The Best Birthday Present My Mom Ever Gave Me

This is my mom. Isn’t she beautiful?

This is her first Mother’s Day since being diagnosed with ALS. That also means it’s the first Mother’s Day I’ve really, truly struggled with. Lots of folks are estranged from their mothers or have lost them. Two of my mom’s sisters passed away years ago, and I’ve always felt a sort of sympathetic loss for my cousins on Mother’s Day, but I can’t know their pain. My siblings, cousins and I also lost our grandma last summer. She was a second mom–and in some ways a more “real” mom–to my cousins, and now they’ve lost her. It’s devastating.

I can’t bear the thought of losing my mom. So rather than focusing on the negative, I did something this morning that I thought would help bridge the physical distance between us; something she taught me; something that represents to me sweetness, thoughtfulness and love.

I made no-bake cookies.

Rows of perfectly imperfect no-bake cookies.

For so many of my elementary school years, I brought a big Tupperware container filled with these cookies to school to share with my classmates on my birthday. As an adult, I botched many, many batches of this simple recipe trying to perfect it when I missed my mom and needed that sense of comfort. I’ve tried adding my own touches over the years, but I’ve returned to my mom’s basic, tried-and-true recipe. The soft, semi-dry texture of the sugary chocolate, oats and peanut butter take me back to those chilly almost-spring days of my childhood.

Feelings of sharing with friends and being in the spotlight for a moment wash over me. I was stiflingly shy when I was young, and I didn’t have many friends. But on my birthday, everyone was my friend. That was a gift to me from my mom. More than any toy my parents may have bought for me on my birthday, I hold this gift dearest.

Thank you, Mom, for this and so much more. Happy Mother’s Day. I love you.

Friends, do you have a comfort food? A special way of honoring your mom on Mother’s Day? Anything else you want to share? Leave a comment! I love to read them.

Waiting, Hoping, Wishing…

Right now, my wife is in surgery. A partial nephrectomy.  I probably won’t see her for about four hours. It’s a relatively minor procedure, but I’m feeling scared and anxious.

We didn’t talk much about it in the weeks leading up to the surgery. As usual, I avoided the subject. Subconsciously, consciously, probably both. Any time you are anesthetized or operated on, there’s a chance you could die. It’s unlikely. Unfeasible. Improbable. It’s all of those things, but not implausible. So when I finally brought it up with her the other night, my question to her was, “So, you could die, right?”

I hadn’t shown much emotion about it until then, and I still didn’t in that moment, but it was more than I had previously. Part of the reason for that was avoidance. Denial. This is so minor, I thought. And the part of me that didn’t consciously think about it knew there was some risk involved. Hush up, brain, I thought. I said this is minor!

In the moments leading up to her leaving the prep room for surgery, we had mixed emotions. Anxiety, hope, dismissive-ness. We nervously joked about going ahead and yanking out her gall bladder while they’re in there, fashionable hospital wear, and how the anesthesiologist could be a complete jerk, even if the nurse did say he was a good guy. (Why would he say otherwise?)

As I kissed her and told her I’d see her soon, nurses and doctors wheeling her away, I made a wish that her wedding ring, worn on my pinky, would keep us linked while she’s asleep.

P.S. Thanks for all your thoughts, prayers, and well wishes. I’ll keep you posted.

Keep Driving Forward

We can draw parallels between the mundane and the profound. Or, if you prefer, the micro and macro, which works for me because I tend to look at life in terms of scale. This is one such example.

On my commute from work, I drive on a three-lane, northbound highway. Last night I was driving in the middle lane when I felt a subtle inclination to move to the left lane. I saw the opportunity to change lanes and thought, “Nah, what difference would that make?” As the car to my left-rear not only closed the gap, but advanced forward several car lengths, I thought, “Dang. I should have trusted my instinct.”

For the next several minutes, I watched for another opportunity to move to the fast lane as the car that was in “my spot” got farther and farther ahead. “I should have been there,” I thought. “That’s where I should be right now.”

There’s that word again: should.

That’s a really difficult feeling to identify. It’s almost like regret or disbelief, but with a tinge of anxiety. Like you want to take the moment back. Do a quick little rewind and take advantage of the opportunity. It’s like trying to grasp water or sand or air. That moment when you need to make a choice, and the only decision you make is that of indecision. By default, the inaction becomes the action.

I reminded myself that I can’t have that moment back. I’ll just have to live with being stuck in the slow lane, now a quarter mile or so behind where I could have been. “Could have been.” That’s slightly more palatable. I could have been there, but right now I am here.

Would I get frustrated, park my car in the middle of the freeway and walk away? Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous. The only option is to keep driving forward. I could be frustrated, blame others for my position on the road and be a miserable cuss, or I could keep driving forward. As long as I was moving, I would reach my destination. I may arrive a few minutes later than what was possible, but that’s OK.

Keep driving forward.

Another opportunity to move left presented itself. I took it, and I was moving along smoothly. I eventually caught up with that car that was in “my spot,” but it gave me no satisfaction. By then I had shifted my focus to the steady movement forward rather than frantically trying to catch up to where I could have been.

It’s easy to feel like we’ve missed opportunities in life, like things could be different if we had only trusted our instincts and made that move when we had the chance. That way of thinking can be overwhelming and self-defeating. It can make you want to stop in your tracks and walk away. It’s important to remember that the destination hasn’t changed; it isn’t gone. It may take slightly longer to arrive with every missed opportunity, but you will arrive if you keep your goal in mind. And those opportunities come up more than you think. Just watch for it to come around again, then don’t miss it.

Keep driving forward.

Getting Vulnerable

I think I’m going to take a break from the “promises” series. I enjoy writing them, and they’re great for transparency and personal accountability, but they’re being read by about, oh, three people. As much as I’d like to keep writing them, it’s apparent most people aren’t interested. It’s tough putting so much effort into something only to realize nobody really cares. But this isn’t about getting pity or sympathy; it’s about vulnerability.

A funny thing happens when you make a bunch of one-sided promises to people or spell out some of your most personal thoughts and ideas in a public forum: you feel vulnerable. Vulnerability is a good thing, really, but it can be extremely uncomfortable.

Vulnerability opens you up to new experiences. The problem with being open is it can feel scary. Dangerous, even. That fear of danger or risk the ego’s way of protecting itself from harm. Think of it like this: A dog who loves and feels safe with its owner will roll over and expose its underside for some delicious belly rubs. The second there’s any kind of unfamiliar distraction, it’s on its feet again. Say a bee comes along and stings the dog on the belly while it’s turned over. Bam! Off and running. No more soft belly, no more exposure to risk, and you can bet that dog will think twice the next time it exposes its tummy for lovin’.

So if you’re making a public promise to be more and do better or if you have grand plans that seem to fall flat, be prepared to get stung from time to time. It’s nobody’s fault, really. It’s just the nature of exposing your belly.

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Promises Guide: 21-25 (5 of 20) – Little Bird

This post comprises five promises from a dad to his son on five separate pages. At the bottom of each promise is a link to the next promise, or you can jump directly to a page within this post. Comments left will be visible on any of the five promise pages.

21) “I promise to encourage your sense of persistence, even when I perceive it as stubbornness.”

Ever since he could walk, Little Bird has had a perfectionist streak. If something didn’t go the way he wanted it to, he’d want to do it over. I remember walking out of a dollar store to our car when he was a toddler, and he didn’t get to step off the curb the way he wanted to. We needed to get home, and he didn’t like the way I held his hand and sort of pulled him along as we stepped off the curb and crossed the parking lot. He cried the whole way home and for about half an hour beyond that because he wanted to do it over. Do overs: that was his thing. It still is to an extent and he’s almost 8. And he can be very persistent about doing something his way. He bargains, negotiates and blackmails to get his way. Well, he tries. And he never backs down when he thinks he’s justified, even when he knows he’s embellishing the truth (lying). I’m still learning how to redirect that stubbornness, but I admire his persistence. I’d rather not “break” him of it. He just needs to find ways to use it to his advantage.

Do This

Think of some ways in which you perceive your kid in a negative light, then put a spin on it. With a little perspective, opposition becomes critical thinking, manipulation becomes cunning, and mouthiness becomes outspokenness. That doesn’t mean let a mouthy kid talk to you disrespectfully. (I don’t tolerate that for one second!) But modeling appropriate behavior is way more effective than yelling or punishing. A little perspective goes a long way when it comes to maintaining your cool, and your sanity.

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Promises Guide: 16-20 (4 of 20) – The Little Professor

This post comprises five promises from a dad to his son on five separate pages. At the bottom of each promise is a link to the next promise, or you can jump directly to a page within this post. Comments left will be visible on any of the five promise pages.

16) “I promise to always act in your best interest, even if that meant sending you to live with your mom. As much as I feel I need you here, I’ll never let that get in the way of you living your best life.”

Since buying my current house in August of 2009, my ex-wife and I agreed upon a rough two-thirds/one-third split. They’d live with me during the school year, and with her during the summer and on school breaks. This seems to be working out well. I especially like the arrangement because I honestly don’t know what my life would be without The Little Professor around every day. I get used to it in the summers, but I know he’s coming back. If he went to live with his mom full-time, or even two-thirds of the time, I imagine I’d get pretty severely depressed. Well, more severely depressed than I’ve already been. But if all parties (his mom, her husband, my wife and I) agreed that he would be better off living with his mom more than with me, I would totally agree to it, as much as it may hurt me. It’s not about me.

Do This

Be honest with yourself about whether your idea of what’s best for your kids is really, truly what’s best for your kids, and not what’s best for you. For the most part, I’m sure this is a no-brainer, but I think it’s easy to let thoughts become skewed when you’re dealing with an ex-spouse. You don’t have to be divorced, though. At all times and in all situations, try to be objective about whether your perspective is clear or muddied.

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Promises Guide: 11-15 (3 of 20) – The Little Professor

This post comprises five promises from a dad to his son on five separate pages. At the bottom of each promise is a link to the next promise, or you can jump directly to a page within this post. Comments left will be visible on any of the five promise pages.

11) “I promise to share lots of music with you.”

The Little Professor doesn’t play with toys much. He doesn’t really “get” imaginative play all that well. What that means for us is that he either needs focused interaction to do something creative, or screen time (educational stuff on iPad, not-so-educational stuff on NintendoDS, or TV), and we have a no-video-games rule on school nights. [Note: he only owns an iPad because he uses it as an Augmentative and Alternative Communication device, and for the educational software.] But one thing he does love is music. For as little as he can actually say, and it’s very little–grunts, mostly–he loves to sing. It’s mostly just syllabic grunts, but it’s definitely music to my ears. Lately he’s been adding in gestures and hand motions with the more dramatic songs, and he loves to dance!

So for Yule (Christmastime) in lieu of toys that he’ll rarely-to-never play with, I got him a small mp3 player and put a bunch of Disney songs on it, along with a few classic favorites (Billy Joel, Heart, They Might Be Giants, etc.). I stuck it in a speaker carrying case, and I’ll be darned if he didn’t carry that thing everywhere he goes. It’s still not as entertaining has his iPad, but he loves it. And when he goes for the high note at the end of a dramatic song and lifts his hand in the air, it’s freaking magical.

Do This

First of all, don’t beat yourself up if you don’t always know what kind(s) of presents to buy for your kid. I struggle every single holiday and birthday to figure out what TLP will actually use and enjoy. And when you have two other typically-abled kids, it’s easy to run into guilty feelings over the fact that you know exactly what to buy them while remaining completely clueless about the other. And don’t mistake fixation for inspiration. Despite the fact that TLP asks to play his DS no less than 37 times a day, I do not buy him new DS games very often.

Do get creative. Does your child have sensory issues or fine motor delays? Get some Moon Sand or Silly Putty. Or better yet, make your own versions of Moon Sand or Silly Putty. Does he respond well to music? Play some music. Make some music. Have a dance party. The key here is trial and error and engagement. Sit and play with your kid, and if something doesn’t work out, do something else. You probably know your kid better than anyone. And if you don’t, make a point of getting there, then share in what he loves.

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