Do Something Selfish Today

     We've been into this for - what now- seven days?  How did it start for you?  Pacing? Nail biting? Stress eating? Micromanaging?  Panic Buying? Ordering a brand new Le Creuset butter dish in Marseille blue....ahem, for example?

     Then started all the giving, right? Lovely articles on the generosity of the human spirit and people and companies writing big checks and we wept, didn't we?  I mean...I'm not crying, YOU are!  These stories are such a balm on the fear and sadness to which we're exposed in the news and all the directives as to what we must do.  I'm saturated, are you?  I turned off the news and I stopped reading all the things.  I'm doing all the medically and scientifically necessitated things because I care about others.  But I just don't have the capacity to take in any more instructions nor exhortations to give big.  I'm triaging my heart and mind right now because I have to.

     Losing my husband Bharat a year ago brought me up against the reality of what matters and what really doesn't.  What I can hold and what I can't.  My children and my pets depend on me and if I don't take care of myself, I won't be able to take care of them.  I went through a period early on after he passed when I thought it was a good day if I accomplished three things:
Fold and put away one load of laundry.
Go online and pay the property taxes.
Take a shower.
And I knew I could only do X because X + 1 was going to break me and that couldn't happen. 

     Each morning I would ask myself : What can I do today?  Just today?  I've been reminded of how I felt then as we all struggle with our current situation.  So I won't be one more voice today telling you what to do or how to give.  I'll just ask you a question or two:
What do you need today?
Are you able to give today?

     The answer to the first question might be a hot bath, a quiet fifteen minute nap,  a cup of tea, making soup while you blast AC/DC, or a slice of apple pie. 
     The answer to the second question might be "no".  I think it's really important to not beat ourselves up for whatever the answer to that question is today. Or tomorrow. Or next week or whenever.  For me, one day I woke up and said, I'm ready. And I gotta be honest : giving even in the tiniest of ways right now, has felt incredibly selfish and yummy! Tutoring for free, paid time off for a couple people who help me out, and cooking clean, healthy meals for our family are all ways it seems as though I'm doing something over which I have control when many things feel out of control.  Honestly, I'm doing it for myself.  My brain is releasing all the serotonin and dopamine and oxytocin and endorphins!  And I'm telling people about it so maybe they'll be selfish too. If you do something selfish today, let me know and we can crow about it together!  If you weren't able to, be gentle with yourself because there are plenty of days ahead to try.

Missing: Part 1

As we're deep into the season of college admit letters, decisions, happiness, heartbreak, limbo, and letters of intent, I'm posting some ramblings from a couple years ago when Arjun was leaving home for his freshman year.  I didn't publish this then because I was too sad.  Twenty months in, I still feel sad from time to time, but I'm currently typing with a smile on my face.

You were always moving away from me - rolling, crawling, tottering, walking, running, running, running.  When you were small and your neck smelled like sour milk, your hands sticky with peanut butter, you'd grab my sleeve before you fell on the tile.  Righting yourself awkwardly, you'd stumble away, then look back at me - clapping and screeching madly.  Sometimes, you'd come careening back around, hair flopping wildly, drool flowing down your chin.

But now it seems that I can barely remember the coming back and all I see is the constant going away.  Please stop. Please stand still.  Let me look at you.  All these angles out of chubby flesh. How did we get here? I mean, how are we at this moment - in this moment - right now? As I hear the first notes of "Pomp and Circumstance", I panic and I pull down on the neckline of my top which is nowhere near my neck.  That feeling of ratcheting toward the first drop on a rollercoaster ride: it's coming, no way to stop it, can't get off, excited, terrified.  I turn to Bharat, grab his hand and whisper, "I'm not ready...." and I start to miss you even before you've actually left.  I flash to a memory of you running - actually to a picture Taara edited of you running - everything is sepia: trees, dirt, sky, and the only color is the yellow of your uniform in the desolate landscape of Montgomery Hill.

I'm absolutely bereft in my well-completed task of shepherding you to college.  Now we are walking away from you - up Durant, turning the corner into the parking garage- and there is a physical jolt in my chest when I hear your text tone.  I feel panicked/delighted/sad that we've gone 100 feet away from you and you're texting.  Bharat stops walking and gives me a quizzical look. My eyes well up and I let out a 'ha!' as I see you've sent an MP3 of the birthday song you composed for my 50th: "Happy Birthday, Amma" - and in that moment, I remember the pride I felt that day, hearing a line from Happy Birthday you'd cleverly woven into the end of the composition.

Two weeks later, when you live there more than you live here, I mournfully feel the shape of your loss as I blubber through several Indigo Girls songs (remembering your smile as you turned to me at the Mountain Winery concert last summer and we bellowed the chorus of "Closer to Fine" together) and marinate in the aching chord progressions of "Fleet of Hope" until I feel dehydrated.  Bharat makes room for my sadness. He listens, we talk our sad talk, he lets me be.

Thinking back I knew I'd seen it: the looks on parents' faces, the sighs, the tears...but I thought all that would be so temporary compared to the celebration of sending you off to college. No one told me....I mean, I guess I didn't quite get it.  Then a couple more weeks pass and the sadness starts to feel self-indulgent.  I start to get on my own nerves so I turn my attention to your Labor Day visit.  Taara and I debate whether I should bake banana or pumpkin bread, which soup I'll whip up, and if you'll want masala dosa. Then Labor Day, and you, come and go.  But this space you leave, each time you leave, feels less endless and undefined; still sad but less free-floating, less unmoored, less unhinged sadness.

By November it slowly occurs to me that you'll come and go and come and go.  In your absence, Taara and I fall into a new rhythm.  We watch Jane the Virgin and 13 Reasons Why processing each character and plot point languidly because we don't have to make your cross country meet or rush to cheer your 1600M. With this slower pace, some tautness leaks out of me and I begin to unclench my body and my heart. I stretch and reach out to feel the shape of your loss; the edges are less jagged, the structure more defined. Some days partially refill with my confidence and decreasing worry...until I turn the corner by your room and find a Nike running sock.  As I finger the L stitching, I smile remembering how you had to wear two L's or two R's on race day(never the L & R together) and I'm thrown off, thrown back a bit.  But then the phone rings.  It's you.

Let's Be Mindful

Some of us are enjoying a leisurely summer and others of us are dashing around and traveling.  But I just wanted to say, let's please remember how much we are needed by others at this time.  In the midst of reunions and weddings, recent graduations and vacations, let's hold those who are suffering in our hearts.

Baltimore

The Midwest

Charleston

Nepal

All the people who've lost churches to arson

Please consider donating your time or money to a cause.  Though the circumstances are sad, through giving, we can show our children how to give.  This giving will look different for everyone, vary from family to family.  But I'm encouraging us to take a minute during a prayer before dinner, have a conversation before bed, to acknowledge our gifts and how we might share them with those who have needs.  Practicing love and compassion is the core of our humanity.

Is it Darfur?

"Look.  Do you see that spot?  Right there?"  I squint and concentrate on an infinitesimally tiny dot near the bridge of Taara's nose.  

"Um…." I look at her, lean my head to one side, and cock an eyebrow.

"Amma!  Darfur….?"  she asks dispiritedly and throws her hands up in air. 

Sometimes if my children bring a problem to me which I think is a ridiculous, non-problem born of our privileged lives, I've been known to say (in a mildly, sarcastic voice) : "You don't live in Darfur!  You are not a child soldier in Sierra Leone.  A little perspective, please!"

I'll never forget the day my friend Bridget was listening patiently to her 3 year old daughter Lauren get worked into a lather about not finding her favorite socks or some such thing.  And just as we were feeling our nerves become dangerously frayed as Lauren whined on and on, Bridget took a basket of warm laundry and dumped it on Lauren's head.  The child dissolved into giggles and Bridget took the opportunity to say the discussion was over and to redirect her daughter to a new activity.  At 21, I think Lauren would agree that her mother's well-timed use of humor in the cases of non-problems helped her grow into the kind, caring, amazing woman she is today.  

And it helped me as I figured out my parenting style as well.  Not everything has to be processed and dissected.  Not every issue deserves our time and energy - time and energy we could be using to have fun, make beautiful memories, or even make the world a better place.   

When I mentioned this to Richard, our neighborhood philosopher who works at the local mini-mart, he looked shocked and said, "But do you hear her?"  Fair enough.  Sarcasm and gentle teasing have their place, but I do believe in licking one's wounds, being present in that moment to hear our children/friends/family members who are experiencing pain.  I don't think it's useful to always think about the bigger problems in the world.  There's a time for a bit of teasing/perspective-sharing and there's a time for active listening and compassion followed by solutions. Recently many high school seniors heard back from colleges to which they'd applied and some children were disappointed.  In that moment of sadness, telling the child to ''buck up" or "You think that's bad….? is not useful - it's cruel.  

So I went on to say to Taara,  "Yes, Darfur.  But let's go get the Neutragena acne wash and moisturizer."  I gave her a big hug and we talked about how I too used to look at myself in the mirror 812 times a day at her age.  I listened to her tell me about that boy and a science test and what she performed in singing club.  Because if I'm always lecturing and not listening, she'll stop talking.  Or if I'm always talking about problems in the world which are bigger than her's, she may get the message that she's not allowed to bring her problems to me; definitely not the message I want to send.  

Right vs Privilege

Arjun got his driver's license a couple weeks ago.  What a wonderful moment when he stepped out of the car with a huge grin plastered on his face.  Can't we all remember that feeling?  Whooo!  Freedom.  Right of passage.  So even as I'm very happy for him (and simultaneously struggling with trepidation at his being out there by himself), I've been thinking a great deal about this concept of driving being a right.  I know I saw it as such when I was a kid.  But as a parent, I'm definitely seeing it as a privilege.  

I'm fairly certain my parents never told me I couldn't borrow the car.  I don't think I got into enough trouble to warrant such measures.  I happily tooled around in the 1970 something baby blue Ford Maverick or brown Dodge Omni.  Such piece of crap cars but they got me from point A to point B and I didn't have to pay for gas (which I didn't appreciate enough at the time!).  I did have a curfew-by senior year I think it was midnight.  There were nights I'd leave Newburg or Big Flat at 11:34 pm, knowing I could be screeching into my driveway by 11:58….whew! (Kids, don't try this at home…).

But I don't remember feeling grateful for the car and gas.  I'm pretty sure I thought it was just part of being a teen.  Though the car wasn't fancy, I probably felt entitled to it and took for granted that I'd get to take it to school and to all my activities, even though the car belonged to my parents.  I'm squirming as I think about this now- makes me feel uncomfortable.

In my kids' privileged lives, how do I help them to see the distinction between a right and a privilege?  Like most kids, they're, thoughtful, polite, and have the ability to feel compassion for others.  So what's my problem?  My fear is that without understanding the difference between rights and privileges, they may become people who feel entitled; who may take without feeling any gratitude or thought to consequences.

In my mind, as my kids, they have the right to adoration (the physical and emotional manifestations of love), healthy food, clean clothes, opportunities for fun, emotional and physical safety - to name a few.  These are their rights.  I brought them into my life and I must provide an environment which includes these rights without martyrdom or expectation of repayment.

The privileges include screens of all variety (iWhatevers, phones, computers, or TV), a horse, trips to Cancun for spring break, and yes, a car (the horse, Cancun, nor car are current realities).  While I have not tied the withholding or granting of privileges to grades, I do look for genuine effort and improvement over time.  Show me the concrete, specific, and measurable ways you've worked toward this particular goal in class and we can talk about that insanely expensive set of head phones you want.  I want my children to understand when they're getting a privilege and I want them to appreciate how rare that privilege is in the world, even if all their friends have it.  I want them to feel grateful that they have things and experiences which many other people do not.  And I would like them to turn that knowledge into action by passing on their talents, time, and money to good causes.  But they can't read my mind, so I need to tell them.  Tonight.

Can I Do This?

My last post was about a year ago.  Some of the reasons I stopped posting:

the Boston Marathon bombing
Malaysia flight 370
some unkind words

Then it was hard to come back because there are always sad and horrible events happening in the world.  And I asked myself if I could do this.  What were my silly words/thoughts when real stuff was happening out there? People dying, families left devastated without answers.  What was I doing? Who was I to keep on squawking about trivial things?

The unkind words sealed the deal with my leaving the blog.  In my mind, bloggers are people who put their words out there and can handle whatever comes back at them.  Clearly I wasn't ready to do that yet as I was still smarting from a harsh indictment of what I'd written months after the incident.

Then my friend Mary died.  The kids and I went to her 100th birthday party and a few weeks later she was gone.  How could I be so sad about someone passing at 100?  Especially someone like Mary who lived life so exuberantly?  We'd been in writing class together for 6 years and I always loved hearing her stories.  She started teaching a writing class in her 99th year!  Her passing smacked me in the head.

As did a book that my friend Bridget gave me called The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown.  I have a healthy skepticism of the self-help genre, but she's the real deal.  If you've not had the pleasure, look up her Ted talks on vulnerability and shame - each only 20 minutes long.  She's funny, self-deprecating, and wise.  I highlighted, underlined, and wrote in the margins of that book and I'll be buying her others.  One concept in particular grabbed me: she says we can't wait until we're perfect and bulletproof to step into the arena.  Okie dokie.

So I started thinking about my arenas and my fears and my shame and when I feel vulnerable.  And I started to feel very anxious and embarrassed and vulnerable!  But I kept reading and thinking that we all have arenas in which we are meant to stand and live authentically.  How will I get there?

Writing is important to  me, or so I keep saying.  Chronicling my thoughts for my children is important to me, or so I claim.  So let me get back to this.  Let me step into the arena.  Can I do this?  I'm not sure, but I'm going to practice doing it once a week - whether I publish here or scribble in a journal.  That I can do.

From Cool to Cold?

Mostly I have been the cool mom. My kids’ friends have been known to say in my presence and behind my back, “Wow your mom is so cool!”  I have had other kids’ parents come up to me and say (and my heart hurt a bit when they said it because I imagined how I would feel), “My kids LOVE you! They say you’re the cool mom.”

First, I will acknowledge that I cook and bake stuff and the children like that. Peanut butter oatmeal bars are perhaps their favorite, followed closely by the traditional chocolate chip cookies. Fruits are also heartily consumed: mandarins, strawberries, and grapes.  I love to see the shy smiles and adore the mumbled ‘thank yous’ as they reach a hand into the tupperware.  

        Second, I’m a great listener.  If I leave that space and quiet in the car, they will talk; drop the open-ended query and they are eager to tell me things.  There doesn’t have to be direct eye contact or even any deep, personal revelations.  But in my car, “How was your day?” can turn into much, much more than just, “Fine.....”  Not always, mind you, but often enough.  Additionally, a great lubricant to this conversation is the music.  I let them choose the music with the caveat that there be no profanity or content which is too racy.  

        Third, I’m not a big lecturer.  I rarely say things like, “You know what you should do?” or “Well, that’s because you should have....”  If a child were going to hurt themselves or someone else, I’d step in; any of us would!  But when a child is opening up and sharing something, no matter how mundane, nothing seems to shut them down faster than advice.  You can hear the crickets chirping as soon as you drop some unsolicited parental nugget.  Because at a certain age, all advice is just seen as a reprimand.  What I think they hear is- because I’m pretty certain it’s what I heard in my head at that age - “You’re wrong.  You’re stupid.  You screwed up again.”  Or words to that effect.

        One day, my son said, “My friends only like me because of you!” And we laughed.  “Well they’ll think I’m cool until the day they ask me to buy them pot or alcohol and I say no.”  He made a derisive sound and stated, “My friends won’t ever ask you to do that.”  I just smiled at him.  Yeah, maybe not.  But there will come a day when I’ll make some parental choices which will not be popular or cool.  With a fifteen year old son, I know the day is coming.  And honestly, I feel a cold dread thinking of the myriad situations which might present themselves.