Mother's Day Can #suckit

To begin with, let me state for the record things I do not want to do on Mother's Day. Or any other day for that matter:

1. Wake up at 6:45am. (Not a morning person)
2. Eat at Olive Garden (Goes without saying)
3. Install a carseat (while running an hour an a half late to an event)

So, this Mother's Day wasn't all bubble baths and breakfast in bed. But, to be honest Hubby and I have never really been big on the Hallmark Holidays. Nonetheless, I was just a wee bit bitter at 7am as he rested peacefully in bed* while I fed Danger (read: got cottage cheese thrown in my hair). My bitterness quickly evaporated as it always does after a strong cup of coffee. And Mother's Day evolved into a comedy of errors that ultimately ended in a wonderful evening with close friends.

But, this is less about my Mother's Day. This is about another mother whom I have never met. Never spoken to. Never had even the slightest contact with other than a stream in my Twitter feed for the past many years.


I don't know @queenofspain. To confess, I rarely catch her Tweets these days in the onslaught of information. Prior to my first BlogHer in 2006, I signed on to Twitter as a way to understand exactly what this social media thing was really all about. I began by following a handful of smart, snarky and utterly hilarious women. And I got hooked. Throughout the years this handful was a lifeline during a difficult pregnancy and even more difficult 1st year with Danger. These women validated my crazy.

In more recent years, Twitter has morphed into more of a professional resource. The personal interactions I have are largely with the same circle of people and I filtered myself to sanity at the cost of losing touch with some of those early moms that I valued the most. The ones who completely unknowingly held my hand across the world wide web. Now, just to be clear, none of these women can be wrapped us as just "moms." Erin Kotecki Vest is a political power house and I probably subconsciously avoid her stream to protect myself from feelings of civic inadequacy. She is solely responsible for introducing me to one of my most favorite hashtags ever. #suckit But, today, on Mother's Day, she is above all an inspirational mom.

Every so often, while I am waiting for the coffee to brew or stuck in traffic, I'll scroll through my Twitter stream. And this morning I saw this:

What follows throughout the day is a chronicle of a pretty crappy Mother's Day, not to mention a painful and scary health crisis. OK, so, I don't know this person. But I was compelled to follow her narrative. I was inspired by the raw honesty

the mom's protectiveness

the ability to laugh even when stuck in a hospital hall for hours

and mostly by the bond she shares with her husband. As they exchange banter he is at times protective

and witty. (I can sooo see Hubby tweeting this while I am hooked to an IV writhing in pain)


So, there were times when I thought to myself, "Why the hell are you Tweeting??? Put the phone down and rest!" But then I realized that I was fully reading all of these Tweets. So, what the hell is wrong with me that I am following the personal details of a life I know nothing about? Does that make me a freaky voyeur stalker? Her a Twitter addict who shares way too much?

Honestly, some might say so. But, not me. In the midst of my whacky Mother's Day, I found inspiration and humor (and a touch of humility) as another woman's day unfolded in time with mine. Little did this stranger know that hundreds of miles away I was commiserating and laughing and remembering why I got hooked on this Twitter thing in the first place. It connects me to people I've yet to meet who give me a swift kick in the ass for wallowing in my Olive Garden snootiness. And stories that captivate my attention because they inspire, validate and reflect the strong, snarky and honest woman I aspire to be. A woman who in the midst of calamity can find perspective and is brave enough to share it with a gal like me.

Thank you, Erin. Happy Mother's Day.

* Hubby 100% deserved to sleep after pulling a 4:30AM shift, having lunch with my family, soothing our tantrum throwing toddler and then rushing to a tasting for the restaurant he is days away from opening. To hell with Mother's Day and Father's Day. It's Parents' Day every day in our life.

Yes, I Shaved My Daughter's Head

This year has been a whirlwind. That's my excuse for completely neglecting my blog. When I came across Gwen Bell's challenge, I signed right up to reflect on the year with daily posts. Which I then immediately neglected. Hey, I got busy.

"I got busy."

When did that become my daily mantra, sprinkled with the occasional "I'm so tired" and "Meh?"

When I saw today's topic was this year's biggest challenge, it made me think. About how I started a new job and created a new department and the daily challenges of staying on top of the ongoing chaos that is social media. About keeping focused on the important things like friends and family and husbands. About the daunting pile of laundry that is forever building force to wage battle against the dust bunny armies in on-going domestic warfare. Meh. I'm tired.

Well, boo-effing-hoo.

Today Danger (my 2 year old daughter) got a new cast on her right foot. One of so many casts that I have lost count. But that hasn't stopped her from tearing through the house, dodging dust bunnies and laundry piles with unabandoned glee, her little bald head bobbing.Yes. That's right, her bald head.

I shaved my daughter's head.

Actually, Hubby shaved her head while I sobbed in the background. And that one act is the greatest challenge that has taught me the most this year.

It started innocently enough. She twirled her hair for comfort as she fell asleep. No biggie. Then she started pulling a little harder. Tiny bald patches appeared. No problem, we put gloves on. She pulled them off. Bald patches spread. We try hats, fuzzy stuffed animals, even a swim cap. Bald "patch" turned to bald "half of head."

At this point I am furiously searching Google for answers and discover that ingesting hair can cause serious intestinal damages. Crap. See, Danger has kind of a history of stomach issues that include three surgeries by the time she was two. But, that's all resolved now and I'll be damned if a little hair twirling is going to compromise that. Enter the clippers.

If I thought the act of shaving her head was hard, I was totally unprepared for how hard it would be afterward. She looks different. People stare. My closest family members have questioned my choice. And, by question I mean calling me a terrible mother and threatening to report me to child services. (I'm pretty sure they were bluffing since the doorbell never rang) Someone asked if she had cancer. Another if she'd had surgery. But, instead of being embarrassed or shamed, I stand strong by the decision. She isn't pulling her hair and now loves the fuzzy blanket that is her new nightly comfort.

And guess what, she doesn't have cancer. How great is that? She also doesn't have stomach problems. She is healthy and more importantly happy. I'd be lying if I didn't get sad that her beautiful curls are gone. In fact I've been reluctant to take Santa photos. But, in the grand scheme, it's just hair. And she will take Santa photos regardless of who stares. And I will show it to her first boyfriend at which point she will probably glare and twirl her fabulous beautiful hair (which if she's anything like her mother she will have dyed purple...talk about stares).

But, back to the challenge and what I learned from it. First, I will never doubt the choices I've made as a parent in the best interest of my child. But, I kind of knew that already.

The biggest revelation was how much my self worth depends on the judgment of others. Am I doing a good job at work? Is my house clean enough? Am I good mom? Watching people instantly judge Danger based on her physical appearance has opened my eyes to how much control I give to other people's opinions.

I think everyone seeks affirmation and validation from outside sources. But, it took a toddler's happy smile and ease at overcoming any challenge to teach me that strength and joy come from within. She's too young to care what other people think or to know that she should be hindered by a cast. She's unstoppable. And I owe it to her to encourage that. To embody that.

OK, I am not going to shave my head in solidarity or anything. I'm probably not even going to fold that laundry tonight either. But not because I am too busy. Or too tired. Because that's my choice. And I'm confident in that choice.

Unless, of course, you are planning on coming over. In which case give me 20 minutes to sweep away the dust bunnies. And fix my hair. Meh.

Baby steps. After all, I need challenges to overcome for my December 2010 post.

Mommy Blogging- You Got a Problem With That?

Since I began blogging, I've questioned the "mommy blog" label. Sure, I am a mom. But I write about my career and professional frustrations. Nary a diaper or baby food tossing post here! Oh, no Sir-ee. This is a bonafide career woman blog.

But, recently, as Danger's second birthday approaches, I have been torn with wanting to share a personal side, but not wanting to blur the lines and potentially compromise my professional reputation. And then I thought, WTF. I mean this is my blog after all. (And I a pretty sure my 5 readers will get over a momentary lapse.)

So, here goes. My first mommy blog. If you are looking for sarcastic social media musings, check back later. If you are looking for professional success stories, hit me up for some case studies. But for now, I am feeling blurry.

I looked forward to the day we found out Danger's gender from the split second I peed on that stick. Hubby and I looked through teary eyes at the screen as the doctor went through his ultrasound checks and measurements trying patiently not to scream "ALRIGHT already!" That's when the doctor frowned. That's when he found the abnormality. There was something wrong with her feet. Yes, "her" feet. It's a girl! And there is something wrong with her.

Two hours later after an immediate amnio, we left the office thinking less about pink bedding patterns and more about infant mortality.

The longest ten days of my life later we received the good news: It's not one of the dreaded syndromes. And the bad news: It's a rare chromosomal deletion with only 4 cases on record all of whom have additional disorders and severe disabilities. We were advised to expect the worse. We were given pictures of potential deformities and contacts for late term abortion clinics.

We decided to name her Danger. (Middle name of course, we're not crazy).

It didn't happen in a split second and I can't quite recall exactly when I changed. But, at some point I started feeling courageous, empowered, resilient. These are not the typical adjectives I would use to describe Yours Truly pre-Danger. In fact, emotional, klutsy and irrationally curious are the top to come to mind. Nevertheless, I earned my PhD in Google research and braced myself for the upcoming challenges.

Danger was born premature with a feeding problem and three holes in her heart. Her lung collapsed her 3rd day in the NICU. She's had three stomach surgeries, one foot surgery and spent her first 6 months in toe to heel casts. She wore corrective shoes and a hip brace for several months. She has 4 therapists whom she sees three times a week. And until a few weeks ago, she had a feeding tube.

Now before you get all weepy, you should know that she starts nursery school on Friday. "Normal" kid school. With no tube (she devours some edamame) and her shoes are fancy-pants pink tennies bought from a posh Uptown boutique.

By all accounts she is "normal." Except that she will always be ours and hence never really "normal." Because it turns out that despite all the attention we gave to the long arm of chromosome 2, all of those other genes she adopted from Hubby and me are pretty strong. They might even potentially outweigh that one that got messed up. For better or worse, that includes the klutz gene, the curiosity gene, the spoiled gene and thankfully my newly discovered empowered, resilient and courageous genes.

So, there you have it. I am a mommy blogger. And proud to be in the company if they will have me. I am also a wife, professional, community activist, art lover, voracious reader and proud owner of two cats. I like butter. I hate exercise. I have no idea what my favorite color is. And, PS I am a lactard.

Bye bye, box. Hello, big picture. Welcome to my Not So Doris Days: full disclosure.

*Oh, God. What have I done? Press publish. Quick!*