Where does the love go?

Have you ever loved somebody who didn't love you in return? Have you longed for their acceptance and their favor? Have you dogged their steps and made them out to be more than they are?

It's unrequited love. Love that is unreturned. The other person doesn't NOT love you, but they just don't love you in the way you need.

Children need their parent to love them in a way that is their and theirs alone. Not to love on the paretns terms, but to love on the child's terms. To see them as an individual who has needs, and fufill those needs. Some children need cuddling. Some need books and intellectual pursuits. Some just need time and contact.

Even if you love them immensely, but don't SHOW them in a way that is real to them, they won't feel it. It will create a vast void in them.

I was giving Lily lunch the other day. She was sitting at the table while I perused the mail. I looked up, corrected her for not chewing with her mouth open, and went back to the mail. When I glanced at her again, she had tears running down her face. Her hands were folded in her lap. She was sobbing quietly. I asked her what was wrong and she whispered "Mommy, I don't think you love me anymore."

My world stopped. It shattered like glass, and I lost my footing. I had created in my child a feeling of emptiness. Not on purpose, but through simply ignoring her needs. I saw her sitting there, heartbroken, but I also saw myself as a child, sitting and wishing for a love that I could feel.

I immediately held her, rocked her, and let her be a baby for a little while. I stroked her hair, rubbed her back, and let her simply soak up all of my love. And after, she was a different child. I realized just how much she NEEDED that, and how I have been giving her all of the wrong kind of attention- negative.

It's hard. I love my Lily with everything in me. But our relationship is a challenge sometimes. She is stubborn (like me). She is sassy (like me). She is prone to drama (like me). And so, through our similarities comes alot of angst. I find myself favoring Sam, God help me, because he is just...easier. God, that hurts to say. I don't want to play favorites. I don't. I love my Lily. I would die for her. She saved me from a lifetime of sadness.

And in all of this, there are circles. I cannot parent her and not think about how I was parented. And just when I think I have a handle on things, something happens with my father and the wound is opened again. I don't know how to heal this. And it effects all of my relationships- especially with Lily. I want her to know she is loved, but I don't want to spoil her. I want her to be secure but not clingy. I want her to be everything I wasn't...to bloom. To take the world on because she knows she has all the support she could ever need, not because she knows she in it alone and has to do for herself.

You put so much into somebody that you love, especially your children. And with this love, they blossom. They love you in return. Love you and challenge you and drive you crazy. But they love you.

But what about when this cycle is broken? When the love you give is simply tossed away or ignored? When the person you love disregards your efforts to love them? What then?

Where does the love go?

That's how I feel about my father. I have loved him my entire life. Loved with desperation to be loved in return the way I NEED. I have no doubt he loves me...but it has never been in a way that is real to me. There has never been any time invested. No effort to see me and love me like I need to be loved. And there's the problem. I LOVE HIM. I can't stop. And I don't know what to do with this love and care and anger and sadness. It just dissolves in his sickness and selfishness. So where does the love go? It hurts to cast it out and never reel it in. It hurts.

So he sits in the hospital. He is covered in sores. He is underweight. He is going through withdrawls. And still we have not spoken. Do I want to call him? Yes. But will we have the conversation I need to have? No.

So where can this love go?

miracle

Of all of my accomplishments as a mother, breastfeeding is the one I am most proud of. I nursed Lily until she was nearly two, and imagine I will do the same with Sam. Everytime I sit down to nurse, I realize just how wonderful my body is. How wise my body is. And how much of a miracle this thing called motherhood is.

I was reading an article a few weeks ago in which women who had chosen not to breastfeed listed their reasons. Among the many, one stuck out- "breastfeeding is too primal". Primal. Can you believe that? The most beautiful function of our body- to give life, and then sustain it with only ourselves. Primal. Yes, it is primal. Not in the way this woman was speaking of, but in a way altogether different.

When I nurse, I realize that I am connected in a profound way with all women who have come before me. Every woman who has awakened just a bare 10 seconds before her baby, knowing with internal certainty that the cry for milk was coming. I am connected to all women who have suffered through infections, mastitis, low milk supply, and thrush. I am connected with all women who have looked lovingly down at their baby as they fell asleep with warm rich milk in their tummy. There is nothing more primal. There is nothing more beautiful.

I cannot keep from smiling when I bathe my children, and see their beautiful soft skin, count their little rolls of chub. I can't help but sigh with relief when Sam settles down for a good nursing after a stressful day. My body must rest and relax for the milk to come. And so I sit, several times a day, and enjoy my son. I put my feet up, I read, or sit in silence. I watch Lily play. I stop the world for my child.

Life moves very fast these days. Society is based on immediate gratification. I can see how formula would be appealing. After all, breastfeeding takes time. Nobody can do it for you. You have to be present, and willing to be with your baby at all times. It can sometimes be frustrating to be so depended upon.

But all I have to do is look at my daughter, to see her face light up when I walk into the room. To see my sons little feet kick when he realizes we are going to the nursing chair. To see Sam stop nursing to smile at me, and then go back with half closed eyes. The bonding is deep as the ocean, and as endless as the tide.

The sweet is sweeter

We were in NYC to christen Sam last week. The day before the ceremony, I found out my dad was in the hospital again. He fell and laid on his floor for 2 days before being found. He is underweight, dehydrated, has sores on his back, and a very swollen shoulder. He is also going through withdrawls from alcohol.

It is all the same as before. And all different somehow. I am angry that he is throwing his life away with both hands, when a very close friend of mine is going through a huge medical scare and would give anything for health. I am angry that he continues to hurt his children, or worse yet, drive them into a state of just not caring anymore. I am sad for him, that his life has shrunk to a bottle and a chair. I am sad that he is waiting to die, when he could live.

I was struck by the parallels between the two facets of my life- my new existence, and the one I left behind. Celebrating new life, faith, and joy...and leaving behind the pain and destruction my old life simmers in. There is absolutely no similarities to my new realtiy and my old, and for this I am so so grateful.

But I also have to remember that this is where I come from. This, for better or worse, created me. And I am the person I am today because I chose differently than my parents did. Who would I be without the family I was born into? Would I be as willing to love, to be compassionate, to give until it hurts? I don't think you can do those things unless you realize the great vacuum that happens when you don't recieve them. I've realized something in the past week- the only way to fill the void my parents created in me is to love MORE, to give MORE, and to be MORE than they were.

I also spent the week watching Mark with his parents. How they laugh, argue. How they love even without saying it aloud- through food, through actions, and through respect. I've seen how good parents give love to their children- by listening, by offering advice, and by doing for them without asking. I've watched my sister in law with her mother- how they cook together, every movement like a dance. They have created so many meals together that it is second nature for them. They call each other several times a day. They spend time together. They shop together.

I used to be so envious. I tried not to be, but watching Mark with his family was like a slap in the face. It hurt. But this time I had both of my babies with me, and I realized that even though I didn't have the abundance of love in my pervious life, I have it now, because I GIVE it. I create it. And one day, Lily and I will cook together. Sam and I will sit together and laugh. I will offer advice and they will roll their eyes. And it begins now, with my two little people. And it is sweet, so sweet, because of the bitterness that came before.

What comes, comes. I cannot make my father value life. I cannot make him give up alcohol and love me enough to live. I can't change his mind, and I cannot give him faith. The only thing I can do is go about my life, and love as I wish I was loved. I can call him and tell him I love him. And I can wait for what comes.

The New Perfection

I'm gonna give it to you straight here. I don't have my shit together. Right now there are dishes in the sink, laundry molding in the washer, soap scum in my shower. I have thank you's that have not been written. I have 4 day old mascara on. I have no idea what I am going to feed my daughter for dinner. And this is on a GOOD day. Some days, it feels like a trip to the nut factory is just a breath away. Sometimes, truth be told, a stay in the looney bin seems like it might be a nice vacation.

I AM NOT PERFECT. Despite how I try to appear to be. Despite my efforts to seem totally with it, I am not. Oh, I may have my makeup and jewelry on. My clothing may not be stained. My kids may be clean. But I am in a constant head space of "Why can't I do it all???!!!"

Because nobody can, that's why.

I find myself fighting at all times to do the things that need to be done. To clean the house, to constantly keep my daughter entertained. To keep my son stimulated so he doesn't turn into a blob. To keep up my realtionship with my husband so he doesn't find somebody cuter, funnier...or somebody who doesn't smell like baby lotion because she ran out of Victorias Secret lotion over a month ago.

Cause that's what we are supposed to be right? We are supposed to be bombshells in our aprons and heels. We are supposed to be the soccer mom, the PTA mom, the mom who makes the best cookies and never raises her voice. The hot mom who seduces her husband often and with great creativity.

We are supposed to love staying home, to not find it tedious. We are not supposed to long for adult conversation or a martini or a hot meal. We are supposed to sacrifice. We are supposed to give all.

But let me ask you something. If you give all to everyone else...what's left? And if you deplete yourself...who takes care of everyone else when you tank? Vicious cycle.

We aren't supposed to be honest about the loneliness. We aren't suppposed to talk about how caring for children can be sort of like an abusive realtionship- put all of your love and care into someone who is not invested in giving anything back to you. We aren't supposed to say "IF I HEAR BARNEY ONE MORE TIME I AM GONNA FIND HIS PURPLE ASS AND MAKE HIM DISAPPEAR!!!!" or "Dude, I have had people hanging off of me all day. Please don't touch me." or " I want to run away."

We are supposed to be perfect, all sacrificing martyrs.

Screw that.

I have worked since I was 13. I spent 16 years taking care of other peoples children. I worked hard...very hard. AND THIS IS HARDER BY FAR.

I am responsible for getting 2 little people into adulthood without any psychosis or permanent injuries. I have to be 2 steps ahead at all times. In see the accidents waiting to happen, the creepy guy at the park. I see the unlocked medicine cabinet and the unhelmeted head. I weigh safety at all times. I am constantly on the lookout for death.

IT IS HARD. AND IT IS 24/7. AND IT IS EFFING THANKLESS.

Perfection is not possible. And striving for it is an exercise in futility.

So I say the new perfection is this- if I make it thru the day and nobody is bleeding, if everyone is fed and has had at least one veggie and fruit, if there were hugs and kisses and I love yous, it is imperfectly perfect.

I may be the mother at the park yelling at her kid, I may prop my sons cereal bottle just to get five minutes to do laundry, I may feign sleep to get out of sex...but I am doing the best I can.

And I bet you are too. So let's rebel agaist this idea of perfection together, shall we? I'll be the one at the park giving my daughter easter Peeps and gatorade for a snack because I forgot to pack a healthy one. You will be the one with spitup on your shirt and peaches in your hair.

And neither one of us will be ashamed.

Meet ya there. :)

Pieta

Holy week this year has been very different than any other year for me. I have been thinking alot about Christ and the path he took. How each day of Holy Week has such different meaning, and the whole of the week holds the entire scope of the human experience.

Obviously, Good Friday is by far the most physical suffering Jesus endured. But can you imagine how he felt, just the night before, breaking bread with his apostles and knowing he would be betrayed? Or, and my eyes always fill with tears at the image...of Christ kneeling to pray in the garden of Gethsemane and turning to find his apostles had fallen asleep when he asked them to stay awake and pray? The deep ache and loneliness, the despair as he cried out to God and asked to be spared. Scripture says an angel came to comfort him, as he sweated great tears of blood.



Can you imagine?

He came to be fully human and walk this earth as we do. He was, at the same time, fully divine. A mystery our human minds cannot encompass. But he experience the very depth of despair we can. He felt it all...he was betrayed, left alone, mocked, belittled... anything and everything we can go through. He felt it all.

This is the beauty of Christianity. We love a God who knows, intimately, every aspect of our lives. He has felt it all, experienced it all. He knows our struggles and forgives our iniquities. He accepts us back when we fall. He gave himself to the world, knowing he would have to be sacrificed. He sat in the garden, alone, praying to God. He asked to be spared, but also said "Thy will be done."

And then, then he was betrayed, arrested, and walked calvary. Was mocked and beaten. Spit upon. He carried his cross, he was crucified. He was raised among thieves, to die like a criminal.

And even then, he was Jesus. Even then he was gentle. He was already fulfilling the prophesy as he was in agony of death. When asked by the man next to him to remember him, he said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise". Already, he was becoming the bridge between God and man. In his own human agony, he was saving humanity. As the blood that saved the world was being shed, he was already saving. He asked his Father in heaven to forgive.

And then, he died. The temple curtain was torn, the world plunged into darkness. The centurions at the foot of the cross declared that he must be the son of God. The dead rose from their tombs.

And they took him down. The wrapped him and gave him to his mother. This image is what haunts me. His mother, who birthed him, who nursed him and loved him, who followed him every step of calvary...she was given his body. She knew who he was. She knew he was the son of God. But the agony of holding her dead son, her baby...takes me breath away. She had watched him suffer. She had watched him walk with a crown of thorns. And as she did, she must have been picturing his small hand in hers. She must have been remembering him teaching in the temple. She must have thought of the first moment she looked into his eyes. And she had watched him die.

We have seen many images of Christ being held by his mother after he was taken from the cross. But for me, the most beautiful, the most realistic depiction is Michelangelo's Pieta.



The first time I saw it, I didn't understand. This is her child, and she is not even holding him close. But now, as a mother, I see it differently. The horror of the moment, even though it was prophesied, even though she knew it was his destiny, it overcame her. She cannot even touch him, she cannot cradle him close. She can only reach one hand in supplication to God as she looks down at him. She cannot even look at his face, her suffering is so great. Michelangelo had great insight into the human mind. He depicted something so horrific and sad in such beauty.

So this is Good Friday. A day we mourn the suffering of our Savior, but also a day we look forward to what we know is coming- his resurrection. His glory. On this day, we were saved.

Lily

Dear Lily,

I am struggling to explain the world to you right now. I am trying my best to show you life as it is, not sugar coated, not overly coddled. I want you to know that there is safety in our home. There is trust, there is love, and there is knowledge that you will never be hurt.

But the world is cruel sometimes, and already you are getting a taste of that. Yesterday at the park, a big boy pushed past you to get to the slide. You looked at me immediately with bewilderment. I smiled. You smiled back, tentatively, and went on your way. But at that moment, I felt my heart drop.

You didn't defend yourself. Instead, you looked to me. And maybe, at your age, that is appropriate. But it fills me with fear for the day that I may not be there when you look for me. I want you to stand up for yourself, to be strong. I want you to be a tough little girl who doesn't get bullied or pushed around.

But how can I teach you this without you losing your gentle and loving spirit? The spirit that causes you to tell everyone that you love them, to kiss and hug your friends over and over? Hoe can I teach you the balance between tough and tender?

I want you to view this world in a way that keeps you safe and sane. To make your way without stumbling. I want to protect you, but at the same time, I want you to fly on your own.

You have the dearest heart, my love. You are kind. You are so loving. You are so gentle. And you teach me, everyday, that life in the moment is what matters. You teach me that love saves. You teach me that family is everything.

So I cannot promise you the world will never be cruel to you. I cannot say you will never be pushed, or hurt. I can't tell you that sometimes you won't feel sad or troubled. Life is difficult.

But I can promise you one thing, baby girl. I will always be here. When you are sad, come to me. When the world has hurt you, let me comfort you. When nobody is on your side, I will be your cheerleader. When you are rejected, I will open my arms to you and show you shelter. I will cry with you, I will celebrate your victories. I will be the one who steps forward when nobody else does, or the one who steps back to let you shine.

I love you, and I love your good heart. I am proud you are beautiful, and proud you are smart. But I am most proud, my dear sweet love, that you are good and kind. I pray I can help you keep those qualities, even when the big boys of this world push you aside.

Love,
Mama

Motherhood

Motherhood is a layering of miracles, a swath of experiences so profound that they cannot be explained. Words cannot be ascribed to something so primal, so deep. Very few things in this life penetrate all layers of self- physical, spiritual, mental- like being a mother.

Motherhood is a great equalizer. Sit in a room full of other mothers and all of the extraneous baggage falls away. It is no longer about what car you drive, how big your house is, who you were before birth, your job, your husband. It becomes about your little people, about you as a mother. Nothing else takes precedence over that.

I will never be able to articulate what motherhood is to me. It is beyond words, this feeling. This love that knows no bounds. This sacrificing of self. It is love and beyond love. It is devotion and a laying down of everything that is about me, and becoming what is about them.

Some people would argue with me. Some would say you must fight to keep your sense of self. But for me, personally, my sense of self is all wrapped up in my ability to mother successfully. If that is wrong, then it is wrong. If I am doing myself a disservice, fine. I'll deal with that later. For right now, this is all I know how to be. A mother, first. All else second.

I count myself so very lucky. I know what the other side looks like. I know the darkness and twisted path that motherhood can take. I have seen the blood, I have felt the blows. I know where I do not want to set my feet. I know there is no force on earth that could take me there- none.

And so my days are filled with doing for others- with rocking and singing and playing and consoling. My life is full and busy. My world is my family and my home. And in it, I see holiness. I see God in every action. I see this house and this life as a shelter from the rest of the world- and I am determined it should always be so.

So I will continue to see the holy things in the mundane. I will see the cross in the clothespin, the parable in the chaos. I will love, and be loved. I will give even without getting back. I will sacrifice all that I am for all these two little people will be.

And through it all I will know that I am healing all of the brokenness in myself. I am sealing the wounds. I am staunching the bleeding that the past has created. There is nothing in this world that can heal me like motherhood. Nothing that can bring me more peace, or more fulfillment. As the years go on I will watch the past fade and soon, very soon, I will think of it not with anger or sadness...but with the resignation that comes with total forgiveness.