Snorkel for Serenity

     I have discovered the key to peace in the pool, and it's only $16.99 at Target. Yes, for this measly sum, you too can muffle those cries of "look at me" or "Mom, watch this". Just strap on the ultra-sexy plastic mask and wrap your mouth over the large plastic snorkel. Not only will it make you look like one of the taller Minions, you get to sound like Darth Vader.
     Let me tell you from personal experience, it is so totally worth the strapped down hair and mask rings. Just stick your head under the water leaving all your stress above the surface. Down below where the water kindly silences all sounds except the gentle swish of the water, you will discover serenity.
     There is magic in watching your hands glide in front of you caressing the water. Like being a mermaid, a childhood fantasy, of being carefree, daughter of the waves. I always thought Ariel was a little crazy and her world looked more fun.
     Maybe its a memory of the womb, a safeness in being encompassed by the water, it's velvety liquid surrounding you. It makes me feel free, flowing with the water.
     I watch the bubbles the kids make as they dive under to wave and mouth words at me, my own mute button. But they are more playful like benign seals when I'm underwater. The sun plays around their legs making their skin look smoother. The light draws circles in the cerulean blue shades thrown on the bottom of my pool.
     All I need are some plastic fish and kelp, and I can imagine myself in Hawaii, lazy with vacationing, enjoying the beauty of nature. It's amazing how just swimming in circles around my backyard pool with my head under water can transform me into a tense, nagging shrew of a mother to a calm, quiet goddess of the sea.
    My kids don't even bother me much except to dive under themselves. They seem to know that this makes mom happy to swim in circles like a lycra'd goldfish. We are all transformed. The world itself becomes hushed and beautiful, a different perspective, looking at the sky from underneath the water. It's like the water itself cleans the air, the trees, even your children. Complete bliss!
     I highly encourage any mom with a backyard pool or access to a friend's to try it. Snorkel your cares away. Find your zen under the water. And maybe even get a nice tan on your back. Happy swimming!

To Be or Not to Be with My Kids - That is A Mother's Question

     I used to call my father the eternal see-saw, his bi-polar personality rising and falling within minutes. Now, I find my heart's the eternal see-saw, an indecisive organ, constantly changing heights on whether it wants to be with my children or not. When they are gone, I need them. The prickling feeling growing under my skin that part of me is missing. Worrying and wondering what their time apart from me is like.
     But when they are near me, I prickle up another way, my temper rising like a cat's arched back warning them to back off and give me space. I feel hunted, my every thought winnowed out of me like the director's cut of my life, as they interrogate my every look, word, and silence. "Why are you smiling? What are you looking at? What are you doing on the computer?"
     I feel defensive. Why should I explain myself to a six-year-old? He shadows me from room to room imitating my every move, crawling into my every space, watching me like a nervous stalker. Sometimes, I find it adorable. The way he mimics me. Or crawls into my lap petting the skin on my arm and telling me I the best mommy ever. My heart bursts with a love I never knew till motherhood.  I cuddle him closer smelling his warm hair and marveling that he is mine. But I'm his too.
     That's the part that prickles my nerves. The ownership. The never having space or time that is fully mine anymore. The invasion of the body snatchers mentality that comes with once sharing your body with your child. They feel entitled to have everything that is yours. Not that I'm selfish. I'll gladly share with my sons. I'll happily give them what I'm eating. Just not directly off my plate or out of my hands. I love sharing stories and experiences with them. Just not when I'm in the middle of peeing or chewing or lugging six bags of groceries into the house. That's when I want to run away and lock the door ignoring small begging voices of "mommy, let me in," and crayon-colored heart love notes slipped under the door.
     That's when I call 911 grandma or ship them to camp or a friend's house. So I can breathe, sit in glorious silence, watch a grown-up show with no animation or smart-ass precocious kids, eat a whole bar of chocolate by myself, and remember who I am as an individual. I can finish a thought in my head without it derailing to police a sibling squabble or find a lost shoe. I can read a book, take a long shower, and find time to write. All things that make me happy and are necessary for sanity.
     But there's still that small pull at the back of my heart wondering what I'm missing out on. Opening the photo app on my phone, so I can gaze lovingly at my boys. They always look so much sweeter and peaceful in pictures. And suddenly I want to hold them and kiss their squishy faces and dance them around the living room like maniacs to Taylor Swift and Pharrell. So I finish my work, a smile imbedded wide across my face as I collect them from wherever I shipped them off to. A warm hug and a squealed "Mommy" melts my heart. Then five minutes and a full-on backseat war later, over the "good" headphones, and I'm wondering if I can take them back.
     Don't get me wrong. We have many wonderful, magical times together with minimal whining and fighting. They have enriched my experiences of the world. And I love them dearly.
     But they have also dispelled my heightened expectations of outings making me break down in silent expletives and rue ever taking them out of the house ever again.
     I think most mothers, especially those with more than one child have experienced this mixed bag of emotions that come with child-rearing. The insatiable need to be with them and the desire to tape their mouths shut with duct tape and run away to the beach or a bar or anywhere.
    

It's like the daily struggle for identity. Am I mom or am I me? Is motherhood my identity or just one facet of my personality? I teeter up and down with my need to be with and away from my children usually in the same minute.

Crazy - But Not Because I'm a Christian

     I really hate those judgmental, belittling people who publically humiliate you and make you feel ashamed of who you are and what you believe in. Those people who make you hide your true self so that you can be socially acceptable. And no, I am not talking about Christians.
     But take a look at any social media site, movie, television show, or news article, and you'll see someone taking potshots at the Crazy Christians. Because it's not cool to believe in anything nowadays, except money and fame.
     Now I am not denying that there are a lot of messed up folks out there spouting hate and their own crazy judgments under the guise of Christianity. But those people would have been crazy without this particular pulpit to preach from. Those people in Westboro are just small, angry-minded individuals who don't represent the majority of believers. In fact, there are only forty members in that church mostly from the same loony family. And there are roughly 2.1 billion Christians world-wide. But the loud-mouths get all the attention, just like that annoying kid who always acted out in class and earned your class the reputation of being the bad one that no one wanted to sub for. That kid probably had a crappy home life and wanted whatever attention good or bad he or she could get. Same with these loud-mouth idiots spewing hate, because it's what the media loves to lap up.
     No one wants to hear about my friend, a devout Christian who would literally give you the shirt off her back and makes a mean batch of rummy gummies (remember they drank alcohol in the Bible), and her adventures mentoring children of inmates at a free camp. Because it doesn't sell ads to hear about a normal, kind-hearted woman who picked the lice out of children's hair so they wouldn't have to go home and miss out on their only camp experience.
     It's ironic that I read about or have people tell me to my face that Christians are so bloody judgmental and hate gays, atheists, and people of other religions. I don't hate anyone other than the bugger who nearly hit my car while I was driving my kids to camp. And I got over that two hours later.
     Yet, these people seem to hate me. They are certainly judging me without knowing me. They automatically assume that as a Christian I am a judgmental, holier-than-though, hypocrite. I've been told by a friend, not to openly wear my Celtic cross necklace, the open I bought for my deceased mother. I was told it made people uncomfortable and gave them a quick judgement of my character. I'm sorry how is this fair? I have gay friends, Hindu friends, Jewish friends, and wiccan friends, and I would never think to tell them to put away a symbol of their faith. That would be rude and small-minded of me. And I have never once shoved my beliefs down their throats or hit them with a Bible. I live my faith, by example.
      I was raised by open-minded, worldly parents who taught me to respect other cultures and faiths. My father's funeral was attended by Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, Atheists, Agnostics, Jews, and several denominations of Christians, all close friends and colleagues. He even joked when he was about to undergo surgery that everyone was praying for him, so he had all the gods covered. He even taught me the Muslim greeting of saluum alaikum to say to his friend who ran the local News Agent.
     So it hurts that I am told to hide and be ashamed of my religion because some vocal idiots makes the rest of us look bad. Is it ok to make me cry and feel belittled for what I believe? I thought only ignorant, self-righteous people did that?
     Yes, I know there are the bible-thumpers and the preachers. The people who are all too quick to quote Scripture instead of listening. But they are not me. And they are not my experience. I am sorry if someone rubbed you the wrong way or you had a bad religious experience. I had a German shepherd bite me on the way to school. Should I hate all dogs and think they are all vicious? I had two blonde friends growing up psychologically fuck with my head. (Yes, Christians swear. I swear like a drunk sailor.) So all blondes are bitches, right? Except two of my best friends are blondes.
     I am not excusing the yokels and wrong-doers who hide under the banner of Christianity. I can tell you for historical fact that most of those religious wars had more to do with land and power and greed than religion. It just sounded more persuasive to tell the uneducated populace that it was for God than the king's coffers.
     To wrap up my tirade, I am sure I have rubbed some people the wrong way. I am sorry. And then again I'm not. Why is everyone else allowed an opinion? That seems unfair.
      I had three hugs today at church from kind, quiet people doing good-work without seeking reward. In fact our church motto is we'd rather love you than judge you. So do me a favor and don't judge me unless it's on my brilliant wit and awesome dance moves.
     If I'm not suppose to fill Facebook with angry memes condemning other religions and atheists, do me the same courtesy. Otherwise you are guilty of doing the thing you think I do - judging others.

I Always Love You

I Always Love You

“I always love you”, the mommy said, “even when you are stubborn & won’t go to bed.”

"I always love you, my darling, Honey Bear, even when you put gum in your little brother’s hair."

"I always love you, my dear baby boy, even when you break your expensive new toy."

"I always love you, my sweet little Boo, even when on my new painted walls you drew."

"I always love you, my cuddly bug, even when you spilled juice all over the rug."

"I always love you, my cute kissy face, even when you throw water all over the place."

"I always love you,  you are my dearest heart, even when you took my new book apart."

"I always love you, no matter what you do, even if it seems I lose patience with you."

"You are my little boy & I love you so dear, your place in my heart will always be here."

Kat Aragon

While cleaning out my word documents, I discovered this little poem I wrote for my oldest son, Xander when he was three. It's saccharine and a little cheesy but completely true. And I still love my cuddle bugs even when I am screaming silently in my head while cleaning the fourth spill of the day or sweeping the remnants of my favorite mug off the kitchen floor. It's a mother's love. 

Cabin Fever - Desert Style

     I have almost always lived in desert cities. For some reason fate thinks its funny to stick my fair Celtic skin designed for constant rain in places it will fry or turn me into an epic dot to dot page. And right about the 100 degree mark, my mood starts to turn like meat left out on the counter, I reek of pent up energy and anger at the sun. I curse it's constant, cloudless beat down upon the sidewalk burning my toes when I risk a barefoot walk to take the garbage out. I start climbing the walls, a snarling, raving beast of resentment at being caged between four air-conditioned walls with two crazy little boys.

     In summer, the desert turns into a literal ghost town. Snow birds fly back to their 80 degree homes in Vancouver, Oregon, Idaho smartly migrating from one cool dwelling to another. Restaurants and shops reduce their hours closing down early from a lack of clientele. Mom's Night Out's are limited to the few bars and bands left playing on select nights only. That's if you can scrounge up enough moms to even go out, most people fleeing the desert for vacations in cooler climates.

     Sometimes I feel like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes waking to a strange world, monuments covered in sand, and not another living being in site. (Obviously, the part before he meets the apes.) Or a lone straggler who's car broke down on the highway finally falling upon an old abandoned western town tumbleweeds drifting past, wind whistling lonely through vacant buildings, no one to talk to except a cactus you ironically name Teddy. 

     If I don't see their car pull into the drive, the quick bustle of bodies in another air-conditioned space, I don't know if my neighbors are home. The streets are bare, no one exchanges greetings, no  one plays at the park, the baked plastic would scorch anyone who dared. I almost fainted yesterday seeing a kid walking around in the midday sun, until I saw the cellphone and realized the lengths people will go to play Pokemon Go, even risk sun stroke.

     Whenever I visit San Diego or my aunt's in Oregon, I am stunned to see neighbors outside talking to each other, sitting on porch's waving, kids running in and out of other people's houses, or playing basketball outside. It's like looking at a Richard Scary book there should be labels over their heads so I can identify who they are: Basketball playing kid, swinging kid, elderly neighbor, man walking dog, etc. 

     I met a friend on accident at the ice skating rink, and she commented on how the desert has changed her nature. Almost conditioned her to not know what to do if she even sees someone outside, all social etiquette gone, just an instinct to get inside. 

     Now I know I am blessed with lower house prices, less traffic, and better parking than those cooler urban spaces to the west of me. And I realize from mid-November to March, our weather brings flocks of people envious for our mild winters. 

     But I hate having to patrol Facebook to see if my friends are in town or text my son's friend's mothers over and over till I feel like I am begging for them to drop their kid off for a playdate. I don't know what the answer is. It's the literal climate and the social media climate that we live in. For now, I swim alone. 

I Understand You're Hurting, I Acknowledge Your Pain. What Can I Do to Help?

     These are the words I wanted to hear when my dad died of complications from esophageal cancer when I was 27. And later, when my mom died suddenly when I was 32. I wanted someone to acknowledge my grief and not negate it with easy words. Those trite phrases we roll out because grief is awkward and uncomfortable for those viewing it as well as those experiencing it. Because if you haven't experienced it, you don't fully get it.

     This is sort of how I feel as I watch the news and view the grief of African American mothers and fathers and children and loved ones. I don't know what to say to those families of the police officers gunned down in Dallas. It is not my own personal grief. But at the same time I can empathize as much as my reality allows me to with their loss because I know loss. 

     Moreover, I know that pain and grief demand to be felt. Because its excruciating to experience the death of a loved one, no matter the reason. That's why the Internet is full up of people voicing their grief. Black mothers write about their fears for their black sons. Children of police officers write about their fears for their parents. We live in an age of pain, a country of hurt. Dallas Police Chief, David Brown says "Our hearts are broken," as he mourns the loss of five fellow officers and the pain and chaos his city faces. 

     Right now, our whole nation hurts, a citizenship of broken hearts because no matter what side of these polarizing events or political associations we fall on, we all know something is wrong with the world we live in. There is too much hate and vitriol so easily slung on social media behind the safety of our computers. 

     That's where it starts - in words. Words that stir the pot and bring to the surface all our worst traits: our jealousies and petty hatreds, our fears, our scapegoating, our need to blame. But words is where it needs to end. Words, conversations need to be had face to face and in the social media space too about what we need to do next. Words of acknowledgement of grief, words of compassion need to be spoken to those on both sides for their loss. 

     But then we need to take it one step further and ask "What can I do to help? To bring change." Dallas pastor, T.D. Jakes expressed his hope that these events will force us to talk to each other saying that "change happens in the hearts of people". He acknowledges that we don't need to agree with each other, but we need to be talking and working together to find a solution.

     What that solution is I don't know? But I would hope that we use these events to open up a dialogue, one with fair, open-minded words, not mud-slinging and blame, to listen and understand. Understand does not mean agree, it means to appreciate and comprehend what the other side is saying. 

     I'd hope that this great first world nation, purported leader of the free world, a nation of intelligent human beings could listen and really hear both sides. Naively, I'd like to see groups of different races pulled together in communities all over the country to have civil town hall type conversations. Or meet in churches to pray together and grieve together. 

     But I'm not completely naive and know there will still be people stirred by hate and other psychological baggage or learned prejudices who will still spew their venom all over the Internet. I know there may be more violence to come. We live in a culture of hate. It's become cool to judge people, even celebrated to be snarky and mean and say things over social media we wouldn't say to someone else's face.

     But I also believe there are good people out there like me who don't know what the right answer is. We have not personally experience the pain and prejudices of those suffering but we want to help. We just want to know how. 

     I am an upper-middle class white woman. So I don't know the fears and experiences of those mothers of other races. I also don't have any police officers in my family. I can not feel their feelings or know their truths. I do not want to sound trite from my place of privilege. 

     But I can feel the hurt too in our nation and cry with those mourning loved ones. I can feel the punch to the gut hatred roiling in our nation and fear the future. I can look at my two sons and wonder with trepidation about the world they will inherit. 

     But I can acknowledge the pain I see and ask what can I do to help and follow through.

(I always welcome friendly, intelligent comments and don't ask that you agree with me. But I will not tolerate or acknowledge trolls spewing hateful comments for their own amusement. What you say says a lot more about you than me.)

Why I Had 2 Kids?

   Disclaimer: Before I shoot my mouth off, this is nothing against having an only child. I know some very happy only children. This is just my personal experience and should be viewed as such.

     Yesterday, my two darling sons fought for verbal dominance as they eagerly harassed a fellow mom who had mistakenly shown interest in Minecraft. Their words tackled each other tumbling and sparring louder and louder to be heard till finally my youngest made a fist and hit his brother with his hand instead. They drive each other nuts. 

     Maybe its the three year age gap. I did try to make it smaller, I really did but fertility makes its own rules and time schedule. My oldest would happily sell his younger brother for a pack of Sour Patch Kids and laments loudly and often "Why did you have to have another kid?" The answer - because I grew up alone and lonely.
     I was the sun to my parent's planets. Everyone emotionally revolved around me. I was the thing they fought over, the frayed rope in a knock out game of tug of war. I was it. The pressure to be everything, the golden child, the panacea to a broken marriage, the "Best thing they ever did" was suffocating. There was no one to share the avalanche of emotions they threw at me. And when they both died, there was no one to share my grief and the burden of death with.
     I had everything and nothing. They spoiled me with Barbies and My Little Ponies. I was the only kid in my poor apartment complex with pocket money treating the rest of my friends to Funyuns and Dr. Pepper. Mixed motives paid the price of a movie ticket so I could bring a friend along to the movies. I honestly liked treating my friends, it made me happy, but I also selfishly enjoyed the movie more with someone by my side.
     More often than not, the person by my side had to be my mom. Many of my friends had grandparents to visit during the summer with their sibling by their side or family vacations to go on or cousins to visit. I am nine years younger than my youngest cousin. So when I wasn't being babysat or sent to a camp I hated, I went to the movies with my mom or the museum with my mom or the mall with my mom.

     Occasionally, I went to my grandparent's house in Sun City West where I got dragged along to art shows and craft fairs and the swimming pool where I had to suppress all child-like behavior so as to not upset the senior citizens. I grew up old. I knew more classic Hollywood films than anyone my age and had an affinity for Mozart and watching the Golden Girls wedged between my mom and my Grandma Stina. I'm not complaining, entirely, I really enjoyed those things but it sets you apart from your peers who look at you weirdly when you don't know Duran Duran from Wham. And I missed being around someone my own age.
     Even more so, I feel like my only child status now affects my sons' summer vacations and family gatherings. They have no young cousins to play with or pal around with since my husband is the virtual only child of his family being six years younger and getting married later in life than his brothers.
     Now I am blessed that my beautiful half-sister, Lynn discovered me ten years ago but with half a globe between us I can't see her that often which kills me as we get on like a house on fire. Then there's an 11 year age gap in cousins there too. 
     So as much as my kids argue and battle to be player one on the Xbox, I figure at least they have someone to spar with. I figure its better than playing Atari by yourself. They can even complain together about how weird mom is. And maybe someday they will get along better. Maybe someday they'll have kids the same age who can pal around on family vacations to the beach and Disney cruises. I know the grass is always greener, and they envy my only child status. And most days, I'm the referee splitting cookies and attention between them. But I had to have two to see what life was like on the other side of the fence.