A Man Who Lived in No One’s Shadow

For fourteen years, my grandfather lived (at least by me) in my grandmother’s shadow. She was my favorite person on Earth; whenever she was around, I was no less than one foot away, and most often less than that. The day she died was, to this day, one of the most painful days of my life. I said goodbye to her, and hello to the man she left behind.

Looking back, it’s humorous to me that this man lived in anyone’s shadow. Bigger than life, my grandfather filled any room that he was in with an energy that was immediately contagious. He laughed a lot. He lived to make others laugh. He was always seeking out new jokes to tell anyone who would listen; he liked it best when it would cause me to fall down on the floor with laughter – and then he would tell it often. He loved passionately. For more than fifty years he was a fun and loving partner to my grandmother and then fell in love (at least) twice in the 21 years since then.

I am so lucky. These past 21 years have been amazing. There are moments when I notice something in my personality that is like him, and it always causes me to stop and smile. The last thing he ever said to me was “have fun, enjoy life.” He was absolutely the best example I have of someone who did just that. He traveled. He danced. He loved. A lot. He laughed. When I stop to think about what I’d want the tagline of my life to be, the answer is simple: “All Passion Spent.” I don’t want to get to the end and look back and wished I’d have loved more or had more fun. I want to do it now… while I’m here. The cool thing is, I have this man to thank for making me a person who will do just that. I have him to thank for my curiosity, my energy, my passion – and even my vanity (we can all thank him for that).

He always called my grandma “mum,” and I still loved to hear stories about her. I loved the way he talked about her and their life together. With his death, I kind of feel that I’m saying goodbye to her all over again. I hate knowing I’ll never hear her name like that again, or stories about her from such a close source.  But I am grateful for all the years I had with him, to get to know this man who is such a big part of who I am and want to be. 

The biggest difference on this eve of our final goodbyes is that all of these years later, I’d give anything to have both of them back. 

It’s Time to Look in the Mirror

It’s gotten to be too much. The constant diatribe of worthless opinions (ironic, I know, as I offer my own here). Have we forgotten how to be human? What ever happened to talking about how crazy people are in the privacy of our own homes – and then letting it go?

For those keeping score, let’s put things that matter together in this bucket. Equality, kindness, respect, food, clean water, (fair) education, housing, family and community. A pretty good list to at least start with. Then let’s put the rest of the pointless shit we spend so much time and energy on in the other: Skin color, hatred, sexual orientation, judgment, politics and stupidity. This encompasses a lot that most everything else can be put into.

What fundamentally bothers me – and genuinely worries me as a human being – is our haste to react and judge other people and their actions. Or, our inability to listen, or lack of trying to listen. Funny thing is, not one person (no matter the religion, faith, beliefs, socio-economic level) I know is free from fault. Let me say that again. Every single mother fucking person I know has made mistakes. A tweet we probably shouldn’t have posted? Sure. An outfit we shouldn’t have worn? Without a doubt. Something we regret saying? Um… where do I start?

I have no credibility to say this, but I’m going to anyways. People do crazy things. ALL OF US. Sometimes, there are reasons behind those things. Peer pressure. Alcohol. Drugs. Because we lacked good judgment. Sometimes, it’s things as serious as mental illness. But no matter what it is, who the fuck gives us the right to make claims, offer opinions and alter lives? If you haven’t yet, I recommend reading Jon Ronson’s “So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed.” It will (hopefully) offer some insight into what speculation and non-stop commentary and criticism can do to a person. I offer this piece of advice: If you don’t want someone’s ENTIRE future being shaped by something you don’t know everything about or fully understand, then I recommend not becoming part of the problem. Turn. It. Off. Don’t read the article. Or the tweet. Or the social post. We are in control and can stop the madness.

One day that poor woman who mis-represented herself for whatever reason she chose to do so (I might add while harming NO ONE) is going to be your son. Or your daughter’s friend. Or a sister-in-law. You are going to meet someone or have to console someone who is being or has been publicly shamed and you will see things differently. Stop for a minute and ask yourself this question: Is there a choice you made along the way that you are glad wasn’t slapped all over the front of the New York Times? Or the trending hashtag? I have lived a pretty “traditional” life (whatever that is anyways) and can tell you there are plenty of things I wouldn’t want splashed all over every single news outlet and website.

Side note: For this most current story, I can’t even take the ‘disgust wrapped in race’ discussion. Race inequality is a huge problem in this country (and other places of the world). Black men being gunned down in the streets? Despicable. We need to find an IMMEDIATE solution so that no other mother has to bury her son because of his skin color. A woman painting her skin and lying about her background? Personally, I’d like to focus on making the first issue the priority.

I recently read an article in Psychology Today that said as humans we’re supposed to be hard-wired to be empathetic; so I’m not sure why we need something big to jolt us in order to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes.

I’m done. I can’t take how mean we’ve become and how thoughtlessly we can ruin someone’s life and then pass over it like nothing has happened. I won’t do it anymore. I’m going to allow people the freedom to express themselves – and if they don’t like what I have to say, I’m going to turn the channel. Or de-friend them. I don’t love ignorance, but I am standing up for everyone’s right to be ignorant. Or intelligent. Or funny. Or politically incorrect. All without having to give up their freedom to live and exist with the rest of us, or risking their futures because the collective “society” deems them unworthy.

I challenge anyone who reads this: If there is something or someone who does something that is so hard for you to understand, ask questions. Research. But don’t spread rumors. Or hate. And when you think you’re just being interested in something, think about the person on the other side. The one who wasn’t seeking notoriety (even the good kind). Don’t take their lives away because of some altruistic “debate” someone said we need to have. Here’s the only debate we need to be having: Are we being kind enough to ALL of our neighbors? Personally (in my humble opinion) I say the answer is a resounding NO. And until it’s a resounding YES, I think we all have some mirror-looking and soul searching to do.   

Happy Father’s Day…to My Perfect

Six years ago, I sat down and made a checklist in my journal (or, at least my attempt at a journal). My goal? To write down the qualities I wanted in a life partner. After a failed marriage and a shitty relationship that was wrong from the beginning, I found myself a bit hopeless that the passion for which I was searching actually existed. Then I received some of the best advice ever from my mom’s best friend. She told me I have the power to create my perfect; I was young, passionate, willing to take risks – and had a blank slate. So, before I fell asleep that night I wrote down a list of things I wanted for my life. And then forgot I did it.

It was a little less than a year later when my now husband – then (very dreamy) boyfriend – and I moved into our first apartment together. As I unpacked my things, I came across the book I tried to turn into a journal – and opened it directly to that submission. Then, with tears running down my face, I looked up at JF and realized I had in fact created my perfect. Before me, in our own kitchen, stood a man who made me laugh, loved children, knew how to love and communicate, was respectful and passionate. And, after two moves (one that took us more than 1,000 miles from the first), one child, a marriage, several new jobs – and many other experiences along the way – nothing has changed.

As I looked at this man’s face on Father’s Day, I was filled with love and gratitude. Not only for the unrelenting love he feels for me, but for the love he gives to his children. He is strict but loving; fun and educational; never afraid to say how much he loves them (and, even as important, never holds back saying the same to me in front of them); fair and respectful. Our son tells me he loves the way I look, what I’m wearing and glad that I’m his mamma – and that is fully due to the love JF demonstrates and encourages every day. 

There is no other man I would want to celebrate as the father of my child (and maybe even someday children). I am humbled by the universe, and the opportunity it gave me to create my own perfect. Six years later, and it is still perfection. 

For my sweet boy as you turn three

It seems like yesterday – and forever ago – that you were born. I am constantly in awe of how quickly time is flying, you learn new things and you are growing. At the same time, you have become such a part of who I am – and how I see the world – that I can’t believe we were ever not together. Three years doesn’t seem like enough time to accomplish the things we have, visit the places we have traveled or move into “our new house” that’s 1,100 miles from where you were born.  But no matter what we have done, you have been right there with a smile and rarely a complaint (except the time you had hand, foot and mouth disease which is one memory I’d like to forget). Which is one of the many things I love and admire about you. At three, when you should be complaining about the long car ride or throwing a tantrum in the airplane seat, you sit there soaking it all in. Always happy to be a part of it all. You have a deep trust and love for your “dadda” and me that makes my heart melt. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do – when the three (or four when Little J is around) of us are together, you let go – and take it all in. I absolutely love that about you.

You are funny. In a way I am not. You take what you see in movies and shows and turn it into your own performance. From swatting a spider away with a placemat (Madagascar) or smacking yourself in the head (Frozen), you are always looking for something to perform – and someone to perform for. Who knows – you may be the next John Ritter or Dick Van Dyke with the way you do physical comedy.

You are sweet. Painstakingly sweet. Of all the things I hope for your life, I hope you keep this. You pay attention to other people. Notice when there is garbage on the ground and want to pick it up. You want to sing a song for Ms. Meg when she’s sick. You say “thank you” when cars stop and let us cross the street. And probably my favorite is when you yell out the window to passing cars, taxi drivers or people on the sidewalk. All by your little self you are making strangers smile. I beg you to never lose this. Never let the world take this away. People deserve to smile, and sometimes it just takes a sweet face and a kind word – and you will always hold that power. Use it wisely.

You love your family. It doesn’t matter who they are – Oma, Puppa, Grandpa, Grandma, uncle, aunts or sister (although, I have to say your sister probably takes the cake right now) – you love them all. You run to wake them up when they come to visit, ask them (incessantly) to come play in your playroom and show them off proudly to your friends. Even as young as you are, the time and distance doesn’t matter. You pick right back up – even if you haven’t seen them in a year.  

You love to sing. Taylor Swift is still a favorite of yours; I love how you call her “Trouble” (it’s safe at this point to assume that all girls are trouble ;)). Anything can be turned into a microphone – and you rock out, dance moves and all.

As you turn 3 years old, I am so proud of the person you are turning into. And am so grateful that I am on this crazy journey with your awesome dad. The peace, joy and love that you bring to my life only grows stronger every year. Even the sky couldn’t hold all the love I feel for you.

Happy third birthday, my sweet boy. 

Finding a balance

Since I started out my day on a negative note (first cursing my husband in my head, then cursing my job out loud followed by an “I hate today” post on Facebook), I figured it would be best to list the good things that happened today. You know, trying to find the balance in it all.

·         An expected connection

·         A good laugh shared with my lovely colleagues (which came on the heels of a negative client experience)

·         A (somewhat creative) mind that can re-position a message to make it stronger

·         The HUGE hug I got from my nearly 3 year-old when I got to daycare

·         A trip to downtown Nashville with my incredibly curious and free toddler (who talks to everyone we walk past)

·         Dinner with Frozen – and being able to make my little boy smile when I sing along

·         The unsolicited “I love you, momma”

·         The returned “how is yours?” when I asked “How is your dinner?” (he is really listening!!)

And, while it hasn’t happened yet, I anticipate enjoying some quiet time as I sit in front of the computer doing more work and catching up on my favorite new guilty pleasure – House of Lies.

Sometimes all it takes is a few hours to clear an angry and overwhelmed mind – and come to a slightly new perspective (who’s kidding – perfection isn’t worth trying to attain at this point). 

The Stranger in the Mirror

As long as I can remember I have wanted to be a mom. And that doesn’t mean when I turned 20 – it means since the time my memories began taking shape as a child. At four years old when my brother was born, I would pull the rocking chair in his nursery over to his crib and drag his tiny belly over the sides every morning. Sometimes I would even climb in with him. That feeling never went away. I started babysitting at 11 and loved every minute of it. I always dreamed of growing up, getting married and having lots of kids (at least four).

I had an amazing pregnancy. No vomiting. No stretch marks. Minimal weight gain. (Before you decide to hate me, please keep reading.) It was 41 ½ weeks (yes, you read that correctly) of sweet anticipation and excitement for the life I was growing inside me.

The day my son was born is one I will never forget. My husband was stuck at my side guiding me with his silent strength, coaching me through the process which ended with him catching our son in his arms. We called out at the same time “It’s a boy” as we suddenly – and immediately – became a family.

From the outside, the days, weeks and months that followed that day likely seemed picture perfect. After all, I had everything I had ever wanted. I was part of the club…I was a mom.

So why did I feel so far away from myself?

It started with mild anxiety. Traffic. Errands with a newborn. Then a near panic attack on an international flight. My mind wouldn’t focus. I tried to reason with my very self-aware self. Nothing worked.

I started seeing a therapist. I told her to move quickly and push me through the process. The sooner I could be back to myself, the better. Then she took me to a place I wasn’t ready to go. I fell deeper. And I stopped going.

A year later, a female guest at a friend’s wedding was being nice to my husband. Nice. I couldn’t handle it. I was afraid of losing him. Afraid I wasn’t good enough anymore. Wasn’t fun enough. These thoughts scared me. They weren’t me. It was as if some stranger had taken over my brain. I called my therapist immediately and asked to come back. She welcomed me with open arms, and promised to take it slow. Neither of us knew just how fragile I was before.

Therapy helped. It gave me a safe place to unravel as I got worse. The words “anxiety” and “depression” quickly become all too familiar to me. They began defining who I was. I couldn’t go anywhere without them tagging along. The fear soon set in that I had lost myself forever. My sweet son would never know the woman I used to be when I dreamt about being his mother. My husband had lost the woman he loved more than anything…his partner. I was a shell of who I used to be. It was terrifying.

I became thin – no, skinny. Anxious. Scared. Insecure. Sad.

Months went by. I was committed to healing, but scared – frightened – of taking medication to get there. I tried acupuncture. I went to doctors. I got worse.

All the while my therapist stuck by my side. Committed to helping me cope. To find my way back. Funny thing is, she didn’t even know who I was before – but she wouldn’t give up trying to. The day she convinced me was one of the best days in recent memory. She told me drugs would allow me to stop gripping so hard. Would allow me to let go. At least help me heal. You see, it’s hard to heal when you’re holding on so tight. I could sit back, even if just a little.

It’s been about six months now since I let go. I bought a house and moved my family 1,000 miles to a new city. A few months ago I laughed so hard I cried while watching an episode of Modern Family. That’s when I knew it. I was coming back.

Laughing feels good again. Loving my son feels amazing. Trusting and appreciating my husband is a sweet gift.

In my wildest dreams I never thought this sort of thing could hit me. Not the girl who wanted this so bad. Not the one with the picture-perfect pregnancy and delivery. I never dreamed it would be this hard. That I would go so far away from who I was. Who I wanted to be. But, post-partum doesn’t discriminate.

I am still terrified by the thought of having a second child. I have an internal reaction every time a friend tells me she’s pregnant for the second time. Those feelings of inadequacy and the fear of being a bad mother can creep up without warning. But, I’m choosing my life first. And my son’s. And sweet husband. We are all healing.

And I’m learning that’s a process. 

Letting Go

What does letting go look like? What does it sound like? I imagine it’s a lot like a movie scene where a piece of glass shatters in slow motion. There is no sound. Just the painful and anxious eternity that it takes for the glass to hit the floor. One braces for the fall, knowing from experience – from intuition – what the fall means. A loud noise. A mess of broken glass. Even blood. It signifies finality. Once the glass shatters, it’s gone. The pieces will never be put back together. It will never look the same as it once did.

All of these thoughts fill the empty space that exists as the end draws near.

What are the rules when letting go? Where does judgment fall? Expectations? What if one laughs instead of cries? Feels relief? Maybe the pressure of protecting something so fragile was daunting, and the release is liberating. Should they feel shame? Guilt? Anger?

The glass shatters in what seems like minutes, but in reality is merely seconds. The reality sets in. What has taken hours, days, weeks, months, years to create has been destroyed. In seconds. Only now does one realize the implications. The irrevocability is deafening. It screams to be heard. To be acknowledged.

The silence of the fall will echo forever. Only acceptance will usher in the silence.

To My Sweet Boy

Today, my baby turns one. In a tradition I hope to keep going as he grows, I have written a letter to him to capture my feelings, love and hopes.

This year has been filled with ups and downs, but having this sweet little boy in my life has made it all worth it. I still cannot believe how lucky I am to be surrounded by the love of my two beautiful boys. On M’s first birthday, I am amazed I made it, sad it’s gone so quickly, happy he’s no longer an infant, and still taking it one day at a time – hell, sometimes one moment at a time.

To my sweet baby boy:

It’s hard to believe I’m sitting here looking back at a year already. It sounds so cliché to ask where the time has gone, and yet I can’t help but repeat that phrase over and over in my mind as I desperately search for a clearer understanding of how it seems like only yesterday you looked into my eyes for the first time. The past twelve months have been the greatest lesson in love that I have and will ever receive, as I have watched you grow and begin to develop into your own unique person.

I find myself constantly amazed by the joy with which you fill me. For the life of me I cannot believe it was me you chose to be your mom. I wish I could describe in words the honor that comes along with that title, but I’m afraid that even I, who is so often verbose and overly descriptive, would fail to capture that sentiment.

Who you are – even at this young age – is so beautiful. You have a laugh that is so contagious it stops me in my tracks wherever I am. And your daddy? He will do anything to hear it, including countless foreign accents and rhythmless dance moves. I love that he does this without thinking, and that you indulge him by responding with a big belly giggle. I love your curiosity. You want to know about everything, touch everything, explore everything and be a part of everything. From the dishwasher to the sink faucet to a roll of toilet paper, you look at everything with wonder and awe. Please never lose that. The world is full of wonderful things to explore and learn – you will never be done. I love your sense of adventure. That it doesn’t faze you to “fall back” on the bed or climb up the stairs. With every new thing you try and learn, you have a genuine excitement and pride that is beautiful to behold. I love your respect. For me. For daddy. You are an amazing listener. You are incredibly sweet. My favorite thing to do is pick you up from daycare. Sometimes if we’re lucky, daddy and I will come together to get you and we try to beat each other inside, knowing you will hug and snuggle with the first person through the door. I love your smile. Your beautiful eyes. I love the way you dance, bouncing and marching in place. I love the way you move your mouth to the sounds of the music. I love your excitement when you watch TheGiggleBellies, every time like it’s your first. I love that you wave to everyone you see in an attempt to get them to wave back (even on a plane when the woman sitting next to us clearly does not want to indulge you).

One night this past year I came across a blog post that brought me to tears. It was about love, respect and acceptance no matter who you are. As I read those words, it became clear to me that if I can do nothing else for you in this life, as long as I can instill in you a respect for others and yourself, I have done my job. Please never forget that every person deserves the same respect you do, and that everyone has the same right to live. Do not pass judgment on others because they are different – that is what makes us all special. Kindness will get you farther in life than money, fame or education. Please lead by example, and never give in to the pressure to be unkind.

Today is bittersweet for me. I am sad that the past twelve months have gone by so quickly, and scared the next one will go even quicker. And yet, I look forward to watching you grow into the person you are becoming, and experiencing your life with you. I love you so much more than you will ever know. Thank you for being. You have changed my life in ways I am just starting to realize.

Happy first birthday, my sweet baby boy.

The Mural on the Wall

I was putting M to bed tonight when I looked over at the wall mural behind his crib. Funny how something you see every day can suddenly have an effect on you. All of a sudden my mind took me back in time to the weekend J and I put that up on M's wall. At the time, we lovingly referred to him as Munchkin, having no idea he would be, well, a he. It took us two days to finish the project, at the end of which we stood back and looked with pride at the great work we had done together. The nursery was starting to come together, and it was starting to sink in that soon we would no longer be a family of two. Amazing how long "soon" felt in that moment, and looking back now, how fast it seems to have gone.

After ten months with M in our lives, my pregnancy seems to have lasted all of 5 minutes. Every now and again a memory pops into my head of life before him, but for the most part the routine of waking up, going to work, coming home, bed and bath time and finally crawling into bed completely and utterly exhausted prevents me from going down memory lane too often. Honestly I think it's the lack of brain power to devote to anything but the aforementioned activities that keeps me from daydreaming about the past.

It's amazing how one moment - one second - can break your life into before and after. J and I talk longingly about weekend mornings spent in bed, going out after work, watching an entire movie uninterrupted, making love when we felt like it and jumping in the car on a whim to head out of town for the day. I feel like I tell him I miss him more than I tell him I love him these days. And when he looks at me, it's like he's trying to find me.

For some reason I figured after ten months we'd have the hang of this new life. That we'd be old pros at this parenting thing and spend our days euphoric about our new family. I guess after 31 years of living our lives one way it takes a little longer than ten months to adjust to an entirely new existence. I am positive we'll get there. In the meantime (beyond being absolutely in love with that beautiful boy sleeping soundly upstairs), I will take what I can get in the little things like the mural, and be grateful for the small reminders of how this family began.

Is anonymity making us assholes?

I belong to an online moms’ group here in Boston, which I herald as one of the best things I’ve discovered since moving here. Moms ask questions about everything from baby sleep and feeding patterns to work issues and how to find a good couples’ therapist. Hands down it’s the best resource I could have possibly imagined as a first time mom. However, recently I became a bit disenchanted with a post from one of the other moms. While the details of the transaction do not matter for the purposes of this post, the gist is that she was unhappy with a local retailer and the way they handled a situation. So, like any scorned person with an internet connection nowadays, she took to the Web. She was angry—and she wanted other mothers to know it, and stand united against this big bad retailer. Except, this big bad retailer responded. Turns out, this retailer is a small husband and wife-owned resale shop in one of Boston’s neighboring suburbs. The couple pays their bills and raises their children on the profits they earn at the shop. They responded politely and with humility. As a PR professional, I think they handled themselves extremely well, and made sure to let them know publicly in a response to the whole group. But the whole experience got me thinking…are we losing our ability to treat people with respect because it’s so easy to hide behind the Internet? I would not hesitate to answer that question with a resounding YES.

Parenting is rolling with the punches (so throw out the expectations and learn how to duck)

We had a lovely weekend planned. J and I were going to take M and “Little J” to Portland for Disney on Ice and a fun stay in a hotel. This was an “experiential” Christmas gift we gave “Little J” since she receives far too many presents each year to really appreciate everything she has. And, what kid wouldn’t love a chance to see Disney on Ice!?! All of us were really looking forward to the opportunity to get away and enjoy some time as a family. We should have known better.

Parents are crazy (at least I admit it)

It amazes me that being a parent makes people so crazy. Men and women have been having - and raising - babies for thousands of years, and we continue to hold the rather insane view that despite that, we know what's best. I mean, sure, we are the ones that know our child(ren) the best. We have likely been there from the very first moment of conception, their arrival into this world, and are the ones who are at the center of their world. However, I refuse to be naive enough to believe that I am the only one who can care for my child. I for one truly appreciate that my son has the opportunity to spend some of his time at daycare where people discipline differently than me, are not able to give him constant attention, and likely hold different views on the world than me. I personally feel that exposing him to different people and opinions will make him a more well-rounded person.

Who Am I?

Funny thing, I thought I knew. Or, at least I knew who I was prior to having a baby. I was married to the love of my life. Made hard - but brave - decisions that got me to this point. Was spontaneous. Independent. Had breasts I was proud of. Stayed up late, and slept in on the weekends. With my husband. I had friends who called. And that I called. Friends who were there at my darkest moments. And my best.

Reading this description of myself now makes me sad. Because I don't know where she went. Or if she's coming back. I hope she comes back.

April 27, 2011: Our birth story

I thought about calling this post "my birth story," but soon realized it does not belong to just me. So, it is ours.

On Wednesday, April 27, 2011, I was 10 days past my due date. I weighed 128 pounds and was all belly. I had been in and out of doctors' offices and ultrasound appointments to make sure the baby inside was still healthy, despite the extended gestational period. My mom, dad and mother-in-law were in town, anxiously awaiting the birth of their grandchild (at that time, sex still unknown). My father-in-law had to leave on the 24th after 9 days of watching, waiting and consuming numerous bottles of wine (not alone - he had plenty of help).

A new last name

I never had any desire to change my name. My name has been my identity - who I was, how people knew me, what they called me. The thought of being something - someone - else frightened me. I always thought I'd be one of those women who marched to their own drum - a loving mother and wife, but one who just couldn't adopt someone else's identity through the old-fashioned "tradition" of taking a man's name. It's funny how time changes us. 

Letter to "Little J"

While I enjoy the process of writing anything - prose, stories, blogs - the thing I love the most is to sit down and write a letter. I love that I have the ability to tell the people I love how much I love them - in something written and permanent. I love sharing my feelings in a way that allows me to think about them. Feel them. I have thought of one day being able to write the story of my life - or at least sharing it with my children/grandchildren - through the many letters I wrote over the years. They are windows into my heart. They tell stories of love and heartache. I love to receive letters. Nothing makes me happier than reading words of love, support and friendship. Letters allow us to keep people with us, even after they're gone. These words ease pain, provide hope and express love.

Tonight I sat down and wrote a letter. Just the same as a blog post would do - if not even more - this letter expresses my feelings. It was inspired by the events that occurred today - the simple, everyday events that took my breath away, and made me so happy to be in this life.

Dear "Little J":

I remember when your dad told me about you. It was on our first date. I was so excited to meet you, to be a part of your life. I thought of all the time we would spend together. The memories we would make. Meeting you for the first time was such a joy. I immediately fell in love with you. Immediately. I remember the responsibility you automatically took on at 4 years old – understanding (but not quite sure why) the challenges adults with children face when dating. You wanted to know if your dad had told me about you – if I knew he had a little girl. I remember thinking about the incredible burden that must be at four – always wondering about your parent’s choices, the people in their lives and how you fit in. I wanted to be in your life starting from that moment, always making sure you have nothing but love surrounding you. The more time I spent with you, the more I loved you. And your dad. I had an instant “just add water and stir” family. And I loved it.

Then I got scared. I was scared of the future. Of playing a role I didn’t know that I could play. Would I be able to be the strength you will need as you grow up and experience life? What will I say when you get your heart broken for the first time? How will I react when you say the inevitable “you’re not my mother” line? My heart was breaking just thinking about the future and all the possible, hypothetical heartache. For a moment, I lost sight of all the happiness, love and friendship we would most definitely experience. For these fears – and letting them grab hold of me – I am sorry. I will always be sorry for the moments in your life you experienced anything but love and acceptance from me.

I love your capacity to love. From the moment I met you, you have been opening your heart to me. You immediately accepted me as part of your life. Without question. You trusted me. Each and every time I see you, I find a new reason to love you for who you are. I find myself excited to see the woman you will become, and the choices you will make. I also get nervous and scared, knowing some of those choices you will make may cause you deep pain. And there will be nothing I can do about that pain.

I hope I can be the friend you will need. I hope you will always feel my love, and always know I am here for you. I hope you will always know that you and your dad are my family, and nothing will ever change that. I will make mistakes. And you won’t always want my friendship or my advice. I hope you know that no matter how much life changes, you will always be our priority, and will always be loved. You took a piece of my heart the very first time I met you, and have been taking little pieces ever since. No amount of fear will ever change that.

Thank you for the love you bring to my life. For the happiness. And the laughter. For showing me a side of your dad that only makes me love him more. I look forward to our life together – every single moment.

All my love,
K

KP’s Comin to K’ville!!

As I write this post, I’m on an airplane headed to Knoxville. For weeks “J” has been keeping plans for my 29th birthday a secret – I had no idea what I’d be doing, where I’d be going or who I’d be seeing. My destination was only revealed to me upon check-in. I think I was the only one in the airport cheering because they got to go to Knoxville, Tennessee.

I came home from work on Monday evening to find a card waiting for me. It was a “Happy Birthday week” card from “J” who had left that morning for Houston. Honestly, I thought he would have forgotten my tradition of celebrating the ENTIRE birthday week. But, then again, every time I think “J” might not live up to the image of him I have constructed in my mind, he exceeds all expectations. While putting my clothes away that same night, I realized he placed another card in my closet and labeled it: “Open Wednesday evening”. Of course every ounce of me wanted to tear it open right then and there. But, since I love surprises and appreciated the lengths to which he had gone, I left it right there. When I finally read the note, he had instructions for me: “Pack enough clothes for the weekend, bring a bathing suit just in case and prepare for medium-to-warm weather.” My mind started REELING with the places we could be going…

For years I have always said my dream is to spend my birthday with my friends who have been so far away for so long. Secretly I hoped “J” had planned to take me there…to see my “family” and introduce him to my life before Boston.

For days people have been asking me where I’m going, what I’m doing, what clues I have and if (take your inner voice to a whisper here) I thought “J” was going to propose to me. Wow, thanks people. That thought hadn’t even entered my mind – now I have THAT to think about as well. (For those of you reading this who have just gasped, no, “J” is NOT going to ask me to marry him…female friends just can’t help but think in those terms). I have been a ball of nerves for days wondering what awaited me this weekend…

So, now I’m on my way. I know where I’m going, who I’m going to see and not quite what I’m doing just yet. As I was laying on “J’s” shoulder a minute ago, I remembered back to this very night one year ago today. I was in my rented room in JP, had just started a new job, and was fighting a losing battle with addiction. I remember how sad it felt thinking I would be spending my birthday alone in this new place. Now a year later, I’m on a plane sitting next to a man who has literally made my dream come true. I don’t even need to know what awaits me tomorrow or next week or next month. I already know this is going to be an amazing year. What a way to end my 30s, huh?

He even gave me the window seat.

Just add water

I have "adopted" an instant family. Or, better yet, have become part of one. Without even knowing it - just woke up one morning and voila! There I was in the middle of it.

When I started dating "J", I knew he had a daughter. He told me the night of our first date. Shortly after that night, I met "Little J" and fell in love immediately. I knew he had a daughter. I saw the pink coat. The princess room. The tiny shoes by the door. The pictures that covered the walls. I mean, I got it. "J" + "N" = "Little J". Biology, right? If only it were that simple...

With it being school vacation, we had "Little J" for an extended weekend. Thursday night - family dinner and some catching up with my mom and best friend (sidebar - SO GOOD!). Friday night - first softball game. Saturday - a WONDERFUL afternoon spent in Rockport, Mass climbing rocks and picnicking. Sunday - Barbies and "Little J's" first soccer game of the season. Just a typical weekend with the family...

So, despite the fact that I know "J" has a daughter, it hit me this weekend. "J" has a daughter. She's not just some kid who stays at our house every other weekend. It's not just playing house. This is real.

I couldn't love that kid any more than I do. She's amazing. And brilliant. And loving. But she's his. And not mine. She'll always be his. More importantly, she'll always be his first. At the beginning that wasn't such a hard realization. We were at the start of something wonderful, but had no idea where it would lead. "Future" was a word we used lightly. Now "J" laughs as he talks about what our future will look like. Together. And I (admittedly selfishly) realize that someone else shared that "first" with him...

I hate myself for even thinking this way. I know it's probably a normal reaction - but I hate "normal reactions". And I hate even more that "J" always has to be working to protect the people he loves...

For now, my life will consist of watching "J" be the dad he loves to be. It will be weekend soccer games and occasional Sunday morning Mickey Mouse pancakes. It will be falling deeper in love with this little girl that fate brought into my life.

Yes, for now, my life consists of my "just add water and stir" family. But after the AMAZING weekend we just had, I think I'm pretty lucky to have my "instant" family. Even if it is different than what I had imagined...

Wait!! My WHOLE LIFE is different than I imagined...and that's a pretty GREAT thing...

Sigh.

Meet "J"

I'm scared as I sit here in my bed writing this post. I've never been so scared to post anything here. It's ironic, huh? Of all the things I've said here, shared here - this is what scares me. The reason what I'm about to write scares me is because there's always a chance in life something won't work out. Won't be happily every after. If that happens - if I wake up one morning to find myself alone and heartbroken, I'll always have this post. These words. These emotions. This reminder. That's a chance I take every time I write. That these words will live on forever and inevitably so, too, will the emotions. But, since I'm too honest - and too much of an optimist - I'm going to take that chance. I'm going to share these words - these feelings - despite the risk.

I realized the other day that most people who read this blog know me well. My thoughts, fears, weaknesses and strengths. You know my laugh and my tears. But, despite the numerous posts that revolve around him, most don't really know "J". And, since he's so quickly become such an important part of my existence, I thought it only made sense to properly introduce him.

The first time I met him, it was his passion. His laugh. His smile. His blue eyes. He listened to me. Wanted to know me. Really know me. As I got to know him, I quickly saw how much he loves his family. With everything he has. Despite the pain and imperfection. They are part of him, and that's all he needs to know. Seeing them altogether is like nothing I've ever seen before. The love. The respect. It's something I long to achieve with my own family - both living and yet to be born. The first time I met "Little J", I saw a deep love I'd only known from my own parents. She feels safe with him. He is so proud of her. It's a mutual respect so precious. He trusted me from the very first moment we met with the most precious thing he will ever know. Maybe he saw the way I fell in love with her within 5 minutes. Maybe he didn't know what else to do.

He still listens to me. He can read my mind and know what I'm thinking before I say it. He loves my family. Despite the pain and imperfection. He has helped me see things in them I forgot existed. Goodness and strength and love that were hidden by pain. If for nothing else, I am grateful for that. He wants to protect me from pain and will go to whatever lengths it takes to prevent me from feeling any of it. I swear if he could he would take it all for me.

He makes me laugh. He tells terrible jokes. At inappropriate times. And I crack up. He makes himself crack up. Which makes me laugh that much harder. He still surprises himself every time he realizes he's funny. He recently started to snort when he laughs. My boyfriend snorts. Sigh. He's not afraid to sing out loud. He even likes when I sing (to clarify, quietly to myself). He makes me face my fears. I both hate him and love him for that.

He makes me dinner. With music and candlelight. He lets me steal the covers and bury my bum into his body. Without complaining.

He loves my friends. He's interested in their stories. Their kids. Their dates. Their beliefs. He wants to know them. And me through them. He wants to spend time with them and never complains about the countless stories of "yesterday" we tell. He doesn't know the names, places, emotions - but knows it is important to me. So he humors me. And I love him for that.

He's my very best friend. He calms me when I am out of control. And makes me smile when I'm sad. And holds me when I'm feeling hopeless. Or just for no reason at all.

Right now I'm sitting in our bed as he's watching sports downstairs. You can't pull him away from his sports - no matter what the emergency. I even love that.

I'm going to drift off to sleep now. I feel better knowing the people I care most about will have at least a snapshot of this man that has changed my life forever. Who knew that less than a year ago he was just waiting for me to move in across the street?? I like to think that even if we did, neither of us would have done anything different.

Building a future on the past

We moved into the new place on Tuesday, March 31st. By Friday we had guests. "J's" dad was on the same continent for work so he wanted to "swing" by and see the new place. We also had "Little J" for the first time in the new house. We spent Thursday night organizing her room so it was perfect when she got there. I only wish I could have seen her face when she saw it for the first time.

"J" had to leave for work on Saturday, so I agreed to stay with "Little J" and host her mom and baby sister for a few hours. I know it might sound weird to people outside the situation, but I like "N". She's a great mom and a good person. But, I think I also like her because she's never posed any threat to me. There is no history. No relationship. Nothing for the imagination except one night - and even when I TRY, I can't get that to bother me.

However, something about this particular visit just didn't sit right...

I ordered a pizza as soon as she got there, knowing I couldn't spend the entire afternoon visiting because I had a limited amount of time to spend on unpacking the seemingly endless number of boxes we had between the 2 of us. Bathrooms needed to be cleaned. Laundry done. Pictures hung. I sat on the couch in a puddle of my own anxiety as she spoke at me, wishing I could be alone in this mess so I could get lost in it. I wanted to be alone in MY new house to enjoy the things I hadn't seen in years. MY things.

The conversation was strange, to say the least. We talked about "Little J". We talked about "J". We talked about our first marriages. Photo albums. Letting go. Then we started talking about "J's" ex-girlfriend. This particular ex-girlfriend, "L" decided to end the relationship after 4 years because they wanted different things. He wanted a family. She didn't. "Little J" is still in pain, wondering what happened. Wondering why "L" suddenly disappeared. She brings this up with her mom, but is scared to bring it up with "J", worried she'll make him mad, or me upset. That is an insane burden for a 5-year old to bear, isn't it?

"N" continues by telling me that she recently told "J" when "L" left him, she didn't leave him because she fell out of love with him, but because she knew it wasn't fair to continue in the same direction when they both needed to ultimately go separate ways. I listened. I engaged in the conversation. I felt...out of control. Alone. Like a stranger.

I was sitting on OUR couch in OUR house, and this woman was telling ME about my boyfriend's past. About a time I didn't exist. I'm new. "L" is old. She experienced things I will never know. "Little J's" birth. Her first words. Seeing "J's" face as she took her first steps. And, she's still in love with him. I felt like an intruder. In his past. In his life. In "Little J's" life. I felt the painful pull of "L's" longing for it to be different. I felt the pain she must have experienced when she read about me. The look in her eyes as she saw the man she used to call hers. That I now call mine. How must he have felt when he heard "N" say those words: she's still in love with you?

After several hours, "N" left and I got busy cleaning. I didn't think much about the conversation that took place here. I knew I felt weird. For a moment I looked around and didn't recognize anything around me. They were someone else's memories. Someone else's life. Mine is in boxes. My memories are scattered along the many miles I've traveled over the past 2 years. And lining the walls of places from which I have run.

"J" called me that night to talk about what happened after we exchanged several text messages. He got angry. I cried. I didn't even know I was upset. The tears just started to fall. I wanted to stop talking about the past. Talking about a time I didn't exist here. He wants to protect me. From his past. From the pain. From the baggage he brings. The thing is, I bring baggage, too. Mine is just hidden. And silent. Mine doesn't come into his house and tell him about my life before him. I love him for caring so much about me to want to save me. And, just as the realization is setting in that this "baggage" is here to stay, I no longer seem to care. All that matters is what we have - and what we're building. Just because I'm not a part of his yesterday, doesn't mean I won't be a part of his tomorrow. (I like to think a very important part, at that).

My next challenge is setting my own boundaries and keeping to them. I need to be aware of my feelings, and give them a voice. I need to tell "N" when I'm not comfortable with where a conversation is headed. "J" wants to protect me so it will never come to this. But I love "Little J" and him too much to shy away. Loving "J" means embracing this situation. ALL of it. And, if that means faking "comfortable" in the midst of conversations about the past, then so be it. After all, it's MY future that's among these walls that have been built on the past.