Sometimes I feel like a single mom

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I put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to be a 'good' mom.  Yesterday I wrote about mom guilt and how I said 'smell ya later' in order to have 'fun' with my girls.  I don't have 'good' mom days 7 days a week.

Here's what I DO have several times a week: Terrible mom days, scary mom days, depressed mom days, overwhelmed mom days, tired mom days, happy mom days, blissful mom days, sad mom days, excited mom days, get 'shit' done mom days, etc.  You get my point.

Here's the thing...life is HARD.  Yes, very, very hard.

Being a parent is wonderful and exhausting... I'm married to a wonderful man that works 12, sometimes 14 hours a day outside of the home.  He's an excellent husband, father, friend AND provider.  I'm eternally grateful for being able to be home with my girls while doing what I love, which is the obvious, writing.  Yet, sometimes, I feel like a 'single' mom.  Yes, a married 'single' mom!

It's my job to feed my girlshubby&dog, scrub the toilets, prepare/cook meals, organize, bookkeep, grocery shop, bathe, wash/fold, drive to activities, etc., etc., etc.  I also work from home and have to keep up with my writing, pitching ideas and strive to slowly contribute my monetary part as well.

Momhood.  Is.  Not.  Easy.  I love my husband and I feel like a 'single' parent.

The predicament is quite interesting and mind boggling.  I know many 'married' moms that feel this way.  I am NOT the only one.

I applaud the 'real' single moms out there and all that they juggle and deal with.  It cannot be easy but they are NOT alone.  We married women feel you!  Compassion is hard to come by.  I feel that all of us moms are in this together.  Married or single.  Being a mom is a job that is overworked and underpaid.

I love my life.  I adore my husband and children.  I love being a mom.  I also struggle with it ALL.

But I'm doing my best.

There are days where my body cannot stand another task even if it means that the girls don't get a bath that day.

My room is messy more days of the week than I'd like it to be.

My floors get mopped once every two or three weeks (I think.)

I'll make the girls breakfast for dinner some days because there was no time to plan a better meal.

A pony tail is much easier to make on their hair than pig-tails or a braid.  

Sometimes I won't shower for two days.  Gross.

I often have five loads of laundry to wash.

My dog smells like a raccoon.

But I keep my toe nails painted, even if it's just the two toes peeking out of a peep toe shoe.

Nevertheless, I'm doing my best...

Letter to {my organ}...

Dear Heart,

You were the first sign of life before I looked like a curled up shrimp.  It was you that supplied the necessary beats to account for my life.  You like to resemble the size of my fist which can actually use a bit more moisturizer but how would you know, you're stuck in my chest cavity.  Aside from the vital aspects of you, I hold you in high regard because you see, you take some pounding every now and again.  Not the physical type of pounding like that of a gorilla hitting it's chest, no, more like the emotional pounding of a broken heart shattered by contempt.

You carry the burden of a heavy heart and also the joys of a heart that wants to sing and sometimes even the sadness of disappointment because that's how you beat.  That's how you sound and live and pump inside this chest cavity that bears your weight.  It doesn't matter how many times you've pumped moments of bliss or moments of pleasures or even moments of pain, you continue to pump your life and replenish your wounds because you live for me.  You've lived to recover from any emotional burden that threatens your skill.  You're a master of resilience and a lover of peace.  You recognize when I've had enough and you know when I need to make more space for one more wonder.

I thank you lovely organ heart.  Thank you for holding my love for the world.  Thank you for holding my burdens and joys, my sadness and guilt and even the love that I retain from those who have betrayed me because you've shown me that it's better to love than to envy or hate.  Thank you for turning my trampled heart into a shield of strength because without your desire to drive the life through me, I would be nothing.  Here is to an organ worth every second of sound, every flitting of love, every wrecked dream and every moment of truth.  I heart you lovely organ!

Hey now, let your hair down...

Just as I was walking toward the living room with my daily 'hair tools' in hand (2 brushes-one for detangling and the other for smoothing, a spray water bottle, a tube of leave in conditioner and of course, the hair accessories), Sabrina (my eldest) sees me approaching and asks me for the umpteenth time, "Mommy, please just make ONE ponytail, pleeease..."  

Okay, so the hair issue in this household is indeed an 'issue' because let's face it, there is a ton of hair to brush and fix and braid or two and make the best of times THREE.  Three different hair textures, three different hair colors, three different hair styles and three different voices saying, 'Ouchie!', 'Hurry up, Mom!' or 'Can I paint my hair purple today?'  It's quite a sight!  Now mind you, I make it a 'point' to brush their hair out with as much leave in conditioner in order to avoid the complaints that I may be pulling their hair.  Yeah, sure! They STILL complain.  Of course they do!  It's a no win situation for me.   Then comes the Mommy 'guilt trip tone' of, 'Girls, you know MY Mom didn't make gentle brushing of my hair, she would brush my curly hair out DRY, so ZIP it and sit STILL!'  Then follows the lip pouting and the crossing of the arms and the furrowed eyebrows to which I simply leave it at that, oh and maybe a deep inhale in through my already flaring nostrils will finish it off.  So I continue to brush and braid or tie up.    

Now that we're on the hair issue, something quite interesting came about my own Hair Story.  Here goes:

On July 6th I had a conversation with my husband about my state of happiness (for most of my life).  I had written this update on my facebook page that day:

I have more sad days than happy days and not because my life isn't meaningful but rather because life is simply complex and don't think that I have all my things in order because on the outside I'm all dolled up but on the inside I hurt and I struggle with things you could not imagine but I keep on living because the one thing that never fails me is my beating heart and my will to do the best I can... vj

Hubby was concerned and somewhat sad himself that my life had been so difficult to the point that I was numb to what real happiness 'could be.'  But I assured him that he didn't have to worry too much because for so long I had been used to this emotion and I was ok with it.  I gave him a kiss, told him that I loved him and went to bed.  He stayed up and thought...

That night I had the dream:  

I dreamt that I faced my abuser.  I was in a large house with many people, I believe that it was a gathering or party of some kind.  Intuitively, I feel that it was the gathering of my courage, strength and determination and everyone there were my witnesses.  I remember feeling a rush of energy and courage that took over my entire body (very similar to the feeling when you're about to give birth) when I spotted him in the room.  I simply stared at him, stoically.  My eyes followed him around the room but my head did not move.  He looked over and saw me starring at him and with his condescending grin he said, "So this is how you say 'hello' to your Father?"  I immediately mustered up some serious moxie and took heavy, deliberate steps toward him and in my strongest, loudest and matter of fact voice I responded, "You are NOT my Father.  You NEVER were my Father and you NEVER will be.  You're NOT bigger than me.  I have a VOICE and YOU are the one that needs to know that the way you abused me DID NOT break me.  I'm bigger now and my VOICE is STRONGER.  You are FULL of SHAME and GUILT, NOT me."  The cacophony of the room broke and all was silent and all eyes were on him and he shrank.  Then I woke up. 

On July 7th I woke up feeling different.  I felt empowered and determined and ready to change Vanessa.  Later that afternoon I made an appointment to get my hair done.  Then I sent a text message to my hairdresser telling him that I wanted to cut my hair to ear length.  I was going to go from mid back length to ear length.  I told no one that I was going to make a drastic change.  He asked me to come in that same day to get my hair done, I was excited! I walked in the salon ready to change my appearance.  I was ready to do something to cut away anything that was weighing me down and while I didn't realize it at the time, my hair was a symbolic way of me shedding the trapped 'little girl' that was carrying around the burden of the sexual abuse pain.  I had never cut my hair so short but for some mysterious and magical reason, I knew that the shortest length was what I needed.  Camilo (my hairdresser) chopped off the long ponytail I had tied back and I immediately felt a release of some sort.  I had striped that 'girl' away and I had finally become the 'woman' I always knew I was.  Removing my 'girl' hair was pivotal in my 'voicing' my story and feeling this release and change.  I thank my dream for this wisdom, for this opportunity to face my 'fear' and to finally leave behind the suffering child (hair and all) but not her VOICE.   

Cutting my hair off and freeing the trapped child...

A dear friend told me that my new hair has attitude, a bold confidence and a renewed sense to my being.  Thank you, Kamala for helping me channel this insight.  I feel changed and forever empowered.  

Hair carries a symbolic meaning in my life.  Hair is the representation of who you are.  Your hair is what you carry around and show off to the world and in some interesting way your hair carries a story, be it positive or negative or whatever it means to you.  

My hair has power.  My hair gives me a sense of grounded self and a notion of something bigger than me.  I love my hair and I hope you love yours too because at the end of the day when you let your hair down (or not), it is a part of you and what you feel inside that makes it beautiful.  


Openly,
Vanessa~


Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.- 
Kahlil Gibran~

Heads or tails?

Today was just one of those 'do I have to really do this, again?' days.

I'm groggy and I haven't placed my feet on the cold floor yet and I'm already getting the "Mommy, nurse!" request from Little Miss K beside me (while she pokes at my boob-Ouch!).  Then Luna slowly creeps into my bedroom whispering to me "Mommy, Sabrina has something on her pillow!"  I'm up and out of bed in two seconds flat.  I discover that there are blood splotches all over Sabrina's pillow.

I don't panic (Investigator Mama mode is on).

I check her nose.  Nothing.  I check her ears.  Nothing.  I check her head.  Nada! What the hell?? 

Then...

Ah-ha!

The cause?  A loose tooth and her night time thumb sucking.  How did I know?  I don't know? (Moms are just cool that way).  Mystery solved and the victim didn't care either way.  

Then came the two, three, four, and five time requests of: "Go pee", "Take off your P.J's", "Brush your teeth", and "Get dressed"

Patience?  Next to zero this morning.  

Little confession. I haven't showered in two days (yes, I did change my underpants-I'm not that gross, geese!).  Does a washcloth with lavender oil sprinkled on it count as a pseudo-shower?  

Come on, that was the best I could do! 

  

In between figuring out what each one wants for breakfast (one PB& J sandwich and two bowls of vanilla goat yogurt), 'Handy Manny' blaring on the tube, the dog asking for food, re-braiding each of their hair, packing their lunch boxes, chasing the little one around the house to get her droopy diaper off, and a head to toe 'full water' shower for me (whoo-hoo!), we're out the door, FINALLY.  

My new motto: Parenting: Showers optional (sometimes not possible).  

The girls get to school past 10am (thank goodness it's a quaint laid back school) and I'm off to Target with Little Miss K.  

Now what comes next my friends was the "Who the hell am I to complain about MY life today" moment:

After doing my Target shopping I get in line to pay and start putting my things on the conveyer belt.  Little Miss K is happily entertained with a LeapFrog laptop toy (I had no intention on buying it for her-it simply bought me 'tantrum free' time-Evil!).  Then I hear these strange grunts and squeals coming from one register across from me.  I inconspicuously look over and see a fairly young woman (40ish) and her son. The sounds were coming from him.  He is her disabled child.  He starts to give her a mini tantrum while she is standing in line to pay.  He's trying to take his shirt off.  She's gently explaining to him that he can't.  He doesn't understand.  He's frustrated.  She's is calm.  She is confident.  People are looking.  My heart is sinking.   My little one is still quietly entertained (thankfully).  Her exchange with her son went something like this:

Mother: "Come on, let's go.  Walk ahead."

Son: (grunts, moans).

Mother:  "Oliver, come with Mom.  Come help me push the buttons to pay."

The cashier says 'hello' to Oliver.

Mother: "Say 'hello' Oliver."

Son: (grunts).

Mother (to the cashier):  "He's fifteen.  He likes to help push these buttons on the key pad with me."

Turns to her son.

"Right, Oliver?"

The love and patience for her son poured out of her like a cascade of flowers.  I wanted to hug her and tell her how amazing she was.  

Today is the day that all my woes seem like nothing next to this amazing Mom (Oliver's Mom).  Today is the day that I am humbled by this mother's strength, love, compassion and patience.  Today is the day that I say with an open heart, "Hats off to EVERY parent out there with a special needs child-no matter the severity" because these parents have it two hundred zillions times harder than we with 'normal' children do.  Oliver's Mother cannot roll out of bed care-free today or any day.  She is a parent in high demand, no exceptions.  She chooses to mother in awareness and love.  I choose the same things for my children too but sometimes (actually, a lot of times) I fall off the bandwagon and get caught up with my own shit and lose sight of what really matters.  Then there are moments when another person's reality places your feet back on the ground and jolts you back from stupidity.  Today was my day.  

When we choose to have a child, it's a gamble.  Heads or tails?  Who knows? We don't know what we're going to get but when our heart and soul is in it 'unconditionally', no matter what the outcome, circumstance or situation is bestowed upon us, that is when you get to experience or witness the true act of being SELFLESS.