My Scary Monster

                                 Source

This is probably one of the most debilitating issues for me to deal with.  I get panic attacks.  Often.

Panic attacks are random.  They are REAL.  The worse part, they scare the hell out of me.

"Panic attacks may be symptoms of an anxiety disorder. These attacks are a serious health problem in the U.S. At least 20% of adult Americans, or about 60 million people, will suffer from panic attacks at some point in their lives. About 1.7% of adult Americans, or about 3 million people, will have full-blown panic disorder at some time in their lives, twice as often for women than men." Source

This past weekend I had a more serious one happen to me.

We were having lunch at my in law's when out of nowhere I began to feel the room closing in on me, it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to breathe, my heart was racing, my hands were shaking and I felt nauseated.

I was afraid I was about to throw up at the lunch table.  Goodness, that would've been a disaster!

I tried, I tried really hard to hide it but I couldn't.  I had to get up from the lunch table and walk to a back room with my husband.

He sat with me.  He held my trembling hands.  He tried to make me laugh, you know, to get me to think of something else but no, it didn't work.  I began to slowly inch into hyperventilation and then started to bawl like a two year old.

It was awful.

I kept apologizing to my husband.  He told me that I was silly to apologize.  I didn't believe him because I was so ashamed of my momentary condition.  But I'm so grateful he's always here for me during my 'crawling' moments.

I was out of control.  Desperate.  Suffocating.  Scared.

It lasted about fifteen minutes.


For as long as I could remember I've experienced symptoms of anxiety, panic and depression (starting around age 3).

My depression was ignited with the temporary abandonment by my mother.
I remember crying a lot for her to come back.

I later experienced PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) at age four.
It was after a man my mother was dating pointed the barrel of a gun to my left temple and threatened to kill me in front of her.  I believe he must've shot the gun because I can recall bits and pieces of that day.  I vividly remember the cold gun to my head and later the loud ringing sound in my ears while I was crying hysterically in my mother's lap.  Whatever happened in between, I blocked out.

At around age six I began to experience anxiety from the sexual molestation.

I've seen therapists and psychologists before.  I've been diagnosed but never medicated.

I'm a believer in alternative medicine, i.e., Chiropractic and/or auricular therapy.  Since my darling husband is a Chiropractor, I get treated here at home.  Thankfully.  

I'd like to exhaust all of my alternative possibilities before I attempt anything else but I am open to other alternatives, if need be.

The pain of all this is the hardest.  I try my very best to stay positive.  Sometimes I falter.

I'm not perfect.  

Still, I continue to look for the beauty and magical moments this life has to offer because all these moments are precious and I know that I matter to many...

This is my scary monster but I will not let it eat me up.

Performing For No Applause: A Competing Play

I have a competitive daughter.  My eldest.  She always wants to win.  No.  matter.  what.

Aside from the fact that neither my husband nor I are competitive people, she's hell bent on being #1, the BEST, the WINNER and what have you.

Most would probably remark 'But this is a GREAT quality!' or 'She's motivated and driven for success!' or 'You should be PROUD that she's competitive!' 


This is all quite fine for others to think.  Remark all you want.  The fact remains that I am NOT proud of this attribute and there isn't a darn thing I can do about it.  She's got it.  I don't like it.  That's that.  Whatever.

Yesterday we went bowling with some dear friends and we rented two lanes so that the kiddies can have their own.  Sabrina, my eldest, actually was the eldest in the group of five kids.  We were no more than ten minutes into the bowling when she started to pout, and cross her arms with furrowed eyebrows.  I asked her what was wrong and she tearily mentioned how 'I'm not winning! I only knocked down two pins!' as more tears followed.

I won't lie, I was incensed with her response but I also felt sorry for her as well.
I mustered up my compassionate mama and said,

'Sabrina, bowling or playing a game is not about the win but more about the journey and the fun of it all.  You're not always going to win and this is perfectly fine.  Just have fun and if you lose, be happy about the fact that you were able to play and that you did your best.'

Still, she was not happy with my edification of her emotions.  So, I had to let it go and let her be even if I was still upset about her incessant need to win.

I realized that this burning feeling inside of her WILL be a challenge that she'll have to face for the rest of her life and that she's simply going to have to cope with it.  I cannot try to change this for her because she is whom she is.  I believe that you're born with certain qualities and that not all are nurtured.  I'm a living example of this.  But that's another story.

I imagine this feeling to be damn difficult for a child.  I imagine the frustration and heartbreak and I know that it sucks.  I know that as her mother it will not serve her or me to fight her natural ways, in this case, her need to be competitive.  Even while I can't stand this attribute there is a reason why I MUST face it in my own child.  Yes, I need to deal with it.  Period.  

Sabrina's competitiveness is here to teach me one more facet of compassion and understanding and unconditional love.  Yes, I'll struggle to understand her at times but the love will never cease to exist.  I am her mother and that will never change.

I can empathize with the burning feeling inside that I imagine she must feel except that mine is about the NEED to share and write and express myself.  All of my sharing right here is a journey, a 'play' of life, a peek into the world of another and an example of the human condition.
A long 'Play' with little intermissions.

This performance of life includes many takes and too many acts to document in one sitting.  The curtain is pulled each time I'm mothering, parenting, loving, feeling, being, expressing, sharing, crying, laughing, smiling and just living.

There's a chance that Sabrina will continue to compete for things throughout her life.  I also know that one day it will not be for an applause but more for her passion and enjoyment of it all.

At the end of each act, it's not about the applause but more about the journey and hopefully, one day, my daughter will 'break a leg', proud of her performance of life without a tear running down her cheek because in my eyes she'll always be a winner and that'll be the day that I proudly cry for her as I stand applauding her fearless performance.  

Start To Finish

The start to my day begins with this (right up there)  Oh lovely cup of coffee...

The best part of my day?  

Finishing off admiring the lovely faces starring back at me.  

My sweet girls...

#1 showers me with her positive light...

#2 amuses me with her wit...

#3 reminds me that the best moments are these...

From start to finish...

Homeschool Chronicles-Switch it up!

Because boredom happens!  If you're homeschooling you CAN switch it up.  Even if you're NOT homeschooling, you can add this same concept to your school attending children with respect to homework or studying.  Here's a quick tip on changing your learning setting.  Enjoy!

Brought to you by: Mama Scribble's Homeschool Chronicles

 
 

The trouble at night

It always happens.  At night.  The NEED to be creative.  The NEED to stay awake and work and write and edit and start or finish and do what I NEED to do.

Creativity always strikes at the oddest hours and moments.  It's at its best... at night.
Of course it is, silly goose!

My creativity.  My sanity.  My thrill.  My passion.  The ebb and flow of... me.  

So I end up going to bed very late.  Nothing sooner than 1:00 a.m.  Sometimes as late as 4:00 a.m.

Then I'm a mess in the morning but I have no choice.
I have to get my ass moving because three little girls are counting on me.

They count on me.  Sometimes, that's scary.

I count on my creativity.  It keeps me thriving, wanting, searching and breathing for more.

The girls bring creativity to me.
At any given moment, hour, minute or tantrum, they ARE creativity with 50% of my DNA.

There IS creativity in everything that surrounds me.

I love this.

But dammit, the trouble at night...when I can't sleep....

Creativity takes over.

Homeschool Chronicles-My new series

Okay, so after my whacked out week last week and my serious anxiety issues, I've taken the entire homeshool thing by the braids (because braids is all I make in this household) and I've decided to name it the 'Homeschool Chronicles.'

I'll be doing a weekly Vlog roll (or try to) and show you all how we 'do this' :)

Is it totally dorky to list a ton of videos in ONE post?  Be honest.  I can take it.  No pressure.

Homeschool Chronicles: 
Since the baby is in a three hour 'school skills' program three days a week now, the older two and I were able to do our lessons.  No, I don't feel guilty about putting the baby in an age appropriate program because she's totally LOVING her little school.  So this mama is super duper HAPPY!

Do I still want to put the girls in school? Sure, sometimes.  Not today, though.
In the meantime, I'm getting things done.

Here we are, doing this...A closer look at homeschooling.

 Luna's lesson here.
 

Sabrina's lesson here.
 

Oh come on! Can the potty wait?? Seriously.
 

We had some added 'students' to our group today and sometimes...well...they don't always obey:

 

Silliness is always #1 in my book!  Who says you can't have silly friends?

 

Easy Kid Smoothies

Kids and food can be a challenging subject.  Sometimes my girls are in a funky mood about 'eating' food so I'll give them an alternative: Drink a smoothie!

Living in Florida makes for most of our days to be a perfect 'smoothie' day.  Here are two of my easy 'go to' kid smoothie recipes that I whip up quite often.  You can switch up the fruit and make it fun and interesting for them.  Moms need 'easy' solutions!

Mango Delight Smoothie

• 1 cup of *frozen* mango chunks (either fresh ones you cut up OR from the freezer section.  I prefer the fresher variety)
• 1 cup of Vanilla (unsweetened) almond milk. (mangos have a ton of natural sugar already)
• 4 to 5 ice cubes

Add all the ingredients to your blender (I have a VitaMix) and mix at high speed.

Next is my:


Banana Peanut Butter Smoothie: (I like this one a lot because of the protein) 

• 1 frozen banana
• 2 TBSP of Peanut Butter (creamy or crunchy)
• 1 cup of Vanilla (unsweetened) Almond Milk
• 4 to 5 ice cubes

Add all the ingredients to your blender and mix at high speed.

You'll see, they'll be asking for more.  Enjoy! 

*This post was not sponsored nor was I compensated. 

Double date & strippers

So we planned a double date with some long time friends of ours.  My girlfriend and I have been friends since back when I worked as a legal secretary (12 years ago.)  

It was fun for a change to go out with another couple and have *adult* conversation.  Most of our date nights are just us two.  Actually, it took us all about 15 minutes of talking about our kids to later segue into *adult* content.

After a fabulous sea food tower appetizer and one round of white wine for us four, we somehow ended up talking about strippers.  Yes, strippers.

Of course, I HAD to tweet the convo (with just a teeny buzz going.)  I was practically wiping off ALL of my liquid eyeliner and thick mascara from my eyes from the sheer laughter as I watched my girlfriend's face contort into all shapes from the comments DH was making.  I won't even describe what her husband's face looked like.  More like, eyes. wide. shut. 

It was amusing and it definitely gave me an ab workout while sitting at the table.  It made for an unusual topic, as well as a 'peek' into the life of *some* strippers.

   

After an ass dragging anxiety filled week of mine, our Saturday night double date was just what the doctor ordered.  We enjoyed every ounce of it including each drop of vino.  

Parents need to re-charge and feel *normal* every now and again.  Cheers to a fabulous double date night with fabulous friends.

Crawling

'How's your mind today?' DH asks me.

'Fine.' I say

'Anything new? Different?' He continues.

'No.' I respond.

He looks at me knowing exactly what I don't want to say.  He knows that I'm trying to stand up straight and not falter.  He knows that I am simply trying to avoid the anxiety that takes over like a swarm of bees.

'I need some water.' I say to him.

I can no longer stand there, in the kitchen, in front of him because my breathing becomes shallow and I become slightly dizzy.  The cadence of his voice is soft and gentle but the panic attack that is happening to me forces me crawling away to gather the smallest inhale.

'Okay, I'll bring you the water.' He says.

I'm sitting at the couch trying to gather myself but I cannot.  I cannot breathe freely.  I cannot hear clearly. I cannot focus or feel or sustain my erratic breathing.

'Thank you.' I say as he hands over the water.

I drink.

I wait.

Slowly, the panic subsides.  Slowly the anxiety dissipates.  Slowly my breathing changes.

Then come the bursting tears.  The tears are accompanied by sobs.  The pain of it all.
The helpless emotion of feeling suffocated.

'Nobody knows this side of you.' He says.

'I'm not sure.  Why?' I ask.

'Anyone that sees you only sees the strength about you, what you exude.  You carry yourself in a certain way.  I don't think that anyone would imagine you like this.'  He says.

'This is the raw me, though.' I say.

Sometimes the crawling is all I can do...

Guilt Free Parent: A Project

It's one of the most commonly written about, talked about, shared or plain old hated emotions in parenting:  Guilt.  

Most parents are. so. over. it.  I know I am.

You can read on how to deal with it in many parenting magazines and just about every other outlet imaginable.  Cheri Neufeld wrote a great piece about it on Simple Mom and I quote her here:

"In order to live in freedom, we need to let go of the expectations we have of ourselves and our lives, take steps to change the things we can, and try to enjoy every moment."

Whether it's mom guilt OR dad guilt, it's a living and breathing nuisance.  

I struggle with it.  My friends struggle with it.  Just about every 'single' mom OR dad I know, struggles with it.

What's worse is when parents begin to attack one another about a million things:  SAHMs vs. Working Moms (vice versa) or Breast feed vs. Bottle feed or Birth choices or just about anything under the sun.

So what do we do?

Here's a proposition:  Instead of trying to repress the 'guilt', I say we should DO whatever it is that we'd 'potentially' FEEL guilty about and ALLOW ourselves to revel in it and turn it into a 'guilt free' ANYTHING.

Yes, go DO that guilt infused ANYTHING and say to yourself:
Today I (blank) and (blank) and I do NOT feel guilty about it.    


It can be a silly, serious or anything you deem 'guilt free' in your parenting style, decision or practices.

Anything.

Be it, taking a long shower, escaping ALONE somewhere, letting your kid eat brownies for breakfast (been there), actually enjoy getting dressed for work (if you work outside the home), making breakfast for dinner, taking a vacation either alone or with your significant other, not bathing your kids for a day or two or whatever, 'accidentally' tossing your kid's favorite (blank), having a smile from ear to ear when you send them off to school, not breastfeeding, loving your medicated birth, giving your toddler too much flavored milk boxes (me), do and go where YOU want to go as opposed to where your kids want to go, soaking up that spilt water on your car seat with that menstrual pad in your purse (you know it!), making them eatthedamnchickenalready because there are no other items on the dinner menu at home, etc.

*Words and thoughts are power* 

Will you join me in this?

Here's what YOU can do:

Write in ANYTHING you want to OWN as YOUR 'guilt free' moment and link up here in the *blog* comments below. Or you can e-mail me a pic of your 'captured' guilt free statement (as I did above) and I'll create a photo journal.  Be sure to write 'Guilt Free' in the RE: of your e-mail & send to vjubis@gmail.com

I'd like to make this a series called:
Guilt Free Parent: A Project To Help Us To Be Kinder To Ourselves.

I can definitely learn to be kinder to myself as a mom.  I'm quite sure that many other parents can empathize with these feelings.  The goal is to allow for moments of 'guilt free' pleasure no matter what that means to us.  We are all different but each of our experiences is unique and deserves validation.

There is no prize for this project.  There are no age or gender restrictions either.  Just be yourself.  If you choose to participate, thank you.

This will be an ongoing project.

My lovely mother in law shared a quote with me the other day:

"Motherhood brings as much joy as ever, but it still brings boredom, exhaustion, and sorrow too. Nothing else ever will make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality especially while you struggle to keep your own."- Marguerite Kelly and Elia Parsons

We all deserve to be guilt free every now and again because we're not perfect but our love for ourselves and our children will always resonate in any language.  Beating ourselves or each other up with harsh words or thoughts does not help the cause.

Be love.

Be compassion.

Be *guilt free*

An honest look at Homeschooling: Why sometimes, I'd like to send my kids to school!

Who doesn't love a cute pig?

Confession: I homeschool my daughters but sometimes, I'd like to register them in a Public School or ANY school for that matter.

Here's the raw deal, having three daughters (8, 6 & 3) at home 24/7 is straining on the mind, senses, emotions, brain cells, you name it.

Difficult is a SERIOUS understatement.  Why? Because there is only so much ONE person can do with regards to keeping an 'organized' flow of learning without feeling like a complete and utter failure.

Not to toot my own horn or anything but I know that I'm more than capable to 'teach' my girls.
I just have a difficult time keeping it all together (including my little head) without sacrificing my own needs.  DH and I are educated individuals.  He's a Chiropractor and aside from my little blog here, I hold a Master's in Creative Writing.  We can easily agree that our girls don't have 'dumb' parents BUT teaching our own at home is difficult, still.

My.  Own.  Needs.  What does THAT mean? 

It means that my needs are often sacrificed.  I love my girls.  I cannot imagine my life without them.  I also *need* my own time.  Like, five straight hours of my own time.

Having them here at home fighting, arguing, bickering, making messes, asking to eat every 30 minutes, wanting to watch T.V., giving me sass about sitting down to read and many other instances sometimes, totally sucks. 

I hate that I have to put it this way bit it's the *truth*.

There is constant battle in this house over, 'She took my doll!', or 'I want THAT 'cerulean' crayon!', or 'She stuck a booger on me!', or 'Barbie's head is missing and it's Sabrina or Luna or Kalina's FAULT!' now mix that in with 'school time.'  Ugh.

*shudder*

The usual show down

I'm human and imperfect and sometimes I feel like I totally SUCK at mediating this constant intense environment.  *sigh*

I need a break.

A closer look:
I converted half of my garage into an adorable classroom.

They have just about everything a homeschool child needs.  There are puzzles, books, clay, workbooks, flash cards, a puppet stage, markers, crayons, colored pencils, water color, paint, journals, board games, etc.

The power of positive affirmations (that electrical box is in a crappy spot)

Stocked up!

Threading a sewing board.

Creating her own structure out of clothes pins

Here's another confession: I'm laid back about how I 'school' the girls.

I have no schedule.  I have no curriculum.  I have no 'official' way I do or don't do anything with them.

I guess you can say that I simply go with the flow and 'try' to take each day as it comes.
That's the simple *truth*

Some days they play all day.  Other days they'll read or do science experiments, i.e., make slime.  Other times they'll watch a 'learning' show, i.e. Word World.

On great days, they'll work together.  Quietly.

Painting with exquisite dexterity

Then there are days that we don't do a thing.

Or the days when the eldest picks up the children's story book I wrote and illustrated when I was in high school and together they'll sit.  Calmly.  

Looks like someone lost her head before I did.  

Sometimes I'll move the living room coffee table out of the way, get the girls all revved up about dancing and we'll jam to Raffi's 'Baby Beluga' CD and little bit of Bob Marley too.  Otherwise, we'll perform our best rendition of a song on Adele's album.  I know I must look like a total *dork* to the passerby through my picture window.  Whatever.  Gets the sillies out of them.  It works.  This is what happens when you're a mom to three GIRLS! 

So there, you got a sneak peek into our world of *homeschooling* 

The homeschool route is NOT for everyone.  Yes, it was our choice to have our daughters schooled here at home but that doesn't always mean that it was the best choice.  

Goodness, I'm still trying to figure out if in fact, it works for ME.  I don't know?  On most days, I'd like to throw in the towel and say, 'That's it, I give up!'  I struggle with this issue.  I really do.  I'm still on the fence about the entire thing (sigh).  

Ask me right now, 'Do you want to send your kids to school?' The answer would be 'YES!' but then the guilt sets in, the worry begins to rise and the anxiety brings me to a screeching halt.  

I'm a mess about the entire issue.  (insert long exhale) 

Private schools are exorbitantly expensive in my city (been there, done that) and the Public School system makes it ridiculously difficult for a parent to simply go and register your kid in the school belonging to 'your' district due to the fabricated 'lotto' system, or the 'waiting lists', or the 'magnet programs' and all the other ridiculous trapeze stunts one has to go through in order to get your kid a 'free' education.  That's another *soap box* of mine.   

If you're a mom that homeschool's and you'd like to say 'Forget this, I'm done!', it's quite fine to feel this way and follow through with your reasons to say 'good-bye' to homeschooling.  Do not feel guilty! You're doing what's BEST for YOU and your FAMILY.  Period.  

In the meantime, I'm doing my best here.  Whether I kick the homeschooling idea or not.  Just taking it one day at a time and learning as I go along, freaky headless Barbie and all.  

Once upon a 'daughter'...

Once upon a time there was a little girl that needed a stable home.  She needed love, a warm bed to sleep in and a set of emotionally available parents.  She needed to be treated more like a daughter and less like a burden.

The little girl's mother struggled with her own stability and was often
looking for temporary placement
in family members' home for her little girl.
She struggled with being able to tend to her two year old daughter's needs.
She struggled with the stigma of being an irresponsible person and mother.
Her life was too complicated to worry about a toddler.

So she thought.

Then one day two very loving and willing people, that already had two children of their own, offered to take the little girl into their home.  They promised to care for her, love her and support her for an indefinite amount of time.  Their selfless act of offering their love was genuine.  The young mother of 24 years of age agreed to hand over her daughter to them.  Them being her older brother and sister-in-law.

No legal agreements.

No time constraints.

Nothing but the child and a black garbage bag stuffed with little girl's clothes.

The couple had always dreamed of having a daughter as they already had two boys.  They drove off to North Carolina from Miami.  They began their life with an added 'daughter' in it.  They could not have been happier.

They loved her, immensely.  They made her giggle.  They kept her warm at night.  They let her take as many bubble baths as she desired.  They showered her with toys and smiles and lot's and lot's of photos.  She had homemade dresses sewn for her.  She baked in the kitchen with her 'mom' and she made her 'dad' run around and chase her.  They simply fell madly in love with her.

Morning time

Picking home grown carrots in a handmade 'Raggedy Ann' dress

Handmade dresses for the photo shoot of her last day with them.

Their 'daughter's' stay lasted a mere three months.  The little girl's mother called them up one day claiming her back.  With no prior warning or a chance to prepare for the dreaded 'good-bye', they had to let go of their little girl, forever.

There was literally nothing they could have done, despite their attempt to legally adopt her.  Her mother was adamant about wanting her back in Miami.  She was, after all, her mother.  But the child needed more and they were willing and able to provide it.  That was that.

*********************************************************************************

You've probably guessed by now that the above story belongs to me.

I was that little girl.

I was the child that was nurtured and loved by two selfless and loving family members.

My Uncle Julio and Aunt Mary.

Over the years, I've heard countless stories of what 'could have been' as for my life had my Uncle Julio and Aunt Mary raised me.  I've heard of the ways that they simply adored and fell madly in love with the little me.

I've also heard of the heart wrenching pain that they both experienced because they were not able to claim me as their own.  Their pain has been carried through the years of absence and longing for the 'daughter' they once were so close to having.

Once upon a daughter, I was to them...

I slipped through their grasp, their love, their selfless involvement of my well being and safe harbor.  It was never my choice.  I was simply a tool for others to handle and disregard, at times.
An innocent and vulnerable child at the mercy of adults that were too self absorbed to allow a better 'chance' of a decent upbringing.

I cannot change the past.  I cannot play the 'blame' game.  I cannot hold resentment or bitter feelings toward responsible parties.  I simply cannot sit and dwell on what 'could have been' because my life continued.

I struggled, but I continued.

As a mother to three incredibly inspiring daughters, the thought of being robbed of mothering, loving and raising them simply causes a great pang of angst and deep sadness within me.
I can never imagine this as a reality.  

I am compassionate to both my Uncle and Aunt as well as, my mother.

Everyone wanted to do their 'best' by me.  In the end, not one succeeded.
There is nothing wrong with that.  We are human and imperfect.  I'm perfectly okay with this.

I am eternally grateful for the short but loving and sheltering time I spent with my Uncle Julio and Aunt Mary.  They both reside in a special corner of my heart, forever.

I will never truly know how impacting their short lived love and nurturing toward me was seared in my psyche.  The one thing I know for sure is that I think of it often, honor it always, and own it as the time that the little me was allowed to shine and smile and giggle and love to my heart's content without restraints or fear or doubt.

The time I spent with them shaped me in some miraculous way, melded love into my soul and has allowed me to hone in on the mother I always needed and wanted for myself, as I now mother my own incredible daughters.

I love you, Uncle Julio.  I love you, Aunt Mary.  You are my eternal parents.

Thank you for loving the tiny soul in me that made your hearts beat just a little louder each time I giggled.  That time will never be lost because it lives in my heart...forever.  

Selfless

I went to visit a dear friend of mine yesterday.

She's like a 'soul sister' to me.  She and I can spend months at a time of barely having the time to talk or see one another but when we finally get together, it's perfect.

I get her and she gets me.  Our energies just jive on the same frequency.

When I arrived at her home and walked in she was walking toward me.

I noticed it immediately.

Her hair.

Completely gone.

As in, bald.

A face not distracted by the vanity of her hair.  Only the tribal styled silver dangly earrings she wore contrasted her beautiful face.

She rid of her hair as an act of solidarity for a friend.
A friend who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.

They shaved their scalps together.  

Selfless is my friend.  My sister.  Fearless.

Our hair is our adornment to the world but our soul and how we distribute it to others is a testament to our selflessness.

So simple yet so powerful.

I admire this honor.  I admire the ridding of vanity.  I admire the solidarity of holding another's momentary pain.  I honor beating souls that rest in our hearts when we cannot utter one word.  

Cancer is not a pretty disease but if having no hair is beautiful then so be it...so be it...beauty from within is what is breathtakingly stunning.

Today I honor all of the beautiful women and mothers that have shown their love to those with cancer through their selfless nature.

I honor YOU.

Compassion

com·pas·sion  
noun
-a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, 
accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.


The one emotion I struggled to come to terms with as a young adult was compassion.  I arrived at compassion with my own mother.   I became aware of it and owned the emotion and have since applied it toward other humans.  It was not easy but it has tethered my feet to the ground.  

This week, a blogger that I follow put up a guest post titled 'I don't like my children.'  This mother was RAW and open about her frustrations with having a son with Aspergers and a daughter with ADHD.  I admire her authenticity and openness.

I don't have children with special needs.  But I get her.  I can only *imagine* the life that she has to face day in and day out.

A ton of people were up in arms with her candid confession.

As mothers, we all handle different circumstances in different ways.  Thanks to the wonderful and enormous blogosphere, we can dispense of our thoughts, joys, frustrations, depressions, anxieties, doubts, worries, love and fantastic news of our lives while hundreds read us and sometimes, chime in.

When I read stories like the one Jill, of Scary Mommy graciously posted, I'm often struck with how little *compassion* other mothers have for one another when I read comments or see trickles of less than 140 character comments on Twitter.

It pains me to think that I cannot be RAW with other mothers if I *need* to share a deep emotion or struggle or thought that I'm experiencing in my parenting or life in general.  It pains me to sometimes 'hear' myself 'think' of judging another mother's choice, decision or challenge.

It pains me.

I know that we are all in this together.

I am certainly NOT perfect.

I make a gazillion mistakes.

I often find myself apologizing to my daughters for some dumb ass thing I said.

I have issues.  Many issues, including bouts of depression or sudden bursts of anxiety.

I feel that as moms, we all need to be a little more compassionate toward one another.

Every. mother. IS. needed.

Compassion is a powerful tool to show a person that you're living
and breathing and surviving just like they are.

I will never know what a mother is REALLY going through when I see her yell at her child in the park.  I will never know if the mother that ignored her shrieking child in the grocery store struggled that morning to peel herself out of bed to simply go out and buy food.  I will never know what it feels like to WANT your child to simply utter the word 'Mama' at the age of 4 because they can't.  I hope to never know the despair a mother with a child that has cancer feels every waking moment of her life.

I will never know many things until it happens to me.

In the meantime, I vow to be compassionate to my fellow mothers both in my daily and virtual life.  Always here if you need me...

Daddy 'shopped' mommy!

Darling hubby's hobby is photography.  He takes it seriously.  Enough to want to compose an image to turn out just right.  He'll sharpen it, saturate or desaturate it, lighten it or any other edits he 'sees' fit.  He's a perfectionist.  

I don't want my daughters to think that every single photo of them HAS to look perfect.
Imperfection is beautiful too.  I'm okay with the REAL me in photos.  Too much of anything isn't always the best option.

The other day, our eldest, Sabrina, came around his desk chair as he sat at his computer editing a photo.  A photo of me.  He was tinkering with a 'trial' photo editing software he'd recently signed up for.  I was sitting nearby.  Listening.

S: 'What are you doing, Daddy?'

DH: 'Oh just testing out some edits on this photo of Mommy.'

S: 'Why.  She looks pretty in that picture.'

DH: 'Yeah, I know but come here.  Take a look.'

He pulled up a before and after screen to 'show' her.


DH: 'Can you see the difference?'

S: 'Oh gosh! Mommy's skin looks HORRIBLE in the other picture!'

DH: 'Well, it's not horrible but it does 'look' better in this one.'

S: 'How did you DO that?'

DH: 'I shopped it!'

S: 'That is SO cool!  Mommy, mommy, daddy shopped you!'

DH then grabs a photo magazine with a bombshell of a woman on the cover (in black and white) looking all sexy with her tousled hair and her tee shirt barely covering her thighs and explains:

DH: 'You see this woman here in this picture?'

S: 'Yes. She's BEAUTIFUL!'

DH: 'Okay, yes, do you know WHY she's looks beautiful?'

S: 'No.  Why?'

DH: 'Because this entire picture was shopped or edited to make the woman look perfect and beautiful.  This is NOT how people look everyday.  Your mother is beautiful but she's doesn't LOOK perfect and this is NORMAL.'

S: 'Ohhh.  But Daddy, Mommy's picture DOES look better without that big pimple in it.

DH: 'Yeah, you're right.'

*I think she got the gist of this lesson.

13 Promises

prom·ise │'präməs │
noun
-a declaration of assurance that one will do a particular thing or that guarantees that a particular thing will happen.

I normally don't like making promises but I find myself being coaxed into making them AND held to keeping them by my daughters.

'Pinky Promise' (photo by vjubis)

They love to make promises.  They love when I 'agree' to make promises to them.  They take my promises to heart.  I know this because I was that SAME kid that believed the promises made to me by my mother.

In a way, I dislike promises only because they hold a deeply seared unsettling emotion for me.
But my children are NOT me and I am NOT my mother so for now, these are the promises that I CAN make to them.  13 promises to my daughters.

Dear daughters of mine,

• I promise to be authentic with my emotions.
• I promise that I will make a gazillion mistakes.
• I promise to listen intently to your struggles.
• I promise to be raw and display my struggles to you because I am NOT perfect.
• I promise to do my best.
• I promise to turn to your sweet smiles when I'm feeling down.
• I promise to allow you to be who you are.
• I promise to love you to your deepest core.
• I promise to be compassionate toward myself.
• I promise to forgive you.
• I promise that you'll get mad at me at times.
• I promise to allow you to make mistakes.
• I promise to always be your friend.