Archive for the 'Essays' Category

Missing Mom on Mother’s Day

Published May 7, 2013 Creative Families , Creative Parenting , Creative Writing , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Holidays , Kids 5 Comments
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Mother’s Day is a great thing if you are a mom or if you have a mom. But if your mom is not in your life for any reason, Mother’s Day can be…tough. As Mother’s Day approaches, I think of my adoptive mother, who raised me until she died from pancreatic cancer when I was 24 and she was only 62. I’ve officially witnessed 20 Mother’s Days without her. I don’t remember the sound of her voice anymore. I don’t remember what perfume she wore or what she wanted to be when she grew up.

But I remember that she made me baths when I was sick or felt sad. I remember she never owned a pair of jeans and wore a size 8 wide shoe. I remember that she always told me I could go to college – when no one else in our family, including her, ever did. I remember that she made maroon and white pom-poms for my cheerleading team to put on our shoes for competitions in grade school. I remember that she was the kind of person who lit candles for special events and believed that homemade chicken noodle soup could cure anything. I remember that she wanted me to be a flight attendant and get married and have ‘something to fall back on’ in case the whole marriage thing (which I couldn’t do soon enough) didn’t work out. I remember that she was sad a lot. And I wanted so badly to make her happy. I tried all the time. And then she died.

my babies

my babies

She never got to live the life she really wanted – I’m not sure she really knew what that was until it was too late. She never met my children. She never saw me finish graduate school. She never got to know me when I got my head out of my butt and stopped being a stupid teenager. But I think of her every day and try to make my life count twice – once for me, and once for her. I owe her that.

I also think of my birth mom, who I was lucky enough to meet and get to know for two years. I wish her life had been easier. I wish her life had been better because she gave me up for adoption, which was a great choice since I am here to write this blog. :) But she struggled, too. I think of both of my mothers’ struggles,their lives, their hopes and dreams – and I feel very lucky to be here. My birth mom shared with me that she considered aborting me, among other options. But here I am today – a mom myself to a 13-year-old boy and a 11-year-old girl. I feel grateful to be here every day. I can’t tell you enough what a gift it is to be alive. But you’re here – you’re reading this. You know. Right?!

And I will tell you a secret, too: I was terrified to be a mother. I never thought about kids or getting married when I was growing up. I never thought I would be a ‘good mom.’ I’m still not sure that I am. :) None of us has a roadmap; kids don’t come with instructions. All we can do is what the poet Maya Angelou said: “When you know better, you do better.” She also said this:

“I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

I will tell you this: I make my husband do the Christmas lights. I cried the first time United lost my luggage (after I’d gotten stuck in Germany on a work trip and missed my 18th wedding anniversary last year); but lord knows I absolutely love a rainy day. I even have a rainy day playlist! I hope my mom understands that I never wanted to make a living and have something to fall back on – I wanted to make a life. I knew it when I was 5 years old and I know it now. I feel it in my bones. I hope I can give that to my children too and help them make a life. It’s what I live for.

I really try every day to do better. Some days I do better than others. I am trying to show my children what it means to be strong. To live. To be grateful. I am trying. The greatest gift I have received from being a mother? Understanding the gift of forgiveness and patience. We are all doing the best we can with what we have at any given moment. I always tell my kids – you never know what someone is dealing with ‘behind the scenes.’ We are all human. We are all good people who sometimes do bad things. This is life. And we are all in it together.

This is what I tell my children because it is what I know, what I believe in my heart to be true. I am a mother. This is what we do. We try. We love, despite. We never give up. We are tough. We believe in our children and want them to have better than we did. But mostly, we never, ever, ever give up.

To all your moms out there – xoxo. Be good to yourself, ladies. You deserve it.

 

What to do when the holiday blues strike

Published November 20, 2012 Creative Life , Essays , Fun , Holidays , Social Commentary Leave a Comment
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A crisp “blue” day in Bray, Ireland – January 2012

I am normally a happy, energetic, bubbly person. But every year before Thanksgiving, I am struck by the ‘holiday blues.’ It usually passes quickly, but it comes on so suddenly and unexpectedly that I am often taken aback – even though it happens every year. There is so much pressure to ‘enjoy’ the holidays that it’s hard to feel anything less than 100% Grade A Happy. It almost feels sacrilegious, doesn’t it? (By the way, I lost representing the state of Indiana in 1982 for misspelling that word in seventh grade – and I was in Catholic school! Freudian slip? We’ll never know. :) ) Add to this all the stories you may hear from family, friends or colleagues who regale you with tales of family traditions, dinner plans and fun activities, and you can see where a little blue might seep in. :)

So I thought I would share 5 tips for dealing with the pressure of the holidays when you’re  not quite feeling it – for whatever reason life throws at you.

1. Listen to music. Find the right music to fit your mood and just go sit alone somewhere and lose yourself for 10-15 minutes.

2. Give yourself permission to cry. I am not a fan of crying, ok? But when you miss people who are no longer here or the way things used to be, sometimes a good cry is just what you need to flush some of the sadness out.

3. Create your own traditions. Last year we ran a charity 5K as a family. This year we’re going to a movie on Thanksgiving night. We vote as a family what we’ll do since we are often on our own, just the four of us. It’s good to remember the past, but it’s also good to create new traditions and memories for the future. Remind yourself of all the good in your life – good people, good things going on, and how you could always have it worse (as my mother used to say every time I attempted to complain about something). While you can’t go back in time, you can move forward – and look at this holiday season as an opportunity to make the holidays what you want them to be – and laugh at the chumps who have to cook for 500 people or visit 17 houses in 3 hours.

4. Don’t shop. Sorry, I am SO not a shopper. So Black Friday, Cyber Monday and coupons do nothing for me. I am more like a guy: i need a skirt, I go to a store, get the skirt, leave. Meandering around malls, even while searching for gifts for others, gives me hives, but it’s MUCH worse when there are 20 million people doing the exact same thing. Instead, think about something that makes you happy – something you love to do. Do that. Don’t shop.

5. Don’t work. There is a tendency to try to catch up on everything while you have a few days off. Don’t. Do the bare minimum. Okay, well, do  laundry so everyone has clean underwear because that’s the consequences are nasty. Watch stupid reality TV shows you never have the time or inclination for. Catch up on reading. If all else fails, you can always do what I tell my kids we will do on open weekends: “A whole lot of nothing.” It is always a big hit at our house. :)

I hope this helps you, because it helps me. What are your strategies for coping with the holiday blues? Please share! Thinking of you and wishing you peace during this overly commercialized, highly processed and perfectly packaged time of year.

feeling lost? think back to when you were 9

Published September 5, 2012 Creative Life , Creative Writing , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Social Commentary , Work Life 1 Comment
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When I was nine years old, I thought about what I wanted to be when I grew up. After exploring options like veterinarian, teacher and librarian, I finally settled on one thought: I want to write things that make people think.

Flash forward…a lot of years. I am now helping really smart people build compelling stories about very complex products. A big part of my job involves being a good listener. I listen to engineers talk about the fantastic, creative products they have dreamt up, designed and built, then created with the help of a team of other really smart people. I extract what I know will make a great story and help them build it with the tools and techniques I have honed through…a lot of years of studying the works of great writers and building stories for many companies.

There is nothing more satisfying to me than helping someone tell their story – whether it is a biography, a product messaging platform focused on the customer’s needs, or a white paper on the benefits of 40G or Class 4 antennas. Recently, I helped a team hone the strategic message for a new product launch. The product is cool, innovative and complex. At the end of a two-day messaging session with a team of eight, the leader of the team delivered a pitch based on the foundation we had just built that was clear, concise, and truly compelling. It truly confirmed that I am doing exactly what I set out to do: write things that make people think.

But it’s more than that – it’s about making people look at the way the way they tell their stories – about their products, about themselves – in a way that moves people. We are so jaded as a society, authenticity is the only way to be heard, to make an impact, whether it’s to become more authentic as a creative professional or to tell a more compelling brand story, find a way into the plot or the painting or any other creative expression. It is about watching people become more open and comfortable telling their story in a way that matters. I help people give words to their story so their voice will be heard through the clutter of blogs, social media, reality TV shows and 20 million channels of clutter. My work is about helping others give voice to ideas, to technology, to new ways of thinking. I am always honored to be a witness and participant in this process.

At nine years old, I didn’t know what my vision would look like…many years later. :) But I feel blessed to know that I had a vision. And that I am able to use it every day.

If you are feeling lost, think about your vision of your life when you were nine years old. What did you want to do? What did you hope for? You may be surprised to find that you are already doing it. If not, ask yourself why. Then go for it.

the power of doing nothing

Published August 22, 2012 Creative Families , Creative Life , Creative Parenting , Creative Writing , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Work Life 4 Comments
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As a creative professional, I’m constantly faced with new challenges and decisions: what’s the best way to tell this brand story? What will resonate most with the audience? What will make them laugh, cry, comment on Facebook or order the product I am helping to market? What’s the best way to get all the different people on the project engaged and aligned? But the toughest challenge by far for any project I work on is this: where do I start?

This is where the power of doing nothing is absolutely critical. Everyone has a process that they use to get things done. I’m no exception. Doing nothing is a big part of my process, especially when I am faced with what seems to be an overwhelming task. I find that this has been helpful in even in my regular life. When I am most overwhelmed and uncertain where to begin, I start by doing…nothing.

I sit in my screened-in porch. I take in the swaying oak trees taller and older than I will ever be. I let the whoosh of the wind in the leaves wash over me. I watch the flash of the red cardinal darting in and out of the bushes. I listen for squirrels’ feet padding along the top of my neighbor’s falling-down wooden fence in desperate need of paint, then watch them chase each other in circles around my yard and up a tree. I watch my dopey 110-pound dog try to catch them, climbing damn near two feet up the tree with her huge claws dug into the bark as she strains every muscle in her neck to reach the squirrel chattering, taunting her from a branch one dog nostril out of her reach. I listen to music that moves me and baptizes my brain of everything but the rhythm and the pattern of the harmonies. As the lyrics wash over me, I feel the worry and the fear – Will I be able to do this? Will I find the right words? Will I ever find my way in to this story? Maybe I don’t have it anymore. Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe this is too much. Maybe I should give up. – all of that recedes as my brain powers down, forgets, feels, senses its way to…

…the answer I have been toiling to reach for hours or days to reach. It is murky and mysterious at first, I can’t make out what it is. So I make a grilled cheese sandwich, go sit down in the family room and stare out the bay window at the trees trying to see it until I smell something burning and remember I was making a grilled cheese sandwich. I toss it in the trash and walk the dopey dog around the pond. As I watch the ducks take flight from the water, tiny droplets falling from their webbed feet as they rise into the air in perfect unison, I feel the idea growing in me as sure as I felt my first-born flutter in my belly for the first time as I sat in a poetry reading 12 years ago. (He was stirred by the words, of this I am certain.) The idea is there. But it’s not ready yet. I’m not ready yet.

At six o’clock I make dinner and as I stir a pot of rice, my idea simmers as I wait for the water to boil. I sit at the dinner table and listen to tales of best friend sacrileges, Minecraft dramas, and remind everyone to keep their elbows off the table and put their napkins in their laps. I make sure homework is done, permission slips are signed, teeth are brushed, allergy medicine is consumed, and everyone is tucked in happy with all technology devices powered off and out of reach.

At midnight when the house is quiet and dark and no one needs me anymore, I drive to the grocery store and buy a case of Stella for me and a carton of Oreo Cookie Ice Cream for the kids and as I’m paying, the old, bored cashier with her spiky hairdo and bubblegum-pink lipstick and more gold bracelets than any human should be allowed to wear at one time surveys me in my sweats, t-shirt and converse sneakers with my beer and ice cream purchase and I know what she is thinking. This girl has just been dumped by the love of her life and is now off to drown and eat her sorrows away. I grin and shrug my shoulders in a sheepish “sorry no, these are my writing clothes” kind of way that writers learn to master over the years. And as I swipe my credit card – then dutifully swipe it again because I did it upside down the first time, the flicker of the idea flaps its tiny wings, becoming more clear, more recognizable as it slowly takes shape and floats to the surface, creating ripples of recognition.

I am ready to start. Ready to write. Ready to tackle that overwhelming challenge. I have found my way in.

I once attended a reading by David Sedaris, humorist, essayist, NPR speaker and one of my favorite authors (“Me Talk Pretty One Day,” among others). Afterwards, my friend and I waited in line for him to sign our books. After he scribbled a lewd drawing on my friend’s book for her twelve-year-old son and made a wisecrack I can’t repeat, I handed him my book and asked him what the toughest part was about writing funny. He told me about having to write a Thanksgiving dinner story for the New Yorker and how many times and ways he tried to start it. People behind me were impatient and muttering, but he took his time telling his story. I hung on every word. Finally he said, “The hardest part? Finding my way in.”

Next time you are feeling overwhelmed, unsure of where to start, try doing nothing. I hope you find your way in. Let me know how it goes.

Is technology driving us apart – or closer together?

Published May 10, 2012 Creative Life , Creative Parenting , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Marketing , Social Commentary 1 Comment
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I recently attended The Art of Marketing conference in Chicago featuring Seth Godin and the question was posed to the audience: how many of you feel like technology is isolating us as a society? I did not raise my hand. I looked around and was shocked to see the majority of hands up. Now, I’ve seen this question posed in forums like TED, NPR and other thoughtful, intellectual places. But I hadn’t really formed an opinion. Until now.

I think technology is driving the need for people to come together more urgently than ever before. Children are on Facebook and Twitter doing what one expert described as “self revealing before self reflecting.” Technology changes are eliminating some jobs yet creating new ones. Our economy has been turned inside out and upside down. The business climate changes faster than Chicago weather in two hours. The changes driven by technology are happening so fast, we don’t have time to process it, let alone buy the next generation device.

As a marketing professional, I’m excited. So many new opportunities! So many new ways to communicate and share! So many new things to learn and master! As a wife, mother and regular person who regularly forgets to water her plants, yells at my kids when they get on my last remaining nerve, and can never seem to remember where I last placed my coffee or my glasses, it terrifies me.

That’s why I feel the basics of connection are more important than ever before. Saying good morning, please and thank you. Taking time before a meeting for personal chat before diving into the project at hand. Making time to meet for coffee. Asking someone, “How are you?” and meaning it – then listening thoughtfully to the answer. Picking up the phone and calling instead of emailing or texting (once in a while, anyway – I’m not really a phone talker). Sitting down for dinner with the kids with the TV off, cell phones/iPads/iPods/laptops put away, and taking turns asking how everyone’s day was. We ask questions and listen to the answers: what’s something good that happened? Bad? Sad? What is something new you learned today? What surprised you?

One of my proudest moments as a parent was when my then 11-year-old son came home from school and said he had good news to share. “What is it?” I asked excitedly. He smiled secretively and said, “I’ll save it to share at dinner.” This from a kid who believes MineCraft is a metaphor for life. :)

I think that technology is a reminder that as much as things change – or no matter how fast – we can get through it if we stick together. And remember that no technology can ever replace the basic need we all have: to connect. To share. To belong. To know our place in the big, bad, technologically savvy world. And to know that at the end of any day, someone will be sitting at the table waiting to hear about your day.

Back to the Art of Marketing conference, the first speaker: Keith Ferrazzi, best-selling author and thought leader, who spoke about relationship marketing. Technology might enable relationships. But people sustain them.

What do you think? Is technology driving us apart or driving us closer together?

Why are girls so mean?!

Published April 19, 2012 Creative Families , Creative Life , Creativity Coaching , Essays , Kids , Social Commentary 7 Comments
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Tonight I comforted my 1o-year-old daughter – again – about her break-up with her best friend. It wasn’t her idea. So while she is struggling to understand why her best friend no longer wants to be her best friend, her former best friend has moved on and is doing just fine with her new best friend. And it is getting uglier every day. I hug her as she sobs and describes in painstaking detail about the latest transgression with the ‘new best friend.’ And I feel completely, utterly at a loss to explain to her what is happening and why.

My daughter is on the far right. This is not the best friend she broke up with. It is someone she met once, one hour earlier...at an age before girls start turning on each other.

How do you explain to her that girls – all people – can be mean? Really really mean? That they don’t care that you go home at night and cry your heart out after holding in your feelings all day long? I’m not a psychologist. I’m just a mom. I’ve seen the movie “Mean Girls” and heard about the book “Queen Bees and Wannabees.” But sitting there on my daughter’s bed, seeing her lip quivering as she tried to hold back the tears, I could remember nothing from either the movie or the book in that moment.

It used to be so easy when she was younger. There was some drama, but now in fourth grade, it seems to have reached a new level. My first reaction is to comfort her and tell her I’m sorry she is having to go through this. I hug her. I listen to the stories. I empathize. I rack my brain to come up with something, anything, to tell her that will help. But I can’t fix it. I’m no expert on behavior. All I can do is tell her what I know to be true.

1. You don’t need 527 friends. Just one or two real ones. This is a tough one to explain when you are not the popular girl. My daughter has already been bullied in school and via text, though. She knows what it’s like every day to not be the popular girl – and what it’s like when the popular girl suddenly drops you. It’s a bitter, painful lesson and I hate to see her learn it. But I know she must. It’s part of growing up, made so much more complicated in our 24/7, always-on world full of technological ways to be bullied and reminded that you are on the outside looking in.

2. Own your part. I remind my girl of how she behaved badly at times when she was the best friend of the popular girl. She cries a little more, but I don’t let up on her. I remind her that others felt then just as badly as she feels now. Remember this, I tell her. Now that you know how it feels, you must be sure that you never, ever make anyone else feel the way you do right now. She nods. I know that I will need to remind her of this again. But I can see the seed is planted.

3. Be yourself. It’s hard to explain to a child that in a world where conformity is the norm, that it’s best to be your true self. When you do, you will make friends who see you for who you truly are and appreciate and love you for who you really are – warts, goofy humor, big feet and all. It may not happen tomorrow. It may not make you the most popular girl in school now. But you will have better, deeper friendships. You will be happier with who you are because you are not looking for someone else’s stamp of approval. You are the only one who give yourself that.

But my daughter is still learning who she is. She knows, but I think in weak moments like this, she forgets. So I remind her. I tell my daughter all that I know to be true about her: she is smart, creative, artistic, musical, funny, and sweet. I tell her she is an original and has a spark that lights her up inside. She listens to this very carefully. She desperately needs to hear this, to have herself mirrored back to her because right now she has lost sight of who she is. And at 10, she doesn’t know yet who she is, and the road before her to figure that out is long and hard. I want to make sure I give her the right tools for the journey.

4. You can’t control others, only how you react to them. I have to remind myself of this all the time, I tell her. You can drive yourself crazy trying to make someone like you or wishing they would change or treat you better or that things would go back to the way they were. But it is a waste of energy because you can’t change someone else. Never. Ever. So focus on what you can control and change: yourself.

5. Your feelings are perfectly normal. But it’s what you do with them that matters. I pull out the book I am reading, Emotional Intelligence 2.0, and show her a picture of the brain that shows how feelings enter the limbic part of the brain first, where emotions are experienced. The picture shows that beyond that part of the brain is the rational center of the brain. Some people get stuck in the emotional part of the brain and don’t connect to the rational part, so that they can understand and analyze the feelings to try to make sense of them. Not all kids are into this kind of thing, but my daughter loves to see the science and order behind the chaos. She asks to see the book and studies the picture. And you know what? It calmed her. It made sense to her. She needed that because feelings don’t always make sense and they can be big and scary.

In the end, I turn to my words because as a writer, it is all I have. I ask my daughter: what is the center of the universe? And she says, the sun. And I ask her: who is the sun of your universe? She looks down at her stuffed bear. I tell her that right now, she is making her ex-friend the center of her universe. I tell her that she needs to be the center of her own universe. She looks up at me, hopeful, and I can see that she gets it.

I don’t tell her that someday she may have a child who will become the new center of her universe. There is time for that later. For now, tonight, she needs to know that making anyone else the center of your universe – whether it’s a best friend, a spouse, the popular girl in school – will throw your entire universe off balance. And you will cry yourself to sleep every night.

Be the center of your own universe, I tell my daughter. You are smart. You are funny. You are sweet. You are musical and artistic. You are an original. You are creative. You are loving. You are loved.

I only hope my words did not fail me tonight.

What’s so great about being in your 40′s

Published December 1, 2011 Creative Life , Essays , Social Commentary 1 Comment
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I was talking with a good friend (are there any other kind?) the other day, and we were discussing work and the various challenges we were facing. And he said, “You’re in your 40′s, you’re supposed to be challenged.” I laughed, but later, that comment stuck with me. Most of the articles I read about being in your 40′s are related to the crappy stuff: what you can’t wear anymore, things you can’t do anymore because you’re of  ’a certain age’ now, exercising for your age, blah blah blah.

How come no one talks about the good stuff that can happen once you cross over to the land of 40? Here are five positive things I’ve noticed kicked in this decade:

1. Lower bullshit tolerance. I’ve found that the older I get, the less bullshit I am willing to tolerate. Toxic people, bad behavior, activities I participated in for other people not myself…I don’t have time or patience for it anymore. Maybe it’s because you realize in your 40′s that half your life is behind you and you never know how much more is in front of you, so why waste it on people or things you don’t like?

2. Higher empathy quotient. I’ve always been an overachiever, and in expecting a lot from myself, I think I expected too much from others, too. Maybe it’s because I’m a mom and I see how this approach doesn’t work with kids. Maybe it’s because I have a child who has ADHD and I see him struggle to overcome his challenges. Maybe it’s watching my dad struggle a little more as he approaches 80 years old. Whatever it is, I’ve learned to slow down, listen when people talk and try to hear between the lines, and try to understand where they’re coming from. We’re all doing the best we can.

3. More patience. While my bullshit tolerance has gone down, I think I have gained a little more patience. I’ve never been good at that, but between juggling work, kids, and life, you drop a few balls sometimes…so you have to learn to roll with the punches. I’ve forgotten picture day at school, shown up at meetings with Cheerios in my hair (from the babies, not me!), and once went to an event with a lollipop stuck to the back of my skirt (thanks kids for leaving that on my front seat for me!) It makes me much more understanding when things don’t go as planned.

4. More inward focus, less outward. I don’t know about you, but the older I get, the more I find myself seeking out things that will make me more balanced on the inside. Finding more meaning in my creative work, forging deeper connections with people I care about, letting go of the past so I can see what’s in front of me…all of these things matter more to me today than they ever did before.

5. More incentive to stay strong. Let’s face it, after 40+ years on the planet, you’ve experienced everything from the death of loved ones to job loss to money woes, illness, kid drama and everything in between. It can make you feel 100 years old — if you let it. And it’s hard to watch older relatives struggle with illness and age-related issues. If you’ve ever seen what cancer or Alzheimer’s can do to someone you love, you know what I mean. It inspires me to eat healthier, work out more and try to take better care of myself so that I can stay strong for the long haul.

So maybe I am wearing all the wrong things for my age, but I’m still learning, I’m still challenging myself, and I’m doing the best I can. What do you say? What’s great about your 40′s? Or was there another decade that was even better for you?

Celebrating Mother’s Day when Mom’s not there

Published May 6, 2011 Creative Families , Creative Life , Essays , Holidays 2 Comments
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We all know what moms are supposed to be: patient, kind and loving. They are supposed to know how to sing lullabies and kiss boo-boo’s. They are supposed to cook and clean and decorate cupcakes like it’s nobody’s business. They are supposed to work hard at home and at work and be good friends, good daughters, good sisters and aunts. But most importantly?

They are supposed to be there.

Moms should be there when it counts: at our sporting events and school plays. For our first kiss, first job, first marriage. Moms should be there when you become a mom and join the ‘hood. They should be there for every baby thereafter. Moms should be there forever.

But what happens when they’re not? What do you do when they leave or get sick or die? What do you do when they are there but disconnected, in a “lights are on but nobody’s there” way? What do you do when they are there but you wish they weren’t? And then Mother’s Day comes along, with its high expectations for a Norman Rockwell (or should I say Normal Rockwell) day?

My mom died on March 18, 1994. It was six months before my wedding. By the time her cancer was diagnosed, it was too late, but we didn’t know it then, my sister, father and I. We didn’t have Google or WebMD then; hope was all we had. But that was a long time ago, right? I’m done with that, right? With two kids of my own now, Mother’s Day should be a snap. Right??

But what I am learning is that when there are all these things a mom is supposed to be, you are never “done” coming to terms with the loss of a parent. Your grief merely changes shape over time. My mom and I did not always see eye to eye. She died before I really came into my own as a person, so I like to think that we would have become friends. But I’ll never really know.

I am (mostly) OK with this. I don’t cry anymore on Mother’s Day. I don’t choke up anymore when I see a mother and daughter walking in the mall who look so alike there is no doubt they are mother/daughter. But  seeing my older sister being a grandparent to her grandchildren, I feel the sadness and loss of what my children will never experience. When my elderly neighbors invite their adult children and the grandchildren over for Sunday dinner, there is something about the sight of the grey-haired couple standing on their porch stoop, waving goodbye as everyone backs out of the driveway…it’s the sting of what will never be.

I know what a mom is supposed to be. But here’s what my mom really was: she insisted on family dinners every Sunday. She wore her hair in a beehive long after it ceased being fashionable (it was once, right?). She never got her hair wet in the pool and she could sew a pantsuit like it was nobody’s business. She made the best homemade chicken noodle soup. She loved McDonald’s but maybe Long John Silver’s a little more. She read People magazine and The Star and Enquirer. She loved Elizabeth Taylor. She told me I could go to college someday, even though no one else in our family, herself included, had ever gone.

When she died, I didn’t know how to be a wife or mother. She was a buffer between being a kid and a grown-up and when she died, it was like the earth cracked open and I lost everything, myself included. But here’s the thing: I got stronger, too.

I learned how to decorate a house and order window treatments. I never learned how to sew but I did learn that a tailor and a dry cleaner work even better. I learned how to cook for 20 and make pie crusts from scratch. I learned that life is short and tomorrow doesn’t always come, so I finished my grad school application and got that MFA I’d been thinking about. I learned that if I wanted something, I was going to have to get it for myself. And while I missed Mom’s stamp of approval on my life, there is something liberating about charting your own course, free of someone else’s idea of what it should look like. My life felt more real because I had more at stake and no one to blame but me if I failed.

I remember after one particularly bitter fight when I was about 12, my mom gave me a long look and said, “You’re going to write about this some day, aren’t you?” I gave her my best eye roll and a snotty ‘tween look, but deep down, we both knew she was right. Dammit.

Miss you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

The greatest Valentine’s Day gift: make fun of someone you love today

Published February 14, 2011 Creative Life , Essays , Fun , Social Commentary 3 Comments
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So my husband and I were having a…discussion the other day about my apparent need to tease him. Now, I don’t go out of my way to mock him. I don’t get sarcastically mean or tear him down in front of other people, nothing like that. But I do like to point out his…idiosyncracies.

For example, Hubby despises mayonnaise. He tells everyone he’s allergic to it. (We all know this is not possible.) He also despises when I defrost frozen meat in the microwave and then cook it. (He claims he can taste the difference.) These are little things, but they are the little wacky things that make him…my Hubby and not someone else’s. I am endeared by his charming quirks.

That’s exactly why I joke around with him about it. I notice these things because I love him. And how do I show affection to people I love? I make fun of then. Or rather, I make fun WITH them. It’s a long, storied family tradition. Joking around and affectionate teasing go all the way back to my grandmother on my father’s side. One of my relative’s on that side is a professional clown, for God’s sake.

Whenever I get together with my family, we all joke around, teasing each other, making fun of ourselves (we can dish it AND take it), but mostly, laughing. A lot. Of course, like a lot of people, we’ve had struggles: cancer, unemployment, marital distress, financial trouble. But we as a family have always used humor to keep us on track. To keep us sane. To make life fun no matter how dark the world may be. That’s when we all need a little lightness.

Last night, as my husband fended me off from joking about his hunt-and-peck method of typing, I told him the truth: I love you, therefore I tease you. I only reserve my joking and kidding for people I really, really care about. If I didn’t love him, I explain, I would never laugh at him OR with him. But mostly, I am trying to create that connection with him that is ingrained in me from The Family Way: when you love someone, you laugh with them. Sometimes at them, but mostly with them. :)

So this Valentine’s Day–Hallmark holiday that it is–make laughter with someone you love today.

 

Money, blue collar roots and butt steak: lessons my father taught me

Published January 12, 2011 Essays , Social Commentary 4 Comments
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I took my father out for dinner this weekend for his birthday. He is 79 and I can write about him here because he would think I said “frog” not “blog” and then I would spend 20 minutes trying to explain to him what a blog was. My dad is a steel mill guy. He has never used a computer. His hands are now so arthritic and knobby that it’s hard for him to use his cell phone. I can’t leave him voice mails because he doesn’t know how to check his voice mail and I’ve given up trying to explain it. Needless to say, he won’t be checking my blog anytime soon.

It was an old-school steak restaurant in Northwest Indiana, close to his house, that still has a coat room and serves $30 steaks and iceberg lettuce salads. It used to be one his favorite restaurants to bring my mom. There were still Christmas lights on the plants. My husband and I, at 41, were the youngest couple in the place.

My son sat across the table looking pissy as I tried to get him to pick something off the menu, my daughter is babbling about her science fair project, my husband is ordering a kiddie cocktail (for himself) and appetizers, while all I know is that the restaurant has salmon, because my dad keeps asking me every 30 seconds what I’m going to order, which means I can never get past the first entrée on the menu.

So I tell my dad to order anything he wants. New York Strip, filet mignon, appetizers. I know his budget is tight, so he doesn’t come to this restaurant much anymore.

“It’s your birthday!” I say. “It’s my treat! Splurge!”

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He looks very handsome in a spiffy sweater with a shirt and tie underneath. He picks up the menu and he peers at it through his bifocals. His hands shake a little.

The waitress appears.

“What will you have?” she says.

He orders the butt steak, one of the toughest and cheapest cuts of meat on the menu. Some things never change.

“Dad!” I plead. “Come on, don’t you want a nicer cut of meat? What about a filet?”

“That’s $30, Chris,” he says and waves me away. “I like butt streak.”

“Right,” I say.

“I do!” he insists. “It’s the cow’s butt!”

Then he lets loose a big whooping laugh and punches me in the shoulder.

After dinner, my dad thanked me profusely, saying the butt steak was delicious. As we waited for the kids to put their coats on and stop bickering, he pointed at a photo on the wall of a 1950′s red Cadillac convertible. He whistled and said, “Look at that.” I asked him when was the last time he went ballroom dancing. He said, oh, not for a long time. Many of the bands and halls he used to frequent are no longer around. Now he spends most of his time at the nursing home, visiting his wife who has Alzheimer’s.

On the way home, I watched the cities and lights roll past in the dark. The day my father told me that I was making a higher salary than he ever had in 37 years working at the mill, I didn’t know what to say. We’d never talked much about money before, but as he gets older and his social security budget gets tighter, he’s asking more questions about how much things cost, what I spend on the nice salsa I bought for him, etc. My salary isn’t excessive by any means, and in this economy, I’m happy to be working.

Yet–being the first person in my working-class family to go to college, I am keenly aware of how different my life could have been. Seeing my dad now is a reminder of how quickly life can change, how quickly a job, money, friends, your whole way of life, can disappear. The only constant in life is change. It’s a reminder to live carefully and sometimes, order the butt instead of the filet.

Life has passed my father by. I have passed my father by. I know things, have experienced things, that he never will because he doesn’t have a college degree, he missed the technology boat completely, and is closer to the end of his life while I am more in the middle. That’s why I want my dad to enjoy a good steak, to splurge a little. He deserves it.

My husband said that’s the way it goes. Parents always want better for their kids than they had. I know he’s right. I am grateful to my parents for helping me get to this point in my life, for all the sacrifices they’ve made, which I am only now, at 41 and a parent of two, slowly coming to understand deeply and more clearly than ever before. I like to think that if my mother were here, she’d be happy to see what I’ve accomplished.

Now if I can just convince my dad that he doesn’t have to order butt steak next time around, then I’ll feel like I’ve really made it.

 

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