Maybe This Explains the Low Account Balance

Found this in a pile of Greta's papers on my desk. My little embezzler. Makes a Momma proud.

Good luck cashing that one, Greta.

*P.S. - the memo at the bottom says For: "Me"

4 Minutes In The Car

Greta, Finn and I are in the car, driving two miles to the post office. The conversation, if you can call it that, goes exactly like this:

Finn: "Momma ate a snail once. Dat's gwoss."

Greta: "That's disgusting. I hope they knocked the slime of it, first."

Finn: "Some people don't have ornaments on their Christmas Tree. Just lights."

Greta: "We read a book today about a giant snowman. It had tree trunks for arms."

Finn: "I don't evah, evah want to hold a lobstah."

Greta: "What is that day in January, Martin Luther King, Jr. day? We have school off that day, because he was really important."

Finn: "I totally hate lobstahs. Cwabs are okay, though."

Greta: "I want to have a holiday named after me when I die. They could call it Funny Greta Day."

Finn: "You know what would be gwoss? Eating your own tongue."

Greta: "Are there any holidays named after girls? There should be."

Finn: "I used to be fwee. Now I'm four. I don't wanna sit in my boostah seat anymore."

Greta: "Is it daytime in China now?"

Finn: "I went to China once. When I was a baby. Nobody saw me."

Greta: "You totally did not go to China. You're lying."

Finn: "I did. Santa took me."

Greta: "I can count to a million now."

Finn: "Spongebob is a kid. But Squidwahd is a gwown up."

Greta: "I can't believe you ate a snail, Mom."

Finn: "I nevah, evah, want to eat a snail."

Greta: "Mom? Are you even listening? Mom?"

Me: "Hmmm? Oh, yes. Sure. Snails."



**and for the record - I ate an escargot. It's totally not disgusting if you say it in french.

Perfectly Imperfect

There are so many juxtapositions to being a Mom, to parenting. I experience conflicting emotions on a regular basis: overwhelmed, but bored out of my skull. Worried when they are away from me, but desperate for them to go away when we're trapped at home. Madly in love with them, but chronically irritated. Trying to stay involved, but not controlling. Experiencing a tidal wave of affection for them, but when they are sleeping, not when they are clinging to me.

Another one: be true to myself, but accept invisibility. At their age they think I exist for them only. I'm a giver of hugs, a getter of snacks, an answerer of questions. The other day I was talking about doing something with friends, and Finn looked at me, puzzled. "Momma, you don't have any friends," he insisted.

I lost myself in that invisibility for a long time. I thought that putting their needs before mine was the only way to be a good parent. I grew angry, resentful and bored - and then guilty that I was angry, resentful and bored. I thought good Moms don't feel that way, ever. I fought those inherent juxtapositions of parenting - thinking boredom, irritation, anger and resentment weren't supposed to be part of the equation, and that if I felt them I wasn't doing a good job. It was a big part of my drinking: the need to erase the bad stuff, to manufacture a feeling of confidence and contentedness that wasn't always there. I didn't think I was allowed to have a life. Now I know it is essential to know who I am, understand my own fears and dreams, to find my own voice. How can I teach them to be strong, confident, independent people if I don't know how to do it myself?

I don't have to be perfect, I have to be human. I want to show them that mistakes can be a great teacher.

The other day Greta did something wrong, on purpose. Like me, she holds herself to a high standard, and because she's terrified of mistakes she doesn't behave badly very often. She lied about what she did, and tried to get her brother to cover for her. Being 4, Finn blurted the truth out within minutes. Greta fell apart. She was surprised by her own wrongdoing, she didn't understand exactly why she did it. She sobbed and sobbed, and didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to face her mistake, her fear. I understand that feeling all too well.

I told her a story about something I did when I was about her age. A small thing, really - I broke a glass table at a friend's house. We lied about how it happened, saying we heard a big boom, the house shook, and the table broke. For some reason, her parents believed us without questioning it and called the police and the gas company, who showed up to look for gas leaks. We lied to the police, too, now consumed with fear, but not knowing how to back out of it. Her little brother blurted out the truth that night, and our punishment was to go to the police station and apologize to the police for lying.

Greta's eyes were wide as she listened to my story. "You LIED? To the POLICE?" she said. I explained to her that mistakes are a part of life, that breaking the table was just a human mistake. I told her I lied because I was too afraid to admit that I had done something wrong, and in the end we got in more trouble for lying than anything else. That mistakes are okay, that we're human and they happen. I told her running from mistakes, or lying to ourself or others about why they happen, makes the mistakes bigger and scarier. That the truth, even when it's hard - especially when it's hard - will set you free.

Perfect Imperfection. That's a goal I can achieve.

Fraycation

Ah, Christmas vacation - I have such a love/hate relationship with thee. It's my own fault, and I do it every time; I set my expectations somewhere between the Brady Bunch and a Norman Rockwell painting. I picture lazy mornings, playing in fluffy white snow, board games and sipping cocoa by a roaring fire, my children's faces beaming up at me with adoration.

Instead, the weather alternates between subzero temperatures, blizzard conditions and sleeting rain. Trapped inside, sibling fights break out. My house looks like it has been ransacked by wild chimpanzees. Their faces beam up at me, saying "Mooooooom. We're bored. There's nothing to do!" with their barely unwrapped Christmas gifts strewn at their feet. We play board games, but have to get creative because each one is missing a critical piece or two, or three. Norman Rockwell is nowhere to be found. Neither is Carol Brady. Or Alice, for that matter.

Finn, who is 4, gets particularly creative with large amounts of unstructured time. I was determined to try and relax a bit, stocked up on books to read, tried to sneak away now and again for some peace and quiet. I paid a price every time.

On Saturday Greta and Finn are playing happily in the playroom, some elaborate game involving Littlest Pet Shops and a large cardboard box. I doze off on the couch for a bit - I'm talking twenty minutes - and wake up to find Finn's face just inches from mine. "I didn't do it, Mom" he says. "The fairies did." He is holding a pair of kid's scissors behind his back. At his feet are seven or eight of my favorite Christmas tree ornaments, their little strings cut off. One Santa ornament is scandalously naked, his little red suit cut to shreds.

On Sunday there is a break in the weather - still freezing but the sun is out. I get them bundled up in their snowsuits, hats, mittens, scarves and boots and send them outside. I decide to take advantage of the quiet and return a quick phone call. Maybe five minutes goes by, and I peek outside to check on them. Greta is playing quietly in the snow, and Finn is marching around dressed only in his boots and pants, his coat, hat and mittens gone, with his scarf tied around his bare chest. "Why you so mad?" he asks when I whisk him inside. "I covered my boobies!"

On Monday we escape to higher ground for a few days: my parents' condo. As they always do around people who aren't me, the kids are angelic, polite and play nicely with each other. I get to sleep in two mornings in a row. Norman Rockwell makes his long anticipated appearance, and life is good.

We return home for New Year's Eve, head into Boston with friends and have a ball at the indoor activities at First Night. Monday rolls around, and they both head off to school. I wallow in a few hours of silence and peck away at the mess and the laundry, grateful to be back in a routine. 2010 is looking good, baby.

Finn comes home from school and I plug him into his new favorite movie, Snow Buddies. I sit down to read a chapter of my book, finally. After a few moments, he comes up to me with a long face.

"Da movie machine is bwoken," he says. "I don't know what happened."

Sure enough, the DVD player is on the floor, and the movie is stuck inside. I finally wrench the machine open, only to discover the interior is wet. It takes me a couple of minutes and one horrifying sniff to realize he has peed in the DVD slot.

Paint THAT, Norman Rockwell.

You Are Not Alone

I get a fair number of emails from women who are struggling with their drinking, are new to recovery, or have been in recovery a while and just want to connect. It's an incredible feeling - the sense of community and comfort I receive talking with other women, many of them mothers, who get it.

I recently joined an incredible Yahoo group, started by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor of Baby on Bored and Sweet Jane of Lights! Camera! Diapers! (check out their fabulous blogs by clicking on the links). It is an anonymous, safe place to meet other women and talk about drinking. Or not drinking. Only a week old, this group is already 58 members strong, and growing every day. It is amazing to get to know these incredible women, hear their stories, and realize that if you are struggling with drinking, or staying sober, you are not alone. We come from all different walks of life, but our stories are so similar. It is inspiring. When I was trying to stop drinking, I felt like the only person on earth who did the things I did, and felt the way I felt. When I finally reached out for help and learned I was not the only one, not by a long shot, it gave me the courage to try recovery.

There are women there who are wondering if they have a problem, women actively trying to get sober, and women who have been in recovery a while and want to stay there. So, if you want a safe, comfortable place to talk about your own drinking and/or recovery, come by and join. The link is here. If you are are concerned about anonymity, you can set up an separate, anonymous Yahoo email account to join.

Even if you're not ready to talk about yourself, it is a good place to just go listen.

You are not alone.

The Gift

I knew a woman who loved to laugh. She was as cool as they come. Her hair was always done just right, her nails gleamed, her accessories perfect. She was there every week, with her purse propped in her lap, smiling and winking at those who sat in the circle around her. Quick with a joke or a hug, she always knew just what someone needed.

When I dragged myself to my first meeting, I noticed her right away. I had been drinking, and I felt like the loneliest person in the world. I watched her from across the room, heard her booming laugh, and wondered what it would be like to be so secure in myself, so happy.

She shared her story with humor and grace, and, as always, with a message. In my early days of sobriety I went to a weekly beginner meeting, sat silently in the back, wringing my hands and full of despair. One night, as the meeting broke, she put her hand on my arm and said, with a twinkle in her eyes, "it's okay to laugh, you know. It's part of getting better."

One night I finally worked up the courage to speak. I was angry, hopeless. I had just spent five days in the hospital, rushed there by ambulance after my blood pressure spiked dangerously due to alcohol withdrawal. After leaving the hospital, I went straight to the beginner meeting.

"I'm so scared," I said. "I nearly died. I don't know that I'll ever get sober."

I saw her raise her eyebrow at me from across the room, and then put up her hand to speak. I sank lower in my chair. She told a story from her own past, about how scary things got for her. Then she looked me right in the eye and said, "what you have been given, honey, is a second chance. It's a gift. It's okay to be scared, just don't give up." After the meeting, as I was trying to duck out the door without speaking to anyone, she stopped me and gave me a hug. "It's going to be okay," she said. Looking at her smiling face, I had my first glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

Over the past couple of years I watched her help countless people with her ribald humor, irreverence, dedication and her own special kind of grace. She giggled nearly constantly, and swore like a trucker. She showed me that being sober didn't mean I'd never laugh again. She marched to her own drummer, and invited all of us along for the ride.

She passed away on New Year's Eve. It is hard to picture the world without her robust presence, her huge smile, and her unwavering dedication to recovery.

And she is right - I have been given a second chance, and it is a gift. She was a gift, too. She shared her story, she shared herself, and helped so many people get sober, stay sober, and laugh a lot along the way. I'm sure there are some angels in heaven blushing from her jokes, but I bet they are laughing, too.

This is how recovery works. She came into my life, a complete stranger, in my most desperate hour. She shared her experience, strength and hope, and passed along what she had learned from the people who came before her. It is Grace in motion, and it is amazing.

I will miss her; I will miss her a lot. But her words of wisdom and strength (and more than a few of her jokes) will continue through me and countless others.

Her gift lives on.

Rest in Peace, Millie. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your love and laughter.

Twice Monthly Giveaway - New Item!

Congrats to Kym, who won the Black Raspberry Pearl Jewelry Set! Thanks to all who entered!

The next giveaway item is the Hydrangea Pendant Necklace:

This fun and funky pendant necklace is made with delicate pale lavender and sage green swarovski rondelles, wrapped in sterling silver wire. The pendant is about 2" long, and hangs on an 18" sterling silver box chain necklace. If you like a unique and hand-made look, this necklace is for you.

Click on any picture to see more pictures of this piece in my Etsy shop.

To enter, please comment below indicating you would like to enter the giveaway, and please include your email. If you are more comfortable emailing me directly, please do so at ellieandsteve@verizon.net.

The winner will be chosen at random on January 15th (my daughter picks a name from a hat).

Edited to add: this giveaway is open internationally.

Thank you!