Last week, I made a trip to the market to buy a jar of pickles for my son’s science project. (The experiment – to find out which would grow mold faster: a bowl of spaghetti or a pickle.)
I visited our public library to return the books my son had used for a research project.(I had also checked out these books almost two months ago.)
I made chocolate chip cookies for dessert.(In all fairness, they were the break-apart and bake kind.)
I comforted my son during the night when he awoke from a bad dream.(He felt so uneasy, I wound up lying down on his rug until he fell back asleep just so I would be nearby.)
I played many rounds of “Heads Up.” (My son holds the record with 15 correct guesses.)
I cooked while trying to ignore the bowl of moldy spaghetti on my kitchen counter. (The pickle just shriveled up).
And in between all that, there were the meals and the clean-up.The bills that were paid.The plants that were watered.The zipper that was unstuck.
In other words, there are a million little, and not-so-little, things that moms do every day just because they are moms.Because they care about their children.Because no matter how they do it, all moms are basically trying to do the same thing – help their children be happy, healthy, and safe.
So in honor of Mother’s Day, I’d like to share with you a post I wrote a few years ago for MomsLA.com.Click here to read the A to Z List of a Mom’s Jobs.
It all began because our son, Ryan, borrowed a sports-themed Sesame Street DVD from the public library.
Abby Cadabby was teaching viewers the word “champion,” and she used her magic wand to “poof” Blake Griffin beside her.He thought he’d been summoned since he was a slam dunk champion.Instead he was going to participate in a chicken-calling contest – which he won.
And that’s how our son, and our family, became a Los Angeles Clippers fan.
For many, the Clippers weren’t the easiest team to like.They haven’t won any championships.Yet.They’ve had their difficulties and scandals (I’m notgoing to name their former owner).They’ve had to live under the shadow of a more popular Los Angeles team and have always been regarded as the “underdogs,” and “the other L.A. team.”
But not in our house.Blake brought basketball, Clippers basketball, to our family.We began referring to the players by a series of initials:BG (Blake Griffin), CP3 (Chris Paul), DJ (DeAndre Jordan), and JJ (J. J. Redick).My son was intrigued that a daddy was coaching his son (coach Doc Rivers, son Austin Rivers – now playing on the Rockets).Ryan even wondered if his daddy could be his coach when he grew up and played for the Clippers.
Not one of those players is on our current team.We’ve had to learn the hard way that it’s not very easy for players to have a Dirk Nowitzki-like career.That just because someone has a contract doesn’t mean they will stay on the team.That trades are as much a part of the game as the shoes.
Yet we love our current team even more than we did our “initials” team.
This year’s roster includes guys who can most likely go shopping at their local Target without being recognized and asked for autographs.These are guys who are professional basketball players.It’s their job.And some of them smile while they play, like they haven’t stopped marveling at the fact that they’re getting paid (a lot of money) to run back and forth in shorts and try to put the ball through the hoop.
These are guys who didn’t get much play time before finding their way to Doc Rivers and becoming a regular part of the starting line-up (Landry Shamet).These are guys who are praised for their off-the-bench prowess (Lou Williams), their spirt (Montrezl Harrell), and their grit (Patrick Beverley).This is the team without a “superstar” – a team made up of players who all contribute to the overall team win.Because that’s what basketball is – a team sport.No one player can do it all.
And then there are the extended members of the Clippers organization; the people you see on the sidelines.The people who make you feel like you, as a fan, are a part of something special.
Actor Billy Crystal – Harry Burns to me (When Harry Met Sally) and Mike Wazowski to my son (Monsters, Inc.).A longtime season ticket holder.A fan and supporter through the highs and the lows.
Owner Steve Ballmer, who sits courtside (even during away games), wearing his red and blue shirts.Clapping and shouting, kicking his feet and turning red with the same excitement my son has shown on Christmas morning.
The Voice of the Clippers, Ralph Lawler, who is retiring after a forty-year career.40 years of reporting, of optimism, of professionalism and all with a team that didn’t always win a whole lot.
Before the 2018-2019 season began, the Clippers were counted out.We were a rag-tag team of no-name players apparently.Then the trades were made in February, and with the loss of players such as Tobias Harris, our Playoff chances were lost too.Or so they said.
Except every time our Clippers are told they can’t do something, or they won’t do something, they do it anyway.And that’s why as a mom, I love that my son is watching the Clippers.This season especially.
Ryan is 11.He stands in front of the mirror and sees strength, intelligence, and good looks.He’ll tell you he’s going to be an astronaut, a professional basketball player, a singer, a doctor.He believes it’s all possible because no one has told him otherwise.
But someday they will.Someday someone will count him out, because that’s life.And that’s when he has to channel our Clippers.
Our Clippers aren’t in possession of a Championship title yet.But they gave the defending champs a great run.
And to this organization, this mom would like to thank you for being role models for my son and for demonstrating what it takes to be a champion.
I recently completed reading John Glenn: A Memoir.This hardcover book has sat on my bookcase since I bought it and read it when it was published in 1999.I re-read it now because, twenty years later, I didn’t remember much of what I had read the first time around, and I wanted to see if this book should continue to remain a part of my permanent library taking up valuable shelf space.
From a reader’s/writer’s perspective, the book showed me what not-to-do.I found myself skimming through parts that contained too many details, felt like too much information, and only served to delay the story.
But I’m still glad I read it.
John Glenn, one of the original Mercury 7 astronauts, could have easily lived his life resting on his laurels, boasting of his accomplishment as the first American to orbit the earth.But he didn’t.He continued living and learning.He served as an executive for RC Soda, and later, served more than twenty years as a United Sates Senator.And then at the age of 77, returned to space as a member of the crew of STS-95 onboard the shuttle Discovery.
I think the biggest takeaway I got from reading the story of this special man’s life is that you don’t have to let one thing define you.
That’s the message I want my son to know and truly believe in his heart.That he doesn’t have to choose just one thing to be “when he grows up.”There aren’t limits to what he can achieve and there should be no limits to what he aspires to try.
A few months ago, my son and his fifth grade class were instructed to memorize Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken.”
Granted, it’s a famous poem with an important message.But why did my son need to memorize it?And in the fifth grade?(I don’t think I read it until high school).His teacher never explained the reason(s) behind her assignment or why this particular poem was chosen.
I worked with Ryan, as he learned the poem line-by-line.I tried to take it a step further, talking to him about the poem and asking him questions his teacher wasn’t asking at school.
“What does it mean to you?”
“What do you think the poet is saying?”
We had a discussion about the poem and poetry in general – that, like many types of art, there isn’t always just one way to look at, read, or interpret a piece of art.
Ryan wasn’t overly impressed.The poem became a chore.
And months later, his teacher must have forgotten about it, because Ryan’s class never was asked to recite the poem.
I fear that an experience like this may turn Ryan off from poetry.Though I hope not.These early experiences with art really do have so much power and influence over our later choices and our later opinions about what we like and don’t like, what we’re good at, and what we think we’re not-so-good at.
When I was in the fourth or fifth grade, my classroom teacher painted over one of my watercolors-in-progress, and after that, I never wanted to take an art class.In fact, I never wanted to draw or paint again.(To read more about it, click here and read my personal essay “Too often, teachers extinguish a student’s spark” that was published in the Christian Science Monitor back in 2004.)
For now, Ryan and I talk about poetry in terms of song lyrics.It’s fun and enjoyable and an organic way to learn – the way all learning can be.
My now-eleven-year-old son gave me the biggest boost the other day, and he doesn’t even realize it.
Ryan told me that during lunch the other day, kids were talking about their parents’ jobs and some of his friends asked what my job was.It’s a fair question.After all, I take my son to school each morning, and I’m there each afternoon to pick him up.I’ve accompanied his class on a field trip to The Getty Center, and I attend all his class performances.
“I told them you’re a writer,” Ryan told me.
And I smiled.A writer is, by definition, one who writes.And I do.Nearly every day.My writing time is divided between assigned posts for MomsLA.com and personal essays for my memoir-in-progress and those I submit for publication. (Update –I have received word that two of my essays have been accepted and will be publishing sometime in the future.I’ll keep you posted).
“I told them you’re writing a book,” he continued.
Ryan knows that I have a collection of “stories” (his word for my personal essays) that I am working on compiling into a book.
“And one of my friends said she’ll buy your book when it comes out,” he said.
“So, what’s your book going to be about again?”
I told Ryan, “It’s about living with an invisible illness.What it’s like to do all the things I do but having an illness people can’t see.”
He was satisfied with that answer, but I was curious about something else.
“Ryan, did you tell them I used to be a teacher?”
“No.Because that was before.And now you write.”
“Do you even remember when I was a teacher?” I asked him.
“No,” he said.(I left teaching in March 2013.Ryan was almost 5 at the time.)
It’s important to remind myself that if I hadn’t left my teaching career, there’s no way I would be writing as much as I am now.And I certainly wouldn’t have published as much as I have.
And my son wouldn’t be telling his friends his mom is a writer.
For my birthday, a good friend gave me a book from my wish list – Jennie Nash’s The Writer’s Guide to Agony and Defeat – The 43 Worst Moments in the Writing Life and How to Get Over Them.
Having just turned 43, I thought it would be a good time to read this book.And,having an increased blog readership and a growing collection of essays I hope to publish as a memoir, I thought it would be a good time to read this book.
While I didn’t agree with everything Ms. Nash wrote (and felt some of her jokes weren’t that funny), there were a number of takeaways I’d love to share with you.I think you’ll find they’re insightful and valuable even if you aren’t a writer.
“Talent is helpful in writing, but guts are absolutely essential.”– Jessamyn Wes
“This manuscript of yours that has just come back from another editor is a precious package.Don’t consider it rejected.Consider that you’ve addressed it ‘to the editor who can appreciate my work’ and it has simply come back stamped ‘not at this address.’Just keep looking for the right address.”– Barbara Kingsolver
“What we do might be done in solitude and with great desperation, but it tends to produce exactly the opposite.It tends to produce community and in many people hope and joy.” – Junot Díaz
“Ones best success comes after their greatest disappointments.” – Harriet Ward Beecher
Four years ago, “A Life of Passion,” a personal essay of mine,was published on mamalode.com.(Click here to read it).I wrote about the big events of 2015 – namely, my mom turning 70 and my son turning 7 on the same day.I wrote about these two very important people, at very different stages of their lives, each living their days with passion.
And I feared I wasn’t.
Four years later, and in just a few days, my mom is turning 74 and my son is turning 11.And a few weeks ago I turned 43.
But what has changed?And what has remained the same?
Both my mom and my son continue to live passionately.There is no doubt about it.They are each taking care of their responsibilities and doing things that make them feel good.
I love my family passionately.I never let my pain, my fatigue alter the way I show my family love.
I think, I hope, I express myself passionately through my writing.
Amusing to my husband, and annoying to my son, is the way I passionately yell at the TV when we watch basketball, worried when a player hits the ground or when two players begin to exchange shoves and pushes.
But do I live passionately?Do I do all the things I’d like to do, or do I hold myself back because of fear, the possibility of “what if…?”Yes and no.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m the same girl who took belly dancing classes, or went parasailing, or enjoyed a hot air balloon ride.Am I no longer doing such things because I’m older?Because I’m a mother?Because I’m often in pain?It’s so hard to separate and know which parts of my life would have been different and which would have remained the same had I not become ill.
But my worries extend beyond the usual parenting worries.I worry about how my son is being impacted and affected by my invisible disability.
I struggle each day with being honest about my levels of pain and fatigue, because I also don’t want to shortchange Ryan or frighten him in any way.It’s not his fault that I hurt.But “this” (my medical condition) is a part of our life.And most likely always will be.
Ryan often reaches out a hand to help me when he sees me struggling to stand up.He knows, and has known for years, about the bottles of medication on the kitchen counter.In fact, when he was just a toddler he popped a small piece of cucumber in his mouth and chewed and swallowed it with a glass of milk, telling me he was taking his medicine just like mommy.It broke my heart.
But I’d like to think that my son is also being raised to look at people with increased levels of compassion, patience, and acceptance.I hope that my struggles show Ryan that all people struggle with something, even if it isn’t initially apparent.At the same time, I hope I’m also teaching Ryan resilience and tenacity, and that there are many different ways of demonstrating bravery, courage, and strength.
Still I worry.
And then my son will do something that will totally blow me away, will fill my heart with love and pride.And I’ll breathe a little easier, knowing that Ryan is alright; in fact, that he’s more than alright.
When Ryan was a little guy, we would often sing along to songs on my computer, using kitchen utensils as “microphones.”We still sing all the time.In the car, in the house, in the market.But for the last month or so, Ryan and I have again been regularly performing one of our favorite duets, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” I love that it’s still fun for my almost-11-year-old to sing with his mom.And I love that this is one of our favorite songs to sing together.
Because really that is the message I want Ryan to grow up learning.That we are a family.We’re in this together.
“If you need me, call me
No matter where you are
No matter how far don’t worry, baby
Just call my name
I’ll be there in a hurry
You don’t have to worry
‘Cause baby there
Ain’t no mountain high enough
Ain’t no valley low enough
Ain’t no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you, babe.”
And, if you haven’t seen the 1998 film Stepmom with Susan Sarandon and Julia Roberts, click here to see a fun scene featuring a family sing-along of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”
In the spirit of celebrating innovative, pioneering women, I’d like to share some quotes from my most recent library discovery.(On a side note, this is why I can’t merely browse online for a book.I need to wander and peruse the shelves, because I never know what I’ll find, what book will be waiting for me when I need to read it.That was the case with this book: Great Quotes from Great Women – From Marie Curie to Michelle Obama – inspiring words from women who have shaped our world.)
I haven’t finished the book yet, but here are some of my favorite quotes so far:
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou
“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” – Jane Goodall
“For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.” – Audrey Hepburn
“You can’t make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen.” – Michelle Obama
“I am an example of what is possible when girls from the very beginning of their lives are loved and nurtured by people around them.I was surrounded by extraordinary women in my life who taught me about quiet strength and dignity.” – Michelle Obama
“There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world.Love of books is the best of all.” – Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis
“I do the very best I can to look upon life with optimism and hope and looking forward to a better day.” – Rosa Parks
“I would like to be remembered as someone who was not afraid to do what she wanted to do, and as someone who took risks along the way in order to achieve her goals.” – Sally Ride
Last week marked the 6-year anniversary of the day I left my teaching career. I still miss it. But I like to think that I’m still teaching – just not in a traditional classroom – but through my writing and in all my interactions with my son. And I’m still learning. In fact, living with my autoimmune disease has taught me some surprising, unexpected lessons. Here are 5 Things I’m Learning From My Autoimmune Disease.
Small pills aren’t always easier to swallow.I take a lot of pills each day; both prescription medications to try and control my body’s inflammation as well as over-the-counter supplements. Pills come in different sizes. Some are taken with food. Some without. Some are taken every day, at certain times of the day. But there’s one medication I take only once a week. It’s a small pill; probably the smallest pill I swallow. But each Saturday night, I have to take 10 of these little pills. And after a while, those 10 small pills feel more like 10 giant multivitamins.
Being a chronic patient improves my vocabulary and spelling skills.Since becoming ill, I’ve learned about different “-ists” – gastroenterologist, urologist, neurologist, ophthalmologist, nephrologist, rheumatologist. I’ve also been subjected to different “-scopies” – endoscopy, cystoscopy. Many were words I had never heard of before. Some were words I had no idea how to pronounce (endoscopy). And some, I still don’t spell correctly on the first try (ophthalmologist).
I’m willing to have my belly button resemble a volcano.When I was newly diagnosed and desperately trying to hold onto my life and my teaching career, I tried a variety of things on the chance they might help. I bought compression stockings. Didn’t help. I propped my legs up with several pillows every time I sat on the couch or reclined in bed. Also didn’t help. And me, the person who doesn’t like needles, who always looks away when having blood drawn, saw an acupuncturist. I paid her $100 per visit so she would poke me with ultra-thin needles. Occasionally, she also burned Moxa, and once placed it inside my belly button until it looked like a mini-volcano was erupting on my body.And it didn’t help my pain.
A blood clot will seem like an attractive alternative.My illness began on a Sunday morning when I woke up with an incredibly swollen left calf. I couldn’t stand, and once in the ER, all the symptoms (redness, swelling, pain in my calf) suggested a blood clot. I believed that my swollen leg would somehow be popped like a balloon until it was deflated and I was back to normal. It wasn’t a blood clot, and it didn’t return to normal. In fact, while in the ER my calf became more red, more swollen, and more sensitive to touch. Doctors didn’t know why. But a blood clot would have been so much easier. Something that was identifiable, treatable. Something that was temporary. (I was treated for cellulitis, and a year later officially diagnosed with my autoimmune disease).
An invisible disability is like the wind.Invisible forces are powerful. You never see wind; wind is invisible. But you see and feel the effects of wind – wind chimes tinkling, kites soaring, leaves rustling. My invisible disability has the same strength as gale-force winds. It made it necessary for me to retire from my teaching career. It qualified me for a disabled parking placard, though I don’t rely on an assisted walking device and appear to be “fine.”