The Year of the Child or Pass That Polar Bear a Donut

Fuck. Squirrel and I are at it again, having another knock down drag out fight. I don’t even know what the topic is because it doesn’t matter. He is right and as always I am wrong. Oh my gosh I am so beyond exhausted from these fights and worse, I am frightened that my child is going to be an angry person for the rest of his life. There I said it. I’m afraid I have fucked him up by getting a divorce.

Contrary to what the Squirrel believes, I tried everything to avoid getting a divorce. Hell, I’m Catholic – Catholics don’t even let you take communion if you’ve had a divorce and they make you promise that NO MATTER WHAT you won’t get a divorce. (Fortunately I’ve switched churches because this is not healthy on so many levels – I’m not even going to get started on how this practice abandons you in your worst time of need.) However, for whatever reason, the Squirrel blames me for everything divorce related and HATES me for it. I have ruined his life and things will only be good again if his father and I get back together, which we are not. Ever. Like Taylor Swift song never.

Welcome to my reoccurring battle with the Squirrel. While the Moose has quietly (and unhealthfully) internalized his feelings, the Squirrel has taken them all out on one person – me. In my better moments I see this as a compliment – I am the safe spot, the security blanket, which means I am the one he rails on in his insecure, anxious and angry moments. In my not better moments, I am down. Does this child not realize that I too have taken a beating this year and am trying to become whole again? I cannot take more hate directed towards me, especially from someone I love beyond the universe and back. And the Moose?  He doesn’t want to talk to me about things that bother him because he’s trying to protect ME, his mom. He’s got his roles reversed – I’m the one who takes care of HIM. I am doing my best to make this as good as possible for them and failing. I just desperately want to hope that if I put on my best Mary Poppins, they will act like nothing has happened. Cue the laugh track. My therapist has dubbed this the “Messy Middle” stage. Messy, my ass. It’s the Sucky Season.

**The next two paragraphs have been redacted Robert Mueller style because my Squirrel has asked me to not share some of his “finer” moments. Let’s just say if war was art, they would be his masterpieces. Honestly, he gets props for his level of finding creative yet exquisitely cutting ways to take me down. Like a surgeon with a sharpened blade. Slow clap. I’m actually kind of proud of him for going all in. If you are going to do something, do it well. But while I am comfortable sharing my worst self with the world, my sensitive Squirrel is not and I respect that. So let me just say that we had an epic fight recently that made me realize I’ve got to up my parenting game.**

The Squirrel found the chink in my armor. He knows that I would do anything for him and the Moose and that my time with them is more precious than ever. That doesn’t mean he gets out of homework or manners, but it does mean that threatening my time with them by saying he wants to go to a different house than mine because he’s mad at me takes me straight into fight or flight mode. And this mama bear has never flown from her cubs – she will always pick fight when given the choice. And now that the Squirrel has discovered my weakness, he knows he can use it against me. Or so he thinks.

You see, for weeks I couldn’t eat because the thought of breaking my children’s hearts by telling them I was getting a divorce swallowed me like a sad whale. Sure I looked good but I was wearing a size grief in jeans. For months I couldn’t sleep for fear of not having my kids as much as possible after the divorce. I did not sign up to be a part-time parent. In fact, I have been the 100% parent 100% of the time since the Moose was born. Every cell in my body screamed against what I knew would have to happen. And while I knew that having the boys less could be good for me from a balance perspective, I have always been more than willing to give up my mental and physical wellbeing in order to be there for them all the time. I’m not saying this is healthy but I think a lot of moms feel this way too.  

My friends recently assigned me the polar bear for my spirit animal. I was pretty sure that this was because it has a fat ass and lumbers around. Let’s be real. I have been eating a lot of divorce donuts and skipping the gym way too much lately. I own that. They swear that’s not why. Instead its symbolism/traits are strength, endurance, acceptance and surrender. It also has a deep strong protective nature, meaning it will do everything in its power to take care of its loved ones. Enter my cubs, the Moose and Squirrel. Okay, that I can agree with.

So where does this all put me? As much as I need it to be the Year of Me, I’m going to have to share this with the Year of the Child. You see, my babies are going through the stages of grief as much as I am. I can get frustrated every time the Squirrel tells me that my new last name is wrong or I can recognize he is going through denial (one of the first stages of grief) and look at him and say, “having a tough time with the divorce right now?” My Moose can become a statue sometimes and I can let it go and give him space. And he’s a teenager and maybe that’s what I should do, but I don’t. I ask the hard questions like, “was I inappropriate back there?”, “is there any way I can personally make this better for you?” and “what is the story going on in your head?” I may not always like his answers but I am getting better at accepting them with an open heart because I’m far from perfect and I too am learning to navigate this new terrain. I’m not going to be better at this if I don’t learn from my mistakes. And I make a lot of mistakes. I am not a Zen Jen, at least not yet.

One of the side effects of divorce is that I do have less time with my kids than I am used to. Wow, that sucks. But instead of wallowing in it, I’m going to try to make the best of it. I recognize that I’m going to need to Mom harder than I ever have before, and frankly, I’m licking my wounds too. So those days I don’t have my babies? That’s Jen time. That’s where I do my healing and my resting. So far I’m terrible at the resting part and instead am nesting into new open spaces in my home. But that’s a form of healing too – making this space mine, a place where we feel safe, a place that radiates love and feels like me again. Friends, I found my college CDs and have been blaring Alanis Morrisette and the Dixie Chicks throughout the house. It feels good (and old, oh so old.) And on those many days where I have my babies? That’s the Year of the Child. While way too often I fail, I am trying to remember that this is their year to heal too and I’m going to need to bring my A game as much as possible to help them through this new season of life. And if I do this right, instead of fucking them up for life by getting a divorce, hopefully they will learn how to adapt to change, accept new situations, see that things that are buried are actually planted, and that we will bloom with love and laughter again. They will learn that when things look bleak, we are a team that supports each other even when it is ugly and hopefully that gives them a sense of security I could not have created without a major life event. You can’t become resilient without adversity. And this polar bear is resilient, fat ass and all, and is teaching her cubs to be the same. Now if she could only switch to a fish-based diet instead of donuts, she’d be in really good shape. But she hates fish so maybe just more fruits and vegetables. One thing at a time. It is the Year of the Child after all and they really like their donuts.

It Takes a Village or "Alone" Time

This is month I’ve had my first weekends without my babies in, well, 14 years? There have been a few work trips here and there and less than a handful of kid-free vacations. But these are my first weekends alone. Totally alone. And as the first weekend drew to a close, I realized that I had kept myself so busy I didn’t have a chance to dwell on the silence. I moved things around the house, expanded into newly open spaces, got groceries, mowed, figured out the internet, nursed a stomachache, decorated my bedroom, did tons of laundry, read and binged on Netflix. As I was driving to the gym, I thought to myself, “I can do this alone thing. I can handle single parenting.” And immediately I realized how wrong I was. I mean, yes, I’m a competent person and while it is exhausting, I can nail single parenting. I know this in my bones; I can do hard things. But what was wrong is that I have not been alone at all, even when I’m the only one in my house.

You see, one of the best things about this year has been how I’ve had to learn to ask for and accept help. I’ve had to say yes when I normally would have declined offers. This is so hard for me. I’ve always felt that to ask for help was a sign of weakness. I should be completely self-sufficient and not have to ever ask for help. Help is for the weak and I am not weak.

Oh how misguided. This year I’ve reached out and my tribe has formed around me. My parents show up with money and casseroles. My brothers text and call to give me moral support. Packages show up in the mail, like my new swear book and Zen as Fuck journal. I’ve gotten gift cards and handwritten notes from friends who are just thinking of me. I’ve gotten texts from friends checking in with encouragement and hugs everywhere - even from my friends where we have a no-hug pact. I take each of those hugs now willingly. And no matter how boring I am, my best friend answers my call every time I call her. And I call her a lot.

Even complete strangers, like Duncan at Century Link, have been more kind than they need to be. And as I am needing more help than ever, I find these gestures nothing less than beautiful. Maybe I’m just feeling a little fragile as I fight to be strong, but the smiles and kind words bring tears to my eyes. We worry about the cruelty in the world, and trust me, it is there, but so is immense humanity.

A perfect example of this was my first “alone” weekend. I got off work and went to the gym, knowing my babies were going to head to their dad’s. I wanted to keep busy. After the gym, I decided to hook up my new modem, which of course required a phone call to Century Link. Connie from Century Link and I had a great conversation. Once I got that done, I had some gas left in the tank, and being by myself, decided to mow my yard for the first time ever. One blister later, I had just finished up. It wasn’t pretty but it was done. And I checked my phone. There was a text from my neighbor, inviting me down the street for cocktails. It could not have come at a better time. And while I’m normally more on the shy side, I said yes. On my first Friday night alone, I wasn’t at all – I was smiling and laughing with a group of great people.

Just these past few weeks, my parents bought me a much-needed weed eater, a cordless drill and committed to making me a casserole weekly for three months (if you are reading this Mom and Dad, I have this in writing.) My friend invited me to a much-needed girls’ night. I’ve gotten texts congratulating me on mowing* for the first time and giving me pep talks. I put out an SOS to the neighborhood about how I don’t know how to work a mower and seriously, someone was at my house in 2 minutes to show me how.  Another neighbor came down and changed out my outdoor lights for me because it is not Christmas time anymore and the red and green lights have to go. My good girlfriend sent me one of the funniest videos ever about Maycember that had me giggling in the kitchen. I have been so blessed and surrounded by love when one would think that would be the opposite of how I feel right now.  

So single parenting for me isn’t really single after all. In fact, I feel like I have more support now than I did when I was married. Maybe I was putting all of my eggs into one basket – who knew that basket had a hole in it. But what I really think is that now I am more open to accepting help and friendship and everyone has responded in kind. I can’t think of a better lesson. I am in an amazing place right now. It isn’t easy; in fact, it can be downright hard. These past few weeks have been great – full of smiles but also full of all out sobbing. But what I know for sure is that I am not alone at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child but I think it actually just takes a village period. 

*So much about mowing. But this is something I’ve never had to really do before and it gave me a lot of anxiety. And frankly, if your lawn is mowed, it looks like you have your shit together…at least on the outside from the street-view.  

A Mother’s Day Letter to my Moose and Squirrel or What I Don't Tell You

Dear Moose and Squirrel,

Here we are at another Mother’s Day. This one came sputtering down the road, coughing smoke, with a flat tire, covered in rust. It has been a bumpy year to say the least. And you may be looking back on this year and thinking to yourself, as a Mom, I’m going to give her a C-. This certainly hasn’t been her best year – she really hasn’t wowed us much and she seems a bit touchy. Oh my loves. It has actually been a pretty spectacular year. You see, I’ve spent most of this year working harder than ever to just maintain status quo for you. If I have done my job well, you will think that this year hasn’t been amazing, but in the background, it has been my swan song. And as much as I want you to feel like life is normal as we transition from a family of four to a family of three, this backfires on me when I need just a little gratitude, or at least for you not to complain to me all the time about how you don’t have a brand new four wheeler or when you fight with each other over who has to walk the dog.

As soon as I knew you were speck in my belly, I have been protecting you. I ate all the right things, I gave up all the bad things. I rearranged my work schedule for you and used all my vacation to attend your school events, no school days and to drive you to camps. Do I sometimes point out the sacrifice I made of giving up coffee for two years for each of you while I was pregnant and nursed you? Yes. But there are so many things I have done to protect you that I will never tell you about.

You see, you are still living in your house, in your neighborhood, in your school district, because I knew that was important to you. You see nothing different other than your father doesn’t live with us anymore and you feel bad for him. You don’t see me, scrambling on the other side to give you that sense of normalcy. You don’t see the tears I’ve cried, while moments before I reassured you this will be a happy home again, built on trust, honesty, love and laughter. You don’t see how scared I am because I’m afraid it will make you worry. You don’t see how I’m double checking my new budget after you go to bed to make sure I can keep you in swimming, because I know that swimming is good exercise for you, even though you “hate it,” and it is “child abuse” except that you love swimming and laugh during practice. You don’t see how hard it is for me emotionally to give one of you difficult answers to your hard questions and give the other one of you innocence while you take your anger and sadness out on me. And in the midst of this, I am still excitedly sitting down to go over all of the new changes in the new season of Fort Nite with you and ordering you the new Marshmello helmet you want. Because Moms know that the show must go on and the ringmaster sets the tone. And by golly, the tone in this house will be one of healing our hurt and moving forward into the light.

If I’m doing my job right, you only see that for you, a large part of your life hasn’t changed. You come home to a house full of food, toilet paper, and the normal chaos. You come home to homework, rules and lots of “no” answers, which you hate no matter how good for you it is. You don’t see the fear, work, struggles and sacrifices I am making for you to not notice a difference. And maybe one day I will tell you. But for right now, all I’m asking for this Mother’s Day is a little grace. It’s been a tough year of protecting you and while you may not notice anything herculean, I have never worked harder for you to think I’m doing nothing special.

Love forever and always,

Mom

P.S. If I could ask for just one more thing, it would be really great if you could remove your wet dirty clothes from your sports back packs when you get home. Unlike a piece of chicken, wet towels and sweaty socks do not improve when they marinate. Thanks!

P.P.S. One last thing! If you could also please eat more fruit and vegetables. I think you know why.

I Give Up It's Your Turn or Just Listen

I’m going to preface this by saying I’m not what you’d call super religious. I haven’t read the Bible. I have had periods in my life where I haven’t gone to church in years. I couldn’t sit in a debate and use the Bible intelligently to make a point. I was raised Catholic, got tired of the judgement and found a church instead that seems to focus on giving to others and accepting all people. I’m not sure if I’m doing “religion” right, but I do it my way – I feel like I’ve got a personal relationship with my God, or higher power, or whatever you want to call it. But what you are about to read probably doesn’t follow any specific religious belief other than my own. Oh, and there will be swears. Because that’s how my God and I talk.

I’m not sure how religion is really supposed to work. I’ve always believed God feels like you should be a good person and not judge others. That’s basically what my beliefs are based on. And it feels weird to say that I believe I’ve had moments in my life where I feel like God has talked to me because that seems like something that would only happen to devout people. I swear a lot, can be mean sometimes and am not perfect so why would God talk to me? But all I know is that I don’t know who else was talking to me in those conversations because super smart things were said that I didn’t come up with. Is this normal for everyone else? I don’t know. Either way, it’s happened in some of my worst times, and it’s how I know that there is a point to all the craziness of life.

One of the first times I can remember having a chat with God was after I had my miscarriage. I was out running a 13-mile run (as one often does after a significant medical event like an idiot) and really, that run was for punishing my failure of a body. I was just so angry and sad and miserable. I was out running because I could control my body for 13 miles when I couldn’t control it to have a baby. That miscarriage was when I learned true sadness. I remember thinking, “What in the fuck God? How could I have a baby taken away when there are so many people out there that do drugs and are bad people and they have babies just fine?” And I distinctly heard, “You got what you wanted.” I remember exactly where I was when I heard that. I was out on a gravel road, with the humming of the power lines overhead. If I were being cynical, I would chalk this whole thing up to the extreme voltage coming off those lines, but instead I said, “Excuse me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I did not get what I wanted. I’ve never been more sad in my life.” And the reply, which I honestly do not think I would have thought of on my own at that moment was, “You wanted a healthy baby Jenny. And you did not have one. So this one is gone. You are getting what you wanted” I actually stopped running, put my hands on my hips, and just processed that. This voice was right. All I wanted was a healthy baby. If I was going to get what I wanted, then I must need to let this baby go. Always wanting the last word, I think I replied, “Well, you could have just given me a healthy one in the first place.” I think God chuckled. But I knew God was right. It was this moment when I saw that maybe someone did have my back. I may not be getting what I wanted right now but ultimately I was getting what I wanted – and I did. I have two amazing sons that own my heart.

Years go by and it’s pretty much radio silence. Which is fine because I’m good. I remember that voice on the road, but we don’t talk a whole lot. Maybe we are like when you have that friend that is your best friend so you can go years without seeing each other and then when you do, it’s like you were never apart? There is this part of me that wonders if God needs more from you than that, but God is a busy person so maybe it’s a relief when you are status quo. But then the Squirrel was born. What an epic disaster. He had a prolapsed cord and a true knot. This baby wanted to crash into the world (much like he lives every day) and he did. One of these medical events is an emergency on its own – to have both things happen with one baby requires more statistics than I can handle. I woke up from surgery and I don’t know if it was the drugs or if it was God but all I felt was peace. While everyone around me was telling me how terrible things were, how the Squirrel probably had brain damage, that everything went wrong, I knew it would be alright. That whatever happened next, it would be fine. When people would tell me how nothing went right, instead I saw intervention. I was able to use a surgery room that was already prepped for the pregnant mother who was being wheeled down the hall for HER surgery. The doctors were changing shifts, and the next doctor hadn’t arrived yet, but they caught the one leaving as he was almost out the door.  There was just a second of air left in the umbilical cord that saved the Squirrel. I had a nurse who quickly recognized an emergency and knew exactly what to do – she held the Squirrel’s head up while she rode the bed with me down to surgery. Nurses would come up to me during my stay at the hospital and would tell me that the whole floor was praying for me. The Squirrel was perfect. No one could believe it. I tell him he has to do great things now because he was saved for a reason. If you don’t see God in that story, then you need to read it again.

So now I come to present day. Soon I won’t need to keep writing about my divorce, but right now it’s how I process things. You guys. It was pretty rough. It was a year of truth after truth after truth. So many revelations and horrible moments. One night I took a walk.  And I said to God, “I can’t believe you threw me under the bus like this. I thought you had my back but you don’t. Screw you.” We were done. We were not friends. Don’t even say the word God to me. God had left me when the chips were down. Don’t tell me that bullshit story about footprints in the sand. It’s not true and I was only searching for truths at that point.  

Well you can probably predict how this went. It didn’t go well. It was a year of treading water while waves kept washing over me, choking me and sending me down. Every day it was a struggle to keep believing things would get better. Around the end of that year, I was in spin class trying to block out the fact I was in spin class. I was thinking about how hard everything was and how I really didn’t know how I had the energy to keep trying, to keep smiling for my kids, to take more hits that just kept coming. How do you keep standing up when you keep getting knocked down over and over? And all of a sudden I thought, what do I have to lose? My way wasn’t working so that means it’s time to try something different. And I said, “Okay God. Nothing is working. I give up. Your turn. I know I told you to screw off but that’s because it seemed like you were really shitting on me there – how could so many bad things happen to me when I was trying to be a good person? And now I feel like an ass because I’m giving you a second chance when all I’ve been doing is giving people second chances lately and frankly that has brought me nothing but pain. Trying to trust anyone feels like a mistake. But I have nothing left to lose. Let’s see what you can do.” Not my most gracious conversation but God overlooked that.

I went home and I opened the Bible. I didn’t even know where to start. I read a few Psalms. Wow, people felt like garbage back then too. My heart too has been turned to dust. I get that. My enemies have tried to destroy me too. Sounds like God has seen this before. I started talking to God again. “Dude, I just need the energy and the patience to make it through this day without being ashamed of my reactions. Help me stay true to the person I am while I go through this.” “God, what the fuck was that? You are going to have to handle this one. I need a trust fall.” “I am freaking the fuck out. Just make it better. I’m going to trust you to make it better.”   

You know what? God showed up. Turns out I don’t think God bailed on me at all. That damned footprint story was right. I see now that everything I experienced simply reinforced the kind of person that I am, what my values are, who I am deep down. I wouldn’t have learned that without going through the darkness. What a gift. God gave me the courage to start telling my story and my one regret is that I didn’t talk to my family and friends sooner. I am humbled by the amazing people in my life and without the strength they lent me, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today, which is a good place. On one of my lower days, my little brother, who I hadn’t talked to in more than 2 years, called me for the first time. All day I had been crying tears of sadness and all of a sudden I was crying tears of joy. Thanks God. If that would be the only good thing to happen through all of this, it was worth it. Everything I went through showed me that the only way was to walk a new path instead of getting lost following the same path again. Instead of throwing me under a bus, God was saying, “Jen, I’m trying to convince you there is another way. Unfortunately, you are stubborn so I’m going to have to almost break you first to get you to change.” I see that now. And when it gets blurry and messy, I just say, “God, your turn. You are going to have to get me through this one today. I trust you to not fuck it up.” And so far, God hasn’t let me down.

On Palm Sunday I was feeling pretty frustrated. I said a quick prayer before going into church, “God give me patience.” It is my go-to prayer I say almost daily. I sat in church and realized I had forgotten what had made me mad already. And then I heard that voice. “Now you are going to do great things.” Huh? What was that? Where did that come from? “I’m giving you a second chance. Now you are going to do great things with it.” Okay. I know that voice. I’m getting a do-over. Life is going to look different. I get that I’m going to get some time to heal, to detox from these past 18 months of stress and turmoil. But then I am expected to do great things. Maybe it just means being that friend to others because I learned how to sit with sadness. Maybe I’m going to help people who feel lost and need help like I did – to show them they have strength they didn’t know they had. I don’t know. But I do know that God cleared the way for me to live my best life. I’m not going to squander it.

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too was a gift.” – Mary Oliver

A Letter To My Babies or #metoo

Dear Babies,

My Dear Boys. You are growing up in a time when innocence is hard to protect. Every time I turn on the news I risk you learning about the evils of the world. We rush to report the tragic and insane and ignore the beautiful things around us. There is no shielding you from human behavior anymore because even if I don’t watch the news, it’s on the radio, discussed in school and on the playground. So instead of blocking it, we are going to talk about it. We are going to make sure you understand empathy and compassion for your fellow human beings.

A perfect example of this is the news about Joe Biden. We love Joe Biden. And Joe Biden is being accused of touching women without their permission. “But what’s the big deal? Look at what Trump did!” you say. Sigh. Yes. But it still doesn’t make it okay. We need to respect personal boundaries, even if you are Joe Biden. Now I have the task of explaining the male-female dynamic to you, in a time where you are also influenced by people who think it is overblown and silly. How do I explain the #metoo movement to you? Do I start with the history of how women have been constantly harassed? Do I explain your role in society and how it differs from mine? Do I point out every time a woman is marginalized so you begin to see it? I need you to understand it with compassion and the only way I know how to do that is to make it personal. Maybe I just start of by telling you what my experience is like as a woman.

Let me preface this by saying that I am so lucky that I am a woman living in the United States. And nothing truly traumatic has happened to me. What I am about to tell you are stories of what women consider just common occurrences about growing up as female. But I know they are things you will likely not experience because you are boys. And that is the entire problem and why we have #metoo.

I’d like to start off by saying I love men. Men have been some of my favorite friends. I love joking with them, sharing stories, getting their insight. I guess I’ve always looked at people like they are people and not so much as their gender. And I have some amazing men that are my friends and family. And look at you two beautiful boys – I love you like you are the breath I take each day because you are. So now that that has been said, let me tell you about some not so awesome moments that are normal for women to experience.

Do I tell you about the time I was working in a restaurant and one of the kitchen workers shoved me against a wall and held me there to try and kiss me? I pushed and shoved and squirmed until I got out of there and then, went back to work with a smile on my face because when you are a girl, you “man” up and do what you have to do, no matter how fast your heart is beating. There wasn’t anything to report to the manager because I got away. And even if he had kissed me, unless it’s rape, you don’t talk about it because you are just "overblowing" the situation. You should want to be kissed by whomever and whenever. Except you don’t.

There was the time when I lived with a roommate and someone left a threatening note on our hall floor by our door that said he was coming to fuck the blonde bitch in the black leather coat. My roommate looked at me and said, you are the only one wearing a black leather coat Jen. We called the cops and I started carrying mace because simply living in my apartment had become dangerous because some random stranger decided that he could inflict fear and threaten my safety. I felt silly that my roommate called the cops despite a threat on my safety. Until something actually happens, you are just supposed to put up with unwanted comments like that. But you shouldn’t.

How about the time I was doing my observation hours for the athletic training program at my university and I was watching a football player receive a treatment in the treatment room. The head professional athletic trainer for a Big 12 university looked at me and another student doing her observation hours and tilted his head at us and said to the football player, “Which one of these is yours?” Before you think this is simply a case of misunderstanding, we were both in the athletic trainer uniform of unattractive khakis and red, blue or white polos. The football player just looked puzzled and the trainer said, “So neither of these is yours?” No sir, neither of us “belong” to this football player. Clearly we are here to watch you as a professional administer therapy and evidently treat us like we are just a piece of property to be claimed. It was then I decided that athletic training wouldn’t be my career field. I couldn’t deal with the sexism I was realizing I would experience. Hopefully things have changed greatly since the mid-90s. Women are not property.

And remember when your dad and I were talking about whether it is appropriate to “wolf whistle” at a woman? Let me clear that up once and for all. It’s not appropriate. First, women are not dogs to be whistled at, even if you approve of how we look. We don’t actually care if you like how we look because we got dressed for ourselves that day. If you think we are pretty or smart or funny, be a human and come up and tell us to our face. If you can’t do that, then you aren’t mature enough to talk to us in the first place. Second, it is a “wolf” whistle and wolves are predatory. Nothing in the name says this is a nice polite gesture. Third it makes women feel uneasy and like we are a piece of meat that has been noticed and now we are on guard. That reason alone is enough to justify that you never wolf whistle at a woman. Show respect. Always.

Do you know why I always lock my doors when I go in and pay for my gas or drop off library books? Because if something bad happened to me, it is always assumed to be my fault first for not being extra cautious, or for wearing a skirt or for having long hair. You will not know what it feels like to always scan a parking lot before approaching your car. You will not know what it feels like to second guess getting into an elevator with a stranger. These are my realities. They are the realities of women everywhere.

Let me say it makes me roll my eyes to hear that men don’t want to mentor women now because they are afraid that we are demanding to be treated with respect and apparently, they just don’t know how to do that properly. So it’s not okay to make a comment about how we look anymore? “Well I just can’t trust myself to not be a douchebag when I am in a position to mentor this person.” Look buddy, if you can’t trust yourself to not be an ass, you shouldn’t be a mentor in the first place.

Are these all of the instances of my experiences of being a woman? No. But I don’t need to share all my stories. You see I’m not looking for protection. I’m looking to raise sons that don’t treat people like they are objects or things to overpower. Instead I want you to treat people like they are of value, whether they are men, women, trans, straight, gay, bi, black, white, Christian, Jew, Muslim. Treat people like they are of value until they prove otherwise but I’ll be damned if you will treat them with disrespect because of their gender, orientation, ethnicity, race or religion.

I know it seems like sticky waters but it’s not. It is simply following the Golden Rule, treat others as you wish to be treated. I can guarantee you don’t want to be shoved into walls, dismissed because of your gender or made to feel lucky that “nothing worse happened.” We women are warriors because you do not hear about those every day things we put up with. And now everyone is shocked that women are starting to speak up. But you My Loves are the future. And it is your job to make sure that the people around you feel uplifted and safe. Am I asking for you to treat women differently? I’m not asking for special treatment but I am asking you to watch for instances when you see a woman marginalized or threatened and you are going to be the one to step in and put a stop to it. With great power comes great responsibility. And you were born white males in the United States of America. You were born into privilege. From the beginning I told you about the Four Golden Rules in our house and one of them is to Always Respect Women. And My Loves, this is why. If you love your mama then you love women. And that means being better than the people who came before you, even Joe Biden. #metoo #iloveyou

My Deeper Why for KonMari or It's Time to Take the Trash Out

Like everyone else, I have jumped on the Konmari Train. I started watching Tidying Up on Netflix and watched the skies open and heard angels singing. I love decluttering – it is one of my favorite things to do! There is nothing more satisfying than bags full of clothes for Goodwill and garbage for trash day. I will literally walk by a decluttered room and gaze at it like a loved one and just stare at its beauty. I wish I were joking, but I find decluttering so satisfying – maybe too satisfying…now you know my secret shame.

To have a roadmap of how to tidy up my life sounded amazing! Because I don’t have unlimited time, I started small. According to Marie Kondo, there is a specific process. While I know you are supposed to start with clothes, I started with accessories and email (odd as it sounds, my inbox gets super cluttered.) Then this month I tackled clothes. I didn’t throw them all on my bed at once but I did do them in categories. And while I didn’t thank each piece of clothing or really figure out if they “sparked joy” I still got rid of bags and bags of clothes. It felt amazing!

I eagerly started to plan my next decluttering attack. You are supposed to do clothing, books, paper, komono (which means everything) and then sentimental items, in that order. My clothes were done but sorting through my books doesn’t sound like much fun right now. What if I start tackling the stuff in my bathroom? Or all those CDs downstairs? It is a little messed up how exciting the idea of tidying up my life sounds.

Since I was on a roll with the whole decluttering thing, I checked out this book called “Digital Minimalism” by Cal Newport. One aspect I don’t love about myself is how wrapped up in my phone I have gotten. I use it for everything – probably like you do. It is my mini-computer, my to-do list, my Rolodex, my soundtrack, my lifeline. And because I have a teenager and want to connect with him where he is at, I joined Snapchat and Instagram recently too – more social media! And I feel like maybe this idea of digital minimalism is just what I need too.

I’m going to be honest, because what’s the point of blogging if I’m not going to be honest. I might have skipped through large sections of this book. I didn’t really need the research to tell me why reducing my digital usage was a good thing. I know it is. I was more interested in the how – how do I break these bad habits I’ve created? It sounds like you need a 30 day fast from all digital sources. Cue screeching brakes. Um, I’m a mom of two active kids. I need to be online. Thankfully it talks about keeping what’s necessary to keep your life running while cutting out the clutter. Ok, I’m back on board!

Then I get to this section in the book that talks about how we mask our discomfort with our phones. We connect online so we can keep up the façade of a happy amazing life. We have lost knowing who we are. We don’t even know what we like to do anymore because we just go to our phones when we are bored. Gut punch. And I realize why I’ve been gravitating to cutting out all of the clutter in my life – the physical and the digital.

Going through a divorce has sucked. And what really stinks about it is when you take this person away that has been a part of your life for 25 years, you are left feeling less than whole. In moments of quiet, I really wonder who I am now. What are my own thoughts and opinions when I’m not worried about someone’s reaction to my comments? What do I like to do when I get to make my own choices? I have this overwhelming sense to get rid of all the excess around me so I can strip down to just me – who am I underneath all of this baggage I’ve been carrying around. When I look around, what is important to me? What do I like to do? I struggle to identify myself as anything other than a mom – the Moose and Squirrel are my world and I am always looking for ways to make their lives better. But what about for me? I have this sense that once I get rid of all the extra, I’m going to figure it out.

What I have found myself doing instead of being quiet has been to soothe that discomfort of the unknown by numbing out with social media, endless to-do lists, and general running from my thoughts. The idea of konmari and a digital detox were subconsciously intriguing because I am in a place where I am trying to rediscover who I am and maybe if I get quiet and throw away the excess, I might find an answer.

I’ve been asked when will I start dating again. This makes me laugh because I’m not even divorced yet. Turns out that is a lengthy process, as anything important should be. But when the ink is dry, I think I’m going to take a year to detox/minimalize/tidy up. I need to just sit with myself to meet me again. In the meantime, I’m going to go through the books, papers, lotions, CDs and yes, eventually go quiet on social media for a month. Because I think once I’ve stripped away all the extra stuff I’ve been carrying, I’m going to be reintroduced to someone amazing. I want to learn about her thoughts and dreams. I want to know what she likes to do and what she thinks about when it is quiet. And I want her to have a nice, new, decluttered open space to live her life again. She deserves it.

I Love a Good Origin Story or Super Heroes Are All Around Us

As a boy mom, I watch more super hero movies than I would if I were holding the remote. I exasperate the kids by forgetting who is Marvel and who is DC, who are the villains and who are the good guys and forget keeping up with the timelines. But the one thing that I can respect with all of these super heroes is how they got there in the first place. They all have an origin story.

Every super hero experienced some major life event that made them super. They lost their parents, they were modified with claws by evil scientists, they had to put a battery in their chest to live, their father was an evil super villain and they escaped, they were bit by a spider. You know, run-of-the-mill, everyday adversity. But what made them super is that they overcame life’s challenges and it strengthened them physically and mentally. It changed who they are.

There is a lot of talk now about growth mindset and grit. How we handle adversity plays a major role in the people that we become. If we are lucky we do not stop evolving when we become 18. That’s just the beginning. That’s the dough before it’s baked. Life adds the spice. Some of those spices are sweet and some of them are spicy. But the recipe isn’t done. If you are fortunate, you have a growth mindset and take those crappy life moments and become stronger and more resilient. You build compassion, empathy and perseverance. You build grit, which has been shown to correlate with success. You become one of those cliché memes that I love about falling down but getting back up.  You become you. You become a super hero.

When I look around at my tribe, I see super heroes everywhere. The people in my tribe have origin stories and that’s what has made them into the supers that they are today. We are walking around with super heroes and don’t even know it. I can look at everyone in my tribe and see strength and grit and know that they have evolved because they have an origin story. They have experienced things in their lives that were turning points. They could have used those experiences to shape them into victims of their circumstances. But they didn’t. They emerged and became stronger. They became amazing people. People that I can turn to when I have issues and know that their advice and compassion comes from a place of knowledge and experience. They chose to move forward when life pulled them down. They grew into the beautiful people that they are today, scars and all. They inspire me.

Now do I want people to experience horrible things? No, of course not. But it is when we are down that we have the opportunity to grow and become better people. When we are cut, we develop scars. I used to think my scars were ugly. When I woke up with 33 staples in my stomach after the Squirrel was born, I couldn’t look at myself. I was Frankenstein. It was disgusting. I was ruined. But as time passed, I grew to love that scar. That scar was a battle wound. That scar made the Squirrel possible. That scar is life. And that’s what I realized. You don’t create scars if you stop living and breathing. Scars only form when you keep moving on. Scars are grit. Scars are witness that we lived. We bear scars that we can see and we bear scars that are in our hearts and souls. You need to heal that wound, you need to let the scar form so you can move forward with more strength than you had before. Scars are beauty. Scars say “I have done hard things and I am a survivor.”

As for my Moose and Squirrel, it is impossible to not want to protect them from the difficulties of the world. I’m their mom, the Mama Bear in our forest tribe. But I know that the people they will become will be because of their experiences more than the protection I can provide. What I can do is help them reframe and find the moments of growth when life is hard. I can teach them that sometimes you have to work harder to keep up with everyone else to get what you want. I can teach them about trust and love and forgiveness when they learn that people are fallible. I can teach them to get up the next morning and look at what they can do rather than look at what has happened to them. I can give grace for the pity party when life sucks but also remind them that no one wants someone to overstay their welcome – we are not people who shut down the pity party – we leave before the night is over to go on to the next adventure. We learn something when life knocks us down instead of dwelling on what’s happened. We form scars. We use the word “yet” when we are challenged – it’s not “we can’t do it,” it’s “we can’t do it YET.” I am teaching them that they can’t become super heroes without origin stories. And that’s what I’m doing – building super heroes. I’ll leave it to them to figure out who is DC and who is Marvel. That stuff still confuses me.