Lesson learned, maybe

I have never claimed to be good with money. In fact, if I am honest, I will tell you I am downright bad with money. I come from a family of very responsible spenders -- or maybe better said, responsible savers. But me, I am impulsive and irresponsible. And at 37, I figured I would have sorted this one out by now. Unfortunately, no. 

In my twenties, I ran up several ridiculous credit card bills fueled primarily by TJ Maxx and Target. This did, after several instances, teach me that I could not own a credit card. Not even one frozen in water in the freezer (as someone suggested for emergency purposes), because ice melts, and when it does, chances are TJ Maxx will still have a pair of shoes I “need.” Or one locked up in a fire box – I have a great memory. I can memorize those digits and online shop that credit away. So for the past 10 plus years I haven’t owned a credit card. And I am consequently credit card debt free.

Unfortunately, shopping on credit, is only one type of money sin.

There is this place called Zulily, which is a sin in and of itself. If you don’ t know about it, don’t google it. It will take all your money. I once did a search on my bank account of what I had spent on Zulily in the calendar year. I was appalled. And embarrassed. And ashamed. And disgusted.  I am in Zulily recovery. That app cannot be on my phone. The. End.  

There is also the sin of not budgeting. I continue to partake in this one. Even after a multitude of Dave-Ramsey-fan  friends showed me his ways, I cannot accept the concept. This means that sometimes in the grocery store line I have to open my Wells Fargo app and move a little money around to cover the two bags of organic apples my growing children require.  Eating and living organic isn’t cheap, but that is another topic of conversation. 

Most recently, my husband and I decided that my beloved 12 year old station wagon, with 150K miles on it needed to be upgraded with baby #3 on the way. We convinced ourselves that fitting three car seats in the back seat of said wagon wouldn’t work. We did try, but it didn’t seem pretty, especially the part where the pregnant lady leaned over the seats to unbuckle the middle passenger. So we started looking. And blah blah blah, we bought the biggest SUV around. We justified it. The kids loved it & despite my initial reservations about “the bus,” as my sister coined it, I really actually liked driving it. And dammit it was pretty. And functional. Then I went on maternity leave, and there was a pause in my income. I didn’t really want to go back to work, leaving my new or old babies, any more than necessary, especially not to make a car payment. 

So after owning our bus for about 4 months, we sold it back to the dealer. We took a little loss. We really couldn’t afford the loss – who can? But in six months we would have wished we had taken the loss. So once we were there, it was the smart choice, but the even smarter choice would have been to have never stretched ourselves in the first place. I thought I would know this by now. But apparently I don’t. I can’t promise I won’t make a similar mistake, but I can promise I will always find the silver lining in my mistake.

I am back in my little station wagon, pushing 151K miles now, three car seats deep in the back seat. I have never been so happy. I can reach each of my three children in the backseat from the front. In the bus, poor Durham was so far away in the third row of seats, if he needed any assistance opening his baggie of organic apple slices, he was out of luck until we reached our destination. Half the time I couldn’t even hear what he was saying he was so far away. Today, we were driving home and it was time for baby Grace to eat and she was getting vocal about it. I was watching her in the rear view mirror and all of a sudden I saw a little hand reach out and touch her face and I heard Durham singing to her. That’s what we need – one another and close at hand. We don’t need a third row in this family.

Return to Normalcy

As November turned up on the calendar, approaching an anniversary that leaves my heart aching, and still adjusting to the family-of five status, I find myself craving “normalcy.”  I have a few ideas about what that looks like. I know it is different for everyone. For me it means exercise, routine and deep breaths. I know it isn’t impossible to have it all again after a new baby disrupts it, I have done it twice before. There isn’t a formula. From what I remember you just must remain steadfast to the things that matter and they will find a place back in.

So, this morning, breakfast was complete, the baby asleep (!) and my window of opportunity was open. I shook off the budding-runners clinging to my legs begging to come along, and began to shout out cliff notes instructions to my husband about the baby's schedule, but instead just said "oh you know what to do," with my hand firmly on the door knob. I headed out for my first outside run in about two weeks. I ventured out for some run/walks before my 6 week check-up but my fear of the pelvic organ police coming by with a citation kept me from truly enjoying the activity. The other runs have been on a treadmill in the garage that only depress me. Running for me is meant to be outside. There is meant to be scenery besides the grill of your over-sized SUV that being the mother of three who refuses to succumb to the mini-van but still wants to be able to transport a double running stroller with you mandates.

The outside run this morning was amazing. My Garmin was completely dead and didn’t wake up until almost a mile into the run. But I didn’t really need it. My pace didn't matter, one foot in front of the other. And I know the miles by heart around here now. Half a mile up the big hill outside of the neighborhood. Three quarters of a mile by the horse pasture, where there are no longer horses. A mile and half at the turn around point before you cross over onto the bumpy road as my toddlers affectionately coined it. I made all three. And then an extra loop around the neighborhood. I didn’t stop for a walk break. I enjoyed the scenery. I even enjoyed the rain drops.

Yesterday, my Facebook feed was filled with people completing races - half marathons, 5Ks, 5-milers. I felt the challenge to return to this. When my oldest was 12 weeks old I ran the Kiawah Half Marathon (a mile for each week of her life, and one for me). My youngest will be 12 weeks this Wednesday. I will not be running a half marathon on Wednesday.  If I run another 3 miles this week, I will take that success.

Pregnant-me envisioned myself tucking in my oldest two, peeking in on the sleeping baby, and then heading out to the treadmill & clocking a few miles - rebuilding my running quickly. This has not happened. Instead most nights, I sink into the couch with whatever dairy-free  food items I can forage and catch up on the Real Housewives of Orange County, until I catch myself dozing and head to bed in preparation for my night shift duties. This has done little for my calves or my post-partum (x3) pooch.  I was briefly inspired by Heather Dubrow’s diet plan. My inspiration lasted a few hours one morning, after which I remembered she also used leeches and I had to draw the line somewhere.   

My return to running will come. It is coming. I am holding steadfast to it. I counted the weeks available for training until the 2015 Kiawah Half Marathon…

Mother's Day

Six months ago, I laid on the pull out couch of my mom's hospice room watching the rise and fall of her chest in the dark. I knew that it was going to stop soon. I closed my eyes briefly and what came to mind were words spoken only hours earlier in the same space, describing the end of life as a joyful experience, one that overwhelms your whole being and calls you in. I tried to imagine this for my mother. I tried to welcome it for her. I tried to feel it with her. I imagined it was like a firm wind blowing into your face. I imagined that when this struggle ended for her, and for me, that I would get into our boat and feel that wind and breathe and I would feel a release, like I imagined it would feel for her. 

I believe she felt that overwhelming joy as I imagined the wind in my face. And that she had the courage to explore it.

It was November when she died & life slipped into winter and though I thought about it - I never took that boat ride.

Tonight, on the eve of my first motherless Mother's Day, I felt that wind. My daughter was snuggled in my lap, alongside her unborn sister, my son at my side, smiling into the wind, my ever-patient husband at the helm of the boat & clouds filling the evening sky. I don't know that I felt the release I imagined, but I felt her, as I am fortunate to do often. And I hope she felt me being ok. I know she is ok, I have seen her dancing in the clouds. 

I can't call her tomorrow & tell her that I love her and wish her a happy Mother's Day. And that just plain old sucks -- & it will for every Mother's Day forward, and the motherless daughters who have gone before me, back this up. 

Last Mother's Day I think we exchanged hugs in a parking lot when we met for her to bring me our co-op share. The kids had made cards. There weren't gifts or flowers -- that wasn't our style. There were hugs and we undoubtedly talked about her triathlon training and what her grandchildren had been doing. We probably swapped ideas about how we would cook our co-op goodies. And then we parted ways. 

I miss her. Every. Single. Day. In everything I do. 

So tomorrow as I miss her on Mother's Day, it won't be all that different. 

I don't wish she was here so I could give her flowers or bake her a cake or buy her a piece of jewelry. Those aren't what matter. Instead, I wish she could look at Rebecca & Durham and beam. I wish she could tell me a new eggplant recipe. I wish I could cheer her on at her next triathlon. 

Tomorrow, on Mother's Day, it isn't about doing something extraordinary for your mom. Instead, it is about acknowledging & fostering the extraordinary love that flows between mothers and their children every single day. May we all be so fortunate to give and receive such a love -- the ultimate overwhelming joy.