Heart String

I didn't take the boys to school today

because I went in at 5am 

and James was with his dad.

I went to work 

and I made plans for picking them up,

for stopping for dinner,

for an early Christmas with my sister tomorrow.

I made plans I always make

for a tomorrow 

I always believe is guaranteed.

Today...

28 people died.

Initial reports say 20 children.

20.

Children.

I sit here at this computer trying to translate pain 

into pixels 

into words 

on this screen.

A feeble attempt to share my prayers

and my sadness,

my disbelief 

and my horror.

Overwhelming grief

over the sheer barbarity of it.

I don't remember 

how I felt about Columbine.

I was in high school in California 

and that happened in a high school in Colorado

and I just didn't connect.

When Virginia Tech

slashed through the headlines

I was in college,

and up until graduation day 

I'd jump if a door unexpectedly swung open 

while I was sitting in class.

But today...

today was different.

Today was different because 

I am not just a human with a heart,

I am a mother.

I am a mother

who drops off her school-age children

believing they are safe

and that I will see them 

in the afternoon.

I am a mother 

who cannot fathom the unbearable pain

of losing my child in any manner.

I am a mother

whose stomach churns

at the thought of these families

and what they must be trying to process.

Something happens when you become a mother.

It's as though your heart grows arm and legs 

and wanders off into the world unprotected,

becoming an achilles heel.

And you tie yourself up to every child 

and every mother,

and their pain becomes yours.

Because that could be you,

because that could be your child.

Dear Newton, CT,

May your terror and sadness be met with love and light,

may peace and comfort find you,

and may joy reach you again some day.

xo.

A Single Grateful Thought

Thank you year of twists and turns

and ups and downs,

new jobs and lessons in humility

and disappointment,

long hours and magical ones too,

women and friends who feed my soul,

a family upon which I stand,

and three men who are my home.

May your day be blessed and charmed.

Fall Fotos (from Fridays and Beyond!)

We're posted at Nana's house,

storm clouds outside a-brewin'

and the smell of banana bread

inside a-bakin'.

The UCLA(yay!)/USC(boo!)

game is on the television

and Lucas is playing video games

while James plays super spy.

Fall is here

and my cup runneth over.

These moments are so sweet.

And now,

a zillion pictures...

Annual tailgate par-tay.

The best place to be on a Fall Saturday.

UCLA's good luck charm.

How he feels about Wednesdays.

Why they love bathing at Grandma's.

BFF Sundays.

Movie watching hat.

An award winner, his dad, and his beaming mother.

Sweet baby.

I heard this song this week

 for the first time in ages

and remembered how much I love it

and the movie it came from.

Change your heart...

it will astound you.

Beck - "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime"

Happy Weekend. xo.

A Parallel

My Jiminy Cricket

Hello ye neglected blog!

A million things and hours in traffic,

Halloween party planning and throwing,

tae kwon do belt testing,

Cub scout joining,

no internet having

and old laptop owning.

All that and more

and you'll understand

why it is I can't always get
to this spot right here.

This place to stop and collect my thoughts.

I live 27 years in 24 hours
and I make dinner and check homework
and read Harry Potter before bed
and kiss my boyfriend as we pass each other
in opposite directions
on the way in or out of the house.

I fill my mom role
and my employee role
and my girlfriend role
and sometimes it all just smears together
and I cross my fingers and hope for the best.

Sometimes who I am as Christina
crashes and burns
into who I am
as my boys' mommy.

Tonight Lucas looked me dead in the eye
and told me he was disappointed in me.

"I can't believe you're still smoking."

And I am.

I do.

After years and years of trying to stop
I haven't been able to stay stopped
and my kid is not ok with it.

Earlier this year I promised I would quit.

And I did.

And I had.

Until a few months ago when
I found myself back at the start.

I never smoke around my children
but he's on to me.

Looking in my hiding spots,
calling me out on what I thought were
"top secret, kids in bed, late night" smokes.

My son is learning about drugs at Red Ribbon Week
and he knows cigarettes cause cancer
and tonight he said,

"Mom...I don't want you to die."

And he meant it.

And it killed me.

And I told him what he said is important,
and that I'm not going anywhere,
and that I know smoking is terrible
and want to quit but it's not that easy.

That I'm not
not quitting
because I don't understand
or care about his feelings.

That I love him so much
and I'm sorry he feels this way
and I want to make it better.

And then...
I snuck my cigarettes out of my glove box when he wasn't looking.

Because
IT'S NOT THAT EASY.

Every so often I'll sense
an obvious collision between my identity as a mother
and that of my 29 year old self.

Tonight was one of them.

When it happens,
it leaves my stomach in flips.

Last month we finally
signed Lucas up for Cub Scouts,
and the night of his first den meeting
I read an article about a 16 year old boy
being denied his Eagle Scout award
because he's gay.

And boom...confliction.

I don't know the right or wrong of it.

Where I end and they begin.

The magical formula
of maintaining autonomy
whilst mothering two children.

The grace necessary
to endure my sons' faces
as their mother's veil of perfection
begins to shift.

Knowing it will eventually fall.

On Marriage

Calm down

no one's getting married any time soon,

let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Had I gotten married at any point in my 20s

it would have been solely because

I wanted to throw a party.

I wanted a wedding

not a marriage.

The idea of forever and ever

was colored by a fantasy pen;

all pretty dresses and flowers

and presents.

Lots of presents.

I finally broke the news to my mom

that the time for elaborate plans

and insanity has come to a close.

If anyone decides to put a ring on it,

it'll be in a backyard

or a forest.

I would say that up until recently

I had no idea of what a relationship was made of

let alone a marriage.

No clue about a partnership

or maturity

or unselfishness.

Me: Party of 1

all day every day.

When I got pregnant with James

his dad made a half-hearted proposal

while I sat on his lap at my kitchen table.

"So...do you want to?"

"Yeah.  I guess."

I spent the next two weeks 

researching elopement

and the Santa Barbara courthouse

and finally decided 

that I just couldn't do it 

without my parents.

And so the idea was tabled until we imploded

and never got back there again.

He didn't want to marry me.

I wanted to marry him,

but only to save face.

Like somehow if I was married

you wouldn't see that I had gotten pregnant accidentally.

Again.

Or that I was in a failing relationship

and it was unraveling 

and I felt like a fraud.

I think about how sure I was that I wanted

to be married to my first love

at the ripe ol' age of 18.

It makes me laugh.

How positive I was that everyone was crazy

when they said 

we'd be completely different people in our 20s

and 30s and so on.

I know a few couples who make it look really easy.

And I also know a few divorcees.

I have nothing but admiration for my friends

who took the leap young,

but I feel pretty far from it at present.

It's seems that the happier I am in my relationship

the less I feel a drive to validate it to others and myself.

Because I see now that all this time

I only saw marriage as a way to show the outside world

that I was loved and worthy

and I don't have to do that right now.

Because I have the blessing of contentment

and it is 

PRICELESS.

And it's way better

than that ridiculous Robbins Bros. ring I picked out

two lifetimes ago.

A Zillion Weeks of Fotos

In no particular order,

here are weeks and weeks

of fotos.

As the the seasons have changed

although the temperature 

has not gotten the memo.

As the boys became

a 3rd grader 

and a pre-schooler.

As we ate grilled cheeses

and made forts

and baked bread on lazy Mondays

when we were all off.

As I became obsessed with "Game of Thrones"

and posted up on the couch 

which I never do

and actually kind of love now.

As first handprints 

and "Back to School" night

and car dance parties

continued to fuel that part of me

that wonders if it is in fact possible

to die from too much joy in your heart.

The sun is setting earlier,

Halloween is popping up here and there,

I hope the weather cooperates soon

and Fall makes a legitimate debut.

There are apple pies to bake

and cuddles to make.

I'm sort of obsessed with the new album by

The Walkmen.

I don't need perfection,

I love the whole.

The Walkmen - We Can't Be Beat

Happy Weekend. xo

A Weekend with Giants

We left at 7am on Friday.

2 cars packed with people I love

and camping gear

and snacks

and a book I never cracked.

Off to Sequoia where I had never been,

where my cell phone was worthless,

and died an hour in so I don't have pictures.

Where you have to put all of your food and smell good stuff

in a metal locker.

Because there are bears.

I drove up and Paul only reprimanded me once for my revving.

We made it in 5 and half hours and it was beautiful

and we set up camp 

and stopped by a lodge to call the other car

and pick up some wood.

"Have you seen any bears lately?"

I asked this partially expecting the kid behind the counter

to say no.

"Nope, not here. *pause* But they've been around Stony Creek."

(aka our campsite)

"What'd they do?"

As I nervously smiled and glanced over at Paul

who thought this was hilarious.

"Oh rip up a tent and mess with someone's trailer."

The kid was being very nonchalant.

"Yeah *nervous laugh...sigh...nervous laugh* but no one was in it right?"

"Oh no...the guy was in it.  Turned out he'd been BBQing all night

and went to bed in his clothes."

Needless to say

 I OCD'd all weekend about food smells

and food out 

and scrubbing Lucas down 

with unscented baby wipes.

I may or may not have choked 

on my beating heart Friday night

waking Paul in tears 

because I was convinced

every pine needle falling from every tree

and every twig snapping

was a black bear coming to eat us.

Saturday the two of us woke before dawn

and headed for a spot called "Lost Grove".

We moved Lucas to Paul's mom's tent

and took his uncle along with us.

We drove in the dark to an unmarked spot,

walked down a dark, sparse trail

to quiet peace of heaven amongst the 

trees and moss and woodpeckers.

I went for a walk and Paul took pictures.

We came back and made bacon and pancakes

and my coffee had grounds in it but I didn't care.

We spent the day,

7 of us in one car,

walking and climbing

and laughing

loving the weather

which was a stifling 73 degrees.

Apparently Los Angeles nearly died in the sweltering heat while we were gone.

We came home and made bacon wrapped hot dogs

and I secretly wondered if the bacon smell would attract the bears

and then we had s'mores and I drank hot tea

and for the second night in a row

Paul read Sherlock Holmes to Lucas and I

until we fell asleep.

On the last day we made breakfast and broke camp

and the other car left for home

and Paul and I drove for 7 hours through Kings Canyon.

It was beautiful and peaceful

and I don't know how and when we got so good together

but 

we are so good together.

We made it home Sunday night and unpacked

and washed dishes

and made a replacement list for the supplies.

We took hot showers

and my hair still kind of smelled like smoke

and we went to bed

and I didn't have to be afraid of bears.

We retire the camping gear until spring.

Sad face times infinity.

Admissions in Disheartening Decisions

I don't want to write about it because

I'm afraid to be judged.

I don't want to write about it because

I'm afraid you'll judge him.

I don't want to write about it because

it makes me feel sad.

And anxious.

And like we've failed in some way.

People have always had opinions

when it came to my children.

From the women sharing their

labor stories with me in an elevator,

to my well meaning mother

chasing after me with the boys' sweaters.

I still remember bursting into tears

when the daycare provider convinced me

that my then 2 year old Lucas was speech delayed.

No speech delay here...

the kid barely draws

a single silent breath.

Sometimes I take the advice

and sometimes I don't.

Sometimes it angers me

or leaves me feeling insecure;

and sometimes it doesn't.

My non-speech delayed son

walked at nine months

and was climbing trees

and playing in mud

and hanging upside

pretty quickly afterward.

Nimble fingers and quick-mind,

taking things apart

and putting them back together;

working to figure out

how this world worked.

His Pre-K teacher told us he had

problems focusing and staying on task;

we felt he was just bored.

How many worksheets can a 4 year old do?

His Kindergarten teacher said the same thing.

He's just a boy we thought.  Boys are hyper.

His first grade teacher said it again.

She doesn't like him. He's being bullied.

His second grade teachers (all 3 of them)

said it too.

We have to do something.  Third grade is hard.

It was at the end of last school year

that we decided to look further

into the causes and conditions

of ADHD.

We felt it was over-diagnosed.

We didn't want to medicate our son

(he's already on one for his epilepsy).

We didn't want him to feel different.

We didn't want the eternal thems and yous

to treat him differently,

but it was all becoming more and more

obvious.

And after conferencing with his

phenomenal teachers last year

and meeting with a great

behavioral science team,

we knew we had to do everything

we could to set him up for success.

Which is why last week

we started our son on medication.

And I felt like a failure.

I felt like I hadn't tried hard enough

to help him in other ways.

I felt terrible for putting a

chemical in my perfect son's body.

I cried because I gave myself

5 minutes to feel really fucking guilty

and really fucking sad

and even sort of angry.

I still don't know how I feel

other than ferociously protective

which is why I'm writing this

even though I don't want to.

It's a letter to the universe

asking Lucas' future self

for forgiveness.

We really are trying to do

what's best.

The medicine is not a cure all

and I refuse to believe it is

a forever thing.

I'm trying to do best by my kid,

but that can be so difficult

when the water seems so murky.

Be gentle with us

Friday Fotos on Monday and Life in General

Paul is quizzing Lucas

on subtraction flash cards

as I type.

They are getting frustrated with each other

and it is hard not to intervene.

There is chocolate chocolate chip 

banana bread in the oven.

James is with his dad until 6pm

and I miss him on quiet, lazy days

when I bake and am totally relaxed.

I wish he was here

to stir and eat and be kissed.

All last week I felt like this video...

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

I think I was a gypsy

in a past life. 

It would explain why

sometimes when life is 

really, super good

or really, super hard,

I feel like the roots that ground me

are also strangling me.

A good friend and fellow blogger

wrote last week about "keeping it real"

and I totally understood.

Because so often times 

we of the digital age 

are inclined to share 

a sanitized version of our real lives.

The good days,

the pretty Instagrams,

the laughter and the love and the joy.

Today I can write about the past 2 weeks

because I am no longer in the midst 

of the past 2 weeks.

The truth is sometimes

it's really hard to be a mom.

I have one child who is constant energy and opinions

and another who is a crier;

and sometimes I don't like them very much.

The truth is I am in a relationship

with a really great guy,

and I love him and it is so god damn good,

and good and great

are not synonyms for perfect.

The truth is I bear the scars of every non-great guy from before,

and my head is loud and it doesn't always say nice things

and sometimes I have to fight myself

not to burn it all down.

The truth is I suffer from depression

and other forms of soul sickness

and sometimes for no reason at all

I wake up and I am painfully

uncomfortable.

It used to be that if I felt like I was feeling recently,

that I brought everyone else into the ring with me.

I am so glad that that is no longer the case.

I am so glad that I'm not immobilized.

I'm so glad I still managed to do all of this:

Work...

on a boat...

on a beautiful day...

and not throw up.

Spend a Saturday morning...

...finger painting with all three of my favorite guys.

Find moments of sweetness...

...and humor...

...and love...

...and more humor...

...and ice cream.

 Pool parties...

...and being thrown never getting old.

Photo booths...

...and night swimming.

Time for warm bread.