Do you remember the last time you carried your child? I recently read something on Facebook from a mom who wrote about the last time she carried her son in her arms. He was 18 at this point. They were taking a rare walk together and when she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had carried him, they decided she would give him a piggy back ride for a few feet to make her feel better. I thought it was very sweet. And then I thought about it some more…

How old were my kids when I last carried them in my arms? There is no way I can remember that. They are 26, 22 and 20 now. I can’t remember the last time I carried any of them, but I will never forget the feeling. I could easily argue that there is no better feeling than having the arms of a child around your neck. My youngest would put her arms up and say, “mommy, I hold you” when she wanted to be picked up. Oh how I miss that.

I wish I had known at the time that that would be the last time. I would have held them longer. I would have snuggled and kissed and smelled that intoxicating child smell a little longer. I long for the days when there was always one of them close by and ready for mommy to lift them up and carry them along.

I wonder if my kids truly understand what goes through my head when they hug me now. Do they know how happy it makes me? How much I need those hugs? Can they feel how deeply I love them when they hug me? I wonder if they’d mind if I hung on a little longer. Just a little longer.

Maybe I should offer a piggy back ride..

Thanks for reading..

Until next time,

Donna

What is Resting Bitch Face? And do I have it?? By definition, and yes, I googled it, resting bitch face is “a facial expression that unintentionally appears like a person is angry, annoyed, irritated or contemptuous, particularly when the individual is relaxed, resting, or not expressing any particular emotion.” It goes on to say that the concept has actually been studied by psychologists and scientists who have found that it is, in fact, real and is as common in men as it is in women, regardless of the “bitch” female connotation.

So I joke about having resting bitch face all the time, but it actually bothers me. A lot. I try to be conscious of it when I am in public, but I am not always successful. I might do a little more research into why some people have this, but, in all honesty, it’s not that high on my priority list at the moment. I do find stuff like this fascinating though, so maybe…..

Years ago, when my kids were little, I went food shopping alone. Like a vacation, right? I despise food shopping now. Hate it, hate it, hate it, so I just don’t do it. I digress… Anyway, I was slowly meandering up and down each isle, lost in my own world, when an old man said to me, “I bet you’re even prettier when you smile”. The comment took me by surprise and I immediately smiled at him. I mean, he did just call me pretty, right? Well, kind of, I guess, and he was a cute little old man. He then announced, “I was right!”, with a big grin. I didn’t think too much of it back then. I figured he just saw a young, exhausted mother of 3 finally escaping for a bit, lost in her own thoughts and wandering around a supermarket. I had never heard of resting bitch face at that point, so now I wonder……

I don’t think of myself as a bitch. For the most part, anyway. I could certainly be one. Oh yes, most definitely. Ask around. Generally, I don’t think I look like a bitch when I smile or am talking to someone. Unless, of course, it’s my passive aggressive smirky smile…. I won’t deny I use that one occasionally. That being said, I have caught quick glimpses of myself in the mirror that have had me literally say out loud, “holy crap, what’s with this face.” Seriously.

This is what I think. For me, anyway.

I am a thinker. A dweller. A worrier….oh, the worrying. My brain is constantly going, from one thing to the next. It does not rest easily. I have probably always been this way, but once I had kids, it went into overdrive. Big time. Whether I’m thinking about everything I want to do at home, or at work, or I’m worrying and stressing about one of my kids, my husband, the dogs…whatever. It’s always something. I can’t get away.

I won’t say that it is debilitating by any means, but I think that is why I have this super pleasant look on my face when I am not directly interacting with someone. I’m literally somewhere else. Trying to figure out what to do next. How to handle a situation. Replaying a conversation over in my head. Whatever it may be. Something. Anything. Always.

So, if you see me around and I look like I’m pissed off or cranky, chances are I actually am pissed off or cranky, or….. maybe I’m just thinking….

Thanks for indulging me…

Donna

What is the Mother / Daughter Dynamic? I assume it describes the relationship between a mother and her daughter. As a mother, I am blessed to call my two daughters my best friends. As a daughter…….I am not as lucky. It has been a private shame that weighs heavily on my heart. I do not think I could survive without all three of my kids in my life. I can not imagine a day without seeing, texting or talking to them. To think that any one of them might not want me in their lives would literally kill me. Sounds dramatic, I know, but I also know it’s true. I guess it’s because I live in a world where my mother does not want me in hers.

This wasn’t an overnight occurrence. It has evolved and escalated over the years to the point of no return. I don’t really know why it started, but I do remember the first time I realized something was not right. Family has always been so important to me so this is an incredibly difficult thing to deal with. Sides were never “taken”, so to speak, but I know. I have finally stopped trying to tell my side of things because it is clear it won’t matter or make a difference. People believe what is easier for them, I guess. I have very recently realized this and it hurts. A lot.

Never, ever, would I have imagined myself in this situation. Ever. I had always thought I’d have that one person to call every day to share good things and bad. Every day things. Monumental things. That person you immediately think of when something so big happens and you HAVE to tell them right away. That person you turn to when something unthinkable happens and you desperately need help, a shoulder, an ear. That one person who always loves you unconditionally. No matter what. Who sees the best in you when you can’t. Who lifts you up, when you feel you can’t move forward anymore. Who knows just what to do or say to make it ok. I don’t have that. I don’t think I ever did..

I had always imagined my kids would be so close to my mother, like I was with my grandmother. That we would be together all the time. That my kids would know the same joy I knew as a kid. That did not happen. And it was a choice. Not a choice made by me. Or my kids. I don’t understand it. I never will. I thank God every day for my mother-in-law, who picked up the slack and loved them so much that they didn’t notice what was lacking. At least I hope they didn’t. That’s not to say they didn’t pick up on it. They did. Yes, they have been affected by it, but probably more so because they know how it has hurt me. As adults, they truly get it now.

Something happened several years back that made me think I was losing my mind. A friend lost her mother after a long illness. She was young and beautiful, so full of life and so loved. My friend was devastated. It was difficult to witness. She spoke to her mom every day. Had coffee with her every day. Was so completely lost without her. And I envied her. For real. How insane is that? I envied the deep connection they shared. I envied the fact that she felt such deep pain because their love for each other was so deep. I envied a woman whose mother had died. I felt ashamed and confused, on top of the sadness I felt for my friend. I thought – wow, how lucky is she to have had that bond, to have been loved so deeply by her mother. I could not imagine how that felt. How sad to lose that person. Her person. I envied her.

I have moved beyond thinking there is something wrong with me, that it is my fault. I have had enough people in my life telling me it is not me, and I finally believe them. I will not say I am blameless, although I will never really know what I did wrong, and I will not try to find out anymore. My daughters will never know what it’s like to feel the way I do. Nor will my son. I will not allow it. Ever. I will take my cues from the amazing mothers and grandmothers I know. My kids will always know that there is nothing they could ever do or say to make me stop loving them. To make me not want them in my life. To make me not need them in my life. Nothing. Ever. I think they already know this because I am not her. And they know it. They feel it. And that is good. Our dynamic is incredible, and for that I feel so grateful and blessed….

Thank you for reading….

This is a tough one for me to write. My father has succumbed to vascular dementia. What a cruel way for someone so smart to leave this world. I got to see him the day before he left. I got to tell him how much I loved him. I got to see his beautiful blue eyes for a second here and there while I just sat holding on to his hand. I got to smooth his still gorgeous hair back and kiss his forehead one last time before I left him. It was brutally painful and crushingly sad, but I am grateful for it nonetheless.

I want to tell you all a little bit about my father…

My father was a good man. The best kind of man. Loyal and true. Strong and so wise. Faithful and quietly loving. A perpetual learner, he watched the most boring shows when we were kids. Shows that I’d probably be so interested in now, as an adult. Well, maybe.

My father carried himself with class. He was a true gentleman who at the same time could create his own profanity filled sentences, with curse words strung together in the most interesting ways, when anger overtook him. I am oddly proud to say that I inherited that talent from him. I remember one time he was changing the oil in his car in the garage. He put the pan under the car but, unfortunately, the pan was not underneath the right area and the oil was all over the garage floor. My siblings took off like a shot, knowing what would come next. Me? Nope. I waited until the words stopped and he slid out from under the car and then I said to him, “well, THAT wasn’t very smart.” Those blue eyes burned through me for a split second and then he started to laugh. That was my dad. As mad as he could get, he could laugh just as much.

My father taught me how to drive a stick shift. It wasn’t easy. Our neighborhood was all hills so my stress level was always super high during those lessons. I even traded my cute blue 4-speed for his big ugly station wagon for a bit because I kept rolling backwards down the hills. I remember finally making it to Stony Brook for my classes one day and literally flinging my car keys across the parking lot because the drive had been a nightmare. After a few days, he took me out again and I finally got it. To this day, I can get into any vehicle and drive it. A few years ago, at Christmas, I’m not sure my father knew my name right away, but what he said to me was just as good. He said, “you’re my only kid who can drive a stick”.. True, Dad. Thank you.

When I had 3 job offers to choose from, he helped me pick which one would be best for me. I met my husband there. Thanks Dad.

He taught me how to check my oil, because everyone should know how to do that…as long as I don’t have to change it myself because I know how messy that could be, don’t I Dad? (see above lol)

My father cried when he found out I was having a boy. I’m not sure why he cried, but it touched me deeply.

He bought me an ornament for my Christmas tree years ago with Tweety Bird, my all-time favorite cartoon character. I still love it.

My father was a man of few words. Unless he was mad. Strangely, I did not need many words from him most times.

One story goes that when I was born, he brought my mother a dozen red roses, but not when my other siblings were born. Why? I don’t know. The running joke for many years was that I was his favorite. Sometimes, I let myself believe it. Most times, I wanted to but didn’t.

When I saw my father for the last time, I hadn’t seen him in months. I think I talked myself out of going because he didn’t know who I was anymore, and I think that hurt me more than I was willing or able to admit. The nurse who took me to him cried as she talked about him. She told me that in her experience with dementia patients, many times they are waiting for a specific person to come before they let go. I left him that afternoon knowing I wouldn’t see him again in this world. He passed the next day. Was he waiting for me? I would never believe I meant that much to him, or to anyone, that I would ever be worthy of that kind of honor, but what a healing salve for my broken and tortured heart that would be. I will never know.

I love you Daddy. Forever and Always. Thank you for being you. Quiet, strong, brilliant, handsome you.

Until we can see each other again,

Donna

If I had a time machine, where would I go? I’ve spoken and written often about wishing I could go back in time, and I do wish I could…but if I found out tomorrow that it was possible, where would I go…or should I say, WHEN would I go?

Would I go back to my childhood? To a time when things were so simple…not a care in the world?

Would I go back to my high school years? College?

Would I go back to when I was newly married? The fun, romantic, pre-kid life?

If you know me at all, you know where this is going. You’ve probably known since you read the very first line. I would go back to when my kids were little. Of course. Now the question is…how little? When, exactly? Can I pinpoint a time…..

The new baby time? The intoxicating smell of a baby’s head. Johnson’s baby shampoo, baby magic lotion. The absolute deliciousness of sitting quietly with a sleeping baby in your arms, not wanting to put them down even though you have so much you could be doing while they sleep…

The toddler years? The chubby arms around your neck. The messy but amazing little kisses. The “mommy I love you” that melts your mommy heart…

Then they start school and that mommy heart actually hurts the first time you see their little face in the window of that big yellow bus – and your husband follows that bus all the way to the school to make sure it gets there ok.

Year after year of school, homework, sports, dance, band, field day, birthday parties, holidays, vacations……so many incredible memories, but the time goes so fast. Too damn fast.

You blink and they are in high school and then, horrifyingly, they are off to college. Away. Away from you. Away from the safety of their home. Agonizingly away.

Each time one leaves, the dynamic changes for those left behind. It is hard. It is sad. But this is what we’ve trained them for, right? So it’s good, and it’s exciting, but it sucks too. A lot.

So while I absolutely love the adult people my kids are at this point, because they are, in my humble opinion, quite amazing, I find myself longing for the days of me being their world, and them being mine. It happens more and more lately. It’s almost a physical pain sometimes, accompanied by some inevitable tears.

I worried so much about things that didn’t really matter back then. Rushing through my days, trying to get everything done, as the perfect mother should. What a fool I was. I didn’t savor those days like I should have. I didn’t drink it all in. I didn’t relax and just enjoy them. Enjoy my babies the way I wanted to but felt I couldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I spent tons of time with my kids. Quality time. Fun time. I just feel that it wasn’t enough. That I wish I had more. A lot more…

This is why I want to go back. Not to change anything really, but to simply experience it all with a different mind-set. I truly do wish I knew then, what I know now. How fast it all goes. How hard it is to let go…

And so I’ll put this out there – if you know someone who is working on that damn time machine I need, please send them my way asap…

Until next time…

Donna

Recent circumstances have caused me to think about things I haven’t thought about before. Do you think it is worse to watch a loved one’s body fail or their mind? From my perspective, as opposed to the loved one’s, I think I would rather their body fail. It’s a crazy thing to think about, but my heart and mind have been going to strange and sad places lately.

The loss of my beloved grandmother in 2020 was beyond devastating to me. The sadness and loss I feel will never go away. My grandmother was 100 years old when she left us. Her body was frail but her mind was still sharp. Yes, she repeated herself a lot, but the conversations we had up until she got sick and passed were priceless. We would talk about her childhood, and mine. To hear her say she loved me was so incredibly good for my psyche. Her excitement at seeing my kids walk in or even recent photos of them was so heart warming. It was everything. The loss of her was, and is, staggering to me, but I will cherish those conversations and visits. Forever.

Another loved one is physically healthy but their mind is not. There will be no conversations about their childhood or mine. No recognition. It is difficult, to say the least, especially because this person was always one of the smartest, strongest and best people I know, and love. Life, and circumstances, prevented me from seeing this person for a while. In that relatively short period, things have changed dramatically. It is a crushing blow, but one I expected. I knew it was coming but avoided thinking about it too much because, well, it was scary.

When I visited the nursing home recently, my loved one was already in bed and very tired. I put the candy I had brought (a favorite) on the table and sat down to watch them sleep for a while. There was very little speaking, but that’s ok. When I left, I touched their face and pushed some of the still gorgeous hair out of the way, kissed the still gorgeous face and said I love you. I will go back, even though there will be no recognition. No reassuring words like I always got from my grandmother. I will go back to see that gorgeous face that somehow never seems to age and to remember on my own…..for both of us…

So my question remains. Which is worse? Truthfully, it all sucks. Nothing can adequately prepare you for this part of life. It is unfair and heart breaking and so difficult to accept. It can bring you to your knees or make you live your life differently, to the fullest.. not sure which way I’ll go yet. Hoping for the latter, but right now I just don’t know…

Until next time….

So it’s been about a year and a half since the insanity started. Fear of getting Covid-19, lock downs, businesses lost, lives lost, minds lost….. In these crazy, sometimes scary months, I’ve learned some things. About myself. About other people. About life. Here is a random list of some of them…

I enjoy not having to get dressed.

I am ok leaving my house without any make-up. (Can’t believe I just typed that, and I’m not sure I will feel that way now that I won’t be wearing a mask…just sayin)

I like being home.

The thought of going into the office 5 days a week again makes me want to cry. Right now I am still working from home every other day. I like it.

Politics are ugly. So are most politicians. I sometimes long for the days when I didn’t follow any of it and was blissfully unaware.

Differing opinions are no longer allowed or tolerated. This is so disturbing to me.

I do not know who to trust and where to turn for accurate and honest information. It seems that everyone everywhere has an agenda. It is unnerving.

Many people who don’t know anything think they know everything.

Grief is strange. Some days are ok. Some days, in quiet moments, you can’t breathe.

The fact that my house is not as organized and clean as it used to be years ago apparently has nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t have a lot of free time. Crap.

Science matters….or it doesn’t. Can’t really have it both ways…

The thought of not being able to get toilet paper is actually terrifying.

The world is broken. Somebody needs to fix it. Now. Please.

I can feel my kids’ stress as if it were my own.

My kids are very resilient and adapt easily to most situations.

My little family of 5 can be trapped in the house together and actually enjoy it. Mostly.

It’s nice to be in walking distance of a liquor store. Those first few weeks were rough…..

As you can probably guess, I typed those as I thought of them, with no rhyme or reason, clearly not in any kind of logical order….but that’s pretty much life these days, isn’t it?

Until next time…