Farting Unicorn Love Note

Yesterday, Roo came home from preschool with an awesome picture that she presented to me.  The picture itself was spectacular.  The thinking behind the picture was beautifully creative. I immediately wanted to share it with the world.  Matt wanted to share it with the world too.  We had a conversation about the picture that went like this:

Matt: I'm putting this on Facebook.
Me: NO! I was going to put it on the blog.  If you put it on Facebook, our mutual friends will see it and that'll ruin my blog post.
Matt: Instagram, then? I'll put it up on Instagram.
Me: Okay, you get Instagram and I get the blog.  No Facebook. Deal.

It crossed my mind that there was something wrong with that conversation, but then I pushed the thought aside because OH MY WORD, GUYS!  LOOK AT THIS:

Roo drew us a picture of a farting unicorn battling a cyclops. Those are her words. That's how she explained it. And then she wrote "I heart You" across the top in the clouds. Now, I can understand why you all may not be impressed, but I have to tell you- the fact that one of my kids drew a mythical creature fighting another mythical creature, and then made one of those mythical creatures gassy, and then said to themselves "Hmmmm, this picture adequately expresses my love for my parents! I think I'll let them know it!" and then proudly presents that picture to us at home, well..... it tickles me to the core. It gives me butterflies. I'm not even being sarcastic. I can honestly say that Roo's farting unicorn warms my heart.

Farting unicorns warm my heart, and I'm sharing it with the world.

I realize this may be an "obnoxious parent-moment".  Thanks for being a part of it. 

Before and After

Dear Gracie Kay,

     Tomorrow you will turn ten years old.  This astonishes me.  Earlier in the year, your grandfather (my dad) left a comment on this blog jokingly requesting that I not discuss the fact that I'll be turning 40 this year.  He said he was afraid that the realization may give him a heart attack.  At first I thought he was being over reactive but the fact is, your tenth birthday gives me a little of his perspective...... if the next three decades of your life go as fast as this first one did, the idea of your fortieth birthday may very well give me a heart attack too.
     Now, it's not that I'm purposefully turning your birthday around so that it's all about me (except I've heard that I happen to be good at doing such things), but I can't help but reflect on how a decade of motherhood has changed me.  It's been ten years now that I've been living my favorite quote; the exquisite terror of seeing my heart walking around in another being(that's you).  It's been ten years of unexpected moments of joy, moments of pride, and moments of inadequacy.  It's also been ten years of wonder, ten years of guilt, ten years of self-doubt, and ten years of reflection.  Ten years of watching you grow, and ten years of feeling myself grow and stretch into the uniform of motherhood- the most  unconventional uniform in the history of the world and one that's made of time's softest, most well-worn fabric.  
    I don't think I've ever told you how much I love the company of the women who wear this uniform.    You wouldn't understand it anyway.  You'd probably roll your tweeny eyes at me and give me a look that says "Whatever, mom".  So I don't think I'll try, but I will hope that maybe someday you'll find out for yourself.  I will say that this community of mothers is the most diverse, wise and powerful company I've ever had the honor to be in.  There are so many stories to tell here.  And you know, PG, how obsessed your mother is with storytelling.  It occurred to me recently that mothers give birth to generations, and the generations give birth to the stories.  So, you see honey?  Of course, of course I love mothers.  Mothers and storytelling go hand in hand.  For me, it's a love that is meant to be.
     That said, here, Gracie Kay, is the story of your birth:
     Ten years ago tonight, I was in the hospital waiting for you.  It felt like I was anchored to the hospital room by miles and miles of tubing and wires; never before had I experienced such a thing.  I had a tube coming out of my arm for an IV, and another needle in another arm that was pumping me full of pitocin.  There was a huge elastic strap around my enormous belly monitoring your heart, and yet another wire somewhere that was monitoring my heart.  I was too excited to sleep, and even though I knew that this was it- my last chance to get a full night's rest- I spent the entire night wide awake in that weirdly glowing room listening to our heartbeats beat out their rhythms on the monitor beside my bed.
     The next day, your birthday, was so strange.  It felt very, very long.  I remember feeling irritated at your dad for eating a hamburger in front of me when I hadn't been able to eat for the past 14 hours (Feel free to give him a hard time about that.  I figure I still got at least another ten years of mileage on that one).  I remember wanting to cry, people-pleaser that I am, when the doctor said "Push, Tacy. You really have to push." in a tone that suggested I hadn't been trying to do exactly just that for an entire two hours.  I remember being scared when the doctor told your dad to put away his camera and the room suddenly filled up with doctors and nurses.  You were in some kind of danger and to this day, I still don't know what that was about.  In the end, everything obviously worked out.  I'll spare you the (truly) gory details.  You're welcome.
      But Gracie, do you know that I was such a silly person, that I actually thought labor was going to be a little bit magical? In my defense, movies, books, and even childbirth classes do sort-of give that impression.  There's always the music, the built up excitement, the close up shot of the newborn, the mother's ecstatic reaction..... I went through my entire labor subconsciously looking for that kind of magic, but the truth is there was only work and frustration and exhaustion with a little bit of hopelessness mixed in. I wish now that I had realized that that was what motherhood was going to be.  Because when it was all over and I would retell the story of my labor to myself, (Isn't it weird that I was compelled to do that? It must have been my way of processing it.) I realized that the magic I was looking for was in all that work.  All those events came together and they didn't feel magical at all.  They felt gritty and too bright and weird and strange... but in the end they all added up to the line that divides the before and after.  Before, I wasn't a mom.  Then they put you in my arms, and suddenly, I was.  And in that, my sweet girl, and in all the beautiful things that came when you joined our universe, is magic enough to make my breath catch, to make my heart swell, and for tears to swim in my eyes.
     You are magic.
      You are.
      You.

Happy Tenth Birthday, Gracie.   I love you so much.  Thank you for making me a mom.

New Year, Old Me

Happy New Year, all!  Hope your holidays were filled with rest and relaxation.  Mine were- but that's because I learned several years ago to let go of the checklist and just do what I can.  I like to think that this attitude makes me sage and wise beyond my years-like I have things figured out ahead of the rest of y'all.  Then again, it could just be that this is my coping mechanism for when my back is up against the wall and the pressure is on.  I secretly dream that one day people will gaze at me in wonderment and think to themselves, "That Tacy!  Is she as wise as I think she is, or is she just incredibly lazy?"

I'll never tell which it is.

Speaking of sage and wise, 2014 is the year that many of my friends and I turn 40.   The number 40 as an age doesn't really bother me as much as what other people's perceptions of forty are.   While chatting with a group of moms at the park before preschool a few weeks ago, a young mom mentioned that she felt ostracized by the older moms at her son's previous school.  And then she said-and I swear to you that this is a direct quote- "I wanted to tell them 'Look!  I'm sorry you waited for such a long time before you had kids, but it's not my fault that I'm young.  Can't you be pleasant about it?'"

Now. I'd like to take a moment and ask all my fellow rickety, old, ancient parents in your late thirties and 40's out there..... what would you have done in this scenario?  Because my response was to laugh.  Don't worry, I didn't.  But I really did want to say "Are you sure it was your age that they had a problems with?"  I kept my mouth shut, and instead crossed my eyes in the direction of my friend sitting across from me (who then laughed and spit out her coffee).  Young spring chicken mom continued talking and had no idea of what was going on.

I'm telling you all this as a way to lead up to this article I read last Monday.  The title sums it up well: "40 Things I Can Do at 40 That I Couldn't Do When I Was 20".   I encourage you all to click over and read it because it was really eye-opening for me.  In fact, I had a little mini-epiphany over it:

Every year when my kids have a birthday, there is usually some discussion about things they are either looking forward to doing (later bed-time, start having overnights, etc.) or things that they already can do currently that weren't possible for them a year earlier (riding a bike, reading, anticipating when they're about to push their mother over the edge, ha!).  I realized they always view getting older as a positive thing because it means they are getting better/smarter/more independent/more mature.  After reading that article, I had to ask myself.... when was the last time I saw a birthday as a reason to celebrate my own self getting better/smarter/more mature?

The answer is that it has been a long, long, LONG time.

That's why I loved this article so much.  I needed to hear someone list all the positive things aging has given her in life.  I love that she listed "going out without makeup" as a perk of being forty.  I do that too, but I forgot the reason why- which is that I realized that makeup is for when I want to put it on, not when I feel that I have to put it on.  That affirmation would sometimes slip my mind when I'd do preschool drop off with a bare face and see the young pretty moms in full makeup.  My insecurities would rise and I'd tell myself that I was letting my looks slip in my old age.  This article reminded me of what I'd forgotten- that when it comes to beauty, there is no winning.  The best you can do is take ownership and mark your own course.

See?  I didn't know that when I was in my 20's. Damn, I've gotten smart.  I may even have that above statement stitched on a pillowcase.

Let's see.... what else can I do now that I couldn't at twenty?

I know!  I love that I don't feel the need to battle every battle nowadays.  My empathy has grown.  I know that everyone comes to the party with their own baggage, and that it's not important that people necessarily do the best they can, but that they do what they can with what they've got.  I don't hold them to the best they can, because honestly, I could probably do better every day if I wanted to, but that's kind of exhausting. I get it.  So doing what I can do and accepting the same from others is good enough for me.  Anything extra is a bonus.

Also, I can go to bed at 9:30 and not be embarrassed to admit it.  (Okay, I'm a little embarrassed, but not as much as I would've been when I was 20.)

Here's another one: I can see that when other people don't like something about me, it's usually a reflection of their own hang ups.  For example, going back to the makeup thing... if someone wants to judge me for not wearing makeup in public, it's because it's important to them to look their best all the time.  That's not my problem.

Oh yeah- I'm better at seeing when things are not my problem.

Also, I can see drama from a mile away and steer AWAY from it, instead of towards it.  (This development has been very refreshing.)

And last but not least, I can still be kind to people who've offended me in the past.  Like our "spring chicken" mom;  I'm still nice to her, despite the fact that I know she thinks I'm an washed-up, wrinkly, old crone.

And that's something I never would have done in my twenties.

Progress, my friends.  Embrace it.