The Straw.

"One little wrench in the works and the whole day goes to hell."
I over heard this little gem at the park the other day. The wrench was the fact that the pool guy drove into their hedge which meant the gardener had to come and fix the hedge. I remember being scornful. Really, that's what you've got to complain about - poor over privileged you. I am often on a soapbox ranting about how we should all have more peace, love and understanding, so of course that soapbox decided to teach me a thing or two.

Standing in a chilly parking lot at 7.30am has never been my favorite pastime. Standing there listening to someone tell me on my cell phone that the school bus will not be coming - less so. Our lovely bus driver overslept. Happens to us all, so I want to be gracious and understanding. Hard to pull off at 7.30am.

It quickly becomes evident that it will be easiest for me to drive the kids. Everyone else is employed - in a go to an office, get paid and get in trouble when you're late kind of way. I scramble to think what I need to do to make this work for me.
First - I need a cup of tea and a bra.
Second - I need to deliver the three year old to a before school play date - who can then deliver her to pre-school.
Third - I need to take four kids with me while I do this then get them to school on time.
Shouldn't be too hard.

I pull it off and we head for school. I am almost there when I remember the meal I was bringing for a family in need is still in my fridge. I narrowly avoid teaching a second, third, fourth and seventh grader a very bad word. Once all children are safely delivered, expletive free, to their classrooms, I remember that today is the day I volunteer to serve lunch. Which means that I don't have time to return home. Which means I don't have time to work, blog, pay bills, do dishes/laundry and/or any of the multitude (fun) things I do when both kids are at school.

I call the family waiting for their food and work out an alternative. I sit at a vacant desk in the school office and achieve as much as I can with my iPhone until it's time to serve lunch. I serve lunch and jump in the car to go get the three year old. Serving lunch makes me about 15 minutes late for pick up but a school friend plays with her until I get there. It's as I'm driving that I realize that since I wasn't at drop off I didn't arrange the after school play date. So, now I'm simply late. I am greeted by a very upset and angry three year old and a less than impressed teacher. I spend twenty minutes smoothing feathers. It is 1.40pm - I have not eaten or cleaned my teeth.

It's at this point that I question life, the universe and the general state of my world. My planned day was filled with good deeds and good parenting. I was going to be productive and hard working. Why pick on me? I can think of several twenty something celebrities who need a life lesson more than me right now. I still have nap, school pick up, food shopping and a thousand other things to juggle.

"One little wrench in the works and the whole day goes to hell."
Amen sister.

You Never Know.

My path to parenthood was long, at times heartbreaking and one of my biggest life lessons. The husband and I blithely announced that for my thirtieth birthday he was going to 'knock me up' (I didn't say the path was tasteful.) I didn't announce this quietly and hopefully to my closest friends - I boldly asserted it at a large gathering. I had no reason to think that discretion was needed. Women in my family had been pushing out babies for generations - usually in high numbers.

When I still wasn't pregnant by July we were surprised but not concerned. We were finally greeted with the double blue lines in early October. My cultural tradition is to say nothing until 12 weeks and I wanted to stick to it but it was incredibly hard. We were just so excited. I wanted to yell from mountain tops. I wanted it on a t-shirt. I wanted to start painting the baby's room and shopping for teeny tiny things. I didn't. I chewed my tongue.

I disguised my nausea and pretended to drink wine at social gatherings. I stayed away from the mall and tried to talk about anything else but babies. At 10 weeks we had a scan and saw the magical flutter of the tiny butterfly heart. Statistically, miscarriage after seeing a heartbeat is low so although we were shy of the magical 12 weeks - we celebrated and made plans to announce our big news. Christmas was a few weeks away and we decided to roll out our coming baby as a present.
On Christmas morning we told the Grandparents (all in another country) and they were delighted. We had been married ten years by this point and they had been waiting. For The Husbands parents this was to be their first grandchild. It was big news.
After the phone calls I couldn't help nut feel sad. It just wasn't the same to announce by phone. We couldn't show off our little grainy, black and white bean scan picture. I wanted hugs and to sit with family trying to see something resembling a child on that little 4x4 square of photo paper.

We distracted ourself by getting on with our day. We were invited to friends for Christmas dinner. They too are transplants from our homeland and their extended family would be there. I cheered myself up thinking of the reaction they would give me. Not quite my own family but a family and Scottish, it would be close enough. I felt gleeful excitement as we waited for our chosen moment to announce. The Husband and I giving each other knowing glances.
We had Christmas crackers to pull, in the British tradition, inside is a paper hat, a trinket and a joke or proverb. When it came time to read mine I said,

"Someone at this table is pregnant!"

My grin was bigger than the room. I waited. There was an awkward silence.

"It's me! I'm pregnant!" I was positively yelling by now.

A pause was followed by very low key congratulations. Nobody jumped up to hug me. No toast was raised. No one asked to see my scan picture. I could have cried. The subject was changed and I sat at the table feeling confused and hurt. Why weren't they happy for me?

Three weeks later I miscarried that pregnancy at 15 weeks. I had told everyone. I had to 'untell' everyone - without question the cruelest part of the whole experience. I began to see the wisdom of not telling. When I called our Christmas Day hosts before I could tell - she announced her pregnancy to me.

"I knew at Christmas but we weren't telling because I was only nine weeks."

She explained that we had shocked them when we said what we did at the Christmas table because, she further explained, she had a miscarriage before, so they really didn't want to say anything until they were sure this time and of course they thought I meant them and was blowing their secret. It should have been a relieving explanation but in yet another blow to the gut moment, I then had to tell my news. She felt awful. I felt heartbroken at all the lost possibilities of being pregnant together.

When all the dust had settled and I had time to reflect on the whole experience I was reminded of something I knew but had forgotten. You never know what's in the room. When you say something and it lands in a way you didn't expect. When someone doesn't react the way you hoped. When your joy is unshared or your complaint rebuffed - it's most likely because of something you didn't know. A story untold or even hiding. The truth will eventually emerge and your understanding will come.
Patience and trust - now that's something I should have on a t-shirt.

In Memoriam.

In the nearly three years that I have been writing this blog - many people have died. Some were my friends and family, some I knew of because of their fame and some were of world significance. I haven't often written about those losses. Today, however, I feel moved to honor Steve Jobs.
In my home, I am surrounded by Apple genius. I write this blog with one of his products. His innovation has improved and eased my life and I know his vision has changed the world - in many ways for the better.
So, thank you Steve Jobs.
Gone far too soon.

Ready Or Not.

The husband and I went to a great party. Fabulous food, flowing wine, great company. At dinner we were seated next to a couple we didn't know. We got chatting. We talked about our hosts and how we knew them. We touched on our various home countries, travel, weather, current events - the usual. Eventually we got around to occupations.

"So, what is it you do?" asked my new friend.

I don't like this question because I don't know how to answer it. I was an occupational therapist for over 20 years - maybe I will be again, but not currently. I write and people read it - does that make me a writer? I am a SAHM which I know to be a full time job but I find it comes with pre-conceived notions. Declaring all three seems excessive (paranoid? desperate?) If I say one - which one? I decide to own my SAHMotherhood.

"Oooh! You don't strike me a that."

Is that a compliment? I'm not sure. It's true that I am dressed up and fully made up - not a sweat pant or pony tail in sight. It's also true that we have been talking for an hour and my children have not been mentioned.

"Let me ask you this," says the woman "how do you know when you're ready?"

I've been asked this before. It makes me laugh that I look like I can answer this question with any kind of authority.

"You can't - you just have to do it." I say

"But you seem like you have it down." she states.

Why? Because I am out of my house? Because there is no obvious sign of kid emission on my clothes? That's the trick of parenting - you have to appear to have it together.

Take last night as an example. As I made dinner the eight year old asked if she could write a thank you card to a helpful friend. She sat at the desk and drew for a while.

"How do you spell 'help' Mama?"

"h-e-l-p"

"Too fast Mama! Slower."

"H - got it?"

"Got it"

"E - got it?"

"Yup"

"L"

"P"

"H-e-l-p - help - OK?"

"What comes after the h?"

"E"

"OK - H-e-f-p, right?

(Am I being punk'd?)

"No - there's no f. Sound it out - hellllllp."

"MOM!!! you're confusing me!"

"H-e-l-p, H-E-L-P. HELP. (Now a actual request not a spelling lesson.) Do you have it now?"

"Never mind I just wrote thanks."

Dinner is now a bowl full of frustration and high blood pressure, which I will serve with an encouraging smile. Dessert will be 'don't worry - you're just learning' pie.

There's no getting ready for it. You love them so fiercely it hurts and yet often you want to be very far away from them.
They make you mad, sad and a little crazy on a daily basis. Their behavior makes you want to pull your hair out and tantrum in public places. You would kill for them, die for them and give the last of anything you have for them but you might also want to sell them on Ebay for $5 somedays.

You will go out again but they will always be on your mind even if not on the tip of your tongue. You will have a life unrecognizable from the one you had before but, for the most part, you will be really, really happy about that. You can't get ready you just have to take the leap.