40 Reflections

#4 – On Vulnerability – Part 2: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

When our children were younger, I would accompany them to birthday parties, playdates, practices, and other events and watch, wait, and chat with other parents. I loved connecting, it was like I would imagine Eharmony for parents. A time to find your tribe of trusted moms and dads, then ever-so-carefully pick a few who relate to your cheeky humor, and pray your kids and theirs are in the next room bonding over a juice box.

As our kids aged, I noticed parents would leave these events, and return at the “pick-up time”.  I always opted to stay, plopping down on the floor, cherishing my chats with the few other parents who would sit in their comfy cup holding canvas chairs (such a great invention).  Sure, sometimes, I was the mom who brought a book/prop which other parents respectfully knew meant – whoever holds the book has just put themselves in a quiet, parental time out, a virtual “do not disturb sign”.

The kids got a little older and there was another shift.  Either I grew more confident (or less patient waiting by myself) and would run while they practiced.  As long as I was within a mom’s stone’s throw between them, I felt I could still get to them and perform CPR as needed. Of course, I’m always happy to get in a run, but I missed the parent-share conversations. The words exchanged between moms and dads that only the gap of time when our children are engaged with their friends allows.

Then one night, all three of our children had events simultaneously, and a tough moment ensued.  Clearly, we had to pick our least favorite child, leave them at their designated practice, and accompany the others.

Kidding. Our eldest was the default, and since some nights I was the lone mom hanging out for the two-hour stretch at swim practice anyway, I figured she’d be okay while I drove our son to baseball. As I drove away, of course thinking the worst, it was one of the few times I was grateful our daughter had a phone. Plus, at baseball, there were other helicopter parents like myself to share best practices, a clear bonus.

Our children’s activities, whether we realize it or not, give us a chance to pause and realize we’re not the only ones bouncing around blindly in this parenting pinball game. While our kids solidify their friendships at birthday parties or discover they truly despise dancing in toe shoes (my daughter), we are given the opportunity through conversation to listen to and share ourselves and our stories with other parents.

I frequently feel the weight of parenting lightened as I walk with our children to the car, vindicated that I am not the only parent who:

• yells at my children and regrets it profoundly seconds after
• colors my gray roots at home out of a box
• curses at Siri when she doesn’t listen
• never check pockets before washing the laundry
• considers cereal dinner
• takes apart the washing machine, finds the penny bonking around, and ends up with extra screws when reassembling
• stays up way too late listening to our children’s worries that only bubble up at bedtime
• wipes the tears from our children’s eyes, and our own when their hearts are broken
• prays our children will find their best friend
• forgets to pick up their child at school/practice/Sunday School
• delivers their child’s forgotten homework to school
• buys bras at Costco
• panics about working after 15 years of staying home with the kids
• clutches to their children –  as someone who is way too young dies in a car accident, from a health complication, or God forbid — inside their school.

Allowing ourselves to be transparent, and invest in relationships will only make us better parents. It takes pluck to be vulnerable, but there is courage in the imperfect, strength in sharing, and certainty in the uncertain.

Dig Deep:  Time your run, then challenge yourself to do the same run faster tomorrow.

Lenten Challenge:  “Give feet to your faith”. Feed the hungry, pray for the sick, and share your grace with everyone who crosses your path.

40 Reflections – #3 On being Vulnerable: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Part 1:

“Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked.”  – Anne Lamott

I’ve always had a passion for writing. At nine, I filled the lines of my diary with trips to Disney and life-changing walks home from school. In middle and high school, I packed numerous pages with poems. During and after college, I chronicled my travels to placid beaches in Mexico and being witness to newborns in India gently held over the smoke of hot coals to promote circulation.  Additionally, 15 years ago, when the pink line on the little white stick silently announced motherhood was on deck in my life, I slid my mouse over the word “File”, clicked “New Document”, and 16 years later I pore over hundreds of records of family life — the wild and the wicked.

When the idea of blogging was planted in my head, I loved the thought, but as I typed my stories, the mere inclination of becoming transparent with the world (or my three followers- thanks mom, dad, and hubby), fear, and apprehension enveloped me.  I asked myself and continue to ask: Why should I share my thoughts? What if I offend or hurt someone inadvertently? Who would want to hear what I have to say? Frankly, I can be a little snarky.  Uh oh, people will hate me!

Putting your self “out there” is scary. It’s unsettling. It’s a risk…and somehow, concurrently, it is transforming, cathartic, beautiful, and emancipating.

I will continue my thoughts on vulnerability in Part 2 because my son just announced: “It’s 11:11! Make a wish.”

So here’s mine:  to serve, share, and press PUBLISH with confidence.

Dig Deep:  After your next run do a 25 rep challenge:  25 – squats, 25 – push-ups, 25 – sit-ups – REPEAT 3 TIMES!

LENTEN CHALLENGE:  Say one decade of the Rosary today.

40 Reflections – #2:  40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Ever wake up, glance at the clock, and say, “I SHOULD have gotten up earlier”? Only to follow it with I SHOULD have gone to the gym, prepped dinner, called my parents, run with the dogs, played with the kids, or checked the pockets for that pen before I tossed everything in the wash.

The “S” word is verifiably toxic, yet to avert our gaze away from what our lives would look like if we accomplished all of the SHOULDS is nearly impossible. Haven’t you marveled at the early birds who amble into work chatting about their early morning run, seamless commute, or the dinner menu they prepared for the month? Oh, and if you need the template, it’s on their blog.

When our minds harp on these unaccomplished actions, we sadly allow the only NOW we have to circle the drain.

Here are three ways to shake the SHOULD NARRATIVE:

1. BE YOURSELF:  Change the lens through which you see yourself, and celebrate who you are and where you are today.
2. ACCEPT AND ALLOW:  Your reality may be vacant of the plans you slated for your self-years ago, but by clutching onto the people we love, our SHOULD HAVE world dissipates. Some say, “Let go, Let God” it’s worth a shot.
3. SET YOUR INTENTIONS: Our deepest hopes are shaped by our intentions. Step out of the noise, serve others, and find your passion, and share it!

As I finish this post I think about how I SHOULD have gone to bed earlier, cleaned the toilets, emptied the dishwasher, and bathed the dogs, but this time I’m going to “Let go and let God.”

P.S.:  Dear God, the bowls go in the cupboard on the left.

DIG DEEP:  On your next run, bring a friend, and you do the listening.

Lenten Challenge: Fast from meat on Fridays and one other weekday.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

Today is an opportunity.

Religious or not, we all crave a balanced life. Even a glimpse into a time when the pendulum swings equally to and from our emotional, social, spiritual, and physical well-being.

Most days, I can only control the physical and go for a run, swim or walk.  However, when it comes to filling my spiritual well, I need focus.  Real focus.

Today is the beginning of a 40-day stretch when we are called to make a Lenten commitment. Here is a Spiritual Workout to take you a few steps closer to a harmonious life:

1. Fasting –  take a break from foods, social media, gossip, or control, you know what you need to limit. Take the first step.  Practice self-restraint and be accountable.
2. Almsgiving – I hear this word once a year…it makes me happy knowing I have a synonym for the words charitable and generous. So give what you can whether it be the gift of time, money, or stuff!
3. Prayer – meditation, yoga, whatever you prefer, just find your quiet place, reflect, and embrace the silence.

May each day bring you closer to the calm, joyful life we all deserve.

Dig Deep: Pray during your next run.  Sometimes I say a rosary, or rather just a continuous loop of Hail Mary’s and call it a rosary.  🙂

Lenten Challenge: Try using the word consubstantial in a sentence.

Since my son, Dexter, was 16 months old, he loved laying his head on anything to rest. He would race over to where I was feeding his baby brother, do the quick toddler stop, and rest his head on my lap. Prepping for the burp, I always had a cloth ready for after the feeding.  Invariably, when I reached down to use it, my sweet boy’s head was laying on it, eyes drowsily shutting.  He looked perfectly snug and serene.  So, as all good mothers do, I used my shirt to burp his brother.  Since then, he has slept with, traveled, and kept it by his pillow every day.

The duck-printed cloth, basically a diaper thrown over our shoulders after feedings, had been transformed into something special.  Dexter’s “Burp”.  That’s what we named his bedside buddy.  Luckily, when these particular burp cloths were given as a gift – it was a two-pack. So, thinking ahead, I squirreled away the “Back Up Burp” (another named piece of material), just in case “Burp” was lost. (I recalled the movie “Mr. Mom” and knew we should ween him from a security blanket-type appendage.  But, we can all agree that despite all the teasing from Lucy, Linus seemed to be just fine with his blue blanket in tow.) Throughout the years, Burp would get lost in the covers, and we’d hunt and shake blankets and pillows always to find it tucked on the side of the bed, tossed to the floor, or swaddling his stuffed lamb.  He found comfort in that little cloth.  And quiet.  And calm.

Dexter is bright.  He’s the kid that will take apart the engine, and reassemble it flawlessly; find wood, whittle it down, and make whatever is on his mind.  He’ll ask over and over for things his friends have, and finally just make them himself.  Like the trailer for his bike, lacrosse shaft, bow, arrow, quiver, rubber band bracelet loom, paracord bracelets, phyton-type necklace, bike ramp, small car, tent, longboard, holster, leather belt, and most recently “fidgets.”  You see like most people, Dexter gets antsy.  Call him a kinetic learner, busy, jumpy, or just a 7th-grade boy.  Or you can cram him into the nearly 12% bunch of 12-18-year-old boys who are diagnosed with ADHD.  Whatever it is, he’s Dexter. Smart, amazing, sometimes so busy his sister yells at him louder than is ever necessary, and aware.  He’s so cognizant of his need to strategize, move, and find comfort in who he is, that “burp cloth” just became a part of him, and us.

As the years passed, Dexter grew, and Burp began to get thinner and more waif-like than a potato chip, so I decided I should swap out the old for the new.  I was sure most parents and childhood experts would advise against it, perhaps saying I was encouraging a rare “cotton cloth co-dependent behavior.”  Despite my thoughts, I reached into my “everything in my pockets at the end of the day” top drawer – pushed aside special rocks, matchbox cars, doll parts, legos, and in the waaaay back, I pulled out a bright white cloth with yellow ducks ready for their turn in the pond.  In its place, I tucked the now fowl-less cloth in the drawer.  Truth be told, it was his ninth birthday.  Yes, nine. Not months, years.

Fast forward three years – after prayers one night Dexter holds out what looks like one of my dad’s thin handkerchiefs I used to iron – and asks, “Mama, will you please fix this?”  I looked at Burp, looked at Dexter, and said, “Of course I will.”  After unknotting the frayed edges, soaking, and drying it, I began to sew.  I was slowly piecing together each strand, noticing how much smaller it was and thinking about how much bigger Dexter is today.  I finished and held it up as if it were a priceless quilt.  I thought about the many memories in one piece of fabric, so much security, and love.  I knew for a boy like Dexter who has been pining to grow up fast, buy the dreaded motorcycle, and play by adult rules, clinging to his childhood was just as important to him.  So I’ll mend, sew, stitch, and hold together as much of his boyhood as I can.  “Dexter, Burp is ready!”  He came in quickly, said thank you, and zoomed out rubbing it on his face.

Mom.  Runner.  Writer.  

Those words define me.

Fine, so do the words:  Crier.  Snacker.  Yeller.  Cleaner.  Burner (of meals)…Whiner, Over-Volunteer-er (new word), and recently, inventor of words…and more…but why not focus on the fun stuff first?

Motherhood:

Sure, like most moms, I agonize over the wrong things: starting school projects early, cello practice, flushing.  But being a mom is the job I love, the one I am grateful for, and never want to complain about.  I love answering all of the before-bed queries, when utter exhaustion entices our kids to ask OUR advice.  I adore watching the kids succeed, I love making lunches…okay, now I’m just lying.  Honestly, understanding the family dynamic is what I crave.  Each member has their duties (kids: laugh here – no potty language!), and makes their impact.

Running:

A vehicle for clearing the mind, and thinking about my role, my purpose.  I’m not fast, nor do I look like a runner, but wow does it make this mom happy.  Plus, without the run/workout, my children all know I turn into a mean, bossy pants mom.

Writing:

Most days I think about starting a blog.  I plan time to write, then clean instead, sit at the computer to write, then volunteer for PTA jobs instead.  I spend the rest of the day reprimanding myself for not writing, justifying it by thinking my Dad would truly be my only reader. And, really, he’d like anything I wrote, so I’ll start my blog after a nice run.  Then the kids get home from school, and the cycle continues.

Why Runonmom?

Two reasons, okay three.  Primarily, I am a mom.  A mom that loves to run – as I get older, my joints hate it, so I’ll do any exercise that infuses a touch of serotonin in my system, if not, I’ll have to purchase the crankymom.com domain also.  Secondly, in my writing, I tend to ramble.  Not in a bad sense, it’s just that over the last 12 years, I’ve kept a journal of our funny, touching, and hard-to-believe family stories, and there just might be someone out there (Dad) who wants to read them.  Lastly, Runonmom.com is just plain catchy.  Thus:  runonmom.com.

Pace yourself as a mom and a runner, life is a marathon (with some heartache and joint pain, respectively).