The Parenting Imposter – What I Did for Love

I’m not positive, but, to me, it feels like every other parent has their act together. They really seem to know what they are doing and do it with confidence and without question. I never have. That was never more apparent, or more understandable, than with the birth of our first child.

My oldest son, Andrew, would have turned 29 on November 18^th. Andrew’s been gone eight years and every year, I like to take the time to write a little about him - partially, because I want to pay tribute and partially because some may not know his story.

In short, despite an unremarkable pregnancy, due to trauma at birth, Andrew was born severely developmentally disabled. There are more details here, but suffice it to say that it certainly wasn’t anything that was outlined in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”

I will say this much: From the moment he was born, we, and Andrew, were surrounded with love and support. Amazing family and friends rushed to our side, propped us up and never let us feel alone. Incredible doctors, nurses and professionals were there to help us navigate the chaos and confusion that spanned the first few weeks of his life. Many of you may have spent time in a NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) but you haven’t felt devastation until you know that you’re the family for which your story won’t have a happy ending.

Unlike most parents, we had two enormous decisions to make after he was born. First, because he had almost no brain activity, we elected to remove life support. At the time, machines were keeping him alive. As you can imagine, it was agonizing. Then, when Andrew began to breathe on his own, we had to make the heartbreaking decision of what to do next. It was clear that he needed round-the-clock care. Should that be done in our home, with help? Should we choose a special needs foster family? Should we send him to Central Wisconsin Center for the Developmentally Disabled in Madison?

If you know our story, you know that we chose Central Center. It’s funny, but as unsure of myself as I am as a parent, I have never, EVER, regretted that decision. It’s a commonly-held belief that “institutions” are cold and uncaring. That was not at ALL our experience. Even though it was crushing to let someone else care for my child, I knew that his care would be so much better at Central Center than I could give him in our home. And yet, despite the fact that Andrew lived a far longer and healthier life, I still live with a fair amount of guilt over whether I was a good parent to him. At this point, I’m resigned to the fact that it’s just something that I’ll carry with me forever.

Shortly after Andrew passed away, we received many sympathy cards. One was from an acquaintance who happens to be the parent of a special needs child. I don’t know this person very well and she doesn’t know me well nor did she know Andrew at all. In her card, in what I’m sure was meant to be well-intentioned, she said (after offering condolences): “You and I have had similar experiences but made very different choices.” (Her now-adult child has always lived with them.) Even today, that comment still hurts a little – partly because her child is ambulatory and communicative and Andrew was not and partly because it’s a little true. We did make very different choices. I’m not sure she understood that they were for very different reasons.

As much as I rationalize the choices we made for Andrew and still stand by them, I have to admit that I am not always completely at peace with them. I feel this way when I remember that particular sympathy card. I feel that way when people give me far too much credit for being Andrew’s mom. I feel that way when I watch good friends patiently and lovingly parent their special needs children in their own homes. But I also think it’s possible to make the right decision and forever live with tiny pieces of doubt and questioning.

My other two children thrived and grew up in our home and loved their brother as much as possible. But there’s always, for me, that nagging question: What would our family be if Andrew had lived in our home? Honestly, I think we’d be fragile and fractured and worn down by a life that would have had to include round-the-clock caregivers. But we will never know.

What makes a good parent? Is it having great kids? If that’s the case, make me mother of the year. Andrew was awesome. My other kids are awesome, something for which I feel like I can’t take any credit at all. Sure, I did some mothering, some caring, lots of loving…but I’ve always felt like I’ve fallen short in the traditional “good parent” department. Perhaps that’s a reflection of my insecure nature or maybe it’s because I’m not like the moms you see on TV. I was a below-average disciplinarian, short on patience, sometimes, admittedly, wishing they’d grow up faster. (Be careful what you ask for.) I wasn’t much of a cook, didn’t sew or craft and I’m pretty sure I rarely gave out good advice.

Nevertheless, our family has grown up and moved on. Yes, we've ALL grown up. I was only 26 when Andrew was born - still a child in so many ways. We will, forever, be Andrew’s family. But I feel like the incredible caregivers at Central Center also get to call themselves Andrew’s family. I’m humbled to share that with them and will never be able to thank them enough.

You know that phrase “It takes a village?” That’s really the story of Andrew’s upbringing. With our first child, we chose, out of love, to let others help raise him and care for him. Even today, that’s really difficult for me to admit. And yet, because of that choice, Andrew lived far longer than he was supposed to. Sometimes the hardest choice is the best choice.

Let's Be Adults About Politics

One year. 365 days. 52 weeks. Those are three ways of telling you how long before we elect the next president of our country on November 8^th, 2016. It’s also how much time we have to grow up and stop embarrassing ourselves. I’m writing this to suggest that we all start acting like adults and remember that children are watching.

Although we are a year away from the 2016 election, we’re already about six solid months into election nonsense. We’ve seen several debates and more internet memes than I care to remember.

Here’s the problem with the internet: It gives people the idea that it’s OK to shame, blame, point fingers, make fun of and spew hate at political candidates….on BOTH sides. That’s right, I’ve seen signs calling Scott Walker a “tool.” I’ve seen others that call Hillary Clinton a “bitch.” I’ve seen a video with children flipping off Donald Trump. I’ve seen countless memes making fun of Bernie Sanders and his messy hair.

Is this what our forefathers and foremothers (is that a word?) fought for – jokes and behavior that aren’t even worthy of middle schoolers?

Last week, my husband and I attended an event at which Mary Matalin and James Carville spoke. (If you’re not familiar with them, Matalin is a very right-wing conservative and Carville is a very left-wing liberal. Oh, and they happen to be married to each other.) They spoke on the night of the most recent Republican debate. Here’s what amazed me: Although they disagree(d) with almost everything each other had to say, they were respectful of each other and never once resorted to low-end jokes or finger-pointing. And they could have – they were there to “entertain” us. I wished that all of America could take their example and act accordingly.

No, I haven’t lost my sense of humor. But I’m so tired of the misplaced outrage and anger. I get that we are mad about economy, jobs, social programs….etc. But couldn’t we do more with less hatred and more respectful discussion? Somehow, the internet allows the average person to do a fair amount of bullying by just reposting on Facebook or retweeting on Twitter. That's right, I'm calling it bullying. Just because you're making fun of a person in the public eye doesn't make it any less mean-spirited.

Last week, in a Creative Writing Club full of middle-school kids, we used the election as a writing prompt. We asked them to imagine they were running for president and write a campaign speech and platform. Along with some goofy comments about chickens (yeah, I have no idea), there were multiple comments about destroying Donald Trump and China. These are MIDDLE SCHOOL CHILDREN. Where do you think they got these ideas? I think they are listening to what we say and do. Is this really what we want them to hear?

Yes, I’m unrealistic in thinking that this upcoming election year might be any less awful than past years. I, too, hate the endless TV ads and robo-calls, but I’d like to think that once in a while, the internet (and we) can be a powerful force for change. Perhaps we can share the idea that it’s cool to have respectful discussions and disagreement. Maybe people that disagree can look each other in the eyes and LISTEN TO EACH OTHER. See, that’s what I think is missing – we’ve stopped listening. We’re too busy staring down at our phones to sit down, think and ask someone: “What matters to you?”

We have to stop treating politics and elections as a team sport. We have to stop classifying ourselves as Republicans or Democrats and remember that we are ALL Americans. We ALL play for the same team. Just because our candidate didn’t win doesn’t mean we should slap a “He’s/She’s Not MY President” bumper sticker on our car.

I challenge all of us to sit down with someone who holds opposing political views and listen to what they say. (If you don’t have friends who hold different opinions than yours, I challenge you to find some. Surrounding yourself with people who only agree with you can be misleading...and boring.) Let’s all have grown-up conversations about the very grown-up problems that exist in our country today. Let’s hold ourselves and our elected officials to higher standards of behavior. After all, our children are watching...and listening.

Oh, and one more thing: Don’t forget to vote.

Embracing Our Imperfect "Covers"

Imagine if you walked into a bookstore or a library and every book had the same cover. The titles were different, as were the “insides,” but the books all looked the same. What would you do? I think you’d probably open the book, read a couple of paragraphs or pages or maybe you’d ask a friend if they’d read one of those books. In short, you’d take a couple of minutes to learn about what is INSIDE that book.

My friends, I think that we are all books and we’re only looking at our covers.

This is the blogpost that I don’t want to write, but my brain keeps resurrecting it and so I’m just going to throw caution to the wind and write it. Let me explain.

A couple of years ago, I made a big deal out of dropping some weight. I, regrettably, spoke as if I had found that Holy Grail of weight loss – how to lose it and keep it off. (Just like those annoying internet ads that keep showing up because once upon a time you clicked on something about losing weight.) In any case, karma’s a bitch and I’m here to announce that I’ve gained a bunch of weight back. Yep, I didn’t just fall off the wagon, I think I lit it on fire as it rolled away.

I could offer excuses that involve surgery, life transitions, stress…but I won’t. Thanks to loving food and discovering the joy of IPA beer, I’m back in bigger sizes. (No, I’m not comfortable enough to say how much I gained back, but it’s enough that I noticed. I’m sure you did too but were nice enough not to mention it.)

So, this weight gain has made me feel bad about myself. This has been a lifelong struggle for me. I have always, always, always wanted to be thinner. Growing up, my best friend was (and still is) one of the thinnest people I know. Next to her, I always felt chubby. Funny enough, I look back at photos of me then and I looked great…maybe even a little pretty. The point is, I didn’t think I looked good enough and so what I felt inside, no doubt, reflected outside.

I now have the pleasure of hanging around my 84-year old Mom…a lot. I take her photo all the time, partially because I want to capture all these moments with her and partially because I really, truly think she looks beautiful. I want her to know that. And I want to absorb that belief – that we’re ALL beautiful in the skin (a.k.a. “cover”) we’re in.

Recently, a friend of mine and I were exchanging messages. She said “I’M A SIZE 16!” It was spoken in such a way as to imply that size 16 was the most awful thing in the world. I had two thoughts – first, she’s beautiful and I never thought about what size she was, and second, why do we judge ourselves based on our size? It’s like going up a dress size is, somehow, a failure. I know I felt that way recently when I had to pack up all my smaller sized clothes and put them in the basement.

The point I’m trying to get to is that we all play a part in this feeling that our cover matters more than what’s inside. Our society is currently fixated on covers, especially women. I recently read an opinion piece congratulating Caitlyn Jenner because she’ll now be judged less on her achievements and more on how she looks. How sad is that? The multi-billion dollar weight loss industry would be nowhere if it weren’t for our overwhelming belief that if we looked better, life would be better.

Lately, I’ve been taking a lot more photos of myself and my family. To be honest, I don’t feel very comfortable looking at the photos of me. But I’m seriously trying to train myself to look at the photos and say: “Gosh, that was a fun moment,” or “Didn’t I look happy?” I have friends who are terribly critical of themselves and HATE being photographed. I think they are all beautiful.

As I get older, unfortunately, I go to more and more funerals. One thing I always love to see are the photo boards that people compile. Be honest: Have you ever looked at photo boards at a funeral and said: “Oh, Mary looks really overweight in that photo?” I seriously never have. I just take in the moment that was photographed and enjoy the story that is being told.

I recently had the opportunity to hear Glennon Doyle Melton (best known for her Momastery blog) speak. Her message is one of acceptance of who we are and NOT comparing ourselves to others. And yet, for the first few moments, in my brain, I was thinking: “Oh, she’s so thin and pretty. I wonder how she stays so thin?” I was so wrapped up in judging her cover, I wasn’t, at first, listening to what she was saying….even as she was talking about battling bulimia, addiction, depression and her hilarious take on other moms parenting AT her.

Yes, I believe in being healthy, not eating junk and working out. I do not always do those things and I don’t want the achievement or failure of meeting those goals to be the report card of my life. Imagine people at my funeral saying: “Oh, Karen was doing great for a while, and then she ate too much and drank beer. Such a waste of a life.” Are you kidding?! I want people to remember me as fun and stupid and kind and a lover of life. I truly hope that I’m so much more than my dress size.

The world is full of people judging "covers." There are entire blogs devoted to shaming people who wore something unfortunate. I imagine being a celebrity requires daily attempts at looking perfect every time you leave the house. Ugh. Can't we get over that?

On the plus side (pardon the pun), pop culture has recently been very supportive of women who are not rail-thin supermodels. Melissa McCarthy has shown us that women can be big AND beautiful and VERY talented. How great is that? 

So, here’s my idea for how we can all embrace our covers. As you go out today, you’ll probably notice people of all shapes and sizes. Perhaps they’re saying something funny or wearing cute shoes or have cool glasses on or just seem awesome. Compliment them or strike up a conversation…even if you don’t know them. Have you ever received a compliment from a total stranger? Doesn’t it have tremendous power to just make your day?

We need to love ourselves more and better. Our kids, especially our daughters are watching us to see how we embrace our imperfect selves. I feel like we owe it to them and to US to love every bit of us.

Sad Alert

It wasn't giving up driving or moving out of her house. It wasn't needing a cane. It wasn't writing her will. It wasn't living in an assisted-living environment. It wasn't requiring a walker. It wasn't turning 82 or 83 or 84.

No, what finally made my Mom sad was finding out that she'd be getting a Life Alert bracelet. A few falls that, thankfully, didn't hurt her, made us worried enough about the times when she might fall and not be near the pull cords in her apartment. My concern was hearing that she fell and nobody found her until the next time her medication was dispensed, which could be hours.

But this sadness really took her, and me, by surprise. She's been so flexible, SO resilient. I came to believe that she was our own family's Weeble. (Remember Weebles - they wobble but they don't fall down?) I forgot to remember that she doesn't want to be old any more than any of us do.

"It just makes me realize that I am old and that eventually I'll die. It's one of those thoughts that you ignore most of the time...and then something like this (the Life Alert bracelet) forces you to face it," said Mom.

I get it. Being my Mom's primary "caretaker" (and I use that term loosely because she mostly cares for herself), I sometimes tend to get bossy and patronizing and, well, kinda parental about things. Let's be honest - roles have reversed. I have to remind her to do things, to wear different things, to be careful, to call with anything she needs. Sometimes, I admit, I've gotten crabby. I've admonished her about over-worrying about any number of things. Like an old married couple, we annoy each other from time to time.

But now, my heart breaks a little, because I understand why she feels sad and this is one of those things that I can't just dismiss. She's right. She's getting older...and little by little, things are aging. I tend to brush away comments she makes but I see little changes. I can't protect her from these, which hurts. Sounds like parenting, doesn't it? Sometimes we can't protect our kids from the things that hurt the most.

In the meantime, she's mentioned that she talks to other residents where she lives. Some have Life Alerts and won't use them. Others have them and have no need. I can only hope that friendship and time will help her adjust to her new "companion." It's the best I can do.