Moms~
This week's article is near and dear to my heart. I witnessed and amazing act of love from one mother to another last week, and this colum is all about it. I hope you take the time to read it.
Until next week,
Chronicle Mom
The Mom Chronicles: Giving Life
I write this curled up in my bed wearing my flannel gnome pajamas and feeling the chill of the brisk air coming in from the cracked open window. Fall is finally here.
This was quite a week for me. It was a roller coaster I never anticipated, nor have I ever experienced anything like. It was a week of dreams born, and dreams that died. The chill in the air feels almost eerie to me, as it is a reflection of what came, and what has gone.
This past Monday, a child was born. She was a beautiful baby girl, weighing in at just over eight pounds. She had a head full of black hair, and lungs that filled the room with the sound of her cry. Little did she know, that the mother who carried her in to the hospital, would not be the one who carried her out. You see, this lucky little girl now has two moms, the mom who carried her into the world, and the mom who will carry her through it. My friend, her biological mom, had made the difficult decision to let another mother raise her through this life. This beautiful little baby girl was to be adopted by a couple who had not been so lucky as to have a child of their own. Her mother? She has two children already, and this little girl that came, well her mom knew that she could not give her the life she deserved. And so, she made the choice, the very difficult choice, to allow another women to experience the gift of motherhood, and it was a beautiful gift.
I was there to witness the bonding with her biological family, and when she met her new one. I was witness to my friend kissing her little girl's head, and then her handing her over to meet her new family. "Here is your daughter", she said. I was in awe. Awe of her strength. Awe of her selflessness. Awe of the gift she was giving this family. And oh! How thankful they were! No experience in my life compares to witnessing this one. To watch a family being handed a new baby from another, there are no words. What there are words for, however, is how I felt towards my friend.
She did what for most moms would feel impossible. She was willing to give up her own child. But she did it out of a tremendous love that has no comparison. My friend was willing to put her own needs, her own desires, her own wants aside in the most selfless of ways. I have nothing but respect for her in doing so. What made this choice more stoic was that this baby was a girl, when my friend's other children are boys. In addition this was her last child as a procedure after the birth will never allow her to never have children again. In addition, this little girl did not make her way in to this world with out first creating waves. My friend, her mother, went through a tremendous amount just to get her here. Week after week she had ultrasounds and fetal monitoring and monitoring of her own gestational diabetes that came on with the progression of the pregnancy. Yet she did it all for her. All for this girl whom she wouldn't even be taking home with her. How difficult this was.
In the days since the birth of her daughter, my friend has experienced a whirl wind of emotions that only come with such an experience. There are times when she has felt at peace, and others when life without her little girl feel impossible. But she has, with the help and support of her amazing family, has continued on with her promise and commitment to her daughter and to the adoptive family, and has let her little girl go. She will never really be gone, though.
My friend chose an open adoption option and so she will continue to know and see her daughter grow, just through a little different kind of perspective. And in doing so, she gave another family, another couple, an opportunity to be a mom and to be a dad for the very first time. So for this little girl, there will be nothing but love. For she has the love of two families now, her biological family that loved her enough to give her more, and her adoptive family that chose her- yes, her!- to be their very own daughter.
I think of my friend tonight. As I type, it is her first night home from the hospital with out her baby girl. She was able to keep her little pink hat that was placed on her delicate little head after birth, and a measuring tape marked with her measurements. She has the gifts of and from family and friends, but the ultimate gift that most of us come home with, she chose to give to someone else. I can not imagine how it feels, and I imagine it doesn't always feel as stoic as it was. However, my hope and prayer for my friend is that in time, she will learn to see it as I do, and that she can learn to be as in awe of herself as the rest of us. For I imagine there will be many days ahead of her when the cry of a baby is bitter sweet. When the pink in the stores doesn't feel so sweet. But there will be other days, when she will be able to think of her baby and smile. When she will read the letter she wrote her in the hospital or dream of her little girl twirling and be able to twirl in her heart, too, for the gift she gave was great. And one day her daughter will be old enough to know and understand the choice that was made for her. And my hope is that she, too, will be in awe of her mother.
While this all was taking place, I learned of another friend, who in her first pregnancy found her baby had stopped growing and quietly passed away. For her, too, life doesn't really feel fair. A D and C and suddenly that dream that they had, is only a dream that was. In the same time, I quietly and secretly awaited news on whether my third child was on its way, for there were signs. In deed it was not meant to be. No, not great timing, but desired. The yearning is suddenly there, and some how, I have worked my way through the fear of my miscarriage, enough to brave another pregnancy. While I was not trying, I was not not trying, either. And so I accept was is, and what is not. Was is meant to be, and what is not meant to be. I am a mom, just will not be a new mom again soon.
I suddenly feel a chill in the air. It's funny. Life is something with which I associate warmth. This week, I witnessed unbelievable warmth in my friend's gift of life to another family. At the same time, I witnessed her loss, the loss of my other friend, and my own disappointment in what was not meant to be. That feels so cold. Through it all though, there is an eerie sense of calm and peace. As if things are exactly as they are meant to be. Because I do not have the crystal ball I don't have the knowledge of that. What I do have though, is faith and hope and trust. Do you?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Chronicles 11
Sorry we are a little out of sync here, but her is #11. Enjoy. Amy
Saturday, September 12th
Chronicles 11
The Mom Chronicles: Putting out Fires
Welcome back, Chronicle Moms! This week is for you, and about you. It is more mom-centered, vs our standard kid centered. I hope it fulfills its purpose.
In recent weeks, I have come to appreciate the fact that there is indeed, life outside of my kids. It has taken me a long time to get to that fact, but there is. What that means for me is not that I get to go out and joy ride or take for granted the time I have with out the kids. What it means, rather, is that it is ok and actually good for me to take time away, and that I don't need to bury myself chin deep in guilt if I do. The same goes for you. Furthermore, not only is it good to have life outside of our kids, it is necessary.
It seems rather cliche' to say we can't take care of others if we don't first take care of ourselves, but I have found that is a very true statement, and one that especially applies to moms. I was recently reminded of this when riding along with the Hastings Fire and Rescue. As I have recently done some soul searching to figure out what direction I want the rest of my life to take, I decided to ride along with one of their crews last weekend to get a taste of what they do and decide if indeed it is for me. As you can imagine those folks see a lot and do a lot, much of which is difficult and demanding. Each decision they make directly impacts the life of someone else whom they are there to help or save. The same, too, applies for us as moms. Each decision we make, every time we respond to our kids, be it in crisis or non-crisis, we are doing so in a way that is going to significantly impact them in their life ahead. While making them drink milk for dinner vs juice or soda doesn't exactly compare to performing CPR on someone whose heart has failed, looking out for the well being of our kids or making those choices for them based on our knowledge of what is best for them does.
Of everything I took out of my day with the Fire and Rescue crew, outside of course of the fact that they are a fabulous group of folks whom we are so lucky to have serving our community, was the need to take care of yourself in order to be able to fully attend to others. Being an EMT or Paramedic or firefighter means putting your own personal wants, needs, fears and desires aside and putting someone else's first. The same goes for being a mom. Why is it then that that is so difficult for us? Indeed we have something to learn from the folks at the fire department, after all, how many "fires" are we putting out each day? I think it is time to stop and listen to the Hastings crew. What a better example to follow?
While there I heard chatter of motorcycles and "bikes", of the car show down town and other various hobbies the guys (and gals) partake in. It was clear by the way the crew responded when the emergency phone sounded, that they were on their game. This would not be possible, if not for those aforementioned activities.
This lead me to thinking. What do I do to prepare myself to put out the fires that arise on any given day, or to respond with confidence when trauma, such as my son hitting his head on a night stand or choking on watermelon occur? Is this something even on my radar? Not so much, or at least, it didn't used to be. Then came this past spring.
This past spring I set out with a goal of running this years Twin Cities Marathon. For me, running has always been an "out" and with a high stress spring, and in anticipation of a higher stress sumer, I knew it was necessary to put that out back in place, so what did I do? I began running. Again. This time, though, it was not just to get in shape or to have something to do. It was to have an outlet, and an outlet that was mine. Just mine. It didn't involve the kids, my husband or anyone else for that matter. I set the goal and started working towards it. It was filling my cup, or "stocking" my fire truck, we could also say. And then it happened. I over trained. I abused those legs that had become my wings and I injured them. Both of them. That was not the part of the story you have all heard. Up until now, you simply knew me as the mom who spent the summer with a cast and walking boot on both legs. You didn't so much know how we got there. That is how. Recently, freed of my casts and boot, I have started walking again, and alas, this weekend I went for my first run. I do not call my legs my wings for nothing. While tired and stiff, my legs remembered what they were to do, and I felt new air in my lungs I had not breathed in some time. I felt an exhilaration, and that heavy, tired energy seemed to drip off of me with the sweat. When I got home, not only was I met with personal feelings of accomplishment, but an attitude and calm better able to attend to my kids and put out their "fires".
I will not be able to run my marathon this fall, due to my injuries, but I will run it again. My eyes are already set on next year. In the mean time, from the Hastings crew and from the thrill I felt in giving myself the out I needed, I have been reminded of what is perhaps our most important task as moms: to take time to take care of you.
My kids have suffered in the recent weeks. I have not taken great care of myself. I have been stressed, and down and overwhelmed and it's no wonder. There has been nothing I have done just for me. That is changing. In addition to riding with the Hastings Fire and Rescue folks, I have decided to return to school to become an EMT and ultimately, Paramedic. I picked up my application to hopefully join the Hastings Fire and Rescue department some day soon, and have started the application process for school. I took time this weekend to "escape" and partook in my greatest love, riding horse on the wooded trails of Northern Wisconsin. I committed to a day long riding trip in a couple weeks (that should give my legs and rear end time to heal from today) that not only will benefit my own mental state, but is a fundraiser for St. Jude children's Hospital as well. To top it off, I paid a visit to a high end grocery store in the cities, where I stocked up on my favorite stuffed olives at their olive bar. Oh, the little things.
My point? Run. In your own way. Do that thing that brings out your wings. If you have to, make a reminder for yourself. A long time ago, since we are on the fire and rescue theme, when I was in a treatment program for my eating disorder, we made what were called our "Firefighter" cards. They were a large recipe card that we decorated in a firefighter theme, and on it listed the things that were helpful to do of friends that were helpful to call, when our souls, our "fire extinguishers" were empty. They were our life lines. Make your own firefighter card. Each day vow to do one thing on it to help yourself be able to fight the fires in everyday life that arise. Include things like reading a book, going for a walk, calling a friend, taking a bath, etc. Make them things easily accessible and make it a priority. Then, if you as mom are having a "9-1-1" moment, when you are feeling overwhelmed, and the kids are screaming or fighting, or the bills are piling high, and you had a bad day at work, and you burn supper while intervening in the fight between the kids... grab the card. Take a time out. Do one thing. It may not help the first time or the second, but you will learn to love those "firefighter" moments. I hope you will take time to do that for you. Heck, include the kids in it. As an activity, make them for all of you. For the kids they can list things for them to do if they are feeling crabby, or grumpy, or if they had a bad day at school, or just need a break. You can say hey, firefighter! And together choose something off of their card that they can do to help the moment. It could be as simple as playing with a favorite toy, calling a friend for a play date, or going out for ice cream. And may this be a way for you as moms, to teach your kids the value of taking care of themselves. Of recognizing when their own fire extinguisher is running low. Theirs does, too remember. It is why they get tired and crabby and disrespectful.
Well, so much or short and sweet. My challenge for you this week? Make yourself a firefighter card, and use it, at least once. Then, whenever you see one, thank the members of the Hastings Fire and Rescue Crew for taking such good care of themselves, and ultimately us, too. We can learn a lot from them.
Good luck putting out whatever fires come your way this week. See you next week!
Saturday, September 12th
Chronicles 11
The Mom Chronicles: Putting out Fires
Welcome back, Chronicle Moms! This week is for you, and about you. It is more mom-centered, vs our standard kid centered. I hope it fulfills its purpose.
In recent weeks, I have come to appreciate the fact that there is indeed, life outside of my kids. It has taken me a long time to get to that fact, but there is. What that means for me is not that I get to go out and joy ride or take for granted the time I have with out the kids. What it means, rather, is that it is ok and actually good for me to take time away, and that I don't need to bury myself chin deep in guilt if I do. The same goes for you. Furthermore, not only is it good to have life outside of our kids, it is necessary.
It seems rather cliche' to say we can't take care of others if we don't first take care of ourselves, but I have found that is a very true statement, and one that especially applies to moms. I was recently reminded of this when riding along with the Hastings Fire and Rescue. As I have recently done some soul searching to figure out what direction I want the rest of my life to take, I decided to ride along with one of their crews last weekend to get a taste of what they do and decide if indeed it is for me. As you can imagine those folks see a lot and do a lot, much of which is difficult and demanding. Each decision they make directly impacts the life of someone else whom they are there to help or save. The same, too, applies for us as moms. Each decision we make, every time we respond to our kids, be it in crisis or non-crisis, we are doing so in a way that is going to significantly impact them in their life ahead. While making them drink milk for dinner vs juice or soda doesn't exactly compare to performing CPR on someone whose heart has failed, looking out for the well being of our kids or making those choices for them based on our knowledge of what is best for them does.
Of everything I took out of my day with the Fire and Rescue crew, outside of course of the fact that they are a fabulous group of folks whom we are so lucky to have serving our community, was the need to take care of yourself in order to be able to fully attend to others. Being an EMT or Paramedic or firefighter means putting your own personal wants, needs, fears and desires aside and putting someone else's first. The same goes for being a mom. Why is it then that that is so difficult for us? Indeed we have something to learn from the folks at the fire department, after all, how many "fires" are we putting out each day? I think it is time to stop and listen to the Hastings crew. What a better example to follow?
While there I heard chatter of motorcycles and "bikes", of the car show down town and other various hobbies the guys (and gals) partake in. It was clear by the way the crew responded when the emergency phone sounded, that they were on their game. This would not be possible, if not for those aforementioned activities.
This lead me to thinking. What do I do to prepare myself to put out the fires that arise on any given day, or to respond with confidence when trauma, such as my son hitting his head on a night stand or choking on watermelon occur? Is this something even on my radar? Not so much, or at least, it didn't used to be. Then came this past spring.
This past spring I set out with a goal of running this years Twin Cities Marathon. For me, running has always been an "out" and with a high stress spring, and in anticipation of a higher stress sumer, I knew it was necessary to put that out back in place, so what did I do? I began running. Again. This time, though, it was not just to get in shape or to have something to do. It was to have an outlet, and an outlet that was mine. Just mine. It didn't involve the kids, my husband or anyone else for that matter. I set the goal and started working towards it. It was filling my cup, or "stocking" my fire truck, we could also say. And then it happened. I over trained. I abused those legs that had become my wings and I injured them. Both of them. That was not the part of the story you have all heard. Up until now, you simply knew me as the mom who spent the summer with a cast and walking boot on both legs. You didn't so much know how we got there. That is how. Recently, freed of my casts and boot, I have started walking again, and alas, this weekend I went for my first run. I do not call my legs my wings for nothing. While tired and stiff, my legs remembered what they were to do, and I felt new air in my lungs I had not breathed in some time. I felt an exhilaration, and that heavy, tired energy seemed to drip off of me with the sweat. When I got home, not only was I met with personal feelings of accomplishment, but an attitude and calm better able to attend to my kids and put out their "fires".
I will not be able to run my marathon this fall, due to my injuries, but I will run it again. My eyes are already set on next year. In the mean time, from the Hastings crew and from the thrill I felt in giving myself the out I needed, I have been reminded of what is perhaps our most important task as moms: to take time to take care of you.
My kids have suffered in the recent weeks. I have not taken great care of myself. I have been stressed, and down and overwhelmed and it's no wonder. There has been nothing I have done just for me. That is changing. In addition to riding with the Hastings Fire and Rescue folks, I have decided to return to school to become an EMT and ultimately, Paramedic. I picked up my application to hopefully join the Hastings Fire and Rescue department some day soon, and have started the application process for school. I took time this weekend to "escape" and partook in my greatest love, riding horse on the wooded trails of Northern Wisconsin. I committed to a day long riding trip in a couple weeks (that should give my legs and rear end time to heal from today) that not only will benefit my own mental state, but is a fundraiser for St. Jude children's Hospital as well. To top it off, I paid a visit to a high end grocery store in the cities, where I stocked up on my favorite stuffed olives at their olive bar. Oh, the little things.
My point? Run. In your own way. Do that thing that brings out your wings. If you have to, make a reminder for yourself. A long time ago, since we are on the fire and rescue theme, when I was in a treatment program for my eating disorder, we made what were called our "Firefighter" cards. They were a large recipe card that we decorated in a firefighter theme, and on it listed the things that were helpful to do of friends that were helpful to call, when our souls, our "fire extinguishers" were empty. They were our life lines. Make your own firefighter card. Each day vow to do one thing on it to help yourself be able to fight the fires in everyday life that arise. Include things like reading a book, going for a walk, calling a friend, taking a bath, etc. Make them things easily accessible and make it a priority. Then, if you as mom are having a "9-1-1" moment, when you are feeling overwhelmed, and the kids are screaming or fighting, or the bills are piling high, and you had a bad day at work, and you burn supper while intervening in the fight between the kids... grab the card. Take a time out. Do one thing. It may not help the first time or the second, but you will learn to love those "firefighter" moments. I hope you will take time to do that for you. Heck, include the kids in it. As an activity, make them for all of you. For the kids they can list things for them to do if they are feeling crabby, or grumpy, or if they had a bad day at school, or just need a break. You can say hey, firefighter! And together choose something off of their card that they can do to help the moment. It could be as simple as playing with a favorite toy, calling a friend for a play date, or going out for ice cream. And may this be a way for you as moms, to teach your kids the value of taking care of themselves. Of recognizing when their own fire extinguisher is running low. Theirs does, too remember. It is why they get tired and crabby and disrespectful.
Well, so much or short and sweet. My challenge for you this week? Make yourself a firefighter card, and use it, at least once. Then, whenever you see one, thank the members of the Hastings Fire and Rescue Crew for taking such good care of themselves, and ultimately us, too. We can learn a lot from them.
Good luck putting out whatever fires come your way this week. See you next week!
Friday, September 25, 2009
Still Here!
Hey, Chronicle Moms! Sorry I have not been here in a couple weeks. My computer is in hiatus so it has been hard for me to get here..but I am back in business for now, so here we go! I will post #11 soon, but it is on another computer,so I will have to update soon.
Thanks for taking time to read the blog! I have gotten some great feedback! Thanks for that!
Next week look for another difficult one. I witnessed a very brave friend give up a child for adoption this week.I got the pleasure of meeting the adoptive parents, and spending time with her after the baby was gone. It was difficult for her, but she has done great, and I am in awe of her for her choice. I also learned this week of another friend who lost a child to miscarriage. My heart goes out to both of these women for being so brave to handle these difficult things! I will be writing about them next week, and I hope you tune in.
As for me, I was somewhat disappointed to find out I am not expecting again.I was not trying and my husband and I, as I have shared, and getting divorced. However, I had signs an had a wee bit of hope.I did not get my period, only spotted a couple days. I was sad to hear the test was negative, but relived it was not positve and I was miscarrying with the spotting.My big fear was that I was and the spotting was indicitive of a miscarriage. It was not, but also no baby, and with a divorce, it will likely not happen for me any time soon. I am hopeful, though, that in time I will have another child.I understand the time is not now. I know there are plans greater for me.
That's all for today! I hope you are all well! See you again soon!
Amy
The Hastings Mom
Thanks for taking time to read the blog! I have gotten some great feedback! Thanks for that!
Next week look for another difficult one. I witnessed a very brave friend give up a child for adoption this week.I got the pleasure of meeting the adoptive parents, and spending time with her after the baby was gone. It was difficult for her, but she has done great, and I am in awe of her for her choice. I also learned this week of another friend who lost a child to miscarriage. My heart goes out to both of these women for being so brave to handle these difficult things! I will be writing about them next week, and I hope you tune in.
As for me, I was somewhat disappointed to find out I am not expecting again.I was not trying and my husband and I, as I have shared, and getting divorced. However, I had signs an had a wee bit of hope.I did not get my period, only spotted a couple days. I was sad to hear the test was negative, but relived it was not positve and I was miscarrying with the spotting.My big fear was that I was and the spotting was indicitive of a miscarriage. It was not, but also no baby, and with a divorce, it will likely not happen for me any time soon. I am hopeful, though, that in time I will have another child.I understand the time is not now. I know there are plans greater for me.
That's all for today! I hope you are all well! See you again soon!
Amy
The Hastings Mom
Chronicles 12
Mom Chronicles 12
The Mom Chronicles: This is No Fat Joke
As usual, welcome back, Chronicle Moms! I hope you are having a great week! This week finds me feeling a little bit self conscious. Not that I usually don't, but there have been several references to my, how do I say it- round self, over this past week, and as I embark on this next week I am not feeling so great about that. Part of me can't help but to just laugh at the irony that all the weight related references I got this past week all happened to come with in the same few days. The other part of me is trying really hard not to cry, as I know I am far from the shape I could or should be in.
I think this is a common occurence for us single moms, and not-so single moms as well. As we lack a partner to relieve us to go to the gym or out for a walk or run, we find ourselves not as fit as we could be. Furthermore, I find myself avoiding taking my kids to the grocery store at all costs, which means we frequent restaurants way more than we should (the debris in my car is evidence of that). I find myself feeling a bit more motivated after this past week, though, to make that happen- the gym and grocery store for healthier choices, that is. Here is why.
So I am at a large bookstore last week. I knew I had about 32 hours child free so seeing as the book I was looking for was not in, I approached one of the "booksellers" for suggestions on what I could inhale in terms of a book with in those hours. To my lack of appreciation, she ushered me over to a display promoting a new health book which has a motto related to eating leaves, and lots of them. Basically, about how what we as Americans are eating is all wrong and that we need to return to the all natural, unprocessed food that is leaves, fruits, vegetables, and the like. Obviously she did not notice that my enthusiasm for the topic was not what hers was, that or she just didn't care, but she basically pushed it in to my empty hands and told me she hoped I liked it as much as she did. Needless to say, I did not leave with that book in my bag, though I felt for the kid I saw reading it at the Fire fighters Bouya lunch. The joys of school reading lists. I tried not to take her suggestion personally. I was, after all, in Woodbury where it's all about bottled water and fancy wine.
A couple days ago, I made the trek back to the bookstore to pick up the book I had gone for to begin with. Awaiting me was another 32 hour weekend alone, and at the desk I noticed a friendly looking group of booksellers chatting. Having not gotten a decent read the last weekend, I decided to approach these folks thinking certainly between the three of them they would have a suggestion different then the other earth lady about eating plants. So I eagerly approach them, before asking for my running book, and put the same inquiry out there. Mom, no kids for the weekend, need good book to entertain self. And almost in a chorus what do they recommend to me? The same leaf eating, health nut book that the other lady did. I had to contain myself to not say, "Are you kidding me?! Is this some kind of fat joke?!" I walk in to this store twice, about a week apart, and ask four different people, who should realistically, all have different recommendations for me, right?! Not so much. They all suggest a book to me that promotes better eating and weight loss. And they didn't stop there! They went on to tell me about the manager of the store lost 80 pounds using the ideas in the book. I had to bite my tongue as to not ask, "Are you suggesting I have eighty pounds to loose?!" I felt like being like, "Hey, people! Don't you see the running book I ordered? Don't you see I am attempting to get back off of my rear end? Don't you know that I have had two kids in three years and spent the summer completely unable to do anything physically? Really?" So I thank them for the recommendation, scour a different section of books, and leave a short time later, with my running book, and plan to head to the local coffee shop for a tall Caramel Mochiatto.
At this point, I am starting to question how I really do appear to the general population. Am I flashing "Lazy obese person needing latest health craze"? Enter my son. A frequent response in my household lately to him has been, "when you get bigger". You can see where this one is going. My son, in his growing independence, is asking to do a lot of things, most to which I respond, "You have to get a little bigger, first!" and to which Matthew then answers, "But I AM bigger, mom!" So we are riding in the car on our way to daycare the end of last week. I am having issues from my venture to the book store, amongst other things, and out of the blue my son says to me from the back seat, "You bigger, mommy!" I really hoped I hadn't heard what I thought I did. So I questioned him. What was that, Matthew? To which he replies, "I said you getting bigger, mommy!" Indeed, I have gotten bigger. A lot bigger. And even my three year old has noticed.
And finally, with election season upon us, my wordage here in my chronicles has to shorten up. And how does Chad tell me to shorter things up? By telling me I have to go on a "Word Diet." Of all words to use! Diet. I groaned. I knew what he was saying. I need to shorten these mom chronicles up so you fine citizens of Hastings can express your views on upcoming election topics. I get that. But a word diet? Chad, hasn't anyone ever told you that diets don't work?!
And so I reflect on the words of my last week and I think Ok! I get the message! I am carrying around some extra poundage. I get it! And so I pull out my pen and paper and make my grocery list. I pull my treadmill back out from the wall, where it was patiently waiting to go out to the garage while I couldn't use it over the summer, and I set my alarm for an hour earlier tomorrow morning, with the intention of using it. Have I mentioned I hate mornings? So that is my challenge to myself.
My chronicles have made mention several times lately of taking time to take care of yourself. I guess this is one more area I need to address in doing so. Not that I couldn't have had it any clearer if it was in neon lights or on the scoreboard at a local Raiders game, but it's here and it's mine, and I am actually ok with it. And of course, if I am doing it, I am challenging you to do it, too! Make one or two small changes each week to get you closer to the person physically, or mentally you want to be. What will you do? Will you drink more water? Read the book about eating leaves? Walk in the beauty of the fall? Snack on those prime apples you gather at the orchards with your kids rather than the icecream in your freezer? Make a change. Let me know how it goes. And no, this is not a fat joke. I am a mom, and I know how it is.
On a final note, as I mentioned earlier, the Chronicles will still be here, but in a shorter form, so I encourage you to visit my blog at www.hastingsmomchronicles.blogspot.com I will keep you updated on my progress and hope you will keep me updated on yours, as well.
Have a great week!
The Mom Chronicles: This is No Fat Joke
As usual, welcome back, Chronicle Moms! I hope you are having a great week! This week finds me feeling a little bit self conscious. Not that I usually don't, but there have been several references to my, how do I say it- round self, over this past week, and as I embark on this next week I am not feeling so great about that. Part of me can't help but to just laugh at the irony that all the weight related references I got this past week all happened to come with in the same few days. The other part of me is trying really hard not to cry, as I know I am far from the shape I could or should be in.
I think this is a common occurence for us single moms, and not-so single moms as well. As we lack a partner to relieve us to go to the gym or out for a walk or run, we find ourselves not as fit as we could be. Furthermore, I find myself avoiding taking my kids to the grocery store at all costs, which means we frequent restaurants way more than we should (the debris in my car is evidence of that). I find myself feeling a bit more motivated after this past week, though, to make that happen- the gym and grocery store for healthier choices, that is. Here is why.
So I am at a large bookstore last week. I knew I had about 32 hours child free so seeing as the book I was looking for was not in, I approached one of the "booksellers" for suggestions on what I could inhale in terms of a book with in those hours. To my lack of appreciation, she ushered me over to a display promoting a new health book which has a motto related to eating leaves, and lots of them. Basically, about how what we as Americans are eating is all wrong and that we need to return to the all natural, unprocessed food that is leaves, fruits, vegetables, and the like. Obviously she did not notice that my enthusiasm for the topic was not what hers was, that or she just didn't care, but she basically pushed it in to my empty hands and told me she hoped I liked it as much as she did. Needless to say, I did not leave with that book in my bag, though I felt for the kid I saw reading it at the Fire fighters Bouya lunch. The joys of school reading lists. I tried not to take her suggestion personally. I was, after all, in Woodbury where it's all about bottled water and fancy wine.
A couple days ago, I made the trek back to the bookstore to pick up the book I had gone for to begin with. Awaiting me was another 32 hour weekend alone, and at the desk I noticed a friendly looking group of booksellers chatting. Having not gotten a decent read the last weekend, I decided to approach these folks thinking certainly between the three of them they would have a suggestion different then the other earth lady about eating plants. So I eagerly approach them, before asking for my running book, and put the same inquiry out there. Mom, no kids for the weekend, need good book to entertain self. And almost in a chorus what do they recommend to me? The same leaf eating, health nut book that the other lady did. I had to contain myself to not say, "Are you kidding me?! Is this some kind of fat joke?!" I walk in to this store twice, about a week apart, and ask four different people, who should realistically, all have different recommendations for me, right?! Not so much. They all suggest a book to me that promotes better eating and weight loss. And they didn't stop there! They went on to tell me about the manager of the store lost 80 pounds using the ideas in the book. I had to bite my tongue as to not ask, "Are you suggesting I have eighty pounds to loose?!" I felt like being like, "Hey, people! Don't you see the running book I ordered? Don't you see I am attempting to get back off of my rear end? Don't you know that I have had two kids in three years and spent the summer completely unable to do anything physically? Really?" So I thank them for the recommendation, scour a different section of books, and leave a short time later, with my running book, and plan to head to the local coffee shop for a tall Caramel Mochiatto.
At this point, I am starting to question how I really do appear to the general population. Am I flashing "Lazy obese person needing latest health craze"? Enter my son. A frequent response in my household lately to him has been, "when you get bigger". You can see where this one is going. My son, in his growing independence, is asking to do a lot of things, most to which I respond, "You have to get a little bigger, first!" and to which Matthew then answers, "But I AM bigger, mom!" So we are riding in the car on our way to daycare the end of last week. I am having issues from my venture to the book store, amongst other things, and out of the blue my son says to me from the back seat, "You bigger, mommy!" I really hoped I hadn't heard what I thought I did. So I questioned him. What was that, Matthew? To which he replies, "I said you getting bigger, mommy!" Indeed, I have gotten bigger. A lot bigger. And even my three year old has noticed.
And finally, with election season upon us, my wordage here in my chronicles has to shorten up. And how does Chad tell me to shorter things up? By telling me I have to go on a "Word Diet." Of all words to use! Diet. I groaned. I knew what he was saying. I need to shorten these mom chronicles up so you fine citizens of Hastings can express your views on upcoming election topics. I get that. But a word diet? Chad, hasn't anyone ever told you that diets don't work?!
And so I reflect on the words of my last week and I think Ok! I get the message! I am carrying around some extra poundage. I get it! And so I pull out my pen and paper and make my grocery list. I pull my treadmill back out from the wall, where it was patiently waiting to go out to the garage while I couldn't use it over the summer, and I set my alarm for an hour earlier tomorrow morning, with the intention of using it. Have I mentioned I hate mornings? So that is my challenge to myself.
My chronicles have made mention several times lately of taking time to take care of yourself. I guess this is one more area I need to address in doing so. Not that I couldn't have had it any clearer if it was in neon lights or on the scoreboard at a local Raiders game, but it's here and it's mine, and I am actually ok with it. And of course, if I am doing it, I am challenging you to do it, too! Make one or two small changes each week to get you closer to the person physically, or mentally you want to be. What will you do? Will you drink more water? Read the book about eating leaves? Walk in the beauty of the fall? Snack on those prime apples you gather at the orchards with your kids rather than the icecream in your freezer? Make a change. Let me know how it goes. And no, this is not a fat joke. I am a mom, and I know how it is.
On a final note, as I mentioned earlier, the Chronicles will still be here, but in a shorter form, so I encourage you to visit my blog at www.hastingsmomchronicles.blogspot.com I will keep you updated on my progress and hope you will keep me updated on yours, as well.
Have a great week!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Mom Chronicles 10- Just like me!
Hey, you guys~
Due to computer issues not sure if this is going to make it in to the paper this week, so in case it doesn't, you can read it here. Hope you had a great holiday weekend!
Amy
The Mom Chronicles: Just like me
Welcome back, Chronicle Moms! I hope you enjoyed your Labor Day weekend! By the time this goes to press the kids will be back to school, and the hectic schedules associated with the school year are well under way. Perhaps if you are one of the lucky ones, you may have finally even found time by yourself to sit back and enjoy the quiet and still of a house free of kids. If you are like me, however, while my kids are not yet of school age and the fall then, does not provide the same break, the weekends they are with their dad do, and I find that rather then enjoying the quiet, I miss the noise. Somehow it just doesn't seem right with out the laughter and voices of the kids. Dare I say they are missed? Of course. What kind of moms would we be if we didn't miss them when they are gone, but don't feel guilty if your initial feelings are of relief and respite. You deserve it. You worked hard this summer, moms. Take time to enjoy the quiet. They will be back soon.
Well, I thought this week we would return to the light hearted side of life in the Peterson household. It's been a few weeks, after all, since we have been able to sit back and just enjoy each other. And considering the heaviness of the last week as we remembered our Sam, I feel like we need a week to just laugh. Unfortunately for him, my poor Matthew is the target of this week's column.
My Matthew. What can I say? He's three. He is out of what were a very trying twos, and each day I see him getting a little older, a little wiser, and lot more like me. (Poor kid.) It's funny the way our kids mirror us and our behaviors. It's not until they say or do something, however, that takes us back and we think "Where the heck did that come from?!" that we realize it.
Now, I must preface this by saying that I have basically raised Matthew alone. His dad has worked out of state for some time, and so Matthew has grown to know me, mom, as the constant, and therefor rather than mirroring some of the manly things his dad does, Matthew tends to mirror me. In other words, growing up with mom's influence has at times brought out his feminine side, with out his even realizing it. While I have made a NASCAR and Vikings fan out of him, brought him to a demo derby, car race and buy him an upsurd amount of Thomas the Tank engine trains, I have also painted his toe nails and taken pictures of him curled up sleeping with his sister's babies. Now, don't get me wrong, Matthew has had his share of men in his life. We lived with a friend of mine for a while and her husband sort of became a surrogate dad for Matthew. He'd let Matty mow the lawn with him and take him on rides on the four wheeler. Not to mention Matthew's cousins, my brothers and brother in law, and of course Matthew's dad. The funny stories, however, are not of Matthew doing the boy things he does, but the things that mirror me. Of course, some day he will hate me for sharing them, when he is a big burly football player or race car driver or something macho like that, but for now, he is my baby and I can't help myself but to share them.
It seems as if being three has somehow brought out a different side of my son. He is trying to be much more independent and insists on doing things on his own and making his own choices. He also is much more curious, especially when it comes to body fluids, mainly those of the BM kind. No one in the house can have a bowel movement with out Matthew insisting "I see! I see!", quickly followed by an "EWWWW!!!" This of course, can be mortifying for mom when I take him in to the bathroom in public. On one special evening Matthew walked out of the bathroom and exclaiming to a crowded lobby, "that was a BIG POOP Mom!". Of course no one knew if he was talking about something he did, or I did. I didn't bother to explain. I just ushered him back to his seat and hoped no one recognized us.
Meals have also been more colorful then usual, especially when we eat out. "Sandwich, no tomatoes, diet coke" has come out of my son's mouth on more than one occasion and when offered a choice between milk and juice to drink at dinner one night last week, he very politely stated, "No thank you, mom. Diet Coke please." (I bet you can't guess what my beverage of choice is?!)
Getting primped up has been another highlight of our summer, though this one is not entirely my fault. Prior to my getting my leg casted, I opted to paint my toenails. Well, of course Matthew was present when I was doing this, and insisted on having his painted, too. Poor kid. While he proudly modeled his dark purple toes to his day care friends the next day, he was not exactly met with the response he was looking for. One of the older boys, who is a very boyish boy, gave Matthew a hard time about it, and ever since he tells me when I get the nail polish out that he doesn't want it. I feel bad his feelings were hurt, but it was a good bonding moment for us and I still smile when I see the remnants of the purple polish on his big toes.
Then there is my eye makeup. My son has had some amazing pictures taken of him of his artwork he makes on his face with my makeup. He even recently went in to the baby sitter's purse and went to town with her lipstick. It's been cute for a while but I am kind of thinking that come four, I better put the kabosh on it. It definitely won't be cool then! Then there was a few weeks ago at Walmart. We were in the shoe department and of course, there are mirrors there. My son got on top of the bench so he could see in the mirror and sat and "primped" his hair. When asked what he was doing he simply said, "I handsome now, mom". And then there was last week. My son got in to the car from day care with dry hair and got out of the car with wet hair. I asked him what he put in his hair and he said water. Well, I knew there was no water in the car so I dug around and found an empty cup of what was a beverage of the Sprite or Sierra Mist variety. He had used the pop to "style" his hair on our way home. At day care my provider occasionally does the kids' hair up for them. This episode? Yes, that would be her fault.
Tattoos are something I have a couple of, but don't necessarily promote in my kids ( of course, they are one and three, a little young.) They have not been with out their little press on ones, though, mostly from day care but at home as well. Well one day we decided to get fake press on tattoos out of one of those little quarter machines. We got Mickey Mouse ones for Matty and his dad, and My Little Pony ones for Ella and I. Well, you can imagine, when it came time to put them on, Matthew saw mine and insisted he have a pony one, too. Needless to say I cringed when he ran out to the big boy neighbor kids to show them his "new tattoo". He was so proud. Thankfully for him, they didn't tease him. They were kind and told him it was cool and still let him ride bikes with them, My Little Pony tattoo and all. Special, Matthew. Very special.
This last week provided yet another laugh I did not anticipate. Ella is in the stage of pulling everything out of my purse. Of course in that, includes my feminine products that are kept in it just to be safe. For whatever reason, Matthew was suddenly inspired to unwrap one of the maxi pads and ask me what it was. I told him that it was something that mommy used sometimes kind of like his pullups. To that he proceeded to put it in his pull up and wear it for the rest of the evening. Could have been worse. A friend of mine who has a daughter Matthew's age, in hearing this story, told me her daughter has started teasing her, "Mommy wears diapers! Mommy wears diapers!" as she, too, discovered her maxi pads.
Of all these things, however, my favorite remains something my son did this weekend while on a walk with Ella and I. I was pushing Ella in the stroller and Matthew was walking with me. He spotted a large tree stump, jumped on top of it, threw his hands in the air, and exclaimed, "I the queen!". (Insert reference to the movie Titanic and the famous line "I'm the king of the world!") I can't remember a time I ever professed to be queen, shy of a few colorful moments in college where I said I was the queen of the universe and made a crown with my hands on my head, but nothing in Matthew's life time. So where it came from, I don't know, but my son, my Matthew, he is the queen. I corrected him and said, "King, Matthew! King!" but he liked queen better and once again said, "I the queen!". It was fabulous.
While I suppose I could feel embarrassed for my son for the things he has done to be "just like mom", I can't be really, especially in the times I see him being like me in the good ways. This weekend we had our first experience with staples, of the medicinal form. Matthew decided to jump on my bed, even after all the stories of the monkeys who did that and bumped their heads. And what did he do? Fell off the bed and bumped his head. Not just bumped it, though. Lost a part of it to the night stand. So, profuse bleeding and a trip to the ER, where he got a staple put in it to hold it together, and from him, nothing. The nurses came in to assist the doctor as they hear a kid fussing expecting it to be him resisting the staple, but instead it was Ella, growing impatient with being there. Matthew sat stoic and didn't even whimper. Granted he howled when it first happened and when I tried to wash it up later in the day, but for the hard part, the staple, brave as can be. I can say he gets that from me. And when it comes to looking out for others, he gets that from me, too. I admire how he protects his sister or is ginger with babies or kids smaller then him. He says his prayers when he goes to bed and last week it was, "Bless mom, and dad, and Ella, and Matthew, and baby Sam and (insert a few friends of ours) and God bless Jesus!" This before reciting his own rendition of "Goodnight Moon", the book we read together each night.
I am proud of the little man my son is becoming and it makes me smile when I see him trying to mimic me. I guess it makes me feel good because he must look up to me in some way or form, or he wouldn't be trying to be just like me. There are things he does that I am not so proud of, such as when he says a colorful word or or shouts at me. Those are things that also remind me that unfortunately, I am the most influential person in his life and he does also get those things from me. But at those times it just makes me want to try harder.
Something funny? Ella is now starting to mimic Matthew, much to his displeasure. I guess he is getting a taste of his own medicine, so to speak. I battled with him for some time over spitting at me when he didn't like my answer to something or being told "no". It's no surprise then when today, Ella took one of Matthew's toys and to Matthew's response of "No! No! Ella!", he got a wet, sloppy spit from her instead. Let's just hope she finds other ways of being just like him, and ultimately just like me.
From our house to yours, see you next week!
Due to computer issues not sure if this is going to make it in to the paper this week, so in case it doesn't, you can read it here. Hope you had a great holiday weekend!
Amy
The Mom Chronicles: Just like me
Welcome back, Chronicle Moms! I hope you enjoyed your Labor Day weekend! By the time this goes to press the kids will be back to school, and the hectic schedules associated with the school year are well under way. Perhaps if you are one of the lucky ones, you may have finally even found time by yourself to sit back and enjoy the quiet and still of a house free of kids. If you are like me, however, while my kids are not yet of school age and the fall then, does not provide the same break, the weekends they are with their dad do, and I find that rather then enjoying the quiet, I miss the noise. Somehow it just doesn't seem right with out the laughter and voices of the kids. Dare I say they are missed? Of course. What kind of moms would we be if we didn't miss them when they are gone, but don't feel guilty if your initial feelings are of relief and respite. You deserve it. You worked hard this summer, moms. Take time to enjoy the quiet. They will be back soon.
Well, I thought this week we would return to the light hearted side of life in the Peterson household. It's been a few weeks, after all, since we have been able to sit back and just enjoy each other. And considering the heaviness of the last week as we remembered our Sam, I feel like we need a week to just laugh. Unfortunately for him, my poor Matthew is the target of this week's column.
My Matthew. What can I say? He's three. He is out of what were a very trying twos, and each day I see him getting a little older, a little wiser, and lot more like me. (Poor kid.) It's funny the way our kids mirror us and our behaviors. It's not until they say or do something, however, that takes us back and we think "Where the heck did that come from?!" that we realize it.
Now, I must preface this by saying that I have basically raised Matthew alone. His dad has worked out of state for some time, and so Matthew has grown to know me, mom, as the constant, and therefor rather than mirroring some of the manly things his dad does, Matthew tends to mirror me. In other words, growing up with mom's influence has at times brought out his feminine side, with out his even realizing it. While I have made a NASCAR and Vikings fan out of him, brought him to a demo derby, car race and buy him an upsurd amount of Thomas the Tank engine trains, I have also painted his toe nails and taken pictures of him curled up sleeping with his sister's babies. Now, don't get me wrong, Matthew has had his share of men in his life. We lived with a friend of mine for a while and her husband sort of became a surrogate dad for Matthew. He'd let Matty mow the lawn with him and take him on rides on the four wheeler. Not to mention Matthew's cousins, my brothers and brother in law, and of course Matthew's dad. The funny stories, however, are not of Matthew doing the boy things he does, but the things that mirror me. Of course, some day he will hate me for sharing them, when he is a big burly football player or race car driver or something macho like that, but for now, he is my baby and I can't help myself but to share them.
It seems as if being three has somehow brought out a different side of my son. He is trying to be much more independent and insists on doing things on his own and making his own choices. He also is much more curious, especially when it comes to body fluids, mainly those of the BM kind. No one in the house can have a bowel movement with out Matthew insisting "I see! I see!", quickly followed by an "EWWWW!!!" This of course, can be mortifying for mom when I take him in to the bathroom in public. On one special evening Matthew walked out of the bathroom and exclaiming to a crowded lobby, "that was a BIG POOP Mom!". Of course no one knew if he was talking about something he did, or I did. I didn't bother to explain. I just ushered him back to his seat and hoped no one recognized us.
Meals have also been more colorful then usual, especially when we eat out. "Sandwich, no tomatoes, diet coke" has come out of my son's mouth on more than one occasion and when offered a choice between milk and juice to drink at dinner one night last week, he very politely stated, "No thank you, mom. Diet Coke please." (I bet you can't guess what my beverage of choice is?!)
Getting primped up has been another highlight of our summer, though this one is not entirely my fault. Prior to my getting my leg casted, I opted to paint my toenails. Well, of course Matthew was present when I was doing this, and insisted on having his painted, too. Poor kid. While he proudly modeled his dark purple toes to his day care friends the next day, he was not exactly met with the response he was looking for. One of the older boys, who is a very boyish boy, gave Matthew a hard time about it, and ever since he tells me when I get the nail polish out that he doesn't want it. I feel bad his feelings were hurt, but it was a good bonding moment for us and I still smile when I see the remnants of the purple polish on his big toes.
Then there is my eye makeup. My son has had some amazing pictures taken of him of his artwork he makes on his face with my makeup. He even recently went in to the baby sitter's purse and went to town with her lipstick. It's been cute for a while but I am kind of thinking that come four, I better put the kabosh on it. It definitely won't be cool then! Then there was a few weeks ago at Walmart. We were in the shoe department and of course, there are mirrors there. My son got on top of the bench so he could see in the mirror and sat and "primped" his hair. When asked what he was doing he simply said, "I handsome now, mom". And then there was last week. My son got in to the car from day care with dry hair and got out of the car with wet hair. I asked him what he put in his hair and he said water. Well, I knew there was no water in the car so I dug around and found an empty cup of what was a beverage of the Sprite or Sierra Mist variety. He had used the pop to "style" his hair on our way home. At day care my provider occasionally does the kids' hair up for them. This episode? Yes, that would be her fault.
Tattoos are something I have a couple of, but don't necessarily promote in my kids ( of course, they are one and three, a little young.) They have not been with out their little press on ones, though, mostly from day care but at home as well. Well one day we decided to get fake press on tattoos out of one of those little quarter machines. We got Mickey Mouse ones for Matty and his dad, and My Little Pony ones for Ella and I. Well, you can imagine, when it came time to put them on, Matthew saw mine and insisted he have a pony one, too. Needless to say I cringed when he ran out to the big boy neighbor kids to show them his "new tattoo". He was so proud. Thankfully for him, they didn't tease him. They were kind and told him it was cool and still let him ride bikes with them, My Little Pony tattoo and all. Special, Matthew. Very special.
This last week provided yet another laugh I did not anticipate. Ella is in the stage of pulling everything out of my purse. Of course in that, includes my feminine products that are kept in it just to be safe. For whatever reason, Matthew was suddenly inspired to unwrap one of the maxi pads and ask me what it was. I told him that it was something that mommy used sometimes kind of like his pullups. To that he proceeded to put it in his pull up and wear it for the rest of the evening. Could have been worse. A friend of mine who has a daughter Matthew's age, in hearing this story, told me her daughter has started teasing her, "Mommy wears diapers! Mommy wears diapers!" as she, too, discovered her maxi pads.
Of all these things, however, my favorite remains something my son did this weekend while on a walk with Ella and I. I was pushing Ella in the stroller and Matthew was walking with me. He spotted a large tree stump, jumped on top of it, threw his hands in the air, and exclaimed, "I the queen!". (Insert reference to the movie Titanic and the famous line "I'm the king of the world!") I can't remember a time I ever professed to be queen, shy of a few colorful moments in college where I said I was the queen of the universe and made a crown with my hands on my head, but nothing in Matthew's life time. So where it came from, I don't know, but my son, my Matthew, he is the queen. I corrected him and said, "King, Matthew! King!" but he liked queen better and once again said, "I the queen!". It was fabulous.
While I suppose I could feel embarrassed for my son for the things he has done to be "just like mom", I can't be really, especially in the times I see him being like me in the good ways. This weekend we had our first experience with staples, of the medicinal form. Matthew decided to jump on my bed, even after all the stories of the monkeys who did that and bumped their heads. And what did he do? Fell off the bed and bumped his head. Not just bumped it, though. Lost a part of it to the night stand. So, profuse bleeding and a trip to the ER, where he got a staple put in it to hold it together, and from him, nothing. The nurses came in to assist the doctor as they hear a kid fussing expecting it to be him resisting the staple, but instead it was Ella, growing impatient with being there. Matthew sat stoic and didn't even whimper. Granted he howled when it first happened and when I tried to wash it up later in the day, but for the hard part, the staple, brave as can be. I can say he gets that from me. And when it comes to looking out for others, he gets that from me, too. I admire how he protects his sister or is ginger with babies or kids smaller then him. He says his prayers when he goes to bed and last week it was, "Bless mom, and dad, and Ella, and Matthew, and baby Sam and (insert a few friends of ours) and God bless Jesus!" This before reciting his own rendition of "Goodnight Moon", the book we read together each night.
I am proud of the little man my son is becoming and it makes me smile when I see him trying to mimic me. I guess it makes me feel good because he must look up to me in some way or form, or he wouldn't be trying to be just like me. There are things he does that I am not so proud of, such as when he says a colorful word or or shouts at me. Those are things that also remind me that unfortunately, I am the most influential person in his life and he does also get those things from me. But at those times it just makes me want to try harder.
Something funny? Ella is now starting to mimic Matthew, much to his displeasure. I guess he is getting a taste of his own medicine, so to speak. I battled with him for some time over spitting at me when he didn't like my answer to something or being told "no". It's no surprise then when today, Ella took one of Matthew's toys and to Matthew's response of "No! No! Ella!", he got a wet, sloppy spit from her instead. Let's just hope she finds other ways of being just like him, and ultimately just like me.
From our house to yours, see you next week!
Friday, September 4, 2009
Next Week's Mom Chronicles Preview
The paper just came out and already I need to work on next week, with it being a holiday weekend and all. So, what to write, what to write...??? NEXT week, I decided, will be titled, "The Mom Chronicles: Just Like Me". It is going to be a light hearted column about my son and his attempts to be just like me, from putting a maxi pad in his diaper to makeup applications, and wanting his nails painted. He has plenty of his dad in him, too, but lately it's been all mom. From his request for Diet Coke at the dinner table to "sandwhich, no tomatoes" at McDonalds. Next week is all about Matthew. Tune in for the updated post on Wednesday!
Amy
Amy
Fan mail
Well, writing a column like this obviously evokes opinions, mostly positive, thankfully. And I would like to say thank you to the person who called the paper today and voiced appreciation for my "Sam" column. That meant a lot. I am so glad it was a help to you. That was, afterall, what it was meant to do. I am so sorry you were able to relate, but glad you found something in reading it.
To the reader that sent me the letter regarding my divorce, I have some feedback for you as well. I am horribly sorry for the loss of your husband, and I can imagine sixty some odd years is indeed a very long time for you to be married to someone. All that I can offer in response to your letter, is that there are many aspects of my husband and I's marriage that I won't "air" in the public light of a column, and they are the reasons for the decision, not just where he lives. I am not in any way an advocate for divorce, rather someone who was raised in a very religous household and doesn't take marriage lightly. Moreover, i didn't enter in to my marriage to get divorced. I hope you will know that it took me so very long to reach this decision, and that is all one can do.. Make a decision and hope for the best. Ther is no other "someone" waiting in the wings, just me. Yes, the adjustment on the kids is hard, but no harder than them watching us bicker and be at odds the last 2 years. Thanks for your comments and concerns, as well as for praying for me and my decision. I pray each day that I do what is right, and that is the best I can do.
Do you have any feedback on the column? Please share it if you do. It has been a delight hearing your stories and getting stopped various places by moms who can relate. It's funny, we get recognized around town now. Sometimes that's scary, but overall, I think it is ok. Writing a column like this has a tremendous amount of rewards. Everyone will not always agree with what you say or do, as the gal who simply signed her letter as someone who has a lot of experience did, but over all, it isn't about disagreeing over views, its about coming together to support one another as single moms doing the very best we can.
To that, have a great weekend! See you next week.
Amy
To the reader that sent me the letter regarding my divorce, I have some feedback for you as well. I am horribly sorry for the loss of your husband, and I can imagine sixty some odd years is indeed a very long time for you to be married to someone. All that I can offer in response to your letter, is that there are many aspects of my husband and I's marriage that I won't "air" in the public light of a column, and they are the reasons for the decision, not just where he lives. I am not in any way an advocate for divorce, rather someone who was raised in a very religous household and doesn't take marriage lightly. Moreover, i didn't enter in to my marriage to get divorced. I hope you will know that it took me so very long to reach this decision, and that is all one can do.. Make a decision and hope for the best. Ther is no other "someone" waiting in the wings, just me. Yes, the adjustment on the kids is hard, but no harder than them watching us bicker and be at odds the last 2 years. Thanks for your comments and concerns, as well as for praying for me and my decision. I pray each day that I do what is right, and that is the best I can do.
Do you have any feedback on the column? Please share it if you do. It has been a delight hearing your stories and getting stopped various places by moms who can relate. It's funny, we get recognized around town now. Sometimes that's scary, but overall, I think it is ok. Writing a column like this has a tremendous amount of rewards. Everyone will not always agree with what you say or do, as the gal who simply signed her letter as someone who has a lot of experience did, but over all, it isn't about disagreeing over views, its about coming together to support one another as single moms doing the very best we can.
To that, have a great weekend! See you next week.
Amy
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Mom Chronicles 9- Remembering Sam
Here is this week's edition of the Mom Chronicles. I titled it "Remembering Sam" as it is about my miscarriage and miscarriage support. This weekend marks the one year anniversary of the loss of my child Sam. I think of her every day and look forward to the day we can be together again. I hope you enjoy the column.
Amy
The Mom Chronicles: Remembering Sam
I am a mom. You all know that by now. What you may not know is that I am actually a mom of three, not just the two I so frequently talk about. And it is of that third child of mine that this article is written.
The baby whom I named Sam was conceived one year ago and lost an all too short time thereafter. September 5th, 2008 is a day that I mark the loss of that sweet child of mine. In this article I will refer to Sam as a “her”. I do so because according to the Chinese birth chart that I swear by, Sam would have been a girl. While I do not know that for certain, identifying her as such even with out knowing gives me a reference point and for that I am grateful.
Sam was conceived a short time after the birth of my second child, also a girl, whom you all know by now as my Ella. While it is very difficult for me to admit, Sam was not planned, nor did I rejoice in the news of her conception as I did my two other children. In fact, not only did I not rejoice in it, but I cried and agonized over it in a way I would have never imagined. What ever would I, a virtually single mom, do with three children under the age of three? This seemed like the most daunting task. My marriage was on the rocks. My daughter was barely four months old, and the depression issues that have plagued my life were raging with post partum hormones. To that I made poor choices.
To this day, I blame myself for the loss of my Sam. I did not take care of myself the way an expecting mom should. I made choices that were not the best for myself or my baby. It was no wonder then, that the day I found out that Sam did not make it, was filled with not only grief but a deep sense of self blame and guilt that lives with me even at times today. What a horrible mom, I thought. I deeply felt that not only was her loss my fault, but I went a step further and decided that I didn’t deserve her. After all, what kind of mom isn’t thrilled about the news of another child? I had after all, even had had a thought of not wanting her. But those thoughts had lasted for only a moment, and like any other mom, I had began celebrating her conception, even looking forward to it, only to be met days later by the agonizing news of her loss.
What I have learned since then, is that the grief of losing a child comes in many different forms. Some folks become sad, others angry, or bitter. I was many of those, at first. Thanks to my faith, however, I have come to view Sam’s loss in a different way and for me that has been very freeing. It helped me to accept Sam’s loss was not my fault, and it was not my being punished for my initial feelings of the news of the pregnancy. After all, whether they admit it or not, I think most moms have moments of apprehension at some points in their pregnancy. It allowed me to memorialize her in various ways, from burying the tissue that was lost and having my grandfather, a pastor, do a “funeral” of sorts just with he and I, to setting up a memorial in my bedroom that consists of a book, various forms of butterfly memorabilia, statues, even a wind chime, to most recently getting a new tattoo to mark the anniversary of her loss. I have written about her, attended a memorial service and grief group. These things have not made me less sad, but they have helped in letting go.
Thanks to my faith, I do have the belief that things happen for a reason, and for that I attempt to let myself “off the hook” feeling responsible for Sam’s loss. I do not feel like I will ever be completely dissolved of guilt, but as time has passed and I have seen my life unfold, I have seen reasons bigger than me for her loss, and for those I am grateful. I have been told by some to be thankful for the two kids I have, as if that is supposed to make Sam’s loss less of one for some reason. Believe me, having the two children I have has made it a little easier, but it also makes me think of those folks out there, who have miscarriages or lose children, and have no others. To that I still believe the loss is the same.
Something I learned in the loss of Sam is that there is a group of moms out there suffering in silence, because many folks do not view miscarriage as a true loss. My very own husband did not feel near the grief I did, in fact offered feelings instead of relief. It was very difficult then, to reach out to others who had similar losses. Something I felt in attending grief groups, was that there was little I felt in common with people who lost someone who physically made their way to this earth, and walked on it for a time. With miscarriage or infant loss, there are often no memories, no pictures, nothing tangible to hold on to. While others sit around and share memories of their spouse or loved one, a mom who has suffered a miscarriage simply sits feeling empty, wishing if only she had those memories to share.
The thing is, as moms, from the moment of conception we are mothers. From the very minute we see the plus sign or second line on the pregnancy test stick, we feel a sense of something within us that will never be replaced. We make plans for that child. We think of what we will name them, what they will look like, be like. We smile at the tiny pink and blue and yellow clothes in the department stores, or other pregnant moms walking down the street or clinging to their newborns at the doctors office. That will be us soon. So when that is gone, one is left with a deep sense of sorrow. For me, it was how could that thing that was just so alive and well within me one moment, suddenly not be there? And unlike when you progress through a pregnancy and deliver a baby, with a miscarriage, you continue to go through the months expecting to be growing, expecting to be expecting, and when the time comes that your baby was due, there is no great birth day or delivery of that child. Just as soon as people in your life hear about it, they often forget about it. When your due day comes and you are agonizing over the fact that you should be at the hospital delivering that baby, instead, there is just nothing and frequently no one at your side agonizing the same way. For me, the realization of there being no baby came a short while after the miscarriage occurred when I had an ultrasound for other female issues. Seeing my empty womb in the screen was perhaps the greatest blow to my heart. It made it real. As if I had expected to go there and see a beating heart and the doctor be like, “Just kidding! There is a baby still alive after all!” This obviously, was not the case.
While I take time to remember my Sam, I do it by remembering the things that have helped me survive the past year. Due to my marital situation, I have not been able to attempt to move on by having another child, and the fact is, that wouldn’t replace Sam anyways. But what I have done are some of the things I mentioned earlier. To grieve Sam I have done everything I can to memorialize her. I utilized a very valuable miscarriage ministry through my church, Our Saviour’s, and attended, albeit alone, a miscarriage remembrance service they had. I attended a grief group, and registered online with “A Small Victory”, a website that that sends out loss kits to help parents of little ones that never made it here alive to grieve and memorialize them. I visited various websites, and read the book provided to me by my doctors office. My favorite purchase, however, has been a book by Linda Deymaz, recommended to me by the miscarriage ministry at my church, titled “Mommy, Please don’t cry.. There are No tears in Heaven.” To this day, I can not read it with out doing that very thing, crying. It beautifully illustrates a message from a child living in Heaven. It talks of streets of Gold, singing with the angels in a voice she got from me, and about meeting man named Noah with a big boat and lots of animals. Have I heard of Noah? “When it’s time to rest,” the book reads, “Angels tuck us in. I never get scared mommy. There is no darkness here.”
This week is my anniversary, my week to remember the baby I lost one year ago. To those of you who also have these “anniversary” weeks, I am truly sorry. It is, afterall, an anniversary I rather not be having. My hope for you, if you do, however, is that in time, ever day will not be so dark. That in time, you will be able to take comfort in that one day, you and your child’s hearts will beat together again. Mostly, that you are not alone.
It is ok to mourn the child you lost. Everyone will not understand. They will not “get” why you can’t just get over it, or how something that you never even got to see, could hurt so deeply to loose. That is because they are not moms, or have not felt the loss themselves. Even if at the time, you didn’t rejoice over your child’s conception, I am certain, you did agonize over their loss. Do not feel guilt. Do not feel shame. Do not feel as if you did something wrong. Those, I am learning, are not helpful feelings. They do serve a purpose for awhile, but in time, I hope your mourning turns to dancing as you rejoice in the knowledge that while not safe in your arms, your child is indeed safe, and with out pain, or fear or flaw. My favorite statue is of a girl holding her dress “twirling”. That is how I imagine my Sam, and I can’t wait to one day twirl with her.
Take heart, my miscarried moms. You are not alone, and you have a friend here. Things will not always be this hard.
In memory of Sam Peterson, 9-5-08.
Amy
The Mom Chronicles: Remembering Sam
I am a mom. You all know that by now. What you may not know is that I am actually a mom of three, not just the two I so frequently talk about. And it is of that third child of mine that this article is written.
The baby whom I named Sam was conceived one year ago and lost an all too short time thereafter. September 5th, 2008 is a day that I mark the loss of that sweet child of mine. In this article I will refer to Sam as a “her”. I do so because according to the Chinese birth chart that I swear by, Sam would have been a girl. While I do not know that for certain, identifying her as such even with out knowing gives me a reference point and for that I am grateful.
Sam was conceived a short time after the birth of my second child, also a girl, whom you all know by now as my Ella. While it is very difficult for me to admit, Sam was not planned, nor did I rejoice in the news of her conception as I did my two other children. In fact, not only did I not rejoice in it, but I cried and agonized over it in a way I would have never imagined. What ever would I, a virtually single mom, do with three children under the age of three? This seemed like the most daunting task. My marriage was on the rocks. My daughter was barely four months old, and the depression issues that have plagued my life were raging with post partum hormones. To that I made poor choices.
To this day, I blame myself for the loss of my Sam. I did not take care of myself the way an expecting mom should. I made choices that were not the best for myself or my baby. It was no wonder then, that the day I found out that Sam did not make it, was filled with not only grief but a deep sense of self blame and guilt that lives with me even at times today. What a horrible mom, I thought. I deeply felt that not only was her loss my fault, but I went a step further and decided that I didn’t deserve her. After all, what kind of mom isn’t thrilled about the news of another child? I had after all, even had had a thought of not wanting her. But those thoughts had lasted for only a moment, and like any other mom, I had began celebrating her conception, even looking forward to it, only to be met days later by the agonizing news of her loss.
What I have learned since then, is that the grief of losing a child comes in many different forms. Some folks become sad, others angry, or bitter. I was many of those, at first. Thanks to my faith, however, I have come to view Sam’s loss in a different way and for me that has been very freeing. It helped me to accept Sam’s loss was not my fault, and it was not my being punished for my initial feelings of the news of the pregnancy. After all, whether they admit it or not, I think most moms have moments of apprehension at some points in their pregnancy. It allowed me to memorialize her in various ways, from burying the tissue that was lost and having my grandfather, a pastor, do a “funeral” of sorts just with he and I, to setting up a memorial in my bedroom that consists of a book, various forms of butterfly memorabilia, statues, even a wind chime, to most recently getting a new tattoo to mark the anniversary of her loss. I have written about her, attended a memorial service and grief group. These things have not made me less sad, but they have helped in letting go.
Thanks to my faith, I do have the belief that things happen for a reason, and for that I attempt to let myself “off the hook” feeling responsible for Sam’s loss. I do not feel like I will ever be completely dissolved of guilt, but as time has passed and I have seen my life unfold, I have seen reasons bigger than me for her loss, and for those I am grateful. I have been told by some to be thankful for the two kids I have, as if that is supposed to make Sam’s loss less of one for some reason. Believe me, having the two children I have has made it a little easier, but it also makes me think of those folks out there, who have miscarriages or lose children, and have no others. To that I still believe the loss is the same.
Something I learned in the loss of Sam is that there is a group of moms out there suffering in silence, because many folks do not view miscarriage as a true loss. My very own husband did not feel near the grief I did, in fact offered feelings instead of relief. It was very difficult then, to reach out to others who had similar losses. Something I felt in attending grief groups, was that there was little I felt in common with people who lost someone who physically made their way to this earth, and walked on it for a time. With miscarriage or infant loss, there are often no memories, no pictures, nothing tangible to hold on to. While others sit around and share memories of their spouse or loved one, a mom who has suffered a miscarriage simply sits feeling empty, wishing if only she had those memories to share.
The thing is, as moms, from the moment of conception we are mothers. From the very minute we see the plus sign or second line on the pregnancy test stick, we feel a sense of something within us that will never be replaced. We make plans for that child. We think of what we will name them, what they will look like, be like. We smile at the tiny pink and blue and yellow clothes in the department stores, or other pregnant moms walking down the street or clinging to their newborns at the doctors office. That will be us soon. So when that is gone, one is left with a deep sense of sorrow. For me, it was how could that thing that was just so alive and well within me one moment, suddenly not be there? And unlike when you progress through a pregnancy and deliver a baby, with a miscarriage, you continue to go through the months expecting to be growing, expecting to be expecting, and when the time comes that your baby was due, there is no great birth day or delivery of that child. Just as soon as people in your life hear about it, they often forget about it. When your due day comes and you are agonizing over the fact that you should be at the hospital delivering that baby, instead, there is just nothing and frequently no one at your side agonizing the same way. For me, the realization of there being no baby came a short while after the miscarriage occurred when I had an ultrasound for other female issues. Seeing my empty womb in the screen was perhaps the greatest blow to my heart. It made it real. As if I had expected to go there and see a beating heart and the doctor be like, “Just kidding! There is a baby still alive after all!” This obviously, was not the case.
While I take time to remember my Sam, I do it by remembering the things that have helped me survive the past year. Due to my marital situation, I have not been able to attempt to move on by having another child, and the fact is, that wouldn’t replace Sam anyways. But what I have done are some of the things I mentioned earlier. To grieve Sam I have done everything I can to memorialize her. I utilized a very valuable miscarriage ministry through my church, Our Saviour’s, and attended, albeit alone, a miscarriage remembrance service they had. I attended a grief group, and registered online with “A Small Victory”, a website that that sends out loss kits to help parents of little ones that never made it here alive to grieve and memorialize them. I visited various websites, and read the book provided to me by my doctors office. My favorite purchase, however, has been a book by Linda Deymaz, recommended to me by the miscarriage ministry at my church, titled “Mommy, Please don’t cry.. There are No tears in Heaven.” To this day, I can not read it with out doing that very thing, crying. It beautifully illustrates a message from a child living in Heaven. It talks of streets of Gold, singing with the angels in a voice she got from me, and about meeting man named Noah with a big boat and lots of animals. Have I heard of Noah? “When it’s time to rest,” the book reads, “Angels tuck us in. I never get scared mommy. There is no darkness here.”
This week is my anniversary, my week to remember the baby I lost one year ago. To those of you who also have these “anniversary” weeks, I am truly sorry. It is, afterall, an anniversary I rather not be having. My hope for you, if you do, however, is that in time, ever day will not be so dark. That in time, you will be able to take comfort in that one day, you and your child’s hearts will beat together again. Mostly, that you are not alone.
It is ok to mourn the child you lost. Everyone will not understand. They will not “get” why you can’t just get over it, or how something that you never even got to see, could hurt so deeply to loose. That is because they are not moms, or have not felt the loss themselves. Even if at the time, you didn’t rejoice over your child’s conception, I am certain, you did agonize over their loss. Do not feel guilt. Do not feel shame. Do not feel as if you did something wrong. Those, I am learning, are not helpful feelings. They do serve a purpose for awhile, but in time, I hope your mourning turns to dancing as you rejoice in the knowledge that while not safe in your arms, your child is indeed safe, and with out pain, or fear or flaw. My favorite statue is of a girl holding her dress “twirling”. That is how I imagine my Sam, and I can’t wait to one day twirl with her.
Take heart, my miscarried moms. You are not alone, and you have a friend here. Things will not always be this hard.
In memory of Sam Peterson, 9-5-08.
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