I know- seriously. Can you believe it? Like so excited. Really.
Oh wait. I can't start in the middle. I don't know where to start though, and I don't have the right words to express this happy in my heart. Think Greyson jumping for joy over trash truck Wednesday. Yup, that happy.
This past year has taught me some awesome truths.
First, God always has our back. You know how crazy much we love our babes? That's nuthin' compared to how much God loves us. I know- I don't know how that's possible, but it is. I've REALLY realized he will always protect love and take care of Greyson and Parker. That's what I remember when I'm freaking about the future. It's your earthly duty to take care of them now Chrissy, but ultimately, God has this covered. He's crazy about them too.
I've also learned God takes a hell of a lot longer to do things than I sure would. Man does it hurt me in the tiny patience part of my brain. Maybe it's because he's so busy. Maybe because it's actually how the story is supposed to go. Maybe that in between is where much of the very heart of our life lies. Even the uncomfortable in between. Grab it. Embrace it. It's ours for the learning...or not. It's what I struggle with most, and what I learn the most from too. Hmmm, funny.
One day I realized Greyson had autism. And then I realized I couldn't change that fact so I knew I instead just had to change the world. And I had no doubt I totally fricking would- because is there anything that important we wouldn't do for our children? Oh sorry, Grey and Parker- the world is too big and there's just me. No way. And along the way I've agonized with doubt. I've thought my plan stupid and slow moving and unsuccessful. But tonight for a moment I remember, it's all part of the plan. I am here to change the world and shed a light on autism, and ultimately, help anyone who has ever struggled with feeling different. Sounds like all of us at some time or another- right? For many of us-daily. This is exactly how Life is supposed to go at this very moment. Yours and mine.
Let's just breath it in.
So, back to the excited part. My words tonight are being held over Kelle Hampton's blog, Enjoying the Small Things. This woman is a world-changer too. CLICK HERE to read.
We need your help reading and sharing.
Big Fat Hugs,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
life with greyson + parker: a blog changing the World
Thursday, May 29, 2014
singing birdie
The world lost a incredible author and human being today. Oh Maya Angelou, I bet you and God are going over all the sweet details of your life right now. I imagine God starts by showing us our birth, he's proud to share with us the moment we came into this big wide world and cried for the very first time. I imagine we look over all the snapshots of our life--the ones we would have taken if we would have had a camera with us. That's why I often say, "click" in my head any time I am in a moment I want to remember. So God remembers to show me when we are going over my life at the very end. '
Angelou left a mark on us with her heart but also with her words. She said, "Eating is so intimate. It's very sensual. When you invite someone to sit at your table and you want to cook for them, you're inviting a person into your life."
I read that and thought- ohmygosh. I understand completely. Me- the crappiest cook in the Universe, completely understands what she is saying because I feel that way about writing, so I can also imagine how she may feel that way about cooking. Our circumstances may be different, but the feelings...so often my friend, the feelings are the same. You teach me that too- you don't need a child with autism, or even a child for that matter- to connect with me on the life level. The place where we strip away our nouns (mom, writer, chef, gay, straight, purple) and the most intimate parts of us just connect.
Sometimes it's hard to share our very most intimate parts. To just toss them out there with a sign that says, "Here- free take some." People get to have an opinion. And they get to tell you. They don't have to love it either. Today I was really excited to share my words on Huffington Post. And tonight as I was writing I had Facebook open in the background. Each new time my article was shared from my page my computer would ping in delight. I would smile and try to pretend like I was calm and cool, which I totally am not. And every so often I would jump on over there and read some comments. AWESOME! You love me. That must mean I am a good human! And then I got to a comment. This article was a waste of my time. Wait- WHAT?! That must mean I am...bad now? Three seconds ago I was just awesome?! And I passively-aggressively stewed over it for a minute or thirty or so.
But then I got mad at me- you must NOT care about that comment, Chrissy. You just must write. It's that simple and that complicated. I am a writer. Sometimes I get mad that writing chose me. It won't leave me alone. A nagging sentence waking me at 3am. Getting out of my shower -dripping wet standing over my computer because a handful of words won't leave me alone. I constantly write in my head. Sometimes it feels like therapy. Sometimes it feels like torture. But it picked me and it's exactly what I'm supposed to do. I love it, so I must do it.
Maybe you wonder if you too are a writer? If you are wondering- that tells me you are. It doesn't matter what others say- what nags at you in your own heart is what matters.
Today was yet another profound and ordinary Wednesday.
I don't know if I've ever felt joy like that- until I saw HIM feel that joy. He does joy the right way.
No matter what people say, it will never change the real you. Unless you let it. Please don't- and I'll do the same.
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
Angelou left a mark on us with her heart but also with her words. She said, "Eating is so intimate. It's very sensual. When you invite someone to sit at your table and you want to cook for them, you're inviting a person into your life."
I read that and thought- ohmygosh. I understand completely. Me- the crappiest cook in the Universe, completely understands what she is saying because I feel that way about writing, so I can also imagine how she may feel that way about cooking. Our circumstances may be different, but the feelings...so often my friend, the feelings are the same. You teach me that too- you don't need a child with autism, or even a child for that matter- to connect with me on the life level. The place where we strip away our nouns (mom, writer, chef, gay, straight, purple) and the most intimate parts of us just connect.
Sometimes it's hard to share our very most intimate parts. To just toss them out there with a sign that says, "Here- free take some." People get to have an opinion. And they get to tell you. They don't have to love it either. Today I was really excited to share my words on Huffington Post. And tonight as I was writing I had Facebook open in the background. Each new time my article was shared from my page my computer would ping in delight. I would smile and try to pretend like I was calm and cool, which I totally am not. And every so often I would jump on over there and read some comments. AWESOME! You love me. That must mean I am a good human! And then I got to a comment. This article was a waste of my time. Wait- WHAT?! That must mean I am...bad now? Three seconds ago I was just awesome?! And I passively-aggressively stewed over it for a minute or thirty or so.
But then I got mad at me- you must NOT care about that comment, Chrissy. You just must write. It's that simple and that complicated. I am a writer. Sometimes I get mad that writing chose me. It won't leave me alone. A nagging sentence waking me at 3am. Getting out of my shower -dripping wet standing over my computer because a handful of words won't leave me alone. I constantly write in my head. Sometimes it feels like therapy. Sometimes it feels like torture. But it picked me and it's exactly what I'm supposed to do. I love it, so I must do it.
Maybe you wonder if you too are a writer? If you are wondering- that tells me you are. It doesn't matter what others say- what nags at you in your own heart is what matters.
Today was yet another profound and ordinary Wednesday.
I don't know if I've ever felt joy like that- until I saw HIM feel that joy. He does joy the right way.
No matter what people say, it will never change the real you. Unless you let it. Please don't- and I'll do the same.
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
two worlds collide
TURN IT UP!!!! We scream from the back seat. I LOVE this song!!!
Jealousy
Turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside
My friend and I are singing at the top of our lungs; I'm banging on my drums and shaking my hair back and forth in such a way that will certainly cause a sore neck tomorrow -but that's the last thought that enters my 31 year old mind. I'm comfortably buzzing from a simple life and a dinner made up mostly of margaritas. We are driving to the strand of Hermosa Beach in Los Angeles and will stay out until last call. The night is a symphony of song and music and talking and laughter. The air smells faintly of cigarettes and summer and beach and endless possibility. There is no thought of tomorrow. The future doesn't exist. There is only right now.
9 years later- Today.
It's almost noon and I'm driving to pick up the boys after Behavior therapy. The Killers- Mr. Brightside comes on the radio and is faintly playing in the background. I've heard this song a million times since that night but today for some reason the stark contrast of then versus now collide. The past me. The me of today. I stop thinking. I turn the song up loud to push out any scattered leftover thoughts. There are still a few left so I turn it up twice as loud. My left foot vibrates on the floor and I feel the music rumble in my chest. I sing so loud that I collide with the past me and there are tears in my eyes. The music brings me back. I am still her. She is still me. And even with chaos and lack of simplicity, I choose now. Of course I choose now. Sometimes when two worlds collide, debris flies off and it is permanently lost. But two things also slam into each other so hard that the main parts can't help but become solidified as one.
*****
Greyson was diagnosed with autism in March of 2012. It took many months of processing through the initial gut wrenching pain but once that agony and I separated -a cloud lifted. It felt like someone opened a door to reality and I walked through it. Everything was beautiful and loud and clear and much shinier than I had ever seen in my entire life.
It was amazing the way autism edited my life. There were friends that just suddenly weren't friends. It was hard but important to lose that debris from the collision. There were important things that suddenly weren't important at all. Things I didn't care about for the first time in my life. Like being skinny and working out. In fact, I had been so depressed I could barely eat and I was so skinny that all my clothes were liquid and moved with the extra fabric. It didn't matter. It was no key to a door called happy. I didn't care that we have the crappiest carpet upstairs or a teeny back yard filled with toys resembling the left overs of a garage sale. For the first time in so long I could see the things that had actually been important all along. It blew my mind. I was raw to the world and tender towards all the people that also knew pain. I had a hard time relating to people who still lived under the cloud I had lived under most of my life.
And I don't know when it happened, but all that perspective, I realized it's just not there like it was at first. And part of that is just natural- it's not normal to be breaking into sobs at the grocery store from the beauty and pain of life. But the cloud of what's certainly NOT important feels like it's back sometimes.
I don't want to be in its darkness, so I come here to remember what I must never forget.
I focus and breathe in and out. I've been removing distractions from my life like Facebook and the phone that until a week or two ago was constantly in my hand. It's helped cut down on the constant thinking. It's helped me dig deeper into that perspective and remember what is important to me in my life. I'm realizing with a big shew- it didn't actually just- poof- go away. It's still there, but it must be worked out like any muscle. It must be shined like heirloom silver. It must be simmered on the stove. It cannot be forgotten about. It is not gone- That world and I already collided a couple of years ago. We are the same.
*****
How was your weekend? Ours was good and filled with playing and friends and food and napping and fun. Here's some pictures.
Parker carries a pen and paper or a notebook EVERWHERE lately. He babbles and writes pretend notes every so often. I had to take the ink catridge out of the pen because he's decorated all of our furniture and walls.
Frank's awesome summer bean salad.
With love and honor to all the men and women (and their families) who have given their life to serve in the armed forces.
Love,
Chrissy
Jealousy
Turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside
My friend and I are singing at the top of our lungs; I'm banging on my drums and shaking my hair back and forth in such a way that will certainly cause a sore neck tomorrow -but that's the last thought that enters my 31 year old mind. I'm comfortably buzzing from a simple life and a dinner made up mostly of margaritas. We are driving to the strand of Hermosa Beach in Los Angeles and will stay out until last call. The night is a symphony of song and music and talking and laughter. The air smells faintly of cigarettes and summer and beach and endless possibility. There is no thought of tomorrow. The future doesn't exist. There is only right now.
9 years later- Today.
It's almost noon and I'm driving to pick up the boys after Behavior therapy. The Killers- Mr. Brightside comes on the radio and is faintly playing in the background. I've heard this song a million times since that night but today for some reason the stark contrast of then versus now collide. The past me. The me of today. I stop thinking. I turn the song up loud to push out any scattered leftover thoughts. There are still a few left so I turn it up twice as loud. My left foot vibrates on the floor and I feel the music rumble in my chest. I sing so loud that I collide with the past me and there are tears in my eyes. The music brings me back. I am still her. She is still me. And even with chaos and lack of simplicity, I choose now. Of course I choose now. Sometimes when two worlds collide, debris flies off and it is permanently lost. But two things also slam into each other so hard that the main parts can't help but become solidified as one.
*****
Greyson was diagnosed with autism in March of 2012. It took many months of processing through the initial gut wrenching pain but once that agony and I separated -a cloud lifted. It felt like someone opened a door to reality and I walked through it. Everything was beautiful and loud and clear and much shinier than I had ever seen in my entire life.
It was amazing the way autism edited my life. There were friends that just suddenly weren't friends. It was hard but important to lose that debris from the collision. There were important things that suddenly weren't important at all. Things I didn't care about for the first time in my life. Like being skinny and working out. In fact, I had been so depressed I could barely eat and I was so skinny that all my clothes were liquid and moved with the extra fabric. It didn't matter. It was no key to a door called happy. I didn't care that we have the crappiest carpet upstairs or a teeny back yard filled with toys resembling the left overs of a garage sale. For the first time in so long I could see the things that had actually been important all along. It blew my mind. I was raw to the world and tender towards all the people that also knew pain. I had a hard time relating to people who still lived under the cloud I had lived under most of my life.
And I don't know when it happened, but all that perspective, I realized it's just not there like it was at first. And part of that is just natural- it's not normal to be breaking into sobs at the grocery store from the beauty and pain of life. But the cloud of what's certainly NOT important feels like it's back sometimes.
I don't want to be in its darkness, so I come here to remember what I must never forget.
I focus and breathe in and out. I've been removing distractions from my life like Facebook and the phone that until a week or two ago was constantly in my hand. It's helped cut down on the constant thinking. It's helped me dig deeper into that perspective and remember what is important to me in my life. I'm realizing with a big shew- it didn't actually just- poof- go away. It's still there, but it must be worked out like any muscle. It must be shined like heirloom silver. It must be simmered on the stove. It cannot be forgotten about. It is not gone- That world and I already collided a couple of years ago. We are the same.
*****
How was your weekend? Ours was good and filled with playing and friends and food and napping and fun. Here's some pictures.
Parker carries a pen and paper or a notebook EVERWHERE lately. He babbles and writes pretend notes every so often. I had to take the ink catridge out of the pen because he's decorated all of our furniture and walls.
Frank's awesome summer bean salad.
With love and honor to all the men and women (and their families) who have given their life to serve in the armed forces.
Love,
Chrissy
Thursday, May 22, 2014
ten things we wish husbands knew
Love and Marriage is a foreign language for many of us. For me, marriage is harder than my hardest day of parenting. I speak French and although my husband says understands me- he can't speak it back. We are often both left feeling very misunderstood. Sometimes it feels lonely, but I think these are ALL things that we think we are the ONLY ones thinking about. Here are ten tips for you husbands to help understand your wife. (and as a bonus it may help you get more of #2).
Never mention how tired we are. Chances are we are constantly tired. Daily. Please don't talk about it unless it's to say, "You look really tired. If you would like I can take charge while you go take a deserved nap." Please do not ask- "Why are you so tired?" or "What did you do today that is making you so tired?" I am not sick, nothing is wrong with me- I'm a mom. I could never do what you do. Make myself leave the house and so fully engage in work. I love you and admire you for that. If income was up to me we would have to live in a tent. I worked until my first-born Greyson was a year old and it was the hardest thing I've ever done physically and emotionally. We gave up everything and moved from Los Angeles to the Central Valley of California so that I could stay home with him. In the book Glitter and Glue, author Kelly Corrigan is discussing her love and growing protection for the little girl she nannied... "For better or worse, I've latched on to Milly's ecosystem. What happens to her happens- in some weird refracted way that seems slightly dangerous- to me too. And it occurs to me that maybe the reason my mother was so exhausted all the time wasn't because she was doing so much but because she was feeling so much." That's EXACTLY it with Moming, but times a million. When I'm at Speech Therapy with the boys, I'm REALLY at Speech with them. My heart leaps high in my chest when a new sound comes out of their little mouth. I rejoice. And when they get frustrated or start to scream a tiny part of me dies every time. Some days I don't think there is anything left inside me to die. I start to worry about their future. Their health. Their well-being. Their daily activities. Their doctors appointments. Their schooling and social activities. Plus about eleventy-hundred-million other things daily. And I don't tell you much--because it's like telling you a zebra has stripes- but our children are really FREAKING EXHAUSTING. When we check out at the grocery store, the checker is EXHAUSTED from the 11 minute interaction we just had. They are twenty times more emotional than I am when I'm PMSing.
I told him he couldn't put his feet in the pond.
For the eleventh time- I told him he couldn't put his same feet in the very same pond.
I told him it was time to go home from the pond he couldn't put his feet in anyway.
I listen to 4,346 tantrums a day. According to the screams- I frequently do EVERYTHING wrong. And the more time I spend with them the exponentially harder and more mind numbing it gets. I was supposed to write my phone number on a form the other day and I left it blank because I couldn't remember it. I'm so poured into them that sometimes I spill out all over the place. I love my job. It makes me glow on the inside. It's the best thing I've ever done in my whole entire life and I'm so grateful to stay at home with them- AND I'm exhausted. Exhilarated and exhausted. You can be both.
But it's also SO amazing and enlightening to be the one to get to watch their stories unfold. Some days I still ask God, "You promise? I really get to keep them?"
Lets not argue about sex. Ever. Perhaps you'd like to have more sex. Perhaps I should be having more sex with you. But arguing about it never ever ever creates more sex. (Also see #1- I am exhausted.) Especially if I am nursing. Especially if our children are little. I am clawed at and climbed on every single moment of most days. My shirt is tugged at, my plate is eaten from and I am accompanied at all times- even in the restroom. I've daydreamed about getting an appendicitis so I could just relax in a hospital bed alone for a day or two. That's crazy. Having small children fulfills every human touch requirement and some days I can't bare being touched at all anymore. I hope it helps you to know it's not personal. It's not you- it's them. It won't always be like this.
Notice the small things we do. The work environment is tough. Sometimes you are criticized. You get your butt whipped. Often times you work hard and receive no job well done type sentiments. But sometimes you do the right thing. You put a piece in that fits. You close a deal. You build a thing. You connect a wire. You do something that results in something productive and good. I remember how good that feels. I remember glowing while they told me what a great job I did. I buy circle waffles and I should have bought the square ones and the little people go ape shit. Or I cut the hot dog the wrong way. The hot dog I feel guilty about making in the first place. I mess up constantly. I finally get it together to make a healthy meal and no one will touch it. I forgot about my own dentist appointment this morning and last week I locked the kids in our running car. I screw up daily. If this were a regular job- I'd be monitored daily on a sub-par performance plan. There is no finish line. I often feel like an incapable ass and I tell myself that I am one in my head over and over again. There is no - "Great job mom! I like the way you (blank)." It would be so nice to hear it on occasion. Don't just say, "Great job with the kids". Say something specific and real. Say "I love how patient were when Johnny went ape shit over that hot dog. Man, I couldn't have held it together like you did. I love the way you love him."
Working and Moming feels impossible. If I work and Mom please just understand I struggle with it every single day. I feel like a crap Mom and a crap career person. Feeling like a crap Mom is by far the hardest of the two though. I hate missing out on all the things. And I know all the things aren't things but it's impossible to know before hand which moments will be important ones and which ones will be instantly forgotten. I hate being gone when they are sick. I hate always feeling rushed and tired and not enough for anyone. I feel different when I'm around the stay at home moms. I may think they are some combination of lucky and boring. I struggle with guilt and inadequacy- In ways you probably don't understand. I just need you to know this feeling exists. Don't say- "Don't feel that way", don't say "We can't afford for you not to work." I'm not looking to hear either of those things. Just remind me that I am also teaching my children that they too can do things that are hard by my very own example. It helps teach them that they can grow up and work and have a family too. There is no one right way. It reminds them that work to help pay the bills is important and responsible. It reminds them that work in which we follow our own personal passions is also a sacred way to live our life. We want them to grow up feeling as if the world is full of endless possibilities- because it actually is.
Do not tell me that you emptied the dish washer. Do not say it a second time because you are still standing there waiting to be thanked for it. I will silently argue with you in my head 17 times from that one seemingly tiny (to you) incident. I will make your voice into a high whine in my head and make you say "Ohhh, I emptied the dishwasher" in a really annoying stupid tone. Then in an angry and sarcastic voice I will say back to you say- "OH WOW!!! The entire dish washer?! All by yourself? And you seriously knew where to put every single thing? Aren't you amazing?! I THANKLESSLY EMPTY THE DISHWASHER EVERY DAY AND HAVE BEEN FOR SEVEN YEARS AND NO ONE THANKS ME." So instead, every so often thank me for a thankless job. I promise I will try to remember to do the same. Or, perhaps we can start some sort of frequent punch card program and for every 12 times you empty the dishwasher, we can have sex!
Help me find and then follow my passion. My dreams. Let's talk about the future in a happy light. It's hard to remember I was a person with my own hopes and wishes. Maybe you feel that way too. Help me recklessly pursue my dreams. Remind me I'm important enough to do so. Tell me what your dreams are too. I promise to help you do the same.
Get into my phone and arrange a babysitter. I don't want to be the only one who does it. Help me try to remember who we were before we had kids. I don't always know what to talk to you about when we go out because we always talk about the kids. Maybe we could act like we are dating and get to know each other again. We can go to the bookstore or the bowling alley or the movies and just play young again.
When you come home from work and are with the kids please be with the kids. Keep your phone down. It's probably just a couple of hours before their bedtime anyway. Show them they are important. Try to be the fresh set of eyes that I most certainly am not anymore. I know it's so hard to go to work and then come home and parent. But I'm so darn spent and they are so darn worth it.
Listen. Please just listen. Throw in a question to show you are listening. Not to fix. If I tell you I was late dropping the kids off to school for the 100th time please don't say- "Why don't you wake up earlier? How about you set the stuff out the night before?" Just listen. Ask if I'm still so annoyed with my annoying friend. Ask specifics about the kids to remind me what I do with them daily is really important. Ask how my book is. If there's something you want to talk about, I promise to listen too.
Do not mention the slime/dirt/mucus/poop on my clothes or in my hair. Do not ask me- "Do you want to change your shirt first?" Before we go somewhere. I know it's there so completely that I actually don't even remember it's there in the first place. If I wanted to change it I know where my shirts are and I would have done so. There's already enough dirty laundry in the house. Let's just look at it as conserving water and energy. It's our contribution to green.
These ten tips will possibly help us all feel a little more understood and a little less alone. Feel free to add your own in the comments. And you too husbands! What do you wish we knew?
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
Never mention how tired we are. Chances are we are constantly tired. Daily. Please don't talk about it unless it's to say, "You look really tired. If you would like I can take charge while you go take a deserved nap." Please do not ask- "Why are you so tired?" or "What did you do today that is making you so tired?" I am not sick, nothing is wrong with me- I'm a mom. I could never do what you do. Make myself leave the house and so fully engage in work. I love you and admire you for that. If income was up to me we would have to live in a tent. I worked until my first-born Greyson was a year old and it was the hardest thing I've ever done physically and emotionally. We gave up everything and moved from Los Angeles to the Central Valley of California so that I could stay home with him. In the book Glitter and Glue, author Kelly Corrigan is discussing her love and growing protection for the little girl she nannied... "For better or worse, I've latched on to Milly's ecosystem. What happens to her happens- in some weird refracted way that seems slightly dangerous- to me too. And it occurs to me that maybe the reason my mother was so exhausted all the time wasn't because she was doing so much but because she was feeling so much." That's EXACTLY it with Moming, but times a million. When I'm at Speech Therapy with the boys, I'm REALLY at Speech with them. My heart leaps high in my chest when a new sound comes out of their little mouth. I rejoice. And when they get frustrated or start to scream a tiny part of me dies every time. Some days I don't think there is anything left inside me to die. I start to worry about their future. Their health. Their well-being. Their daily activities. Their doctors appointments. Their schooling and social activities. Plus about eleventy-hundred-million other things daily. And I don't tell you much--because it's like telling you a zebra has stripes- but our children are really FREAKING EXHAUSTING. When we check out at the grocery store, the checker is EXHAUSTED from the 11 minute interaction we just had. They are twenty times more emotional than I am when I'm PMSing.
I told him he couldn't put his feet in the pond.
For the eleventh time- I told him he couldn't put his same feet in the very same pond.
I told him it was time to go home from the pond he couldn't put his feet in anyway.
I listen to 4,346 tantrums a day. According to the screams- I frequently do EVERYTHING wrong. And the more time I spend with them the exponentially harder and more mind numbing it gets. I was supposed to write my phone number on a form the other day and I left it blank because I couldn't remember it. I'm so poured into them that sometimes I spill out all over the place. I love my job. It makes me glow on the inside. It's the best thing I've ever done in my whole entire life and I'm so grateful to stay at home with them- AND I'm exhausted. Exhilarated and exhausted. You can be both.
But it's also SO amazing and enlightening to be the one to get to watch their stories unfold. Some days I still ask God, "You promise? I really get to keep them?"
Lets not argue about sex. Ever. Perhaps you'd like to have more sex. Perhaps I should be having more sex with you. But arguing about it never ever ever creates more sex. (Also see #1- I am exhausted.) Especially if I am nursing. Especially if our children are little. I am clawed at and climbed on every single moment of most days. My shirt is tugged at, my plate is eaten from and I am accompanied at all times- even in the restroom. I've daydreamed about getting an appendicitis so I could just relax in a hospital bed alone for a day or two. That's crazy. Having small children fulfills every human touch requirement and some days I can't bare being touched at all anymore. I hope it helps you to know it's not personal. It's not you- it's them. It won't always be like this.
Notice the small things we do. The work environment is tough. Sometimes you are criticized. You get your butt whipped. Often times you work hard and receive no job well done type sentiments. But sometimes you do the right thing. You put a piece in that fits. You close a deal. You build a thing. You connect a wire. You do something that results in something productive and good. I remember how good that feels. I remember glowing while they told me what a great job I did. I buy circle waffles and I should have bought the square ones and the little people go ape shit. Or I cut the hot dog the wrong way. The hot dog I feel guilty about making in the first place. I mess up constantly. I finally get it together to make a healthy meal and no one will touch it. I forgot about my own dentist appointment this morning and last week I locked the kids in our running car. I screw up daily. If this were a regular job- I'd be monitored daily on a sub-par performance plan. There is no finish line. I often feel like an incapable ass and I tell myself that I am one in my head over and over again. There is no - "Great job mom! I like the way you (blank)." It would be so nice to hear it on occasion. Don't just say, "Great job with the kids". Say something specific and real. Say "I love how patient were when Johnny went ape shit over that hot dog. Man, I couldn't have held it together like you did. I love the way you love him."
Working and Moming feels impossible. If I work and Mom please just understand I struggle with it every single day. I feel like a crap Mom and a crap career person. Feeling like a crap Mom is by far the hardest of the two though. I hate missing out on all the things. And I know all the things aren't things but it's impossible to know before hand which moments will be important ones and which ones will be instantly forgotten. I hate being gone when they are sick. I hate always feeling rushed and tired and not enough for anyone. I feel different when I'm around the stay at home moms. I may think they are some combination of lucky and boring. I struggle with guilt and inadequacy- In ways you probably don't understand. I just need you to know this feeling exists. Don't say- "Don't feel that way", don't say "We can't afford for you not to work." I'm not looking to hear either of those things. Just remind me that I am also teaching my children that they too can do things that are hard by my very own example. It helps teach them that they can grow up and work and have a family too. There is no one right way. It reminds them that work to help pay the bills is important and responsible. It reminds them that work in which we follow our own personal passions is also a sacred way to live our life. We want them to grow up feeling as if the world is full of endless possibilities- because it actually is.
Do not tell me that you emptied the dish washer. Do not say it a second time because you are still standing there waiting to be thanked for it. I will silently argue with you in my head 17 times from that one seemingly tiny (to you) incident. I will make your voice into a high whine in my head and make you say "Ohhh, I emptied the dishwasher" in a really annoying stupid tone. Then in an angry and sarcastic voice I will say back to you say- "OH WOW!!! The entire dish washer?! All by yourself? And you seriously knew where to put every single thing? Aren't you amazing?! I THANKLESSLY EMPTY THE DISHWASHER EVERY DAY AND HAVE BEEN FOR SEVEN YEARS AND NO ONE THANKS ME." So instead, every so often thank me for a thankless job. I promise I will try to remember to do the same. Or, perhaps we can start some sort of frequent punch card program and for every 12 times you empty the dishwasher, we can have sex!
Help me find and then follow my passion. My dreams. Let's talk about the future in a happy light. It's hard to remember I was a person with my own hopes and wishes. Maybe you feel that way too. Help me recklessly pursue my dreams. Remind me I'm important enough to do so. Tell me what your dreams are too. I promise to help you do the same.
Get into my phone and arrange a babysitter. I don't want to be the only one who does it. Help me try to remember who we were before we had kids. I don't always know what to talk to you about when we go out because we always talk about the kids. Maybe we could act like we are dating and get to know each other again. We can go to the bookstore or the bowling alley or the movies and just play young again.
When you come home from work and are with the kids please be with the kids. Keep your phone down. It's probably just a couple of hours before their bedtime anyway. Show them they are important. Try to be the fresh set of eyes that I most certainly am not anymore. I know it's so hard to go to work and then come home and parent. But I'm so darn spent and they are so darn worth it.
Listen. Please just listen. Throw in a question to show you are listening. Not to fix. If I tell you I was late dropping the kids off to school for the 100th time please don't say- "Why don't you wake up earlier? How about you set the stuff out the night before?" Just listen. Ask if I'm still so annoyed with my annoying friend. Ask specifics about the kids to remind me what I do with them daily is really important. Ask how my book is. If there's something you want to talk about, I promise to listen too.
Do not mention the slime/dirt/mucus/poop on my clothes or in my hair. Do not ask me- "Do you want to change your shirt first?" Before we go somewhere. I know it's there so completely that I actually don't even remember it's there in the first place. If I wanted to change it I know where my shirts are and I would have done so. There's already enough dirty laundry in the house. Let's just look at it as conserving water and energy. It's our contribution to green.
These ten tips will possibly help us all feel a little more understood and a little less alone. Feel free to add your own in the comments. And you too husbands! What do you wish we knew?
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Everything you need
This morning I stood there in the mirror frowning at all my new gray-haired friends. Angry. Annoyed. I still have a month before I get my hair colored. I whip a brush through my mop and give up, gathering it into a pony tail. I don't bother with makeup. No time. Who cares. I've been the crankiest bitch on earth lately. I've hated everything, even the moon. No one hates the moon. I've been snarky and bitter and comparative and glass all mostly empty. Anxious. Irritable. Unsettled. (Hormones.) I finished getting ready and went into the kitchen to get breakfast together for the kids. UGHHHH. WE ARE OUT OF BANANAS. We are ALWAYS out of bananas. I go to pour creamer in my coffee and it's empty. MY LIFE IS RUINED.
I load the car and drive the kids to today's therapy. Get hair colored. Buy bananas. Buy creamer. I start a mental compilation of all the things that need to happen before I can breathe. I caught my angry eyes in the rear view mirror. Hey, I'm on your team, I said honestly to the green eyed girl looking back at me. This day has to change with me. I need to be gentle with myself- maybe that will be a step towards somewhere good.
I dropped the kids off at therapy and as soon as I got back into the car I picked up my phone. Suddenly I stopped myself; social media and grump dog me don't jive. I compare, I snark, I feel bad about myself, then I feel bad for being so immature. Lose lose. I took Facebook off my phone a few weeks ago and have been making a conscience effort to be more present during the quiet moments in my day. I made a decision then to stay away from my phone all day today. Instead I select an ibook - The Pocket Pema Chodron and randomly flipped to a page, hoping Pema would work her magic on me. Pema is a Buddist nun with an edge and often says just the right thing. Check out today's selection.
We already have everything we need. There is no need for self-improvement. All these trips that we lay on ourselves—the heavy-duty fearing that we’re bad and hoping that we’re good, the identities that we so dearly cling to, the rage, the jealousy and the addictions of all kinds—never touch our basic wealth. They are like clouds that temporarily block the sun. But all the time our warmth and brilliance are right here. This is who we really are. We are one blink of an eye away from being fully awake. Looking at ourselves this way is very different from our usual habit. From this perspective we don’t need to change: you can feel as wretched as you like, and you’re still a good candidate for enlightenment. You can feel like the world’s most hopeless basket case, but that feeling is your wealth, not something to be thrown out or improved upon.
Wow. We are perfect exactly the way we are. Even with gray hair and without bananas. It's funny the things that can cause a morning to tail spin. It's one of the reasons I love to write- it often puts life into perspective for me. All the things that have been bothering me become slick and fly off. I can breathe.
And tonight we met some dear Friends at a local Farmer's Market. Everything about the Farmer's Market is healing.
We had a ball tasting and exploring in this shoes optional life.
How lucky are we- our favorite Farmer's Market is at an outdoor mall?
I'll take the Doodle on the bottom shelf. He's perfect.
While you are tackling your Wednesday just remember, you already have everything you need.
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
I load the car and drive the kids to today's therapy. Get hair colored. Buy bananas. Buy creamer. I start a mental compilation of all the things that need to happen before I can breathe. I caught my angry eyes in the rear view mirror. Hey, I'm on your team, I said honestly to the green eyed girl looking back at me. This day has to change with me. I need to be gentle with myself- maybe that will be a step towards somewhere good.
I dropped the kids off at therapy and as soon as I got back into the car I picked up my phone. Suddenly I stopped myself; social media and grump dog me don't jive. I compare, I snark, I feel bad about myself, then I feel bad for being so immature. Lose lose. I took Facebook off my phone a few weeks ago and have been making a conscience effort to be more present during the quiet moments in my day. I made a decision then to stay away from my phone all day today. Instead I select an ibook - The Pocket Pema Chodron and randomly flipped to a page, hoping Pema would work her magic on me. Pema is a Buddist nun with an edge and often says just the right thing. Check out today's selection.
We already have everything we need. There is no need for self-improvement. All these trips that we lay on ourselves—the heavy-duty fearing that we’re bad and hoping that we’re good, the identities that we so dearly cling to, the rage, the jealousy and the addictions of all kinds—never touch our basic wealth. They are like clouds that temporarily block the sun. But all the time our warmth and brilliance are right here. This is who we really are. We are one blink of an eye away from being fully awake. Looking at ourselves this way is very different from our usual habit. From this perspective we don’t need to change: you can feel as wretched as you like, and you’re still a good candidate for enlightenment. You can feel like the world’s most hopeless basket case, but that feeling is your wealth, not something to be thrown out or improved upon.
Wow. We are perfect exactly the way we are. Even with gray hair and without bananas. It's funny the things that can cause a morning to tail spin. It's one of the reasons I love to write- it often puts life into perspective for me. All the things that have been bothering me become slick and fly off. I can breathe.
And tonight we met some dear Friends at a local Farmer's Market. Everything about the Farmer's Market is healing.
We had a ball tasting and exploring in this shoes optional life.
How lucky are we- our favorite Farmer's Market is at an outdoor mall?
I'll take the Doodle on the bottom shelf. He's perfect.
While you are tackling your Wednesday just remember, you already have everything you need.
XOXO,
Chrissy
Find me on Facebook
and on Instagram @lifewithgrey
Monday, May 19, 2014
being an adult
I am in 4th grade and all I wish is to be is an adult. I asked my mom if I could shave my legs and she said not yet, not until I started my period. I know that is bound to be years because I don't even have boobs yet - I know because I check for them every day. One afternoon I went into a warm bath and found some shaving cream and an old blue bic razor of my dads. I shaved all the fine golden hair off and my legs felt so grown up. I proudly showed my mom. "You're going to have to do this for the rest of your life now," she told me as if it were a BAD thing.
Feel free to insert your own funny comment here. The picture is begging you.
"Good!" I thought. I want to be an adult. I want to shave my legs all the time. I want to buy Sun In and get a body wave in my hair and buy brand name Ocean Pacific shorts and actual Guess jeans, not the knock offs my mom got me.
I remember the day I became an adult. I had moved to Los Angeles in 1999. For a boy. It's always that or acting, ask any transplant that lives there.
And the boy and I? We didn't work, thank gosh. I wouldn't let myself truck back to Missouri without at least attempting California on my own though. I got a tiny little baby studio apartment in Brentwood and signed a 6-month lease and started again from scratch. I would sit on my teeny back porch overlooking an alley and smoke cigarettes and cry. I had a tiny fridge and two burner stove (that I never used once) and I was scared --which was fine because I was just a kid still trying to find my way.
I got past that horrible hump and one day I moved into a real adult-sized apartment. The year was 2002. Kelly Clarkson won American Idol. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was released. George Bush created the Department of Homeland Security to fight threats of terrorism. My new apartment had a regular sized stove and even an oven (both of which of course, I never used). However, it didn't have a refrigerator- I had to provide it. A real, taller than me, grown up freezer and fridge. I went into Best Buy, nervous and alone. I selected a model based on cost and cuteness. I scheduled a delivery date. I calculated how many Gap tank tops I could have bought instead and silently mourned all 36 of them. I charged on my only credit card, the one with the whopping $599 limit. And I signed something important that I didn't read because it was lengthy and boring. Bam- right then as I was signing I just knew it. I was officially an adult.
And now I am (holy shit) 40. I've been on this earth for forty freaking years. 40 is old as dirt and CERTAINLY an adult according to both 9 and 28 year old me. And sometimes I so desperately want to be free of adult obligation. I could name 87 things that is great about being a kid. I bet you could too- try it. I want to sleep until 10am. I want to at least want to make outrageous and impractical decisions. I want to sign without reading the small print. I want to spend every Monday at the beach reading. Sometimes I just wish I could have someone else make all the hard and scary decisions for me. Sometimes it all just feels like too much. Adulting isn't nearly what I thought it would be.
That doesn't mean it's bad though. No way. The reason I can name 87 great things about being a kid is because I'm not one. It's easy to forget all the hard parts. It's easy to forget the good parts of adulting, but really, there are many. No one really tells me what to do--When to go to bed, when to wake up, when to eat, what to eat. Sometimes I have to do things I wish I didn't have to do- but no one is making me. I get to stay up as late as I want too, which I often do. I can dress any way I want. I can go to Church or not go to Church. I can color my hair without asking anyone. I can get a tattoo if I want, which I don't but I STILL CAN!!! I can have wine and chocolate, even at the same time. I can eat cookies while hiding in the pantry without getting in trouble. And now when I shave my legs I actually feel like I accomplished something big for the day. But by a million- by far the best part ever is that I get to help nurture and raise my two own tiny human beings into this world.
Nothing about being a mom (or an adult) is what I expected. It's exhausting and humbling and scary and provides a funnel for the greatest love that has ever existed. They are even worth sometimes turning on the stove.
What's your favorite thing about adulting?
Find me on Facebook
Love,
Chrissy
Feel free to insert your own funny comment here. The picture is begging you.
"Good!" I thought. I want to be an adult. I want to shave my legs all the time. I want to buy Sun In and get a body wave in my hair and buy brand name Ocean Pacific shorts and actual Guess jeans, not the knock offs my mom got me.
I remember the day I became an adult. I had moved to Los Angeles in 1999. For a boy. It's always that or acting, ask any transplant that lives there.
And the boy and I? We didn't work, thank gosh. I wouldn't let myself truck back to Missouri without at least attempting California on my own though. I got a tiny little baby studio apartment in Brentwood and signed a 6-month lease and started again from scratch. I would sit on my teeny back porch overlooking an alley and smoke cigarettes and cry. I had a tiny fridge and two burner stove (that I never used once) and I was scared --which was fine because I was just a kid still trying to find my way.
I got past that horrible hump and one day I moved into a real adult-sized apartment. The year was 2002. Kelly Clarkson won American Idol. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was released. George Bush created the Department of Homeland Security to fight threats of terrorism. My new apartment had a regular sized stove and even an oven (both of which of course, I never used). However, it didn't have a refrigerator- I had to provide it. A real, taller than me, grown up freezer and fridge. I went into Best Buy, nervous and alone. I selected a model based on cost and cuteness. I scheduled a delivery date. I calculated how many Gap tank tops I could have bought instead and silently mourned all 36 of them. I charged on my only credit card, the one with the whopping $599 limit. And I signed something important that I didn't read because it was lengthy and boring. Bam- right then as I was signing I just knew it. I was officially an adult.
And now I am (holy shit) 40. I've been on this earth for forty freaking years. 40 is old as dirt and CERTAINLY an adult according to both 9 and 28 year old me. And sometimes I so desperately want to be free of adult obligation. I could name 87 things that is great about being a kid. I bet you could too- try it. I want to sleep until 10am. I want to at least want to make outrageous and impractical decisions. I want to sign without reading the small print. I want to spend every Monday at the beach reading. Sometimes I just wish I could have someone else make all the hard and scary decisions for me. Sometimes it all just feels like too much. Adulting isn't nearly what I thought it would be.
That doesn't mean it's bad though. No way. The reason I can name 87 great things about being a kid is because I'm not one. It's easy to forget all the hard parts. It's easy to forget the good parts of adulting, but really, there are many. No one really tells me what to do--When to go to bed, when to wake up, when to eat, what to eat. Sometimes I have to do things I wish I didn't have to do- but no one is making me. I get to stay up as late as I want too, which I often do. I can dress any way I want. I can go to Church or not go to Church. I can color my hair without asking anyone. I can get a tattoo if I want, which I don't but I STILL CAN!!! I can have wine and chocolate, even at the same time. I can eat cookies while hiding in the pantry without getting in trouble. And now when I shave my legs I actually feel like I accomplished something big for the day. But by a million- by far the best part ever is that I get to help nurture and raise my two own tiny human beings into this world.
Nothing about being a mom (or an adult) is what I expected. It's exhausting and humbling and scary and provides a funnel for the greatest love that has ever existed. They are even worth sometimes turning on the stove.
What's your favorite thing about adulting?
Find me on Facebook
Love,
Chrissy
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
the evolution of starbucks
Starbucks is often the glue that holds my moming together. Sometimes just looking at my cup has caused deep revelations, like the dot.
Do you see that little dot there? That tiny little hole is big enough to release steam and to avoid pressure building up inside the cup- and ensures that coffee can flow easily into the drink spout.
It's barely a pin prick, yet it can do ALL that.
For today- find a way to create that little dot in your Life.
One tiny little thing- sometimes that's all it takes to stop the pressure from building up. I don't care what you choose...but you gotta make it on purpose.
__________________________________________
Starbucks was a Mothering necessity when Greyson was in Early Intervention (EI). Early Intervention is a program created by most states in North America to help infants and toddlers who have been diagnosed with disabilities, developmental delays or are at risk for delays. It covers children from birth to age three. After that, services become the responsibility of the school system.
The goal of EI is to help children as soon as possible so they can reach their full potential. Teams work with families of at-risk children to figure out what services are needed.
Grey had just turned two and Parker wasn’t yet three months old- he was still waking every 2-3 hours each night. Our schedule abruptly went from tranquil days spent at the park --to holding on for life in a matter of days. It’s incredible what can change in a day, an hour, even just a moment. I was certain I would be able to save the boys, but that I would drown. Early Intervention preschool and meetings and evaluations and hearing assessments and doctor's appointments and psych evaluations and play based assessments and speech evaluations and Speech Therapy and an ENT specialist and an ophthalmologist and a Neurologist -"because when he spaces out like that it may mean he is having silent seizures." Every day a new block was added to the pile and I wasn't sure how much longer I could endure this kind of life. I stopped at Starbucks twice a day, hot in the morning and iced in the afternoon. I didn't care how much it cost- Please God, let us have enough money to take care of all the boys needs AND buy Starbucks. Amen.
"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?" said the voice of the Angel. I would order and then pull up to the window to wait for my beverage. And then the dreaded questions…
How is your day going so far?
I have ZERO poker face and a tendency to over share. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine.
"Fine" (AHHHHH! Thank goodness, you said fine.)
What are you up to today?
(Lie. Say the zoo. Say the park. Say going to the lake to feed the ducks. Say the grocery store. Say anything normal, but don’t say the truth.)
My son… He doesn’t. We aren’t sure if... I trail off. (Don't say autism. I sound crazy. I am crazy. I need to pretend to be normal here in the Starbucks queue though).
THE ZOO! (Thank god I said that. Perfect, the zoo). We are going to the zoo. Yes! Giraffes! BIG SMILE. Harmless zoo chatter would ensue.
Every so often, I would answer the truth.
We are going to Speech Therapy/a neurology appointment/ any awkward over share.
And it was often met with silence. Or a few times, "that sounds like fun". Fun? Hmmmm. Yes. Oh so much fun. So I learned a new and improved answer so I never had to improvise again.
Coffee Angel: "What are you up to today?"
Me: Not much.
We we made it through the brutal period of Early Intervention. And when it became evident that Parker would also qualify for Early Intervention, it was so much easier because I knew what was important and what we could totally just skip. I knew I needed regularly schedule ME TIME in order to not explode. I needed a daily dot to let off steam. Time and experience sure is one amazing teacher. And I’m still a caffeine fanatic, but life isn’t quite as painfully frenzied as it was then.
A couple of days ago at Starbucks I had already ordered and I was waiting for my coffee to be handed over at the window. The wait time was exceptionally long and the Barista was standing in the window looking at me. I tried to be very important and busy tapping on my phone, but the guy asked anyway.
"How is your day going?"
"Good." I answered with half a smile and went back to my tapping. I have to conserve my energy before I get Starbucks, which then rations me more words and facial expressions.
"Up to anything fun after this?" Colby the Barista asks.
"No." Parker and Greyson both had Speech next but I didn't want to get into it.
We both linger in the silence. Suddenly I feel bad for the guy. "They make you ask those questions- huh? 'How are you' and some form of 'what are you up to today?'"
"Yes," he said spilling out relief.
"Don’t you hate it?!" I asked laughing.
"YES!" He said bursting out laughing. "I TOTALLY FRICKING HATE IT." But he didn't say Frick so it made me laugh harder. And we both laughed and I loved his honesty.
"Do you hate it because people just completely over share every single awkward thing about their life?" I asked him, full on knowing that had to be the answer.
"No- that part doesn’t bother me. It’s just awkward when they UNDER share. How are you? FINE. What are you up to today? NOTHING," he said.
Wait! That sounded like ME. That IS me. I never thought of it that way before- from his perspective. No matter what, this poor guy HAS to ask those damn questions. It’s his job and if he doesn't do it, he'll be written up on some report somewhere. "Colby, your 'How are you doing?' question percent attainment is only at 63% for all vehicles over the past week. We really need to see it at 100%."
And I’m sure it feels humanless to have people so completely unengaged and annoyed with you. To have people glued to their phones and giving you one word annoyed teenage son-type-responses. It’s so ironic-sometimes I get scared about the world. I pray that people will be kind to my children. KIND. NOT not rude, not simply tolerable but actually KIND.
If I need that in the world, then I need to be more kind first. Just because he HAS to ask the questions doesn't mean we can't engage in a real conversation. So although it is very very hard BEFORE my morning Starbucks, I will attempt to be the change I want to see in the world for the two little amazing boys I am so proud to love. I will be kind. Sometimes that's all a revolution takes.
And here we are today...
I need to be KIND like this guy, Frank. The best and kindest garbage man in the world. Happy Trash Truck Day, friends.
You see, Starbucks really isn't that expensive when you calculate in all these invaluable lessons you learn there.
Love,
Chrissy
Find me on FACEBOOK
And Instagram @lifewithgrey
Do you see that little dot there? That tiny little hole is big enough to release steam and to avoid pressure building up inside the cup- and ensures that coffee can flow easily into the drink spout.
It's barely a pin prick, yet it can do ALL that.
For today- find a way to create that little dot in your Life.
One tiny little thing- sometimes that's all it takes to stop the pressure from building up. I don't care what you choose...but you gotta make it on purpose.
__________________________________________
Starbucks was a Mothering necessity when Greyson was in Early Intervention (EI). Early Intervention is a program created by most states in North America to help infants and toddlers who have been diagnosed with disabilities, developmental delays or are at risk for delays. It covers children from birth to age three. After that, services become the responsibility of the school system.
The goal of EI is to help children as soon as possible so they can reach their full potential. Teams work with families of at-risk children to figure out what services are needed.
Grey had just turned two and Parker wasn’t yet three months old- he was still waking every 2-3 hours each night. Our schedule abruptly went from tranquil days spent at the park --to holding on for life in a matter of days. It’s incredible what can change in a day, an hour, even just a moment. I was certain I would be able to save the boys, but that I would drown. Early Intervention preschool and meetings and evaluations and hearing assessments and doctor's appointments and psych evaluations and play based assessments and speech evaluations and Speech Therapy and an ENT specialist and an ophthalmologist and a Neurologist -"because when he spaces out like that it may mean he is having silent seizures." Every day a new block was added to the pile and I wasn't sure how much longer I could endure this kind of life. I stopped at Starbucks twice a day, hot in the morning and iced in the afternoon. I didn't care how much it cost- Please God, let us have enough money to take care of all the boys needs AND buy Starbucks. Amen.
"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?" said the voice of the Angel. I would order and then pull up to the window to wait for my beverage. And then the dreaded questions…
How is your day going so far?
I have ZERO poker face and a tendency to over share. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine. Just say fine.
"Fine" (AHHHHH! Thank goodness, you said fine.)
What are you up to today?
(Lie. Say the zoo. Say the park. Say going to the lake to feed the ducks. Say the grocery store. Say anything normal, but don’t say the truth.)
My son… He doesn’t. We aren’t sure if... I trail off. (Don't say autism. I sound crazy. I am crazy. I need to pretend to be normal here in the Starbucks queue though).
THE ZOO! (Thank god I said that. Perfect, the zoo). We are going to the zoo. Yes! Giraffes! BIG SMILE. Harmless zoo chatter would ensue.
Every so often, I would answer the truth.
We are going to Speech Therapy/a neurology appointment/ any awkward over share.
And it was often met with silence. Or a few times, "that sounds like fun". Fun? Hmmmm. Yes. Oh so much fun. So I learned a new and improved answer so I never had to improvise again.
Coffee Angel: "What are you up to today?"
Me: Not much.
We we made it through the brutal period of Early Intervention. And when it became evident that Parker would also qualify for Early Intervention, it was so much easier because I knew what was important and what we could totally just skip. I knew I needed regularly schedule ME TIME in order to not explode. I needed a daily dot to let off steam. Time and experience sure is one amazing teacher. And I’m still a caffeine fanatic, but life isn’t quite as painfully frenzied as it was then.
A couple of days ago at Starbucks I had already ordered and I was waiting for my coffee to be handed over at the window. The wait time was exceptionally long and the Barista was standing in the window looking at me. I tried to be very important and busy tapping on my phone, but the guy asked anyway.
"How is your day going?"
"Good." I answered with half a smile and went back to my tapping. I have to conserve my energy before I get Starbucks, which then rations me more words and facial expressions.
"Up to anything fun after this?" Colby the Barista asks.
"No." Parker and Greyson both had Speech next but I didn't want to get into it.
We both linger in the silence. Suddenly I feel bad for the guy. "They make you ask those questions- huh? 'How are you' and some form of 'what are you up to today?'"
"Yes," he said spilling out relief.
"Don’t you hate it?!" I asked laughing.
"YES!" He said bursting out laughing. "I TOTALLY FRICKING HATE IT." But he didn't say Frick so it made me laugh harder. And we both laughed and I loved his honesty.
"Do you hate it because people just completely over share every single awkward thing about their life?" I asked him, full on knowing that had to be the answer.
"No- that part doesn’t bother me. It’s just awkward when they UNDER share. How are you? FINE. What are you up to today? NOTHING," he said.
Wait! That sounded like ME. That IS me. I never thought of it that way before- from his perspective. No matter what, this poor guy HAS to ask those damn questions. It’s his job and if he doesn't do it, he'll be written up on some report somewhere. "Colby, your 'How are you doing?' question percent attainment is only at 63% for all vehicles over the past week. We really need to see it at 100%."
And I’m sure it feels humanless to have people so completely unengaged and annoyed with you. To have people glued to their phones and giving you one word annoyed teenage son-type-responses. It’s so ironic-sometimes I get scared about the world. I pray that people will be kind to my children. KIND. NOT not rude, not simply tolerable but actually KIND.
If I need that in the world, then I need to be more kind first. Just because he HAS to ask the questions doesn't mean we can't engage in a real conversation. So although it is very very hard BEFORE my morning Starbucks, I will attempt to be the change I want to see in the world for the two little amazing boys I am so proud to love. I will be kind. Sometimes that's all a revolution takes.
And here we are today...
I need to be KIND like this guy, Frank. The best and kindest garbage man in the world. Happy Trash Truck Day, friends.
You see, Starbucks really isn't that expensive when you calculate in all these invaluable lessons you learn there.
Love,
Chrissy
Find me on FACEBOOK
And Instagram @lifewithgrey
snap shots
I sit at the red light and wait for it to evolve back into green. I slug my venti mocha like its a keg stand and I'm in college on spring break on padre island. I avert eye contact with the homeless woman on the busy street corner while I drink my $5.05 coffee and try to not feel conflicted about every single thing about life. I take a snap shot.
It is 91 degrees and straight up Summer. I'm the outside lazy air and the hot breeze. I'm the inside blasting air conditioning and my gas tank always on E. I slog along and drop both boys off at Behavior Therapy. I stay a few extra minutes to play with Parker in the Sensory/Gross Motor room. His bare feet patter over the wall-to-wall rainbow colored floor mat. I name each color he steps on with each step takes.
Green! Yellow! Orange! Red! Blue. I then hold him still on each color until he repeats my words. Ghee! Lelow! Oakrjeh??!Whet! Boo! Lelow, lelow, lelow, he suddenly says for each new color and I squeal like a delighted 9 year old who just mastered a triple starburst on the rainbow loom. He's never said yellow before, I say smiling so loud it fills up the room. I can't believe he is really mine.
We sway together on the hefty occupational therapy swing. Parker stands up cautiously holding into the roped sides, a look of concentration tattooed on his face. He wraps his sweet dimpled hands around my neck. I am his safe. I am his home. I delight in the honor. I take a snap shot and hope to keep it forever. After time new snap shots may take its place and cause it to fade away. I take so long to say goodbye to him that I wonder if they wonder why I am still here. I sneak out during a distracted moment because I can't handle the breaking heart- his and mine. Sometimes that is the snap shot that sticks. I go to the car and I sit. And a magnetic force holds me in my car for too long. I look down and see two imaginary umbilical cords somehow never cut, just stretched, connecting me to my hearts.
I type some sharp and soft words into the keypad on my phone, the place I store my words that trickle out unexpectedly throughout the day. My words are like water and they quickly flow through me. So much so that I often don't even remember what I wrote the day or hour before.
Are you okay? I read your latest post, a friend will sometimes text. I panic and think- oh man. I don't even remember what I wrote, but whatever it is I must have sounded crazy. Sometimes I'm scared to show you what my crazy looks like, but I do anyway. Sometimes I hide it too. That is me. That is life. That is the blessing and the curse of sharing snap shots. Sometimes people think you are crazy when you aren't, and sometimes people think you are happy when you aren't too, and a thousand other in betweens. I sometimes have to sludge through things. I'm okay-sometimes even awesome. The times I worry is when I let the words build up and they threaten to bust the dam.
Die to the past every moment. You don't need it. Only refer to it when it is absolutely relevant to the present. Feel the power of this moment and the fullness of Being. Feel your presence.
eckhart tolle
I think of this quote when I need it and I breathe out the past. I die to it. I'm doing it right now with each exhale and firecracker pop on the keyboard. Sometimes all I need to do is write it and it's gone. Sometimes I perseverate for too long before it finally fades away.
Parker gets out of the bath, his naked little body unevenly runs over the fluffy comforter and he falls onto me while I'm typing in bed. Tonight I remember to close my computer and focus only on him. I watch him like a movie taking everything in. I take a snap shot to store in my box marked forever. I will most likely not remember this day ever existed, but this moment I hope I won't forget. I touch his achingly soft warm skin. I smell his clean perfect, burying my nose deep in his ivory neck. Breathing him in, dying to the past with each exhale.
We spend our final moments before the sun sets on the balcony.
I say, "Do you want gum?" to get him to look at the camera. My trick still works. I memorize his eyes but only by snap shots.
And then I let him play however he wants to play.
The golden in his eyes glows the perfect shade of lelow.
The outside sky turns dreamy.
I memorize his tissue thin eyelids, I am amazed. His little flower mouth is the ultimate prize. I give it a million tiny kisses before he goes to bed.
He does the swingy hair happy cookie dance and I laugh. Thank you for this snap shot, God. He is my home, my safe place too.
I think back to the day, full of so many thousands of trillions of things. Decisions, questions, turns, thoughts, breaths, statements, purchases, texts, feelings. Each day is just a serious of pictures, some that will fade away and some that will last forever.
XOXO, Chrissy
Find me on Facebook and on INSTAGRAM @lifewithgrey
It is 91 degrees and straight up Summer. I'm the outside lazy air and the hot breeze. I'm the inside blasting air conditioning and my gas tank always on E. I slog along and drop both boys off at Behavior Therapy. I stay a few extra minutes to play with Parker in the Sensory/Gross Motor room. His bare feet patter over the wall-to-wall rainbow colored floor mat. I name each color he steps on with each step takes.
Green! Yellow! Orange! Red! Blue. I then hold him still on each color until he repeats my words. Ghee! Lelow! Oakrjeh??!Whet! Boo! Lelow, lelow, lelow, he suddenly says for each new color and I squeal like a delighted 9 year old who just mastered a triple starburst on the rainbow loom. He's never said yellow before, I say smiling so loud it fills up the room. I can't believe he is really mine.
We sway together on the hefty occupational therapy swing. Parker stands up cautiously holding into the roped sides, a look of concentration tattooed on his face. He wraps his sweet dimpled hands around my neck. I am his safe. I am his home. I delight in the honor. I take a snap shot and hope to keep it forever. After time new snap shots may take its place and cause it to fade away. I take so long to say goodbye to him that I wonder if they wonder why I am still here. I sneak out during a distracted moment because I can't handle the breaking heart- his and mine. Sometimes that is the snap shot that sticks. I go to the car and I sit. And a magnetic force holds me in my car for too long. I look down and see two imaginary umbilical cords somehow never cut, just stretched, connecting me to my hearts.
I type some sharp and soft words into the keypad on my phone, the place I store my words that trickle out unexpectedly throughout the day. My words are like water and they quickly flow through me. So much so that I often don't even remember what I wrote the day or hour before.
Are you okay? I read your latest post, a friend will sometimes text. I panic and think- oh man. I don't even remember what I wrote, but whatever it is I must have sounded crazy. Sometimes I'm scared to show you what my crazy looks like, but I do anyway. Sometimes I hide it too. That is me. That is life. That is the blessing and the curse of sharing snap shots. Sometimes people think you are crazy when you aren't, and sometimes people think you are happy when you aren't too, and a thousand other in betweens. I sometimes have to sludge through things. I'm okay-sometimes even awesome. The times I worry is when I let the words build up and they threaten to bust the dam.
Die to the past every moment. You don't need it. Only refer to it when it is absolutely relevant to the present. Feel the power of this moment and the fullness of Being. Feel your presence.
eckhart tolle
I think of this quote when I need it and I breathe out the past. I die to it. I'm doing it right now with each exhale and firecracker pop on the keyboard. Sometimes all I need to do is write it and it's gone. Sometimes I perseverate for too long before it finally fades away.
Parker gets out of the bath, his naked little body unevenly runs over the fluffy comforter and he falls onto me while I'm typing in bed. Tonight I remember to close my computer and focus only on him. I watch him like a movie taking everything in. I take a snap shot to store in my box marked forever. I will most likely not remember this day ever existed, but this moment I hope I won't forget. I touch his achingly soft warm skin. I smell his clean perfect, burying my nose deep in his ivory neck. Breathing him in, dying to the past with each exhale.
We spend our final moments before the sun sets on the balcony.
I say, "Do you want gum?" to get him to look at the camera. My trick still works. I memorize his eyes but only by snap shots.
And then I let him play however he wants to play.
The golden in his eyes glows the perfect shade of lelow.
The outside sky turns dreamy.
I memorize his tissue thin eyelids, I am amazed. His little flower mouth is the ultimate prize. I give it a million tiny kisses before he goes to bed.
He does the swingy hair happy cookie dance and I laugh. Thank you for this snap shot, God. He is my home, my safe place too.
I think back to the day, full of so many thousands of trillions of things. Decisions, questions, turns, thoughts, breaths, statements, purchases, texts, feelings. Each day is just a serious of pictures, some that will fade away and some that will last forever.
XOXO, Chrissy
Find me on Facebook and on INSTAGRAM @lifewithgrey
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