The Decision

Parenting requires hundreds of daily decisions that ultimately affect our children’s future, and shape who they turn out to be –no pressure, right! Seriously, every decision we make, how we chose to react, whether we choose to listen; even choices we make on their behalf, have a consequence, negative or positive.

As the parent we can truly shape the outcome towards a positive, if we take a moment to think about the best result before we react or make a choice.  I learned this truth a few weeks ago as another episode in my daily sitcom unfolded.

Just before I was about to leave work to begin the madness that consume our house each night during soccer season, I received a call from my nanny, “Your daughter hurt her leg at school and does not think she can play in her game tonight.”

Instant panic! This child never misses soccer for anything; she plays in the backyard, at recess and will even attend her younger sister’s practice to get more playing time. She would miss a family member’s wedding if she had a soccer game that conflicted.  I knew it must be bad.

I arrived home and rushed in to assess the situation. Her face was swollen from crying and she would not let me touch her leg; which she could not fully straighten.  Trying to understand what happened she said she had drop kicked the ball while she was playing soccer at recess.  Her best friend, who is always at our house, gave me a better description of what took place.  From those two accounts, I thought she either hyper extended her knee or had ligament damage.

I made the decision that she need to be taken to the Urgent Care.  Upon my arrival I was the spectacle of the waiting room. Wearing my business clothes and high heels, clicking with every step as I carried my nine-year-old daughter across the lobby and she winched in pain with every movement.   As the nurse brought us back and I set her on the table, I stroked her hair wishing I could take the pain away and fought back my own tears.

In the exam room she screamed and begged the doctor not to straighten her leg.  After the doctor did a thorough analysis, she pulled me aside and we had a whispered conversation in the corner, where we discussed my daughter’s pain tolerance and then she told me her diagnosis – a Charlie horse.

My instant reaction had to be contained, so I took a moment and thought how best to react, then told the doctor to follow my lead.  The doctor and I turned around to see my daughter staring at us with those sincere eyes.   I kept a serious face and informed her that she kicked the ball so hard that she tied her calf muscle in a knot.  The doctor instantly jumped in and gave her the medical remedy to make it better. ( I thought I have got to toughen this girl up or she will need to adopt her children, and I can’t believe I just took my daughter to the ER for a muscle spasm.)

So that night as I rubbed the knot out of her calf and looked over and see my two-year-old covered in chocolate with a half-eaten box of Whoppers in front of him, and later as my son ran around the house coming down from his sugar high and my other daughter informed me she felt sick to her stomach and subsequently threw up, I made another decision – I laughed.

The Clocks

Part of our nighttime routine involves playing slow music and dancing with my two-year-old – something I have done with all my children when they were little. Last night when the music had finished the sounds of a quiet house gently filled the room.  My little guy – who I thought was asleep – suddenly asked, “What’s that sound?” 

After some investigation I realized he was talking about the sound of the ticking clocks in my kitchen and living room. The tick-tocks were just slightly off from each other so they produced a double beat. As we listen to the soft beat he pronounced, “It’s a heart, Mom.”  Often when I am holding him and his head is resting on my shoulder I’ve asked him if he could hear my heart telling him I loved him. 

I got him tucked in bed and came and sat in darkness of the living room and listen to the sound of the clocks pulsing like a heartbeat. It reminded me of a song my friend had sent to me earlier this week, “One Life to Love,” by 33 Miles. As I listened to the clocks, the chorus of that song filled my mind.

You only get just one time around
You only get one shot at this
One chance, to find out
The one thing that you don't wanna miss
One day when it's all said and done
I hope you see that it was enough, this
One ride, one try, one life...
To love....

My son was right; the sound of those clicks ticking away were the sounds of a precious heartbeat. There is no time machine – once those hands strike, I can never get those seconds back. How often have I taken sweet time for granted and how different would I act if spent every minute like it was the only shot I had to get it right?

I went into each of my children’s rooms and sat next to them on their beds, listened to the sounds of their deep breathing as they slept; I kissed them on their cheeks and told them I loved them. Then I went and sat on my front porch, wrapped my arms around my legs and looked up at the stars and made a promise that I would do everything I could in my life to not miss a beat of loving them.

For those who tune into this blog, I hope you too will realize the one life you have and ensure you take extra steps to love those around you, one precious second at a time. 

A Letter from God

I am always on the lookout for good DVDs I can watch with my kids for movie nights; events that are mostly for the girls and me as two-year-olds do not quite have the attention span for a movie.  

Over the weekend I saw the movie Letters to God at the store. I had remembered seeing trailers, and when I saw Wendy Griffith, of CBN gave it a glowing recommendation -- her quote, “a must see for all families,” printed in bold across the cover – I grabbed it (plus it was marked down).

With a soccer-free night I thought if we can get through dinner and homework fast enough we might have time to watch it; something I would not usually allow on a school night. At 6:30 I announced we were going to have a “Monday Movie night.”  My girls just stood and stared at me like I was ill. I said, “Hurry and get your pajamas on,” like I didn’t understand why they were so shocked, but at the same time stating it using a tone of confidence that indicated I knew I was being a cool mom. 

In a matter of seconds we all emerged from our rooms in our pjs complete with fuzzy slippers – even the two-year-old was excited about the change in routine and ran to open his pajama drawer and join in the fun.

My oldest, the unofficial microwave popcorn queen of our house, went right to the cupboard to get the snack – movie theater butter for them and kettle corn for me – while my other daughter began turning on the electronics and anxiously asked what we would be watching.  I showed them the movie and read the cheesy tag line printed on the front as I opened the adult-proof DVD wrapping with the steak knife I had enlisted to help me through this excruciating task.

As I opened the case, a greeting card envelope fell out – something a little out of the ordinary, much like this night.  I picked it up off the ground, opened it and took the card out. My girls were instantly by my side, curiosities peaked with this strange chain of events, asking “who is it from?”  I pulled the card out and began reading the message out loud:

Outside: “Even the strongest of us have moments when the burdens of life seem too great. It’s then that the Lord whispers to our hearts…Come to Me; all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28”

Inside: “Right here, right now, in the middle of all you’re facing, the Lord is there to give you strength and grace. Many prayers are with you too.”

As I fought back the tears, my oldest daughter kept asking who gave it to us, and finally her younger sister, who has just found her love for reading, held up the DVD cover reading the title and said, “Is it from God?” 

I watched the movie holding my two little girls and I thought about the message and the timing of that card. I knew it was put in every copy, and yet it was something I needed to hear – now.  Although I know I have not been on my knees for quite a while, many of my family and friends have been praying for my little family.  Tonight I felt peace fill my heart, and as I hugged my daughters tighter I thought, “We are going to be fine.”

The Quiet Reality

One of the biggest adjustments to being a single mom is the eerie silence that engulfs my home every other weekend; a sanctuary that is usually filled with sounds of three kids, their mom, aunt, nanny and dog – my family.  I was surprised this seemingly small change became my ultimate fear; especially since I was told repeatedly that I should be excited of this new found freedom.  

This fear of being alone was such an unexpected emotion to me; especially since my job requires travel – most of it alone. Last year I banked more than 100,000 sky miles, flying to different states to communicate major milestones for my company. Often times the location were so remote, it required three-hour drives from the closest airports to reach my destinations (non-populated areas are bests for large parachute tests, and rocket launches). Airports, rental cars, hotel rooms, restaurants, dinners, all tasks performed solo, never once feeling the sense of the isolation I am experiencing now.

While on travel I did feel guilty as I was not home to be with my kids.  Gone for weeks at a time, I missed major milestones in my children’s lives – first days of school, birthdays and others. In fact one year I waved to my kids via NASA TV as I stood by the countdown clock at the shuttle launch on Mother’s Day.  However, the ache and guilt I have felt on these solo weekends as I have walked past their quiet empty rooms has wrenched my heart.   

Initially when this freedom came into play I made every attempt to occupy my time. As the months wore on I knew this poor attempt to mask the pain needed to stop, and it was time to face reality.  During another reflection on my front porch I decided my quest for the weekend was to attack my trepidation of being alone, and discover the root cause of the fear.   

Although I did not spend the entire weekend alone (I went to dinner and a movie with friends), I did spend the majority of the time by myself and I came to two major discoveries about myself. 

The first is when you are a mother; your children love you unconditionally. No matter your failures, your mistakes, your insecurities, they are willing to forgive and provide you the ultimate love.  This is something I do not afford myself.  I have yet to forgive myself for my multiple mistakes and often find myself awakened at night with so many regrets just from that day. I realized I rely on my children to provide that love I am so desperately seeking inside.

Second, I am ungrateful.  I have a dear single friend who would trade places with me - even taking on the drama-filled life it offers - just to fulfill her dream of becoming a mother. Another friend lost one the twins she was carrying early in her pregnancy, although the other is healthy, her heart breaks for the life that will never be.  Yet another became a single mother because the love of her life lost his battle with cancer.  Even my ex-husbands have lost precious daily time with their children and are now restricted to one night during the week and every other weekend.  To all of you I say sorry. 

I was truly feeling sorry for myself and in doing so, I was being selfish. My fear of being alone was due to the fact that I was truly afraid to face the quiet reality – that this was my choice.

Although I know this sudden realization won't make future weekends totally better, I will make sure I keep a grateful heart. When I start to fall into the dark trap of self pity, I will look outside myself for opportunities to help others.  When I clean the handprints off the windows and doors, I will remember this quiet moment is just a temporary reprieve from the sounds of love and new dirty fingerprints that will soon fill my home.

Small Voices

“Your daughter has questions about the divorce, but she is afraid to ask you.”

Those words were the most hurtful yet awakening words I have heard since I separated from my husband three months ago.  As a once again single parent, I believed I was doing everything I could to ease the pain of the second divorce on my children, but reality just slapped me in the face.

That night I went through my usual structured nighttime routine, tucked my children in bed, and went and sat on my front porch – a place that has become my “thinking spot” at night.  I analyzed how best to approach my daughter in a way that would not make her lose the confidence in the person she confided in, while somehow reassuring/encouraging her she could talk to me. 

So the first question(s) that needed answering was why.  Why is she afraid to talk to me, why have I not realized the impact this is having on them, why didn’t I see their concern, and why have I been so naïve to the reality of events happening in this place I call home?

I reflected on the events of the past months and years that brought me to my thinking spot.  True self- assessment is not an easy or mundane task; it is much easier to point the finger of blame onto another.  Yet the hard truth is you have no one else to blame except yourself.   Even worse, your innocent children are victims of your choices and now become part of your consequences.

It felt like a slow motion scene out of a horror film with this realization.  With the playback in my mind now focused on my children, I finally heard their voices, their discounted statements, and their attempts at sarcasm. With the terror only a parent understands, I discovered I had not been listening.

Caught up in the stresses of work, the pending divorce, the adjustments to single parenthood, a new school year, soccer games, and all the other tasks involved with raising children and managing a household, I failed to use one of our most powerful senses as human beings – hearing.

I had proudly and boastfully proclaimed that with this change in life, I was going to focus on raising my children.  I made a promise I would never put them through this difficulty again – one I still intend to keep.  I took them places and made sure we did fun things together.  All the time thinking I was succeeding, when in reality I had failed--like every sentence in this paragraph reflects, the focus was truly on me.

Saturday morning, after a few nights had passed, I heard the earlier-riser daughter turn the television on to watch cartoons.  I called her into my room, had her climb in bed with me, held her in my arms, and I listened.

So as my recent Facebook post stated, our children have a lot to say, it is our responsibility as a parent to take the time to sit down and listen.