed over the years would fill the sea. Perhaps it’s been learning how to navigate the never-ending waves of sadness over their suffering that has helped me find my own path.

I used to fight against circumstances, questioning why my children had to suffer so. Now I recognize the unfairness not only of their suffering, but of life itself. Everyone suffers with something. If you haven’t yet, your time will come.

I think contentment arises from accepting the “what is” and learning how to live with it, deal with it, make the best of it, rather than always yearning for “what might have been.”

Life is now. This is it, complete with all the happiness and the sorrow. I think I have learned to appreciate the good even when the bad threatens to crush me. Most of the time.

I embrace life and live for now, knowing full-well that tomorrow might bring ever greater sorrows. So today I am thankful for the little things - puppy kisses and cats on my lap, delicious coffee and homemade pie, a sunny day and comfortable shoes, hand spun yarn and knitting needles.

I also give thanks daily for the big things; a husband who loves me and takes care of me, children who are intelligent, witty, and caring, a family full of love.

I wouldn’t say that love conquers all. But with love at my core and a generous appreciation for the here and now, I’ve found I can make it through the crises without losing myself.

And while Happiness can be elusive, contentment often can be cultivated.

Leavings

I stood in the open doorway; most of the furniture was already gone. Just a smattering of cat toys and miscellaneous socks littered the floor.

It was just a little more than a year ago that we repainted her room - a surprise for her return from abroad.

Now she’s leaving in a week - first apartment, first professional job, first time that home will have a different meaning for her.

But the room looks so empty.

We have plans for the space - a computer desk for my husband, an out-of-the-way place for the exercise bike.

It will be ours from now on; she’ll only be coming home to visit.

The cats will have to adjust to having just me; only one lap, one person to exclaim over their antics.

My son busily sorts through his papers, packs books and miscellaneous keepsakes to be stored in our basement. He has lived away before, but now he’s leaving for a grad program in a different state.

No more random coffee cups left on end tables, giant shoes cluttering the entryway; one less person coming and going.

I’ll miss the bang of the attic door and his footfalls down the stairs.

It is time for him to leave; maybe past time.

The dogs will miss him terribly. He has slept with them a couple of times this week; soaking in their kisses and adoration while he can.

The youngest will soon head back to college - a second year away. Home will still be here with us for her; a weekend here and there and vacations.

Our younger son paid off his student loans and is looking for an apartment. He, too, has lived away from home for school, but this will be a true leave-taking.

Just last year people often expressed shock to hear that all my adult children still lived at home. Funny how cultural expectations change over time. We were glad to give them this space to save money, pay off loans, and get their lives on track.

I’m excited for uninterrupted time with my husband. It’s been 28 years since we’ve lived without children at home. Admittedly, the past couple of years have felt kind of crowded at times.

Today I am home alone. Soon, very soon, this will be the norm.

My children are wonderful people and I am going to miss them - terribly at times, I am sure.

It is time for them all to fly away.

Time for me to figure out mothering from afar.

And time for my husband and myself to savor each other’s company again.

I will miss them.

To My Husband on Mother's Day

Where do I begin?
You are my life­ partner, my one and only love, the man with whom I ­- we - ­ have created our amazing family.
Most of the time I recognize that I have been a good mother. Motherhood for me has seemed a kind of calling; ­ the one thing I knew I could do and do well ­ and enjoy more than any endeavor I have ever undertaken.
But without you, my love, I could not have been the good mother I have been.
You have supported me without fail, always ready to help or take over, regardless of how tired you might be after a long day in the field or exhausted from weeks of traveling.
One regret I have (though not the only one) is that I didn’t adequately show you what a wonderful father and life ­mate you are. All those years of sharing the feedings, bathing the babies and children, taking over when you got home, reading, story­telling, holding, laughing, loving our children without fail,­ all those things you did from your never ending well of love for our children and for me, ­ enabled me to be the kind of mother I was.
I’ll always treasure the thrill you had with each new baby, the care you gave me, the love that poured from your heart onto our family, no matter the difficulties we were going through.
Life didn’t turn out quite how either one of us had planned, but because of the strength of the love we have for each other, we were able to pull together to get our children the help they needed.
And no matter what, we always shared laughter -­ lots of laughter.
Every single one of our children is a shining example of what love can create; they are caring, giving, wonderful human beings, and for that you get at least 50% of the credit.
I know we have had rough times in our marriage and our lives, but you have always provided a rock solid groundwork of stability, support, and love, that helped to foster the growth of our children through their mental and physical illnesses.
Heck, you even supported me through the angry outbursts I often directed at you before I got help for my own anxiety and depression.
You are an incredible person, my love.
I cannot find the words to adequately describe the depth of the love your children and I have for you. We appreciate you, we love you unceasingly, and we honor you for the wonderful man and fantastic father you are.
So, on this Mother’s Day, I want to thank you from the depth of my being for loving me and our children. I want to honor you for the incredible father you are.