Mom’s Retreat

By: Meika Rouda

Last month I did the unspeakable, I left my children with my husband and went on a mom’s retreat, alone for 24 hours. I checked into a beautiful hotel about 10 minutes from our house along the San Francisco Bay and read and wrote and didn’t take care of anyone but myself for a whole day and a whole night. I went to the spa and got a massage, I ate at the bar and read a magazine, I sat in the hot tub. I didn’t talk to anyone, no one on my phone and no one, besides my massage therapist and the wait staff at the hotel. It was blissful and yet I had to fight feeling guilty about enjoying it.

The retreat was something I had been thinking about for awhile but couldn’t quite muster up the courage. I am a mother and my kids are my priority so I felt selfish for wanting to spend time alone. Becoming a mother was not easy for me so I felt even more guilty for desiring alone time, like I didn’t appreciate being a mother. I wondered what other people would think when they heard I had gone away alone for a night. They may gossip that Chris and I were having trouble or that I was depressed. Neither of which was true. But one Sunday morning I woke up and said, today is the day I am having my retreat. It was spontaneous and not prompted by anything except a desire for solitude. If I had planned it I would have had a lot of anxiety about the day approaching, I would have meals prepared for Chris and activities planned out and probably wouldn’t have gone in the end. But deciding impromptu to leave was a sign of independence, something I hadn’t indulged in for a long time. And it also empowered Chris to be a caregiver, which he is very capable of, without me micromanaging the process by setting him up with play dates.

When I arrived at the hotel I was giddy as I checked it. “How many guests tonight?” the concierge asked “one- just me.” As soon as I got to my room I lay on the bed and took note of the silence. When I went to lunch I again said “just me” as I was seated at a long communal table. I smiled at the other guests who were entertaining their companions and felt the relief of not worrying about anyone but myself. I paid attention to my surroundings and admired the view. Things I am not able to do when I eat in a restaurant with my kids and am busy feeding a baby or cutting up food for my son while shoving food in my mouth as quickly as possible because I know my kids will get antsy soon and we will have to leave.

As humans we are innately social, we desire people around us, building families, groups of friends. But I wonder if the idea of being alone and the associated loneliness have become an unnecessary fear. I have a friend who hates to be alone. She cannot imagine leaving her husband and kids for a night just to be by herself. It just isn’t appealing to her. If she is going away for a night she wants to go somewhere with her girlfriends and have fun. But being alone is also fun, a different kind of fun, a way to get back in touch and check in with yourself.

I know I wouldn’t appreciate my retreat if I didn’t have my family. If I didn’t have a wonderful chaotic life to return to, solitude is less necessary. But I think mothers and fathers should take the time to do a retreat because parenting is a job about caring and the person we forget to take care for most often is ourselves. I could have spent another 24 hours alone but I went home and got big hugs from my family who had a lovely time in my absence. And I felt revitalized, more tuned in, more grateful of what I have and most importantly, more grateful for who I am.

My inaugural trip will now be a yearly ritual, one I am already looking forward to for next year.

Hey! Get Off The Phone!

By: Meika Rouda

I was at Starbucks the other day with my one-year-old daughter. We were sitting in a big brown leather chair together sharing some pumpkin bread. Asha was wearing her chic light pink ruffled trench coat. The kind of coat I would love to have but is only made for babies age 0-2T. She looked adorable and was happily eating her bread while kicking her legs in the big chair. There was a woman sitting at a table across from us reading the NY Times with a large cup of coffee in front of her. She looked like she had been sitting there for awhile, immersed in the ritual of coffee drinking and reading the paper. A ritual I no longer have time to partake in now that I have kids. She looked at me and pointed to Asha and said, “That is the cutest coat I have ever seen!” I agreed with her, the trench coat was ridiculously cute. Then she put down her paper and looked me in the eye. “You know, there have been several moms who have sat in that chair with their kids this morning and you are the first one I have seen not on a cell phone.” Her comment reminded me how often I am one of the moms on my phone at the coffee shop or the park, checking my email as if something urgent is happening when more often than not, nothing is happening. It is almost compulsive, the need to check my phone for communication, like there is an expectation that when you get an email or text you need to respond immediately. How did we get this way? And can we learn to leave our cell phones alone and just enjoy a dinner out, a movie, or a piece of pumpkin bread with our daughter without being distracted by the constant stream of communication coming across our phones?

Asha scooted her body off the big leather chair and stood near the woman. She gave her a wave, unprovoked, something I was glad I was watching because I had never seen her wave before. Who knows, if I were checking my email at that moment I would have missed her first wave. Just being able to relax and enjoy watching her interact with the other people in the coffeeshop was a joy. A joy I am too often distracted to experience and appreciate.
As Asha walked around the room, greeting the coffee drinkers and practicing her wave, smiling at strangers and enjoying the stir her trench coat was making, I made a little promise to myself to keep my phone in my bag and my focus on my children. Emails can wait, texting can wait, and if anything is really urgent, they can call me. I want to be available to my children, to witness the little joys that sharing a piece of pumpkin bread at Starbucks can solicit. Seeing her give her first wave, communicating. Something we are so used to doing with our smartphones that we forget to spend the time doing it in person.

The Lucky Seeds

By: Meika Rouda

I have a friend who has recently become pregnant after two years of trying. She is in her late thirties and has two other kids, ages 9 and 6, that she had no trouble conceiving. She and her husband live in LA and have struggled financially; her husband’s funding for his start-up recently fell through and he has had difficulty landing a job. Their lives are a little uncertain, their modest house filled to the gills with the two kids and a live-in nanny who commutes each week from Tijuana. Their families were not supportive of their plan to try for another child. They thought it was crazy –they had no money and already had two beautiful, healthy children. But my friend always wanted three kids and felt that now that she had her own business, as a life coach, she could dedicate more time to a new baby, something she was unable to do when she had a full-time job when her other two kids were young. So despite their families’ protests, they continued to try.

When it didn’t happen quickly, she considered fertility treatments or adoption but both were too costly. A cost she could not rationalize when she already had two kids, a boy and a girl. She turned 39 in September and said she had “stopped” trying for a child. Little did she know she was actually already pregnant.

She relayed the story of how this miracle of creation happened to me the other day:

“Meika, over the summer, I started to eat gluten-free.” She is gushing like this was the key to all life’s problems.

“Then my daughter asked me to stop volunteering one weekend a month at USM (the spiritual psychology school she attended). So I respected her wishes that I spend more time with my family and told the school I needed a hiatus.”

She takes a breath; she is speaking quickly, the frenetic pace of excitement.

“Then my rabbi went to Israel and had some seeds blessed. He gave me the seeds and I put them in my belly button while I slept.”

“Uh huh,” I said. I was familiar with this world of doing seemingly ridiculous things in order to help conception. She forgot she was talking to someone who drank soup everyday for 6 months, didn’t eat gluten, sugar, or raw vegetables and waited in line to see Amma, the hugging guru, to ask for a baby to appear in my uterus. I knew what it was like to do unimaginable things, waiting for the miracle of conception.

Then she concluded, “I got pregnant, just like that. I didn’t even know I was pregnant, my cycle has been so crazy but it just worked!”

“Or maybe it just happened.” I said, with a flat tone. Maybe it was just the right egg and the right sperm and the right time. Maybe it had nothing to do with gluten and seeds and volunteering. I say this because sometimes you do all the right things, pray, eat strange diets, walk on the right side of the street, talk to gurus, sleep with fertility dolls under your pillow, take fertility drugs, take tests, stand on your head after intercourse, avoid tight jeans and aerobic activity and still don’t conceive. I know this because I did all those things.

So as happy as I am that she has her wish, that her dream and “miracle” happened, I think sometimes things just happen and sometimes they don’t. And I know that it may feel nice to think she helped her conception, that she aided her body in producing a baby, but maybe it was just coincidence.
There was a time when I really resented pregnant people. I was jealous and angry that my own body, with all the acupuncture treatments and herbs and special diets and exercise and faith and hope wouldn’t bear a child. Thankfully I don’t feel that way anymore. I have tried to forgive my body and know that things do work out, even if they work out differently than you planned. But when I hear people like my friend declare all the things they did naturally to create a pregnancy, it stings. I wonder “does she think I didn’t do enough?” or do I think I didn’t do enough?

There is nothing I cherish more than my children. They are so much a part of me, they feel like they came from my body. I can’t imagine loving them more. So my dream of motherhood is fulfilled, and while the guru didn’t produce a pregnancy, my hope of having a baby did come true. But I realize that what I will always find sad is that my body failed me. I wasn’t able to participate in our female right of giving birth. It is assumed as a woman that you will get pregnant and have children should you decide. But when that decision doesn’t become fact, it changes how you look at your body, how you feel inside. Especially when there is no conclusive reason why. When you have good eggs and good sperm and clean tubes, it is just unexplained. It just doesn’t make sense.

What does make sense is that people need to follow their own paths, do what they need to do to feel like they tried everything they could. They need to “give up” –oh, how many times people told me “as soon as you give up on having a baby you will get pregnant.” Or “as soon as you adopt you are going to get pregnant.” It is unnecessary false hope, something I think people think you want. But I don’t believe life works like that. I think life is a series of unplanned events and how we deal with the curve balls is what makes us who we are.

So I wish my friend well with this new baby, and if she feels it was the blessed seeds from Israel that created her conception, more power to her.

Mazel Tov.

There is No Party at our Potty

By: Meika Rouda

Almost a year ago, when our son turned 3, we flirted with the idea of potty training him. We bought him fantastic new underwear with cars and spiderman on them. He delighted when he tried them on and then insisted he wear a diaper underneath. We bought him his own potty, a small blue one that fit just right, then we upgraded to a more advanced “cars” themed one where the “flushing” sounded like a car revving and the seat was padded. He loved to sit on it, play with it, even have his stuffed animals sit on it, but never did he take his pants down and try to use it the way it was intended. It became another toy around the house. So we upped the ante and put M&M’s next to the toilet, I bought little gifts and wrapped them up and stacked them on the back of the toilet, our bathroom was over crowded with gifts, sweets, and an array of small potties to lure our son into the destined milestone of going diaper-free. We had incentives galore. This is what we are supposed to do, right?

A month ago, after our son still showed little interested in the toilet, we decided to go commando and spend the weekend at home with no diapers. We told our son days in advance that the “diaper fairy” was coming to take his diapers away. This technique worked great with his pacifier so we were feeling confident. This was going to work! On Friday morning I left a big present for him at the foot of his bed from the diaper fairy and stashed his diapers in a closet. He woke up and was so excited to see the present. He was ready. It was on.

He went diaper-free all day and I kept asking him, “Do you have to use the potty?” “No,” he would say. I would insist he sit on the potty “just to see if anything comes out” but he cried and protested. He didn’t have to go, he didn’t want to sit on the potty, none of them. Several hours went by, still nothing. He was clearly holding his bladder which is made of steel apparently because as the day came to a close, still nothing. I was worried. What was going on? Is he that freaked out by the toilet? I asked him if he wanted to pee outside in the bushes. Still no. I put him on his little potty and he cried. Finally I put him on the big potty. He cried harder. We watched the movie ” Once upon a potty” and sang the song “I’m going to a potty party” but still nothing. I fed him m&m’s and gave him presents, just for sitting on the toilet. Still no action.

It was bath time and he still hadn’t peed or pooped all day. This was bad. While in the bath he looked at me with shock in his eyes. “Are you going pee?” I asked, hopefully. He nodded. I picked him up out of the tub and put him on the toilet. He looked a little afraid but he didn’t cry, even though he was soaking wet. We looked in the toilet and he was peeing. Victory! He laughed and was so pleased with himself. I gave him a high five and as many m&m’s as he wanted. He got back in the bath and I was cheering and telling him how great he was. Then it was bedtime and he needed a diaper. So I put one on him and as soon as I pulled his pajama bottoms up, he had peed. So I put another diaper on him. “Mama, I have pee pee” he said 5 minutes later. So I put another new diaper on him. Then as I am about to tuck him into bed and read books, he poops. Now that the diaper was back, his systems were all “go”.

The next morning we tried again diaper-free and the same thing: he claimed he didn’t have to use the potty and didn’t want to sit on the toilet. I reminded him how he had gone in the toilet the day before but he still refused. It was like it had never happened. As the hours went by I got worried again and then, lo and behold, after bath when the diaper went on, there was free flow. The next day was Sunday and we had the same routine again. He cried on the toilet and just held his body functions until he got a diaper. At the end of the day I asked him if he wanted to use diapers all the time again instead of underwear. He said yes. So we accepted defeat and went back to diapers.

I admit to being really frustrated. I just wanted it to kick in like everyone says it will “one day they just get on the potty and that is that”. Well, not my son –at least, not so far. He has always been the kid that has taken a little longer to do things. He didn’t get his first tooth until he was 14 months old. So we have to be patient and understanding but I never know how much we should encourage or force things and when to back off and just let him decide. As much as I want it to happen, it isn’t really up to me; all I can do is encourage him, talk about it, and keep singing the song “I’m going to a potty party”.

Hopefully someday the party will arrive.

Mamalita

By: Meika Rouda

With two young children, I rarely have time to read so when I do I want it to be good and when it is great I want to tell people about it. I recently finished the book Mamalita by Jessica O’Dwyer. It is a memoir about her experience adopting her daughter in Guatemala. I usually don’t relate to adoption books because the narrators come off as whiny or like victims or the point of view is from some doctor or professor who studies adoption but has no first-hand experience. I rarely find someone I am rooting for. But I am happy to say Jessica’s book is of a different breed. The book is moving and smart and reads more like a thriller than a memoir. I genuinely found myself turning each page wanting to know what was going to happen. The difficulties Jessica and her husband faced in the process of adoption, the paperwork, the bureaucracy, the shady notorios and adoption facilitator makes you realize the mountains parents are willing to climb for their children. Jessica ended up living in Guatemala and taking care of her daughter for 6 months until the paperwork was finalized. A triumph for her to be living in a third world country, speaking a foreign language, and caring for a young baby on her own without the help of her husband. Her honesty is refreshing –from admitting her daughter had trouble bonding with her in the beginning, to confessing her own trials as a mother and the helplessness she felt dealing with a broken system in a foreign country. It is a book I would highly recommend to anyone interested in or familiar with adoption, experiencing IVF, or conceiving naturally, same sex parents and surrogates because ultimately a mother’s love is great and vast and not something to be messed with. In the end what makes us a mother are the lengths we go for our children, the depth of our love, and the fact that family is precious and worth fighting for. Thank you Jessica for your book! Your story transcends adoption and is a great read for any parent or parent to be. And best of all, I think I like adoption memoirs so if anyone has a favorite let me know.

Happy Anniversary Florida

By: Meika Rouda

I have never been asked if I was gay before, let alone had to sign a sworn affidavit stating that I was not gay. But that is exactly what happened when my husband and I were adopting our son. We were in Florida, where our son was born in 2007, sitting in our lawyer’s office, signing a stack of papers so we could bring him home. When our lawyer looked at me and said, “Are you gay?”, I smiled at him and thought he was making some strange joke. But then he pointed to the paper and asked me again. “I know it is ridiculous, but Florida has a ban on gays adopting and I need you to answer me honestly and then sign the affidavit.” He was being serious and I was shocked. The blatant discrimination was not something I was used to, coming from the San Francisco Bay Area where rainbow flags fly high and diversity is celebrated. I signed the paper, feeling a tinge of sadness on what was otherwise the best day of my life.

A few weeks later, we were sharing the joy of our new son with some friends who are gay and who wanted to adopt a baby. As I was praising our agency and lawyer and handing over contact information, I realized they couldn’t use our lawyer; they couldn’t adopt in Florida. This couple had been together for 20 years, and were both successful, loving, generous men wanting to be parents — but that wasn’t enough because they were gay.

Last year when we went back to Florida to adopt our daughter, we were not asked to sign the affidavit. It was October, 2010 and a few weeks earlier the law had been overturned. It only took one couple to challenge the 33-year ban, fighting for the right to adopt two boys they had raised as foster parents for six years. Finally the ban was ruled unconstitutional. Gay parents who had been fostering kids were now pushing ahead with long anticipated adoptions and creating families.

So three cheers for Florida and a toast to all of the families who became legal this year!

Now we just need to get gay marriage settled.

Running Interference

By: Meika Rouda

I spent Labor Day weekend with my family and some friends in Lake Tahoe. It was loud and boisterous and fun with lots of swimming in the lake, nature walks, and digging in the sand. My mother always tries to be helpful with our kids, offering to help put them to bed or feed them or just detach them so we can have a break. It is great to have her around and we can always use the extra set of hands. But she also tends to offer her advice on parenting without me asking. My son can be difficult; he is 3 and very spirited and we are working with him to help him follow through on tasks and staying focused. Simple things like having him sit for a meal can be excruciating for him. He asked me one day to make him mac and cheese for lunch and then as soon as it was ready, he changed his mind. He no longer wanted mac and cheese, but rather to go out and swim. I tried talking to him, reminding him he was hungry. He protested, he wanted to swim instead. I was insistent that he eat first. We went back and forth several times. And then my mom came into the room and said, “Meika, he changed his mind. Leave him alone and stop drilling him.” I let him go and swim without eating and was annoyed with her. And while I realize my mom meant the best, it was frustrating to me to be judged and then to feel demeaned by my own parent especially when his eating is a sensitive spot for me. This was not the first time she had run interference with my parenting.

The night before my son was in the bath with his friend and they were having fun splashing, pouring water on each other’s heads, regular bath fun. I reminded them to keep the water in the tub while playing. As soon as I left the bathroom to grab towels I turn around and they are pouring buckets of water on the bathroom floor and laughing hysterically. I was upset and took both of them out of the tub immediately and said, “The water stays in the tub.” My mom watched the commotion and then told me I was being too uptight. “They are just having fun,” she said as I mopped up the floor with towels. “You should relax more Meika.” Maybe I should relax more. It isn’t the end of the world that there is water on the floor. But the point is I asked them not to do it and they did. They knew it was wrong. So am I supposed to just laugh and say it is OK? That doesn’t feel right either. I don’t expect my kids to be perfect and act like angels all the time. I actually love that my son is energetic and spirited and sort of wild. He is fun and creative and enjoys life which helps me enjoy life. But at some point there needs to be boundaries and I want him to know what is right and wrong. It is important for him to make good decisions and pouring the water on the floor was a bad decision. So after a few hours of being really bitchy and annoyed with my mom, I finally had a conversation with her, asking her to please talk to me in private about her parenting thoughts and not in front of my son. While I appreciate her advice I also need to parent my own way. Having her run interference isn’t always as helpful as she may think. She told me that she just wants to be sure that I don’t “crush his spirit”. I never thought about it like that. I am just trying to reign in his mischievous side. Of course I don’t want to crush his spirit, he is an amazing child, loving, sweet, compassionate, and also a bit of a rascal. But it did make me wonder if I am too uptight in some ways. I don’t think teaching him right from wrong is going to crush his spirit but it was a good reminder to let kids be kids in some ways. Maybe if I didn’t get upset with him for being naughty he will delight less in being naughty. But in the end you just follow your instinct and do what feels right. One day I might just laugh at him pouring buckets of water on the bathroom floor, and then again maybe I won’t.

Resolve

By: Meika Rouda

I’ve been struggling to get through Patti Smith’s memoir, Just Kids. Everyone I know loves it and recommended it to me and I did enjoy the beginning –the irrepressible charm of gritty New York City, the allure of the Chelsea Hotel and Max’s Kansas City, a view of this incredibly artistic time through the romantic eyes of Patti and Robert. But I have yet to really embrace it and stay up all night to finish it. I know it won the National Book Award and is considered genius but it just hasn’t pulled me in. I am almost half-way through the book and Robert Mapplethorpe hasn’t even picked up a camera yet. I keep waiting for something to happen, probably much like how Patti felt waiting to become famous.

I wonder if something in the beginning of the book turned me off and stopped me from really engaging with it. It turns out at age 19 Patti got pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption. She speaks about this experience, her decision and how traumatic it was for her even though she knew she was doing the right thing, and how she felt about her body afterwards, the invisible scars that remain.

The adoption changed Patti and helped her decide to go to New York and pursue art. But there was no resolve about the adoption. Maybe it will come up again later, maybe it won’t, maybe it doesn’t matter. I kept wondering if this child was going to reappear. If Patti was ever reunited with the child or ever found out what happened to her. But the book wasn’t about the adoption; it was about Patti and Robert discovering themselves and their art in a city that nurtured youth, talent, and ambition. I know Patti went on to not only become famous but to marry and have children later in her life, when she was ready.

I have a new neighbor. She moved in a few weeks ago with her family from Boston. She is several years older than I am, a writer and art lover who also loves to cook. We have a lot in common and on our first meeting, we stood on the street in front of our houses and talked for an hour. When she met my daughter and made a joke about how light her coloring is compared to mine, I told her she was adopted. We ended up talking about the adoption, the fact that I too am adopted, that I have never been reunited with my birthmother and don’t plan to ever meet her.

“You should contact her!” she says to me, as if it is as simple as meeting your new neighbor. “I don’t know what to say; I really don’t need any more family in my life and I certainly don’t need another mother,” I say, concretely. “Well tell her that,” she says. “Maybe,” I answer, unconvinced.

I still feel that there will be complications if I reach out to my birthmom. I know I have half siblings. I’m frankly not interested in more siblings. I can’t quite figure out the point of reaching out to meet her except to thank her and assure she did the right thing. Maybe that is why I should contact her? And so it just hangs out there, a possibility that lingers. And maybe my new neighbor feels about me the way I feel about Patti Smith’s adoption. To me it doesn’t feel resolved but it probably is to her, just like meeting my birthmom isn’t very interesting to me even though it is to my new neighbor.

Denise Richards – the Anti-Hero

By: Meika Rouda

I never thought I would be a fan of Denise Richards but I have to say I am happy she adopted a baby. It is actually refreshing to see a celebrity type who isn’t particularly worldly or intellectual adopt a baby. Yes there have been many single celebrity moms who have adopted domestically: Sheryl Crow, Sharon Stone, Sandra Bullock, but no one like Denise Richards. She was on the cover of Playboy and married Charlie Sheen! This is a new frontier for adoptive parents. She apparently loves being a mom and wants more kids. So good for her. And yet people are down on her for being a single mom who already has two kids. Is it selfish to want more children? People aren’t down on Angelina and Brad. Is it because Denise Richards doesn’t fall in line with the maternal stereotype? She was in the Pussy Cat dolls so she can’t possibly be a good mother?

I don’t think adoption is the right choice for all people. There is certainly concern that maybe a celebrity is trying to save the world and not really thinking about what it means to mother a child. Mia Farrow had 11 adopted kids and 4 biological ones. I think she is a good mother with a good heart but let’s not forget her oldest adopted daughter married her partner, Woody Allen. Maybe 15 kids is too many. Ironically Soon Yi and Woody Allen went on to adopt two children of their own. I wonder if it would be OK for one of their kids to marry one of Mia’s kids. Hmm.

And what about Madonna. She is over 50 and out adopting orphans from Africa. While I don’t know her, she seems like a sincere mother who loves her children. In my book she has gone from being the Material Girl to being the Maternal Girl. When she adopted her son David Banda, she got a lot of flack for adopting a child whose parents are still alive. Most adoptions, especially in the US, are of babies whose biological parents are alive. This is not news. In my case I met both biological mothers of my children. I didn’t feel badly that they were placing their babies; I didn’t want to give them money and fix their lives. I knew adoption was a good choice for them and their kids. There is genuine love there. A genuine act of love. And I think if someone wants to adopt, whether a celebrity or a single mom or a single dad or a gay couple, you should adopt. It isn’t hip or chic or trendy to adopt child. It is a lifelong choice, the biggest choice. And to those who criticize others for making that choice, go parent your own child and shut up.

When I was a kid in the late 70′s and early 80′s, the big change in families was the meshing of step-kids. Divorce was rampant and suddenly their were step-parents and half siblings and step-sisters and brothers. It was confusing and scandalous and sent society into a tizzy. That seems so blase now. Do people even use the term step-child anymore? It sounds archaic. Then in the 90′s it was open adoption, celebrating adoption, and having kids know their biological mothers. Then in the 2000′s it was gay parenting. And now it seems to be blending families, adopted kids and biological kids, kids from different countries and single parents. It seems strange that something as natural as being a parent would elicit such controversy. Everyone says it and it is true: parenting is the hardest and most difficult job a person takes. It is also the most fulfilling and rewarding and heartbreaking and heartwarming. So you go Denise Richards and enjoy that baby girl. I think she is lucky to have you.

Letting Go With Love

By Meika Rouda

I have been spending a lot of time with my friend who is suddenly faced with her husband leaving her and the daunting thought of being a single woman at 40 with two kids. She is angry at her husband for his sudden and unexpected departure, for not willing to go to counseling and try to save their relationship, for so easily giving up on a marriage and a family that is beautiful. And while the anger is real and needs to be processed she also realizes she needs to let him go with love. That if she can do that, it is better for her healing and better for her children. It is a tall task but one she is determined to meet and each time she falls into the anger pit, she tries to remember that this is something that she can’t control and she needs to let go, with total love.

I feel that way as a parent sometimes. The nights the baby will not go to bed, when I rock her to sleep and then as soon as I lay her in her crib she wakes up crying her eyes out. I have no tolerance for the cry-it-out method, I am too wimpy as is my husband so I pick her up and rock her to sleep again, just to repeat the cycle over and over again. And sometimes it is frustrating and I am tired but I need to let go of that and just give in to this moment. I can’t make her stay asleep but I can choose how I feel about that.

Or when my son won’t listen. And I mean really won’t listen. He has completely filtered listening skills when he is playing with his trains or watching a show. If I ask him a question like “Kaden, do you want to take your bath first or eat dinner first?” He won’t answer and just keeps doing what he is doing. But if I ask him “Do you think you deserve dessert tonight?” He will undoubtably hear that and answer “YES”. And again I feel myself getting frustrated and annoyed and wonder how someone so small and innocent can push all my buttons. And I need to let that go as well, and just let him be him, try not to control him and this situation and just let it be with love. Even if I want to scream my head off.

I try to be a positive person but I often fail. I am like a pessimist who has committed to positive thinking and falls off the wagon constantly. But if I remember this whole letting-go-with-love mantra, and how it pertains not just to ex-husbands but to everyday situations, especially as a parent, I know I will be a happier and healthier person. There is so little you can really control and sometimes you gain the most control by not controlling at all.

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[Photo Credit: Shenghung]

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