Christmas wishes

Most moms, I am sure, struggle with feeling "enough." Doing enough? Engaging enough? Participating enough? Contributing enough? Experiencing enough? Enjoying enough? Providing enough? Loving enough? Disciplining enough? Really, the list—and doubt—seems endless.

I feel it especially strong during the holidays and this year I am fighting that bug like crazy. I feel like I should be making all these special memories with Ruby, but I have little time and even less energy to check off all the items on the "should" list. My actual thought the other night was "I wish I knew what was going to make Ruby's special memories as an adult, so I can focus on those things and forget everything else." Yes, that thought really crossed my brain. Talk about Christmas spirit, right?

It is difficult now because Ruby is old enough to notice. With noticing, comes some expectations and curiosity. She wonders why we do not have an elf or a chimney (how does Santa get in?). She wonders why her Christmases have to be split between two homes. I feel the need to participate in all the extras to assuage my guilt for my shortcomings and so that Ruby's expectations and hopes are met.

My reluctance to participate in all the extras comes from feeling that almost none of what Americans do to celebrate Christmas is what Christmas is actually about. Christmas seems to be a time to spend money we often don't have, decorations and lights on the house to impress others, drinking too much wine, and make-believe people/creatures. The traditional Christmas is not something I really want to participate in. Call me Scrooge, but I do not find meaning in all of the fake and falsified.

For me, a meaningful Christmas is one with parties with family, friends, and coworkers. Gathering to enjoy delicious food and spending time together. Decorations, gifts, and stress kept to a minimum. Walking through a quiet neighborhood on a quiet, snowy night, talking about the meaning of the season. Singing carols and hymns together. Every time I sit in church on Christmas and sing, I cry. It moves me. Volunteering with loved ones - ringing a bell or serving food or a million other things to make the season special for someone less fortunate. Finding beauty and peace in the moonlight. A day bundled against the cold, sledding with my family. Red noses and shivering bodies piling in the house to warm up to hot chocolate and an overload of mini marshmallows.

Christmas is a feeling to me that is created by love and time with people I care about. It is creating memories instead of accumulating stuff. I want Ruby to learn that too - it is not the stuff, it is not the race or the stress or the money. It is not proving my love by the number of gifts under the tree. It is finding the love that started all of that. I want to peel back the layers of all the extra to find the beauty of Christmas once again. I want to teach her to seek the beauty and joy in those moments of laughter and connection that speak to her heart. Instead of momentary delight in a new toy, cultivate moments and memories to collect in her heart and soul and make her truly feel Christmas and she will have the gift of delight to last the rest of her life.

I struggle to balance teaching her to find the love, with matching her and my (self-imposed) expectations. So often, it makes me question if I am doing enough. Then, I am reminded that she is just a kid and maybe there does not have to be so much feeling. Maybe just make the memories now and the feelings will come later. Then, as always, I wonder if I am too much.

The upside is that whether I am right or wrong, I go through this inner turmoil because I love my daughter and want the best for her. She has given me the gift of delight for the past 5 Christmases. I only hope to return the same.

The moon

It's such that a North Dakota winter is very often gloomy and dark. This time of year, the sun rises shortly before 8:00 a.m. and sets sometime before 5:00 p.m. There isn't a lot of opportunity for the sun, especially when the days are often overcast with such ambiguous blue/gray clouds that it's hard to tell if you are looking at clouds or sky - until realizing the giant give-away of the missing sun.

It's not the sun I care too much about anyway.

The moon is who my eyes search for when they raise to the sky. It is a nightly ritual for me to shut the lights off in my home before I retire to bed and look out my kitchen window for a glimpse of the moon. This thing I do is so much a part of me that I did not even notice it was a ritual until now.

There was a super moon the night of my birthday and I secretly anticipated the night. It turned out that there were too many clouds to get a good view of the super moon, other than a very muted halo. I was disappointed but not surprised. So often during the winter, I cannot see her. However, when Ruby and I are leaving in the darkness of the morning to begin our day in the world, she's still there. If I'm lucky, the clouds have parted and I feel her waiting for me. She searches for me, like I search for her. Always, always I feel a pull of gratitude in my heart for the 3 second glimpse of her before pulling out of the driveway. Sometimes I pause and ask Ruby to admire her with me.

I think she knows I need her more for the day than the night.

Thanksgiving

Thinking about Thanksgiving, I wanted to write something about gratitude and giving thanks. If I am totally honest, it has been difficult for me to feel much gratitude lately as I have felt many challenges the last few months, and I have had little time or energy (or will) to think about my blessings. Between adjusting to Ruby being in school—the nightly homework, the never-ending obligations and functions at school, the papers (my God, the papers!) to review and sign and return, the money needed, the forms to fill out, the fundraisers, etc. (I was unprepared for the demands of elementary school)—to preparing for a new bundle of joy, lonesomeness for my close friends, after-school care issues, relationship complexities, a drastic tightening of the checkbook, feeling unwell physically, mentally, and spiritually, and trying to juggle all the details and nuances of the life of a single mother  has left me absolutely spent these last few months.

Mind you, none of the challenges I have faced lately have been earth-shattering. However, the challenges coming at me from every direction has been overwhelming and I probably could have handled it better... but I am doing the best I can under the circumstances. Some days, I feel like I can handle only the very thing in front of me; everything else needs to wait. And, oh yes, the cherry on top? Insomnia. That helps a great ton. ;)

Anyway, in thinking about how difficult the last few months have been and how I feel neither the desire nor will to list the items I am grateful for, this is the time I need it the very most. I realize also that remembering gratitude in my struggles will most likely make those struggles more bearable, but like I said - one thing at a time! Learning, growing, and trying to better, always.

So, I will force it. This Thanksgiving, these are the things I am most thankful for...

My health. I debated putting my health or Ruby first, and if I didn't have my health, I couldn't care for Ruby the way I need to... so I will first say I am grateful for my health. I had struggled with depression and anxiety for so many years, that there is not a day that goes by that I am not conscious of the fact that I am not in a black pit of despair. I have found appreciation for the techniques and tools I learned during the depressive years that have helped me cope the last several months. Physically, I have been feeling unwell, but for good reason - and I remind myself that it is only for a season. I can live with it, if it means that I get to love the bundle at the end of the season. 

Ruby. My daughter, my heart, my sidekick, and my joy. She is my favorite person to be around. She's wonderful and generous and loving and deeply caring. She is so much of what is good in this world. She amazes and makes me laugh every day. There's something special about that child and I feel so lucky to be her mom and sit in the glow of the light that she brings this world. And I am so eternally grateful to be a mother all over again. 

I am grateful for my family and friends. My family has been hugely supportive and protective of me and Ruby, and although we have many differences of opinion, they forgive me my faults and sins and love Ruby and me wildly. My friends have been my strength and courage in life. I have a small circle of truly incredible people I call friends. For so long, I lamented that I had a small circle. Then, I realized that for what I lack in quantity, I have in quality; real friends who love hard and support endlessly and show up for me over and over and over again. If my life were a body, Ruby would be my heart. My family would be the bones, and my friends? The muscle. They give me strength when I am weak. They provide wisdom when I fall flat, and love me when I cannot find me. 

Cornell. I am so grateful to have known and experienced mind-blowing love. A deep and powerful love that I never expected to be blessed with. I am grateful to know the incredible man that he is, to observe the love and connection between him and Ruby, and to watch him become a father. I am thankful for the things I have learned on our journey and how, in so many ways, he has broken my heart open. Things have been really difficult for us and because of those difficulties, I find myself growing in ways I never expected. It has been painful, but growth is often painful and I realize our challenges have been a necessary part of my evolution. So, no matter what our future holds, I am grateful for and humbled by the love we have shared.

I am thankful for the life I have. I have been trying to educate myself on others, i.e., cultures, countries, people, ethnicity. I realize more every day how lucky I am to be who I am in the circumstances I am in. I am a healthy woman, a mother, a white, employed, middle-class American. All of these things are extreme privileges that set me up for an easier life than a vast majority of the people in the world, and I do not and cannot take that for granted. I realize that complaining about signing papers to return to the school may sound positively despicable to so many in the world who worry about the safety and health of their children before the luxury of school. I cannot deny that I am hugely privileged and I am so grateful for the blessings that come with that privilege. My great hope is that God uses my life and privilege to teach me to both love more generously and ease the burden for others. 

There are so many more things to be grateful for... but those are the main items on my mind and in my heart this Thanksgiving. Somehow, life seems a little more beautiful now then when I started this post. :) Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. 

On mom'ing

Ruby and I were snuggling at bedtime last night, soft voices in the dark of her bedroom. Her head was craddled under my chin when this happened:

R: I love you even when I am tired and crabby.
M: I love you even when I get mad that you left your stinky socks in the living room again.
R: >soft giggles< I love you because you snuggle me and make me feel so loved.
M: I love you because of your gigantic heart... I also love that you made me a mom. Do you realize that? You're the only person in the world who gets that claim: you made me a mom.
R: What?!
M: Yeah, isn't that cool? Being your mom has been my favorite. It's a tough job but I love it so much.
R: Job?
M: Well, it's a lot of work sometimes. But I have more fun with you than anyone else in the world.
R: It's a tough job when your 5 year old doesn't put her socks away...
M: >laughed< Yes.
R: It's a tough job when your 5 year old is tired and crabby and complains about supper.
M: >laughed again< Yes, but what other job in the world makes me laugh as much as you? What other job in the world is as much fun as you? Or as sweet and kind and loving as you? None. Sure, being a mom is hard once in a while, but I love you always - even through the hard bits. That's not something I'd ever trade. I'm so glad God picked me to be your mom.
R: Me too. You're the perfect mom for me.

Gratitude List

Today I am grateful for:

Forgiveness from the one who relies on me the most
Early morning snuggles
Monday mornings after calm, comforting weekends
A piping hot Chai tea latte
Feeling seen
Fun plans with my Susie-bean
A safe soulmate despite the car wreck
Pictures from school
Some one-on-one (one-on-two?) time with my mama
Finding some peace with my path
A quieter week at work
Gift registries
Amazon Prime, for when life is too busy for even the basic stuff
A specially-made family picture for me to hang at work
Anticipating Halloween activities with my little Moana

On dragonflies

My beloved aunt, Liane, passed away on October 1. She had been sick for several months but the decline in her health was rapid and she passed away quickly. Almost unexpectedly. It hurts, unbearably at times.

I have spent some time overcome with grief and I do not try to hide it from Ruby. I want her to know that it is ok to love, it is ok to grieve, it is ok to cry. She sits with me quietly and strokes my arm and lays her head against my chest. Somehow, she makes this loss somewhat less unbearable.

My heart hurts for me: I loved and connected with Liane in a beautiful way. My heart hurts as much for her husband, kids, and siblings (my mom). She was a truly beautiful person. She was like a cozy, crackling fireplace on a crisp evening. I only wanted to be nearer to her to warm up. I think that's how everyone who knew her felt.

Her memorial service proved that true. Never have I been to a service like that; one that was so fitting, so comforting, so tender and gentle, and so full of love as hers. Everyone who spoke had genuine words of love and adoration for her. She dedicated her life to loving and taking care of others. They spoke of her nature: loving, kind, giving, and never one to complain. How she had her passions in life, but none topped that of her family. I walked away from that service appreciating her more than I maybe ever had.

Always, I adored her and loved to be with her. She never forgot a detail, a birthday. She made quiet, odd-ball me feel special, interesting, and especially loved. I realized at the service, that was her gift. She loved people and make them feel special and valued. She didn't just love them in her heart, she loved them with her words, her intentions, her actions. I truly can't think of a more beautiful legacy to leave than that. It inspires me to do the same.

Rest well, Liane. I love you. We'll see you again...

A new chapter

My little girl started Kindergarten yesterday.


I need a moment to let it sink in (still)...


The passing of time feels very surreal to me at times. I remember staring at my preemie in my arms at 2 or 3 months old and dreaming about Kindergarten, the school programs, the soccer games. I didn't want to rush her growth by any means, but I was so excited for all of it. I dreamed about watching my baby growing into a vibrant, wonderful little kid. Now, here she is.

We did several Kindergarten prep-type classes and programs to prepare Ruby, since she can be a bit nervous about new beginnings. I'm sure glad we did. It paid off and I felt relief as she strutted into her school yesterday. She held my hand as we navigated the busy hallways and her face beamed and you couldn't see her bouncing off the walls so much as feel it. Her excitement and nervous energy had her nearly trembling. She grinned at me so huge and squeezed my leg hard when she couldn't contain her joy. We found her classroom and said good morning to her teacher (took a few pictures) and found our way to the early-morning reading room. I wished her a great first day and she gave me a huge hug and kiss and an extra squeeze around the neck. She pulled back, looked me in the face "I love you, mama." She turned on her heel and entered the reading room, with all the curious little listeners turning to see who the next kid was. She didn't turn back to wave. She found a spot on the floor next to another little girl and crossed her legs and turned to listen to the reading teacher.

I made my way to the car before I cried.

I get sentimental and nostalgic at times like this. I think about the work and time and energy poured into easing this child's fears, into helping her build confidence and courage, teaching her manners, just all of it. Parenting (insert exhausted emoji here). How sometimes in the heat of it, it feels futile. That the same battle or argument or fit for the umpteenth day in a row is going to drive me insane. That the same worries or insecurities creep in for her and it feels the work to build her up has been undone. There is nothing a parent does to prepare their child for the world that is insignificant—so it seems at times like this.

I watched her excitement and confidence and felt comforted that my efforts in building her up, in cultivating that beautiful soul to blossom were not futile. She had an excellent first day and did not stop talking the whole evening. She was beyond deliriously tired last night. At bedtime, she asked if I would stay a little longer and snuggle with her. I stayed and rubbed her back as she finally quieted down and turned to run my hair through her fingers. She tucked her head under my chin and finally fell asleep. It was then that I was reminded, that although the day was, if I'm honest, quite sad for me, there's still so much to teach and grow and learn from my girl. It has felt like the end of my favorite book (her babyhood). But this is only a new chapter. I have loved raising my Ruby. And there's still so much to go.

My word, these 5.5 years have been sweet.