Indian Spices

My baby smelled like Indian Spices every evening I picked him up from daycare.  The smell was never as intense as it was the first time I visited to get a sense of the owner and facilities; I wafted around in a cloud of curry and cardamon for at least two hours after that initial visit.  I miss seeing Raj and her beautiful family.  I didn't know at the time that last Friday was the last day she would be Van's childcare provider.  She has a kind husband, two sweet and talented young boys, and an ethereal mother who walks with a cane, has blue-gray eyes, and a giddy smile.  Returning a bottle is my first excuse I have to drop by her home for a quick visit.

Sugar-Bugar

I get a Sugar fix every Saturday.  Sugar is the name of the horse I ride at my weekly lesson; this is an important commitment I've made to myself.  It is a time for me to be away from my kids and job, explore a personal interest I've had since I was a little girl, get some fresh air and exercise, and involve myself with a community of savvy, hardworking people.  It is meditative because it requires one hundred percent of my focus and it is therapeutic, physically and emotionally. I enjoy being in the role of a "student."  It is a break from being Mommy and Legal Assistant, both of which catapult me automatically into the status of Master of all associated responsibilities.  At my riding lessons I have help readily available, I get kudos for a job well done and I can ask my trainer an unlimited number of questions as I learn the nuances of horseback riding at my own pace.

I’m turning 34 years old in a couple of weeks, nevertheless I feel like a 4 year old when I initially tell people I take riding lessons.  Horses have been a curious obsession of mine since my 4^th birthday when I was given armfuls of horsey toys at that particular party.  I read every horse-related youth novel and series I could come across.  To this day, I still doodle horses in various poses, some with wings and a single horn.  By signing up for lessons,  I was consciously indulging my inner 4 year old child and “the foolish imaginings of (my) heart.”  Yet, as I’ve learned, the reality of horse handling is far from fanciful.

I started riding Sugar around the end of March 2013, and before I had even lifted the brush to groom her I had been introduced to an important concept: where there is a romanticized ideal there is also an irritating, potentially dangerous reality.  Sugar's owner, Maggie, told me that although she doesn’t ride her any more, Sugar maintains "a very special place in (her) heart."  As a teenager, Maggie rode Sugar in competitions until the ball joint above her left rear hoof inexplicably fractured.  The fracture healed and she has been semi-retired and is used for walk/trot lessons only.  In the picture Maggie painted for me, Sugar sounded as sweet as her name.  However, as I led Sugar from her stall into the arena for my first lesson with her my trainer said, "We call her Sugar-Bugar." The latter is a truer reflection of Sugar's personality and she was quick to demonstrate the validity of the not-so-diminutive nickname, Bugar; she snapped at the curry comb as I held it toward her nose for her to smell.


I imagine I might be bothered by a hairy brush being pushed towards my nose, too!  But the trainers are keen on incorporating safety awareness as students gain confidence in groundwork skills like grooming and tacking up the horses. Horses are big animals and while there is no guarantee that students won’t get stepped on or kicked, there are definitive actions students can take to minimize the level potential injury and pain.  For example, I’ve learned it is better to stay close to a horse’s tail as you walk behind them because if they do kick you, the kick will have less force than if the distance allowed for greater extension of their hind leg(s).  As soon as I completed my groundwork training and got in the saddle, I had to learn how to do an "emergency dismount."  I thought the instructor was joking - she wasn't  - and I learned step by step what my body has to do in order to leap off of a moving horse!

In a sense, horses are as romanticized by some as marriage is by many, and how I wish I'd been instructed to quickly remove myself from a partner at early signs he was steering our marriage toward disaster.  Where can one go to learn the groundwork - the safety tips - about relationships?  I recall taking 4 years of sex-ed in middle school and high school, but there was rare mention of the warning signs of rape or domestic violence, and nothing said of red flags, codependency and personality disorders.  Girls in are society are subject instead to princesses and fashion magazines; there is a socially condoned Cinderella-syndrome.  Even I - who frankly wasn't very good at being a girl thanks to frizzy hair, braces, glasses and an acutely introverted personality - took it to heart.  I fell head-over-heels-in-love with my guy and found immeasurable value in the opportunity to wear a white dress, walk down the aisle, and say "I do."

The truth is, I always will find value in that opportunity and I do not regret my marriage - only that I waited until its circumstances were becoming dangerous before I chose divorce - or any part of the present responsibility of parenting the young human beings in my care (but I still look forward to my Sugar-fix!).  The responsibility of caring for my own horse one day will be a walk in the park with all of the hands-on training I am getting as a single mom.  I also am grateful that I stopped denying a deeply rooted passion I've had for horses since I was a child, and my husband - even with all the red flags I can see more clearly in hindsight - supported me when I started leaning in that direction.  My kids once told me in some act of appeal, "You're a Mommy who buys us things!" I want them to see that I'm a lot more than that: I'm a Mommy who loves them, who employs humility and kindness to nurture a culture of family between their father's home and my own - with careful and educated navigation of our idiosyncrasies - and also, that I'm a resilient woman, well aware of certain realities of the society we live in.  Through their younger years, however, it will suffice for my kids to know I have a horseback riding lesson on Saturday.

 

Mommy Machine

Single mother circumstances can change more quickly than technology can advance, and I have found myself surveying the results (some might say wreckage) of the whirlwind of the last several months.  I walked into my apartment on Sunday evening, with only my oldest child by by side since my three youngest are now being cared for Monday through Friday by their Nana, and I looked at an evergreen towel laying on my living room floor.  "I can pick that up" was my overwhelming thought; my multi-child storm had ceased.
Nevertheless, I endured the next 24 hours with an antagonizing sense that part of myself had been painfully detached.  Perhaps this was based on instinct, a longing for my cluster of little ones to flock around my feet like they normally do.  Perhaps this was guilt, as the new childcare arrangements have lifted huge burdens and I - as a individual human being - welcomed the reprieve; the stress of morning and evening childcare, fulltime work, and a budget with a bottom line that was sinking lower and lower into the red due to extraordinary daycare costs was all taking a toll on me, mentally, physically and emotionally.  The financial aspect was the instigator of this vast change, however, and I miss the hugs, cuddles and activity of my three boys. 
With their absence, and the quiet stillness that now fills my home, I have caught myself operating on the old default towards my daughter.  Words escape my lips in questions that ask, "Do you need_____?" It's symptomatic of a fullhouse lifestyle; I have been amped up to take care of my four little people like a Mommy Machine.
I now have an opportunity to power down and re-adapt to the other responsibilities in front of me.  For example, I will be preparing for a move this Summer to be closer to Nana so my boys can sleep in their own beds every night.  I have boxes that have yet to be unpacked and sorted through from my move last year, when I emptied the 5 bedroom house that could have been the Home where my kids were raised.  I have a six year old daughter living with me who has been through as much transition and upheaval as I have who will benefit from stability, functionality and positive interaction with her Mother, me.  This is a huge change.  Rewiring has begun!

Policing my Peace

Ever since my early school days I've not been one who asks many questions, yet I have grown adept at answering many.  I have a very good friend who has often asked me - always framing and rephrasing in a diplomatic, honest and curious way - "Aren't you angry?" And I have consistently answered, no.  Another standout question in recent months, although asked only once is, "Can you say, 'He left us'?"

Juxtaposed in the same paragraph these two questions together summon one answer: sadness.  Sadness of the sort that steals my breath away but at the same time makes me think of how it feels when my bare feet sink into the sand while wading in the ocean surf.

It's hard to wrap my mind around why my husband would walk away from me, his three young children and the youngest on his way.  But the question of "Why" isn't really mine to answer.  My choice was whether or not I would let him go.  I mean this figuratively since (yes, I learned the hard way) literally holding on violates the law.  The Dixie Chicks say it best, "It took me a while to understand the beauty in letting go." The beauty is still unfurling.

First, I get to hold my kids; I have a front row seat to their milestones and meltdowns.  I admire all my children for their growing minds and bodies, incredible energy, strength of spirit, laughter, joy and many manifestations of its opposite.  Secondly, I appreciate that I am free to drink a bottle of water and turn on the radio in my car while I drive myself around town.  Last but not least, I have been able to break a nasty habit of Codependence.  I feel like I can breathe deeper and rest easier, as if I am walking on sunnier shores.

To me, this is a good thing.

How do you do it?

How do you do it?  This common question I hear is ripe with connotation and ambiguity.

How.  Think of a job and here's my brief performance review.  I am resourceful.  I am hopeful.  I am maintain a positive outlook.  I accept contributions from others.  I give 110% 100% of the time.  If I have a bad day, I try to learn from it, leave it behind and move ahead.  I don't expend energy on needless drama and politics.  I problem-solve, triage and think on my feet 18 hours a day.

Do You Do.  These words illustrate a pattern; things happen all around me.   I get overwhelmed sometimes and hold my head in my hands.  And quickly thereafter I think of something I can do to get out of feeling cornered.  And I get to it as quickly as possible even if it's merely with the help of dear ol' Google.  Then I acknowledge that I am, in fact, confident and capable of working through seemingly insurmountable issues - one after another.  Also, please add HAVE FAITH to the paragraph above.

It.  Most people - I presume - understandably don't understand what it is like to take care of 4 small children, and they - I believe - focus on the children as the crux of my situation.  I do not.  I grapple mostly with logistics; how to fit together the time, energy and coordination required for managing laundry, grocery shopping, childcare arrangements, dishes, cleaning, bathing, changing diapers (of course), phone and email communication, medical appointments, visits with friends, school schedules, job expectations, financial obligations and maintaining my emotional awareness through it all.  It's an ever-evolving puzzle, and this past year it included a move from a 5 bedroom house to a 2 bedroom apartment, a new job, and a divorce (actually still pending - sigh).

My children are not the challenge.  It is important to me that they enjoy their childhood (after all, they only get one).  My children are at the heart of the issue because they ARE my heart, and I will do whatever is necessary to keep and protect them.  Anne Geddes has quoted Katherine Hadley in one of her adorable baby photography books, Little Thoughts of Love.  "The decision to have a child is to accept that your heart will forever walk about outside of your body."

Whenever people ask me "How do you do it?" what comes to me - to my mind, to my body, to my spirit which is all of me - is the energy within that drives me to prove that I CAN do it.

Crystals are Like Ice Cubes

My daughter coined the phrase that I used as the title to today's posting. I greatly appreciate the imagination and logic of my children, because it brightens my days and reassures me that it is possible to find truth and direction when faced with questions and unknowns. She was learning about crystals the other day.  She made the connection to ice cubes after I answered her question about what crystals look like.  It is wonderful to watch her and my other children learn.

I have been thinking of crystals recently, too, in the context of Superman of course!  His parents packed some crystals with him when they kissed him goodbye.  They are remnants of his heritage, ghosts of his family (his loved ones, his teachers) and tools for learning.  They represent solidity, clarity, beauty and wealth.  Their existence, however, alone did not mean that Superman could download automatically all they contained.  He needed to take the time to handle them, and listen and learn.

I have been fortunate to have what I might identify as a similar assortment of crystal-like tools.  I can look at remnants of my past and learn from them.  I can listen to people who have known me for my lifetime (or any small part of it) and engage in enlightened - or otherwise useful - conversation.  When I find myself in a place where the learning and listening can commence, I am usually calm, and I usually feel cared for.  And I can place them into two categories: Community and Coping skills. 

Coincidentally (or not?) this month marks the one-year anniversary of the time when my world (as I had known it in the context of my marraige) utterly fell apart.  I have consistentally referred to it as The-Worst-Month-of-My-Life.  I was alone, overwhelmed, sick, broke, used and abused. There had been plenty of shake-ups leading up to it and I had endured most of them in isolation.

My community is valuable to me.  It is always somewhat in flux as it is normal for relationships to be newly established and grow - maybe flourish - or wilt a little, wash away or be intentially uprooted.  My friends, relatives, coworkers and groups whom I am associated with stengthen my ability to cope with the ups and downs I inevitably encounter on a day to day basis. 

Even Superman had to cope.  Even he had to retreat and take counsel with Jer-el's voice and image. Even when he wanted to lead a normal life and throw off his cape after dropping his glasses (see Superman II) he could only let go for a brief moment before realizing that he was, in fact, made to be Superman - it was a calling he did not deny.

Superman's Kryptonian heritage may have given him an advantage over other creatures on the planet - particularly other beings who may have wanted or needed to perform to his same effects - but it was learned with conscious reflection, with careful consideration, and also with a touch of grief at the loss of a world he would never know.  His crystals in his icy refuge provided him a platform to stand on, for learning and growing into, and retaining his role.

My ascendance through an unequally-yolked marriage enabled me to more easily become a SuperMom.  My crystals, like icecubes, are an enigma; liquid and solid at the same time, bittersweet.

Hope Springs Eternal

I had a pattern of hope and disappointment in my marriage.  When I was first (finally) ready to let go and say goodbye, my husband wasn't entirely decided that he wanted to do the same.  He is gifted in building bridges of strong emotional ties with some people.  I believe in my case that bridge was built and subsequently well travelled, until he looked over the edge, got an inkling of the thrill that existed beyond its structure, and bungy-jumped to his heart's content over the edge until my heart broke.

What is most important, is that my heartbreak did not kill me.  A friend told me, "Jenny, as long as you don't lay down and die it is going to be OK."  I like to tell people that the end of my marriage "was a hard corner to turn, but the worst is over."  In fact, the pain and insanity I temporarily experienced as my world changed, turned out to be the price of an invaluable solution to the problem my marriage had become.

My marriage, like a bridge across Lake Washington, was exacting a toll.  Except unlike a bridge (more like a block of cement) it was weighing me down.  In the framework of what I presumed would be an equal partnership, I was taking on responsibilities - in a show of support and commitment - that were never and could never and can never be mine.

I am content that the marriage has been left to stand as a historical artifact.  I have not tried to burn the bridge, but rather, to safely exit and walk on.  My husband and I exited in polar opposite fashions.  I've never bungy-jumped but can imagine the adrenaline (as well as the critical reliance on the anchor!).  While he had "fun", I had an experience that is fairly well-depicted in the photograph posted here; I spent a number of hours physically restricted from the freedoms and pleasures this world has to offer.  I realized then that there was a lot more to my life, and to the simplest opportunities that life may present.  I was able to redirect my focus to saving those, and I looked past  the marriage, the bridge, I had been so invested in.

Posting Preview: My Planet, My Portal, My Parents

The trigger to starting this blog was simply the idea (and its necessary manifestation in my life) of Supermom.  

Throughout this past week I have been having fun with the Superman/Supermom analogy!  Using the 1978 film "Superman: The Movie" as a platform I will be posting some ideas about my marriage (like Krypton), its implosion (it collapsed but not before Jer-el took responsibility of sentencing the three villains), my transition into this life of single motherhood (how did Superman survive his lonely growth from an infant to a wiley, smiley four year old?) and more.  

I've been able to gather that there is good drama in my breakup story.  And I'm excited to use a classic story and character to help guide my readers' understanding of my truth.  However, like Star Wars and Lord of the Rings (and REAL life), there are a lot of deeper things going on within our much-advanced-since-1978 television screens.  

So, stay tuned... (yes - pun intended!)

A Smile

My infant greeted me with a glowing smile when I picked him up from daycare today.  Those smiles take my breath away and are a reward beyond measure for whatever effort I extend to get through the days.

"All those things I can do. All those powers. And I couldn't even save him."

Monday morning and up by 4:30; hand-washed a half dozen pots and pans, packed lunches and moved a couple loads of laundry through various transition points.  Escorted my four young children, with kindness and patience, to the car and delivered the baby to his daycare by my self-imposed deadline.  Took the other three to the YMCA and cruised to the Park-n-ride with plenty of time to catch my bus.  And then commenced my reunion with the ever-reliable unreliability of King County Metro.  As I walked into the office, I fought off a raging bitterness that was ushering in faster than I could hustle in my black leather boots.  Being late to work isn't a matter of life or death, after all.  9:02 am showed on my desk phone and as I hit "Clock-in" I saw the last digit blur and become a 3.

This morning I finally understood exactly why Superman was furious when confronted with Lois's suffocation death in the first Superman film.   He was three minutes too late.  He had managed to hold continents together with his sheer strength, saved and smiled at a bus full of school kids on the swinging Golden Gate, and caught the foolish photographer who fallen off the damned dam.  But time moved too surely and wouldn't wait to sync with his imprint of action, heroism and self-promoting PR niceties.  The dirt piled up in Lois's car like sand in an hourglass - an analogy that obviously didn't impress me as much as the drama of her death until now.  And soon after Superman was confronted with the simple equation and conclusion, Lois's dirty and breathless body, he exploded.

I kind of wanted to yell like that as I hurried past the quiet introverts I work next to, although I admit it seems overly dramatic to compare my Monday morning tardiness to a Superhero's disappointment at not being able to save the life of his major crush.  I vented to a coworker 10 minutes later in the kitchen  and got over it.  Funny thing is, after this morning when I consciously recall Superman's yell in that scene from the movie (I watched it with my kids a few months ago), I feel like I am inciting a soul serenade.

There is in fact, a great depth of drama to my mornings (and evenings), and I don't feel like I'm in a position to minimize the importance of performing well at the job.  Kind of like a crush, I welcome it!

Sundays: Break or Breaking-Point Day?

On a typical Sunday I wake up feeling achy and tired.  The immediate choices before me include getting myself and the four kids ready and out the door for Church which starts at 9am or tackling the overwhelming and endless endeavor of tidying our apartment.  I am also inevitably aware that I need to prepare for another week ahead: work, daycare and other obligations concerning nannies, doctor appointments, school activities and other projects such as my Parenting Plan which I'm in the middle of drafting.

Usually I try to stay under the covers as long as possible, not because I believe it will help the aches and tiredness go away, but out of paralysis caused by fear.  But I get over it.  I employ the classic Nike motto "Just Do It" which I adopted as my new mantra in February of this year.

In February, a week or two after returning to work following maternity leave, my boss gave me that clear directive, "Just Do It."  At my job, the workload is high and the pace is smoking.  I have the skill set necessary for the job, otherwise, it wouldn't be mine.  It's a challenging position but it's working well for me and my family.

I am happy to leave the matter of childcare to the childcare professionals.  I was home with my children for 6 weeks after my baby was born and I concluded that we all will benefit from the routine and structure which work and daycare will provide.  My daughter is enrolled in before and after school care program at the YMCA and I've hired a Nanny to take care of her between noon and 3pm through the end of the school year (since no programs - or they are extremely rare and hard to find - exist to fill the gap between AM kindergarten release time and the standard school release time).  My two older boys attend preschool at the YMCA and I've just started my baby at a new home daycare.  What does all this cost?  The last time I looked it took 41% of my income; my budget is very out-of-balance, but that doesn't mean I don't want it (the budget AND the childcare).

I recently moved my computer to the little bar that stands between the nook of a kitchen and the living room in my apartment.  It keeps the keyboard out of reach of my toddler and allows me to multitask (at times) between taking care of my kids and doing work (or now, blogging).

Today, we didn't go to church and I've tidied just a little.  The laundry, dishes, Parenting Plan, work-to-do-for-my-job remotely from home, and packing the bags and lunches for daycare still await.  If you see my previous post, I have also managed to complete one tickle-fest and it's only 10 minutes after noon!

Discovering new capabilities day by day

This morning I learned I was capable of nursing the baby while tickling my toddler, and satisfying both!  It reminded me of a rodeo, but I sustained the activity for several minutes instead of mere seconds.  I laid the baby down and soon the tickling recommenced with my two big kids joining in the fun.  Soon all three were vying for a turn to be lifted into the air and tossed on the bed!  Aside from getting up to lay the baby out of harm's way, I did all of this while laying in the bed.

I am a photographer too

I am an avid photographer and you can count on me to sprinkle images throughout posts.  If a picture paints a thousand words, this will save me time and you, the reader, will encounter much less redundancy of words to describe how much I love my kids!

Why this title?

I needed to reconsider the "SuperMom" label shortly after returning to work following the birth of my fourth child.  I had a new son, a new job, and most importantly, a new lifestyle as a single parent of the four young children that my recently-departed husband and I had chosen to have together.  While our time together as Husband and Wife was over, the full responsibility of parenting - nurturing, providing for, teaching and protecting - my kids had just begun.  Being SuperMom HAD to be possible because I had to be SuperMom.  By believing in SuperMom I'm believing in myself.

I'm the only mother my sweet kids have known and whether I want them to or not, they believe in me.  I'm committed to my children.  When I was still together with their father, my energy of commitment was poured into the marriage, like money being poured down the drain.  My marriage is dead, I've grieved for it with a small lake of tears, and now I am focusing on the days ahead which will require TONS more energy!  My oldest child turned 6 in January, her oldest brother is 4 1/2, his younger brother is 21 months old and our newest little guy is 3 months old.  My kids remind me frequently that Tina (our chihuahua), is part of our family too! My children are my commitment and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Some topics I will be blogging about include, the origin story of this particular SuperMom (yours truly), my kryptonite (in its various manifestations), my home away from home (where I can retreat to and recharge) and - of course - how I juggle succeeding at my day job, and keeping up with laundry, dishes and dirty diapers (notice I didn't include "succeeding" before these last items).  Outside of cyberspace, I am an honest and down-to-earth individual.  I presume at this point that my posts will convey at least that much!

Signing off at 11:38pm on a Saturday.