The Halloweens that Weren't

     Halloween has always been a favorite holiday in my family.  For the kids, obviously, it’s fun to dress up as favorite characters, wander the neighborhood, and collect huge amounts of candy.  It’s festive and special for them, and yet it doesn’t create tremendous stress for me as a parent.  Get them the costume they want, decorate a bit, carve a pumpkin, and the rest is pure enjoyment.  I love helping with classroom parties, taking children trick-or-treating, getting those cute photos, and maybe helping to get rid of some of the sweets.  I think, though, that Halloween is a bit extra special to me because of the ones I kind of missed out on.

     In 2003 when my older daughters were 10 and 6, my husband and I were across the world in Russia on an adoption trip for their little brother.  Already missing the girls like crazy, I was particularly sad to be absent for a holiday.  My best friend was watching the girls for me.  She made sure to bring them trick-or-treating and snapped lots of great pictures.  They definitely celebrated.  When I got home (without their little brother; this was trip one out of two), there were adorable decorations everywhere and I got to ooh and aah over their crafts, stories, and yummies.  It was nice for them, but I missed being there in person.

     In 2012, I was a mom of four but only one little one, and Super Storm Sandy hit our area hard.  We were lucky to have been spared any significant damage, but Halloween was, for all intents and purposes, canceled.  My three-year-old’s preschool was closed for several days, so she missed the first Halloween party that would have meant anything to her.  The mayor prohibited trick-or-treating on the actual day.  We didn’t have power, and there were downed lines and branches all around.  I admit I was rebellious and did take my little girl and her big brother carefully down the street to a few houses that looked okay.  We came home to our cold house after trying to make the best of it.

     With most things, we tend to treasure that which we have learned we cannot take for granted.  The two Halloweens that I missed are the ones that stand out most in my memory, and they motivate me to fully appreciate that special fall day when I can.  This year, I can’t wait to see my Claire all decked out as a cowgirl for the second year in a row.  It will be adorable to see her kindergarten class in costume and having fun.  In the evening, we’ll order in a pizza, roast some pumpkin seeds, and rifle through her loot together when we come back from trick-or-treating.  For a “scary” day, Halloween has lots of cozy, comforting fun that I plan to savor.

Montauk Magic

During the summer of 2012, my fifteen-year-old daughter Abigail begged me to take her on a trip to Montauk Point.  She had spent her whole life on the other side of Long Island, and neither she nor I had ever ventured to “The End”.  We had come somewhat close on Girl Scout camping trips, but we had never visited the farthest point out east where there was a picturesque lighthouse and museum, and it just seemed like something we should do.

We made a day and adventure of it, picking up some delicious breakfast along the way, getting caught in torrential rains, and then finally arriving at our destination as it cleared up.  We loved climbing up the lighthouse, checking out the museum, taking pictures, sitting on the beach, and wandering around a bit.  It immediately became a special place to us, and we vowed to return for the holiday lighting that always occurs the weekend after Thanksgiving.

That Thanksgiving had promised to be an important one.  My oldest, Elizabeth, was coming home from college for the weekend and bringing home her girlfriend (soon to be fiancée).  It would be the first holiday Tara spent with our family of six.

I had special plans packed into that weekend.  The older girls would spend the early part of the day with my three-year-old, Claire, as I prepared the Thanksgiving meal.  They would also spend time bonding or playing games with Abigail and my twelve year old son, Viktor.  We would enjoy Thanksgiving dinner along with my in-laws who were coming over to join us.  That night we would go to the movies.  The next day would be set aside for Montauk, me and all the girls.  On Saturday we would decorate the Christmas tree, sharing memories about all the ornaments while we listened to holiday music and sipped cocoa.

Most everything went pretty close to plan, but the trip to Montauk was not exactly how I had envisioned it.  It takes about two and a half hours to drive there.  Doing it later in the day to get there for the lighting and then driving all the way home afterwards made the actual visit seem particularly short.  Everybody seemed to need to stop for bathrooms and food so there was some added stress about getting there in time to actually see the lighting.  When we did arrive, it was beyond cold; it was frigid with a biting wind.  We got ourselves to a good location, saw the lighting and spotted Santa, and we ended up not staying too much longer.  I got a bit disoriented trying to find my way back to the car in the dark while Claire fussed about being cold, scared, and lost. 

The car trip home was interesting.  My little one had a cold with a runny nose, and she also has some sensory issues and some very rigid behaviors.  At that stage, I was the only one allowed to wipe her nose.  Every two seconds from the backseat came “You g’ wipe my nose?”.  I explained I was driving the car and so she needed one of the big girls to help her.  Not acceptable.  “You g’ wipe my nose?”.  Again and again, and again with me explaining about needing to keep my hands on the wheel and drive the car…in the pitch black with no street lights, of course.  Claire had the solution; I didn’t need to drive the car at all.   “You g’wipe my nose. We g’ walk fast home. Then I be happy”.  Over and over and OVER.  Lots of laughter from the backseat, and then finally, after about an hour of that, she allowed one of the older girls to wipe her nose.  From that point on, it was “Here, catch!” as she threw her used tissues up to the front seat or, more often, at the back of my head.  It was not a relaxing drive home for me.

When the weekend was over and I spoke to Elizabeth at college on the phone, I asked her if she and Tara enjoyed themselves when they were with us.  I was told they had an absolutely wonderful time.  I was particularly interested in what Tara thought, and so I asked what her favorite part of the holiday was.  The answer really surprised me.

It wasn’t the carefully prepared Thanksgiving meal made acceptable to both my turkey loving in-laws and my vegan and vegetarian daughters, it wasn’t the fun night at the movie theater watching “Breaking Dawn”, it wasn’t having fun with the little one at the playground, it wasn’t Christmas tree decorating…nope, it wasn’t any of that.  Tara’s favorite part of the holiday weekend was the visit to Montauk. 

“Really?” I asked.  “That long drive, the short time there, the freezing cold, Claire’s ridiculous behavior in the car?”

“It was magical”, Elizabeth replied.  The beauty was the car ride there with us joyfully belting out all our favorite Christmas songs, the crisp and clear night along the rocks with the huge moon shining down on the water, the perfect timing of arriving right when the lighthouse was lit up, and Claire’s antics were apparently the hilarious icing on the cake.

We seem to understand when we become moms that it’s now up to us to make holiday magic happen.  I learned from our Montauk adventure that the true magic occurs on its own in the hearts and minds of our kids (and those they bring home).  All we have to do is put in the time and be open to it.

Pet Mom

I am the mother of four human beings. I am also mom to two cats and am well aware that it’s not the same thing. But dare I say one can gain some wisdom about being a decent human mom from being a decent pet mom?

So much of our ego is wrapped up in parenting our children. We blame ourselves for their shortcomings and take credit for their successes. “If only I spent more one-on-one time with her earlier,” “She’s bad at math like I am,” and “I should have set more consistent rules when he was a toddler” are not helpful. “She is beautiful like my sister,” “she gets her intelligence from us,” and “We raised him right” are just the other side of the same coin. When they seem to do poorly, we feel unnecessarily guilty, and when they do well, we take undue credit.

When the cat misbehaves, it’s just being a cat. It’s either kind of funny or it’s just something we deal with in a relatively kind way that works. If we can teach the animal, we do. Sometimes we ignore it because it doesn’t matter very much. It really doesn’t have anything to do with us. Why can’t we think that simply with our kids? When a pet is a source of joy and comfort, the credit goes to the great animal and companion that it is, not to us for being connected to it. We are separate beings who happen to be in relationship with each other. Same with our kids.

Most moms succumb to the temptation to occasionally compare their kids, whether out loud or in their own minds. “This is my most athletic child, my prettiest, my smartest,” or “Why can’t she work as hard as her sister?” I have an overweight black cat named Judy and a smaller calico named Minnie. Never in a million years would anyone in the family say or think, “If only Judy were as skinny as Minnie” or a different color or with different eyes, or quirks, or anything other than who and what she is. We love and embrace them both for exactly who they are. Judy is loyal and kind to my youngest, and a good hunter.  Minnie is cute and silly. We can absolutely try to think of our kids along those lines.  They have individual looks, abilities, personalities, and proclivities. And they deserve to be fully accepted unconditionally.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t snuggle and pet my animals, speak to them in my high-pitched mommy voice, and simply enjoy their physical presence. And I confess that along with many other parents, I don’t hug my kids and say, “I love you” when they get past a certain age as freely as I used to. They still love it and need it, and so do I.

Lately I am finding myself seeking out information on rescue dogs that need a home. I want another being to nurture, completely separate from me but for me to love and guide, its “weaknesses” exactly what are appealing to me. I can’t wait to find out what I learn.

Mother Daughter

She is 85 years old, several hours away, and doesn’t like to travel.

I am busy with a family growing up, conflicting schedules and needs.

We speak on the phone every couple of days, drop each other notes and cards and packages.  I miss sharing a snack on the couch, watching her favorite TV programs with her, enjoying a meal at the table, feeling her put that extra blanket on me when she thinks I’m sound asleep, having talks in the wee hours when we are the only ones awake.

She is 21 years old, several hours away, and doesn’t like to travel.

I am busy with her siblings growing up, conflicting schedules and needs.

We communicate by phone or online practically every day.

I miss laughing with her in person, including her in our family activities, buying her special foods, taking a peek at her in the night when I think she’s sound asleep, waking up early with her, just me and my firstborn…like when she was a baby.

I must send out some kind of a signal to the universe when I need to really connect with these two.  I start to feel anxious; I fear I am beginning to lose them.  And then, they will both call me on the same day, and it is more than a check-in.  The stars align so that I magically have a free hour or so for each of them.  We have Real Conversation, we connect, I have been nurtured and I nurture.

It is rare that I can hold them physically.  Yet I still hold them…in my thoughts, in my prayers, in my love.

BFFs...is it really so wrong to be your child's friend?

One piece of common wisdom we often read and are told as mothers is that we are not to be our children’s friend; we are their parent.  Obviously the point of this advice is to make clear that our most important job is to provide consistent rules and clear guidance for our kids, despite what they might think they want from us.  If we try to make them or their peers like us, we may actually end up doing them a disservice.  As they come into young adulthood, our relationship will hopefully evolve into a more equal and amicable one, but while they are young, we are supposed to be firm and keep them on the right path.

It’s a message I have heard but not fully accepted.  My seventeen year old daughter often tells me that I’m her BFF, and while part of me loves to hear it, another part cringes a little and tells me that I must be screwing up the “parent instead of friend” thing.  When she was little, this daughter was such an old soul.  She had a knack for saying just the right, wise thing, whether she really understood what she was saying or not.  Sometimes I’d find myself asking what she thought about this or that situation to see if she might have some special insight for me.  When she was around 10 years old, it became clear that this middle daughter and I shared many interests—good stories, dollhouses, holiday traditions, academics and philosophical talks.  One night as I was tucking her in with a book, she said “If you and I were the same age, we’d be best friends”.  I couldn’t help but be flattered and agree.

As the teenage years approached, I figured I should begin to brace myself.  Although her older sister mostly remained an easy kid throughout high school, one any mom would be pleased with, this one was more feisty.  She was strong-willed, snarky, and questioning of those in power.  The friendship we had couldn’t possibly last through this phase of finding her identity and asserting her independence.

Or so I thought.  The kid remains an excellent student with tons of extracurricular activities and talents, as well as thoughts and opinions all her own, and I’m still her BFF.  And apparently that hasn’t messed her up too badly.  She’s a responsible, moral person with a strong sense of integrity.  We discuss practically everything under the sun, and sometimes we disagree.  There are times I ask for her input, and she reminds me she is still a kid who would rather not be burdened.  There are times I remind her I am the parent and don’t want to hear advice from her.

What is a friend, anyway?  I believe it is someone with whom we have a strong connection,  someone who brings out the best in us, someone who appreciates us and is there for us in times of need.  Friends share both good and bad experiences, laughs, and important milestones.  They challenge each other and have difficult conversations when needed, as well as encourage and build each other up.  They love each other.  And as far as I’m concerned, the loving relationship between a parent and child is not only more important than the role of parent as authority figure, it is the very foundation of it.  Respect is built on love and trust, not on fear.  I am proud to be both my daughter’s BFF and her mom.

A Different Kind of Love Story

When I found out I was pregnant a few days before my forty-third birthday, I was shocked and thrilled.  My daughters were 16 and 11, and I had been longing for another pregnancy since the girls were little.  It took a year and a half to conceive my second child, and although there was no medical explanation, it just didn’t look like it would ever happen again.  When the girls were both in elementary school, we decided to open our hearts to a 3 year old Russian orphan boy whom we adopted.  The adjustment to life with that little blond tornado was tough, and it took some time for everyone to settle in.  Around five years, actually.

It was shortly after Viktor’s eighth birthday that the surprisingly wonderful news of my last pregnancy came.   All of us were beside ourselves with excitement and awe…all of us except my son.  While some of us had tears of joy, he had tears of sadness and fear.  My husband and I assured him of our love and his importance in our family, especially for the baby-to-be who would look up to him.  But even after five years with us, my son felt his place in the family was so tenuous that this little intruder would surely threaten it. 

After a while, Viktor began to accept the idea of a little brother—someone he could mold into a little version of himself and someone to even the numbers in the family.  That was until he found out I was pregnant with another little girl.  The reaction to that news was even stronger than to the pregnancy itself.  He isolated himself outside and sobbed angrily.  All I could do was remind him about his best friend at the time, a girl, who liked all the same things he did—army, cars, physical play.  I’m not sure he bought my attempt at consolation.  While the rest of the family enjoyed every aspect of planning and waiting for our new miracle,  my son seemed in denial.

Then Claire was born.  She was so tiny and helpless, and Viktor immediately fell hard.  He held her so gently, studied her features, and mimicked how my husband let her sleep on his chest.  He showed her off and talked about her to his teacher and classmates.  During one of the first days home, while I was changing the crying infant,  Viktor gently said to her, “You know what is really sad?  When I was a baby like you, nobody took care of me like this”.  He said it tenderly, as though he was just realizing for himself what he missed.  It was like he made a vow at that time to never let her feel the neglect he did.

He began to see me differently, too.  He got to see me parent from the beginning of life, there for all of Claire’s basic needs 24/7.  During one of my first nights home from the hospital, he wanted to sleep near the baby and me to hear my “sweet voice” and see Claire’s “cute little face”.  He was truly drinking in what I wasn’t there for when he was a baby. 

Until the baby’s birth, I think Viktor always sort of felt like a latecomer to our family.  He knew he missed out on our first family home and many of our combined experiences as well as his own first three years of being a baby in our midst.  But as relates to Claire, he was there from the start—from finding out about her to every day of her life since then.  She doesn’t know life without him, and she doesn’t know that he is anyone other than her brother. 

As Claire entered toddlerhood, the brother-sister relationship developed into something more typical.  She annoys him, he teases her, and they get mad at each other.  She still looks up to him and wants him to play with her, and of course he still loves her, but they definitely get on each other’s nerves.  The gifts of this relationship, however, are still being realized.  Viktor had hyperactivity and sensory issues as a little boy that felt so different to me.  He never seemed to sleep. And although she is not biologically related to him, Claire also has these issues, in some ways even more significantly.  Her brother prepared me to deal with OT services, extreme fatigue, and acceptance of traits I don’t relate to.  And now that a child I gave birth to has some of the same difficulties, Viktor’s characteristics don’t feel so foreign to me; *he* doesn’t feel foreign to me.  I see that I absolutely could have given birth to a child like him because I did. 

It is interesting how things work out sometimes.  A little boy came into our family’s life and there were lessons on both sides, and then a little girl came along and somehow made those lessons easier for all of us.  It’s one love story among many in the chapters of our life as a family.

Breathe Easy

Breathe Easy

September 21, 2013.  Today is National Gratitude Day.  When I realized this, I dug out my old gratitude journals and fondly relived what I sometimes refer to as the happiest times of my life.  It was the late 1990's and early 2000's.  I had quit my full-time job outside the home to be a full-time mom to my two young girls.  Elizabeth and Abigail were funny and precocious, creative and enthusiastic.  I was relishing the freedom and fun of being their mom.  I breathed sighs of relief every day that I didn't have to go to the workplace and I didn't have to answer to anyone but these two.  It was a simple time of playgrounds, parks, and beaches, picnics in the backyard, playing dress-up and pretend, making crafts, and reading lots and lots of books together.  My older one had school, but it was still so exciting, with no real homework and no real problems.  Extracurriculars were easy and thoughtfully chosen.  My little one was really still a baby, but she looked up to her big sister and did a great job keeping up.  They adored each other.

When Abigail, my younger one, was around 2 1/2 years old, she was diagnosed with asthma.  It's a common issue in children, but it briefly shook up our happy little world.  From around the time she weaned at 13 months, she would get occasional colds just like most kids, but she just didn't seem to shake them quickly or easily.  Her coughs would hang on too long and I would hear that rattling in her lungs too often.  I do remember a family visit we made before she turned 2 and my brother said something about it sounding like she had asthma. I brushed it off then.  That winter, she had a very lingering cough after a cold and then it suddenly took a turn for the worse.  She was sleeping but breathing very rapidly and shallowly, her cheeks were flushed, and she was warm.  I panicked.  So far as a mom, I had been lucky enough to have dealt with nothing more a few ear infections.

Six year old Elizabeth picked up on my fear.  She had recently attended a service in her religious education class in which each child received a small bottle of holy water.  Her first reaction was to run right to it and sprinkle it all over her sister.  She was so protective and so worried; that act of love is always remembered with a bit of a chuckle, but the desperation at the moment was very real.

I called the doctor and was afraid of what I was sure the advice would be.  It was a Sunday morning during a snowstorm.  I was certain I would be told to take my little one, who had a deathly fear of doctors and all things medical, to the emergency room.  I knew that bringing her there would only make her breathing more labored as she would surely be full of anxiety.  But the doctor told me he would meet us at the office nearby.  I was so relieved to see him in the parking lot on that snowy day that when I remember the image, I still let out a big breath.

It was a tough visit of testing and fear and learning to use a nebulizer on a strong-willed,  terrified little one.  But I rocked her and sang and listened to instructions and was just so grateful to have someone helping us.  The doctor shared kind words about my patience.  These made me feel stronger and more empowered as a mom, and I still treasure them to this day.

Abigail is 16 now and still deals with her asthma.  She has had episodes throughout her childhood, but nothing as scary as the time of her diagnosis.  We are actually looking into a seeing a pulmonologist soon because her medicines are no longer providing complete relief, but she controls her condition well and we keep up with it.

When I remember that first real health crisis I experienced as a mom, at the forefront of the story is the love of an older sister and the helpfulness of a professional.  I would experience that combination of family and friend support, along with the assistance of caring experts, many more times as a mother.  After those halcyon days when my first two were young, we adopted a son.  So many friends and family members rallied around and supported that adjustment, and so many officials helped to smooth our way as well.  And then when I had my later-in-life surprise pregnancy, again I experienced not only affection from those near and dear to us, but also medical personnel who went above and beyond to make sure we were okay.  Knowing this beautiful combination of love and help is available when I need it truly helps me breathe easy.