he's Home

My husband and I are having a major difference of perspective today.  Well, duh, every day, but today it's bothering me.  We were recalling a very distinctive night in our lives when I realized that he has been harboring this awful cloud that is raining on the beautiful parade.  Now that I know the way he feels about it, it's ruined.  What was a beautiful memory for me has become a source of contention and the beauty is tarnished.  So I've thought about another night, one that I won't recall with him because it was the night that I unexpectedly was caught off guard and in hindsight, it was the night I fell in love with him.  And I'll be damned if I let him ruin that.

Dave and I met when I dated his best friend in high school.  I was 16, he was 20.  Seven years later, my best friend ended up marrying my ex-boyfriend (Dave's best friend).  They were engaged on Friday, December 28, 2007.  I had just gotten through the worst Christmas Eve and the most memorable Christmas ever.  The night Sandra and Bob got engaged they asked everyone from the bridal party to meet up at a bar.  I wasn't friends with Sandra's group of girlfriends, so I walked into the bar by myself.  I was wearing a black off the shoulder top, dark skinny jeans, and black patent leather heels. 

When I walked in I said hello to everyone in front of me and I could see Dave out of the corner of my eye.  He was wearing this awful maroon V-neck sweater, jeans that were too baggy, and these awful timberland-looking things.  The first person I got into a conversation with didn't really have much to talk about so I cut him short and said "Oh, I should probably go over and say hello to Dave."  Dave was always "the nice guy".  He was reserved, always respectful; he always had a girlfriend.  In fact, he had recently gone through an awful break-up and his ex-girlfriend was there.   

Dave and I got into conversation; we were talking about simple things like work, where we were living... it was a simple conversation but it was easy... and comfortable.  His ex-girlfriend (who had cheated on him with her current boyfriend) saw that we were having a good time and approached Dave and asked "are you ready to get going soon?"  He looked at her sternly, as if she had just lost her mind, and said "no."  He moved around her making his way to the bar and asked me if I wanted a drink.  That was the first moment I saw him as more than a casual conversation.  I was used to hanging around the guys who would have gone home with the easy lay, so he was different.  There was a mature, no-nonsense way about him.  It was what I had been looking for. 

That night after the bar we went to the Llanerch Diner.  If you asked him he'd still be able to tell you what I ordered.  I was drunk, so he drove my car and I stayed at his house that night.  We had such a great night and despite his effort, we did not sleep together.  He says that's when he knew he'd found his wife.  The next morning we were sitting on the back porch.  Again, I was used to the guys who would have gotten up, gotten a shower and asked if I needed a ride home on their way to the gym.  But he made no mention of me leaving and he was in no rush to go anywhere.  I don't know if he'd even remember this part, but he was sitting on the sofa.  I knew I had to get going, so I sat next to him and without hesitation he put his hand on my thigh, as if we had been together forever.  It was so comfortable and unexpected and appreciated.  It was bold and declarative, but it was effortless and he thought nothing of it.  It was as if this electric connection suddenly went straight from his hand through my leg to my heart. 

I didn't want to, but I left and I called Sandra almost as soon as I got in the car.  She told me that when Dave saw me through the window at the bar the night prior, he told everyone "There's my girl."  He could have told me he loved me that night and I don't think it would have meant as much.  For the longest time I felt so alone.  I was in a place in my life where I was successful and surrounded by beautiful things, but I was in desperate search of home.  When she told me he'd said that, I knew I had found it.  I knew that everything I felt the night before wasn't too good to be true.  It was real. 

We spent the rest of the weekend together, nine days later we told each other we loved each other, a few months after that we were engaged and a little over a year of dating we were married.  I'm a really strong believer in God, in soul mates, in fate, in my husband.  I don't know if he found me or if I found him, but as much as he drives me crazy sometimes, he's my Home.

There's beauty in this....

It's funny when you're in a moment and you think you'll remember it the rest of your life.  Then life happens and when you look back, you only remember bits and pieces.  When I think about college, I remember most distinctly the worst moment of my life, a few life lessons I extracted from the chaos of it all, and the way I felt... like I was at the top.  Even when I was at my worst, I felt like I had reached the pinnacle of my life, perhaps because as philosophical as I had become, I finally started learning... I took a lesson from everything.  My eyes were opened in high school and opened wider in college and just knowing that every day is an opportunity to widen them yet again is enough to keep me faithful.  It's humility.... I was humbled in college.  The most humbling moments would come when I had children... and probably every day after that. 

When I was younger, I looked at humility as a weakness.  To be humbled was to be defeated. 

Now, I pity those who refuse to be humbled... to be humbled is such a gift.

I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again, but motherhood didn't come as easy as I had expected and planned.  That humbled me.  I've learned that certain things help center me... my faith in God and contributing to the Church, music, makeup, nail polish, shopping, creating art, sewing, writing...these things center me.  In high school we were given a project called the "Soundtrack of my Life"  to write down a list of songs that would walk someone through our life.  I carried that with me through college and today... when I'm overwhelmed and contemplative. 

My children are both sleeping.  It was a long morning, Fiona was particularly difficult which exhausts me.  So I'm exhausted, but bound and determined to finish the laundry.  David's sock drawer hasn't been full in about three months because I just can't keep up with the laundry; of course the OCD in me says that socks have to be soaked together and separate and who has time for that!?  Well, today I had time and now that they're sleeping I have a chance to actually fold them.  I decided to put music on (which I never do anymore unless it's "Stuart the Snake" or "Leo the Lion").  John Mayer came on, one of my college faves... and in the Soundtrack of my Life, it brought me to college, when I felt invincible.  And even feeling slightly defeated today... I feel like this pile of socks is the mountain on which I can scream "I'm king of the world!" 

And I just know.... there's beauty in this....

Taking back power

I heard or read recently that "words have power."  It stuck with me because I have a terrible mouth and my son is at the age when he will use the language he hears and he's smart enough to use it in its proper context.  The first time you hear a child curse, it may make you chuckle, but when a child uses foul language regularly, it becomes ugly and it tarnishes their beauty and their innocence.   I want my children to love themselves, be happy in who they are and become; I want them to do, speak, and act in a way to please themselves to enrich their spirits and their lives before they concern themselves with how others perceive them.  And so, I have to watch my language. 

My parents went through the same thing.  I remember, as a small child, hearing my parents curse and then I remember never hearing them curse.  Growing up, I never heard my parents curse.  When I heard it from others, it was abrasive and sometimes scary.  When I started working out of college, I took as position in logisitcs: moving freight on the railways and over the road.  I'd have to call the trucking agencies and as a woman in a man's field, it was practically a requirement to use foul language.  They didn't hear you or care if you didn't use the F-word: it had power.  When I used it they knew I was in charge and if I wasn't using it I wasn't talking to them because I found a new carrier and I had taken my business elsewhere.

Power is in my blood.  I am from a family of very strong women and very strong personalities.  I'm very close to all the women in my family; we're like sisters, my aunts and I.  My grandfather was the head of the family, but as they say "behind every good man is his wife."  And she, Nanny, was the matriarch, she was the boss.  She was a lady: and the best kind.  She was Carol Brady in a real-world, don't-cross-me kind of way.  She was a lady, she meant business; SHE headed the women and to us she could have ruled the world.  My grandmother was on her own pedestal; she was bigger than we were, she was greater than we were and we loved her for it.

One day in casual conversation she dropped an F-bomb.  Up until that moment, we'd never heard her speak that way.  Once she said it though, it was like the story was exponentially greater than it was without it.  The f-bomb knocked down a wall and we felt closer to her.  We felt like she'd let us in, we had grown to her approval and she was welcoming us inside her elite world.  We looked up to her and I love her for dropping the F-bomb. 

Unfortunately, though, that day marked the end of our dynasty.  The f-word spread like wildfire among us and to use it was just as well as using the word "the".  We didn't flinch when we used it; we didn't flinch when we'd heard others use it.  Sometimes it works to my advantage, just like with Nanny, it brings people in, it helps them relax, they feel more comfortable.  But sometimes, it works to my disadvantage, and sometimes I'll say it without even thinking and I cringe as it's fresh off my tongue and it lingers; in those moments I wish I could rewind and start over, but time isn't always on our side.  Using foul language has become common, and so have we.  It's amazing how much power one word can have.

I want my children to feel safe.  I want them to feel confident without resorting to using foul language.  I want to have the power, because I want them to have the power to rise against a jaded machine.   Hold steadfast the innate power of your person, because words do have power, but the power must first be given.

I am praying for grace and mindfulness.  I'm praying to be aware of my actions and my words. Amen.

OK! I'll blog.

I'm being moved to blog.  I've been hesitant to blog without reservation.  I have all these thoughts going through my mind and for the longest time I thought: no one will care.  But as it stands right now, I'm the only one who even reads this, and I care.  If I don't get these thoughts out, it'll drive me crazy.  Then I thought, well I'll journal.  My Aunt Denise gave me a journal for my seventh birthday.  I was in second grade.  I began to journal almost every night.  I continued journaling all through high school and college.  After college, I was busy with work and life and I didn't have time for it anymore.  So now that I'm going crazy with all these thoughts, I figured I'd start journaling again.  But I'm a much faster typist and I tend to forget my point when I'm writing by hand.  And so, despite my reservations about sharing my thoughts and my fear of being faced with judgement and rejection, I'll blog.  I'll blog because in all the big questions I've asked myself lately: "am I woman enough?" "what does God want me to do?"  I think I have to start with brainstorming.  So, Blog, it's me: Jaclyn.

On the Oprah show (I don't remember specifics) there was a woman, a young mother, who found out she had cancer and started video taping herself for her children.  I always think about that: if I'm ever not here.  I wonder "will they remember me?"  It's devastating to think my children wouldn't; it's devastating to think that there are lessons I've learned and things I'd want them to know and in case I'm ever not able, or in case I forget, I'd like to think they might stumble upon this.

When I met my husband, I knew I was going to be with him.  That was the day I went out and bought my first journal out of college.  I started writing to him.  I told him about it later, and I told him where it was in case he ever wondered what I was thinking.  Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he never really has to guess what I'm thinking.

When I found out I was pregnant with each of my children, I did the same.  I started a journal for each of them.  Often times, I think about what I want to write, I'll even edit it in my head in the car ride home from somewhere.  Yet to sit down in my bedroom and write it out, executing what I really want to do and tell them all the things I would have liked to know about myself as a child, it rarely happens.  They deserve better.

"They deserve better" has been the commonality in most of my thoughts from the day I gave birth to my first child.  At first it was a guilty "they deserve better", a self-deprecating "they deserve better".  Now I feel healthier, now it's a self-help approach: how do I fulfill all the dreams I have for them, knowing that it will enrich my life as well?  The laundry may not get done.  My hair may not get dried.  But I will blog, for me.  I will blog for them.  And in all the moments I begin to doubt myself I hope I find this.  And in case they ever doubt themselves, or me, or life in general, and in case I'm not there to tell them or in case I forget: I hope they stumble upon this.

In this moment, I ask God for guidance and courage.  Amen.

Cheers!

I follow this blog called "finding joy".  The post that first grabbed my attention was posted on facebook called "Dear Mom, who feels like she doesn't measure up".  The post that most hit home this week was Why It Is OK To Take a Mom Break.  I don't usually take a break.  I don't stop to recharge; the only way I run, is on empty.  Partially because I want to be the best and most efficient mom for my children, but also because I'm trying to make time to tap into Me, the person I was before children. 

Last Saturday I was so thirsty.  All day I was thinking I have to remember to get a drink.  But I'd get to the fridge and now Fiona wants milk.  I get her milk, give it to her, clean up the toys around her, respond to an email.  Remember that I needed a drink.  I get up walk into the kitchen, stop at the pile of papers on the table, find a doctors note I need to respond to, go to the living room to get the phone, call the doctor.  That conversation leads into three follow up conversations with the insurance company and whoever else.  Now the phone rings and it's my husband.  He asks "What's for dinner tonight?"  Dude, seriously, you ask me this question every single day, and every single day it pisses me off.  But today it reminds me that I've been trying to get a drink.  I go to the fridge and now David wants milk... and a snack.  I wash and cut the apple and bring it into the playroom, where the toys are out again.  I clean them up and find some dirty socks.  I bring the dirty socks downstairs to the laundry room and throw in a load of laundry.  I bring up the dry clothes and start folding them.  Take the clothes up stairs and get the kids in their pajamas; Dave's watching the kids tonight while my girlfriend and I go to see a medium... ooooo.  fun.  Sandra walks in the door and says she needs to stop at Wawa before we get on the highway. Dave walks in the door (thank God, because we've got 35 minutes to get 45 minutes away.)  We don't want to be late, so we skip Wawa and I remember that last year the medium had drinks and snacks, so I figure I'll get something there. We get there 15 minutes late, no snacks, no drinks.  I don't want to be rude and get up to find something, it's bad enough we're 15 minutes late.  A few hours later we get a 10 minute break.  I have a pounding headache and remember that I didn't really eat all day, so I get pretzels and a pepsi out of the vending machines.  Long night.  We get on the road home and I'm parched.  I asked Sandra if we could stop somewhere and she said, "Well I still have to stop at Wawa to get money from the ATM, so we can get something there." (40 minutes away and around the corner from my house).  I didn't even bother to buy a drink, I just figured at this point, I'll grab something at home.  But once I walk in my door, I'm so exhausted and I don't want to disturb anyone, I'll just get something in the morning. 

I couldn't sleep, I had terrible stomach pains.  David was in my bed, so I just watched him all night.  Around 6:00 am I get up and hope I throw up.  Sure enough I get to the bathroom and puke. yuck.  bile is coming up, reminding me I didn't eat anything.  I get on the toilet and have... well... it was yuck.  I suddenly get really hot and then really cold, I call Dave's name and next thing I know my hair is in my face and Dave catches me under my armpits.  I remember that I didn't have anything to drink all day either.  I was so weak at that point, I could hardly speak and I felt awful.  Dave called the ambulance and then starts running around "Do you need anything?"  I tell him to call my neighbor to watch the kids and to get David seomwhere so he doesn't see anything.  The EMTs come and take me to the hospital.  The nurse asks me to give a urine sample to make sure I'm not pregnant; she asks if I'm ok to walk to the bathroom.  I don't want to be dramatic so I say "Yeah".  Thank God my mom was with me because I bent over to give a urine sample and was back on the floor.  Everyone runs into the bathroom, gets me on a bed, and I was out.  I could feel the blood drain from my face and my extremities.  I could hear everyone around me, but I could not respond or move even enough to open my eyes or wiggle my fingers.  I thought to myself "this is what it must feel like right before you die".  I was scared.  Unfortunately, my mom and Dave both witnessed the whole thing.  They both said they thought I was dead.  Four liters of saline later, I peed a few ounces.  I was so dehydrated, I ended up in the hospital over night. I ended up gaining 3 lbs just in water weight.

With the exception of the months during my pregnancies, I have never been one to take great care of myself.  But I was so mad that of all the things I insisted on doing throughout the day, I knew I needed a drink and somehow... I forgot.  Although I love all of the the things that fulfill my life on a day to day basis, I forget to show gratitude to that which sustains it: my self.  I'm frustrated with the adjustment: trying to drink and eat, I've gotten so used to getting by without and now I realize that I have to dedicate some time to it... but what mother has time to spare?!  At one point, I overheard Dave talking to someone and he said "I guess dehydration can kill you." 

Noone could have prepared me for the guilt that comes with Motherhood.  I finally, very recently, figured out the value of spending time with girlfriends, and taking a break without the kids... but now I have to factor in time for the break that I really need: a lunch break. 

On that note, I'm going to go eat... and in the reflection of my screen, I'm raising my glass of water... here's to you!

I'm so much more

Today in Oprah's blog she said that "...when it comes to the big stuff---changing the world, giving not just when it's convenient but when it costs you---moms are the world-class champions."
I wonder how she can even say that after admitting her knowledge that her mother never wanted her. Anyway...

When I was pregnant with my son, my husband and I decided that if he were a girl we would name her Fiona Grace. Of course he was a boy, so when we found out a year later that we were having a little girl, it was known that her name would be Fiona Grace. Knowing her name while I was pregnant, without knowing her face, I envisioned a little blond-haired, blue-eyed Irish-Norwegian baby like my son. When she came out with a head full of black hair, I was beyond shocked and thought "where's Fiona?"

When I was in the third grade, I remember thinking that I didn't ever want to go to college. I wanted to get married when I was 18 and have a baby when I was 19. That was my plan: I was going to be a mom.

At 22, I was being interviewed for a great job, for which I did not meet all the requirements and during the interview I thought, "I was born to do this." I felt like there was nothing that I couldn't do. I got the job, but during the interview my future boss asked me how much I wanted to make and after I told him he said "why do you have so many limitations?" I didn't know what he meant, until I realized that if I had met my husband at 18, I would have gotten married and had a baby at 19. When I envisioned my adult self, I always pictured a mom, but I came to realize, that I was worth a college education, I was worth a 6-figure job, and now that I'm the mother I always wanted to be, I know I can do so much more. I know that I am a champion in the race to become this, but there's just something else I'm supposed to be.

Now that I've arrived to the place I'd always expected, I'm looking at myself wondering, "where am I?" and more importantly-- no...MOST importantly-- where is it that I'm supposed to be?

There's something more and I can't put my finger on it, but there's something inside me and I just feel like maybe if I keep writing, if I just keep getting it out, even when it doesn't make sense, maybe I'll get there. Maybe I'll finally reveal myself.

When I met my husband I knew I had found my destiny. The day my son was born, I knew he was my destiny. When Fiona came, disguised as a brunette, I thought "blond or not, that little girl is my destiny". There's something burning inside me and it's only unrecognizable on earth, but I know there's a plan, I know there's something else, and I just wish I could figure it out.

My therapist once said to me "I believe you could run the world." WHO SAYS THAT TO A 27-YR-OLD STAY-AT-HOME-MOM?!?!?! Unless, I'm so much more.

God through Oprah

[There is something bigger and greater than you]...."be still and know it.... I wait and listen for the guidance that's greater than my meager mind..... God is love, God is life and your life is always speaking to you.... first in whispers. A whisper in your life feels like, 'hmm, that's odd.' or 'hmm, that don't make no sense!' or 'hmm, is that right?!' It's subtle, those whispers, and if you don't pay attention to the whispers they get louder and louder. It's like getting thumped upside the head like my grandmother used to do... you don't pay attention to that- it's like getting a brick upside your head. You don't pay attention to that- the whole brick wall falls down. That's the pattern that I've seen in my life and it's played out over and over again... And so I ask you: what are the whispers in your life right now? What's whispering to you and will you hear it? Your life is speaking to you; what is it saying?"- Oprah Winfrey

Oprah inspired me once again! I grew up in catholic school with teachers preaching about vocation, and now I get it. I understood the whole "calling" concept, but Oprah finally facilitated the process of answering the call! Hello?! Oprah made me realized that the things that excite me are my calling... so I thought about the things that excite me.... writing is one of them, business and networking is another, finding new ways to raise happy children, and finding new ways to make myself happy, journaling, helping others , building strong partnerships, learning/discovering and sharing the lesson... ultimately, my calling is to LEARN, CREATE, and EDUCATE!

I have been told and reminded that I am "made in the image and likeness of God"-- well I'm truly starting to comprehend and believe that I am a direct result of God! He is calling me to be like Him... the ultimate Creator is calling me to CREATE! And the most awesome part about it is that THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO! But to have the knowledge, to be able to recognize God's presence and His will for me, that is such a gift, because there is nothing more validating. Right now, in my life, I needed validation and thank God!, I got it.... and His delivery finally came through Oprah.

Thanks, O!

The message came from God, through Oprah, and now, in an effort to continue the message and spread happiness as I have found it, I'll ask you: What's whispering to you right now?