The beat of it

heart │härt│noun
・the heart, regarded as the center of a person's thoughts and emotions, esp. love or compassion.


The heart beats to keep us alive.  It pumps to maintain a flow in our miraculous and mysterious system we call the human body.

We worry about the heart if it falters.  Other things can become compensated but the heart... the heart must remain fierce.  No matter what, the heart is and will always be a vital organ.

But the heart is also a symbol of love.

A symbol of compassion.

A symbol of deep rooted emotions in terms of the self.

When a force is bigger than one can handle, it is the heart that takes the brunt of it.

It is also the heart that drives us to do great things.

When a person does something out of malice or contempt, it is not done with heart.
No, the heart cannot sustain such power.  

The heart can only deliver love and compassion and joy and bliss.  This is what I believe.

It can hold sorrow.  It can hold sadness.  It can hold regret.  It can even hold unbearable grief.
If it tries to hold hate, it only remains in a state of toxic energy and the beat of it changes.

The beat of the heart becomes different.  Not rhythmic, you see, because what becomes absent is so vital to the heart that it slowly withers into itself and only ends up providing the necessary purpose to keep one alive.

What happens to the passion?  What happens to the love?  What happens to the joy and the bliss and the compassion towards the simple things that makes the heart sing and beat in a certain way?

It is lost.

It is absent.

The heart is not content.

When you do what you love, your heart feels it.  When you show someone you love them, your heart feels it.  When you pray for someone you love, your heart feels it.

When you wish upon someone the most beautiful things this life can offer, your heart feels it.
When you hold your baby for the very first time, your heart feels it.

When you kiss someone you love for the very last time, your heart feels it.
When you've been given a gift that has no monetary value, your. heart. feels. it.

Things that come from the heart are powerful and majestic.

When I feel like things could not get any worse or better, I know that no matter what, my heart will continue to beat the way it has for a very long time.  It's the beat of it that makes this feeling so very special.

I do things with heart because otherwise, what's the point?

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...

Sometimes I feel like a single mom

Image

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...

First

Fabulous is 2012!

The first month of the year holds an assortment of wonder for me.  

Two women that became the closest semblance of a 'mother' to me 

were both born the first month of the year.  Their love seared beauty and wonder in my heart.  

I became a mother for the first time the first month of the year.   

My first born daughter will be turing eight years old in seven days.

The woman who'd later become a pivotal and inspiring soul in my life 

was also born the first month of the year.  

She is the cornerstone to my daughters' sense of family.  

She is an irreplaceable matriarch to me and the epitome of compassion.  

My daughters, her granddaughters, will only know unconditional love from her.  

The first month of the year was the first time I found my 'voice' as a writer.  

Yes, the first month of the year holds wonder for me and I am grateful.  

The first month of the year is a time for new beginnings.  

A time for new creative ventures.  

A time to keep moving forward and allowing opportunities to present themselves.

First, I will allow all the things that are meant to mold 

and meld me in this new year, to take place however they are supposed to.

I celebrate the first month, the first day of the year, 

the first clean slate to start anew, 

the first moment in time and the first day I will declare that 

2012 WILL be FABULOUS ♥

First, cheers! 

1st Vlog! Poop water delayed me

*I will apologize in advance for the poor quality and please

TURN UP your volume because 

I apparently didn't want to wake the girls!

Thank you for watching :) 

Without further ado...my very first Vlog!