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The Home Stretch: A Meditation on Youth

posted 28th June 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Family, Season 4

As I write this, I’m two weeks away from my due date of July 3rd. Little ZomBaby has a makeshift nursery set up in our bedroom, complete with comfy seating for me and ample snuggle space with his daddy. I’ve watched my life transform from video games and gadgetry to Bumbos and baby clothes. Nothing’s been replaced. The additions have been comfortable (so far).

My nights are getting shorter; the mornings are early and sleep doesn’t come easily to a woman with swollen feet and aching muscles. When I was younger, my muscles ached from organized sports. I’m closing in on twenty-five and the muscle pain is from being a little top heavy.

Behind me, there was a lot of broken — broken dreams, broken hearts, broken promises. Beckoning to me, there is a world of promise — promises of love, fulfillment, and success.

Mike and I had a deep discussion last night about youth and what it meant to each of us growing up. Mike has always had this incredible youthfulness that he wears as a badge of honour. He’s responsible and mature where it counts (our finances, etc.) but is playful and whimsical the rest of the time. It was one of the things that really drew me to him six years ago. Until we met, I was very serious. Playful at times, but usually very serious.

I worked hard. I rarely enjoyed my life. It was one big drama after another with me, which may or may not have been related to my eighteen-year-old disposition.

I had to grow up fast. My mama — this incredible woman with an incredibly warm heart — has been chronically ill for the entirety of my life; my family needed me to step up, even if no one asked. I wanted to ease the burden on my parents as best as I could. I made breakfast for my brother when we were small. I got my first job babysitting at eleven so that if I wanted to get something special, I wouldn’t have to ask my parents for it; it was important that the money went to medication, groceries, and my brother. My self sufficiency and fierce independence was the product of that “grow up fast” mentality.

So when Mike and I had our discussion about youth, I realized that I had spent most of my life avoiding youth. Avoiding playful and wonder and whimsy, just so I could make ends meet or so I could ease the burdens of family (even friends).

I wept. I hadn’t realized it before… but I was starting to feel the bowers of my life closing in.

What if this youthfulness was lost to me entirely?

Mike disagreed.

We would reimagine youthfulness and experience it through the eyes of our child. As he grew and wondered and played, we would grow with him. We play and see the world through his young eyes.

So while we’re on the home stretch — the final weeks of my pregnancy — I’m finding myself more and more at peace with motherhood. With parenthood. With childhood.

I’m grateful, as always, for this moment. These handful of moments, really.

Image is my own.

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The Presets of Parenthood

posted 12th April 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Family, Season 4

The question of material maternity has been plaguing me lately.

I sat down with a friend of mine the other day and talked about babies and their “stuff”. Friends of hers were getting rid of their toddler’s baby stuff and were looking to pass it on to another young family. Mike and I are completely hopeless and just sort of stared at our friend with wide eyes and slightly gaped mouths.

“We have no idea what we need outside of food, diapers, clothing, and a place for our baby to sleep and rest between snuggles.”

It’s starting to feel like shopping for baby is like shopping for a new car. Will we get the sensible and affordable four-door sedan, no bells and whistles? Will we be getting the hopped-up-on-vehicle-steroids SUV with all the fixin’s? Or will we stick to what we’ve got and supplement with bicycles and ZipCar?

So far, we’ve got a crib, a few onesies, and some diapers/wipes. We’ve even got a couple of decorations for ZomBaby’s room. But outside of that, we’re clueless. It’s not that we haven’t started asking these questions. We’ve researched. We’ve asked around. We’ve poked around MetaFilter for answers (most of which were incredibly insightful and useful — hooray for MetaFilter!).

I’ve determined that I am, in fact, a pouch mama (unless this baby is really big, in which case I’ll have to reconsider my stance). I like the thought of decorating the baby’s room with robots. I want to create an atmosphere of health and happiness within the nursery.

I don’t want to be inundated with… stuff, especially stuff that we don’t need. Stuff like an abundance of toys that won’t get used. Or large strollers. Or an excess of clothing that our baby will grow out of just as quickly as he grows into them.

That’s as far as I’ve gotten with my exploration into the world of babyland.

I feel like that makes me a bad mama-to-be. I’ve been sitting here focusing my time and energy on building my biznez (and a new one on the way) that I’ve been pushing thoughts of baby to the back-burner. Sure, I think about the little guy all the time — I’m constantly rubbing my belly and talking to him — but as far as preparation is concerned, I’m not committed.

I’m committed to this little family of ours, I really am, but I can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with the way I’m tackling mamahood. Shouldn’t I be overjoyed when people ask me about the baby, instead of meeting their inquiries with barbs and snide remarks about him having dance parties late at night? Shouldn’t I want to go into baby stores and stare at baby clothes?

And there I go again, shoulding all over the place.

Expectations are a bitch to deal with, especially when you’re brand new to an entire culture of parenthood. I have these preconceived notions of what a mother is, what a father is, what parenting looks like, and what I want for my own children based on these presets. It’s not easy to override these presets with new ones.

… so what now? Do I try to override them now? Do I try to settle in and figure this shit out when the baby comes?

This is the worst game of twenty questions ever.

Photo by guruant.

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Live Like You’re Dying

posted 24th September 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, All Posts, Family, Job/Career/Work, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

One of the unfortunate side-effects of aging is watching your loved ones die.  Five years ago I lost my maternal grandmother; two years after that, my paternal grandmother died.  Last year my father-in-law lost his battle with cancer.  Then two weeks ago my grandfather passed away from the same evil disease.  It’s just the circle of life, I know, but it still scares me.  I am scared of a lot of things (snakes, the paranormal, having a wardrobe malfunction in Target while baby-wearing) but what scares me the most: dying before feeling like I ever really lived.

I have already had a little piece of myself die.  I think of the years around the onset of my bipolar as a slow, painful death.  Whatever was “Alisha” then, withered away and was buried.  Now I am on this seemingly endless journey of re-birth.  I am rediscovering my passions, redefining my values, renewing my confidence and strength.  Foolish me thought these tasks would be easy, but it is hard work.  It is so hard that I worry I will not finish all of it in time to live my dream life.

I honestly and truly believe that I have the potential to be and do anything.  While this is an amazing belief (in which my confidence always wavers), it is also overwhelming.  I have so many passions and interests, notebooks full of ideas and theories, a running lists of careers I want to pursue.  (And I want to pursue them perfectly.  I’m also working on that perfectionism stuff.)  Yet, I feel bound by many constraints.    At 2.5 and 1 year old, my children require constant attention.  From tickles and kisses (my favorite) to poopy diapers and crumbled crackers, my energy is always focused on them.  I love my family (really, I do) but let’s face it: kids are a huge time suck.  Until I can start generating a substantial amount of money–to justify a babysitter and housekeeper–the last little bits of sand in my hour glass are devoted to sleep.

I do realize that I use my talents and potential to raise my children.  They wouldn’t be such happy, awesome kids if I were not consistently trying to give them my best. It just does not feel the same as creating and developing community, healing the sick or enriching the poor.  I want to be an awesome mother, an awesome wife, and an awesome “everything.”

Yet, as I realized when I went up into the mountains, I cannot be “everything.”  There is not enough time in the day–at least not right now.  Does it mean that I will not be able to live my dream life?  No.  Not at all.  I can live my dream life every day.  What I need to get better at is acceptance.  I can no longer spend so much of my time and mental energy focusing on the future.  Planning is great, but as we all know, even “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”  The concept of letting go is a difficult one for a controlling and perfectionistic person such as myself.  But if I want to enjoy the rest of this life–if I want to live a life of no regrets that is full of abundance, authenticity, connection, family and freedom–it means letting go.

I will never live the life I dream of if I can not learn to accept the moments as they come.  When I learn to bring my best to each experience that comes my way.  When I learn to savor each bite of food, each sip of coffee.  When I learn to bask in the golden rays of the sun and dig my toes in the sand.  When I learn to look for the silver lining of all those clouds.  When I learn to cherish each day as though it will be my last–that is when I will live.

(Photo: me with one of my favorite people in the whole world living and having one of the best times I can remember.)

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Morning Bliss: The Best Part of Waking Up

posted 3rd September 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, All Posts, Family, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, Tips & Tools, Travel, Travel/Adventure

Each morning I rise, give praise for the rays of light.  Sun salutations, cat poses, savasanas.  The warmth of the chai spreads through my chest, into my arms, down my legs.  The air inside is still; the only noise I hear is the gentle hum of the refridgerator as it toils to keep the food cold during these dog days of summer.  With a pen in hand, I scribble all my thoughts and dreams from the days before.  Every penstroke is a gentle caress on the smooth, vanilla bean paper.  My head and heart empty, ready to recieve the gifts the present day may bring.

O. M. G.  I wish.  This is how it really goes down:

Right around dawn, my daughter screams.  She doesn’t whimper, she doesn’t cry.  She screams at the top of her lungs.  I nurse her, lay her back down in her crib and cross my fingers and toes in hopes that I can get just forty-five more minutes of sleep.  I make it back to my own bed, curl up into the fetal position and pull the blankets over my head.  32 minutes pass by and at 6:47 a.m. she is ready to begin her day.  I change her diaper, get the coffee started (extra-strong please!), make her oatmeal, wash a few dishes and sweep the floor as I wait for my son to emerge.  At 7:02 a.m. he stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and muttering something about dinosaurs.  He demands animal crackers for breakfast.

“I don’t think so little man.  How about cereal and milk?” I ask him sweetly.

“Mmmmm.  Eh-eh.  Animals.”

“Toast and butter?”  I say as I look him sternly in the eye.

“Eh-eh!  Animals!”

“No.  Cereal and milk or toast and butter?”  Hunched over and with a raised eye-brow, I repeat his options.

“Animals!  Animals!  Animals!” he protests while jumping up and down, much to the dismay of the neighbors below, I am sure.

I mean, really.  I have not had any coffee yet, I am still in my underwear–literally–and at only 7:08 in the morning, Time Out Number 1 is underway.  It is totally not the zen-filled morning I so desperately crave.  Take this morning, repeat it 4 days a week, and multiply it by 52 weeks in a year.  That equals 208.  208 out of 365 days of my year start out this way.  So it is no wonder that when I dream about my “perfect” life, I am usually alone.

According to my therapist, this is because I don’t vacate.  I do not make the time to do those things in which I take delight.  So this week, I am taking my therapist’s advice and vacating.  Well, vacating as much as I possibly can with a husband and two kids.  We are off to Colorado, my friends!  Seven days and six nights away from home, in the bright sunshine and crisp mountain air.  And while I am there, I will make time for myself.  This is not a plan, this is a promise.  I am making a promise to be kind to myself…to allow myself to vacate (at least a teensy little bit) because I know that upon my return I will be renewed, refreshed, regenerated.

I recently finished working through Week 1 of The Joy Equation and I had a breakthrough.  It was the kind of breakthrough that made me feel strong, empowered, brave, ready to take on the world with clearer vision.  You see, at the end of Week 1, I made a list of 8 core values.  Molly calls our core values ”the Habits of our Heart.”  She couldn’t be more right.  Through Week 1′s exercises I realized that a lot of the pain and suffering I had experienced over the last five or six years was kind of my own fault: I made choices that discounted my intuition and casted my values aside.  (Okay, that and the whole bi-polar thing too.)  It was a slap in the face, but I welcomed it.

I decided that I was ready for some fun again. I want to get back to a little bit of that old “Alisha”.  Old Alisha was fun, a little more free, and a lot happier.  So, on this vacation, I am going to vacate my old ways; I am going to reintegrate my core values into my life and into my choices.  I think life will be more fun that way.

photo credit

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Happy Wives and Stay At Home Moms Still Get Lonely

posted 27th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Family, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

One day we took my husband to work and headed to the little petting zoo in the next town over. The sun was shining. It was warm–warm for March in Chicago: 53 degrees according to the car. My son was happily speaking his toddler-speak…something about planes, sky, and going to the “zoom.” I had all of this wonderful light, bright, happy, great stuff going on, and yet. . . . And yet I was so overwhelmed; drowning in sorrow, loneliness. I almost started crying.

That morning I just felt so alone. There was no one to share my happiness with that day. No one to share that school-girl giddiness. No one to call up and meet for coffee and a quick chat in the backyard. I missed my old home. I missed my friends. I missed the tall oaks–how they lined the streets and shaded you from the mid-day sun. And the broken-up city sidewalks with their names set in blue and white mosaic tiles at each intersection. I missed the strawberry smoothies and melt-in-your-mouth croissants from the coffee shop down the road. I missed the old craftsman windows and Tudor peaks, the sirens from the police station on 63rd, and the neighborhood market with its fresh flowers and juicy scallops.

I am used to being alone.  After all, I am an INFJ—emphasis on the “I”.  My family moved around a lot when I was young (it is difficult to cultivate deep friendships when you move every 1-3 years).  Before children, my Saturdays were spent walking down to the coffee shop, reading best-sellers, watching movies in bed, and running on the trails— alone.

There are few whom I call friends; I consider most to be acquaintances.  And over the past few years I’ve become quite stingy with my friendship, extending it only to those whom I deem worthy.  (Wow. I hope that doesn’t sound like I think my ish don’t stink.  I just am more careful about in whom I invest my time and energy.)  Yet, lately I find myself craving connection on a level that I never have before.

I was not prepared for this loneliness thing.  When I envisioned my life as a stay-at-home mom I saw myself carting the kids to and from playgroups and playdates, chatting it up on the park bench while the children slid down the slides.  There is some of that, but not nearly enough.  It turns out that as I have gotten older, become a wife and a parent, making friends has not been so easy.  Family schedules don’t always mesh.  Children do not always play nicely.  Parenting philosophies differ.

I thought that I could fill the void by connecting with my tribes online.  Don’t get me wrong—the places and spaces I found on the internet are full of inspiring individuals and communities.  They are uplifting, supportive, encouraging and all around awesome!  However, they are no replacement for real human, face-to-face interaction.  Virtual hugs do not compare to the warm embrace of a kind soul.  I prefer “LOL”s to be literal: deep hearty laughs exchanged over a glass of wine and a medium pepperoni pizza. We humans are not made to be alone.  I need to go find my people.

photo credit

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