Coming into the light: Helping my daughter in her recovery from anorexia

 It's been two months since I last wrote, and a lot has changed in that time. The most important change has been a dramatic improvement in Sofie's mental health. I feel hesitant to jinx it, but for the past month Sofie has been much better. She has worked hard to be in recovery from anorexia, and finally acknowledges what has been happening to her for the past year and a half. With the help of the right psych meds, she now eats three meals per day plus snacks. Although we abandoned the FBT method somewhat (it just didn't work for us in its prescribed fashion so we had to modify the plan to work for my child), she is now able to choose to eat when she wakes up and throughout the day without me having to remind her. She is working towards her goal of having a nose piercing (that is the big reward for three months of continued eating) and despite my initial hesitance to let a child so young pierce her face, I will be delighted to see that stud on her beautiful nose to remind me daily of the battle we have fought together. 

This anorexia struggle has been hell on earth, and I have had to restart anxiety medication to cope with it, as the constant fear that your child's life is in danger will make even the most calm and stable person a miserable, anxious wreck. I am learning to be ok with the fact that I have gained a lot of weight through my child's struggle, with the depression that accompanies watching someone you love struggle so badly, and in the process of re-feeding her the calories she was lacking. I am coming to terms with my own views of weight and body shape in our society, and although I prefer to be someone who is active and strong, I am trying to view my body as the precious vessel that carries me through life. Regardless of what size and shape I am, my vessel is doing me a huge favor, and I must be thankful. 

Our society has a seemingly endless abundance of fucked up shit to say about women's bodies, and I am even more aware of just how disturbing those messages are now that I am trying desperately to protect my daughter from it. Coming from a family of people with weight-related body image issues, Sofie's struggle has put into perspective just how harmful so many of those messages can be. There is literally no reason for anyone to comment on anyone else's size, and yet we do it time and again, unconsciously, leading only to harm.  My goal as I continue to support my daughter through this challenging time in her life is to be mindful of the comments I make, and try as much as I can to educate others when I hear unconscious comments about themselves or others. I wish everyone could see our bodies for just what they are, vessels to help carry us through this glorious and confusing existence. 

The Battle of a Lifetime

 It's been years since I've written. I am unsure as to why I've gone so long, I've meant to write, but it's just gotten away from me. Probably we were all so consumed on our phones during the pandemic that I couldn't look at another screen, or maybe I didn't have anything to say. The truth is likely that I just forgot. But I am currently in a battle that is so deep and scary that I have to write about it or I fear I will lose my mind. 

I am not sure I will ever post this writing. I hope I do, but I have no idea if that will seem like a good idea or not. My youngest child is entrenched in the deep embrace of anorexia and has been struggling badly for at least a year. This is a personal hell that only some people can relate to, but no one should be ashamed of. It has a deep and powerful hold on the victim, that as my friend says is like a bittersweet vine that climbs a tree and strangles it to death. Just when you think you've gotten to the roots, it shoots back and wraps its vines tighter and tighter. 

 As her mother it is my job to pull her out of this trench, to chop down these vines, and I can assure you that absolutely no one wants this job. It took me a long time to realize what was happening to my child, and by the time I let go of my denial and took full stock of how deep it was, my baby was drowning. It's been about a month since I woke up and poked the bear, and it's in full fury now. Anorexia gets loud and angry when you call it into the light, and most people who treat eating disorders liken it to someone living inside of your child (I think of it as a little tumor who talks, living on her brain and ordering her not to eat). The only proven way to kill that tumor is by calling it out and taking away its power. It has taken me the last month to see that there is no other way. 

So for the past month we've been floundering around trying to figure out what to do. We tried a week of partial hospitalization, which didn't work well for Sofie, and made her depression and anxiety rage to a scary place, so we are now going it at home with outpatient supports. We may revisit the partial idea, or a residential placement if our work at home is not enough, but Jon and I have come to terms with the fact that regardless of what treatment choice we make, the rules and routine at home have to remain constant in order to fight this disease. 

We have been fully practicing Family Based Treatment (FBT) for the past three days (we tried to practice this up until now but didn't see the full magnitude of how we have to completely commit in order for it to work) and it is HARD. FBT requires parents to take complete control of their child's eating habits in order to rid them of anorexia. It takes months to years to work, but it does work. I have been out of work, tethered to the kitchen, and fighting battle after battle over grilled cheese sandwiches and smoothies. Each time I win a battle and Sofie eats what I put in front of her, anorexia rages louder in her head. But the only way to quiet the beast is to eat your way to health. Her starved brain cannot make decisions that will lead to anything healthy, so I have to make them for her. She is angry at me for doing it, but also I know she wants help and can't find a way out on her own. 

So here we are on day three, and I am hoping to keep this blog as a log for a bit to see how we do. Today I won a battle with a grilled cheese and I felt very proud of my accomplishments. I took her skiing today and she was the happiest she's been in a long time. I am dreading the next mealtime. Every meal fills me with anxiety until its done, but I have to maintain calm at all time and hold my ground. She has to eat, and anorexia cannot win, but man it's scary out here. 

Sofie becomes a person I do not recognize when anorexia is speaking for her. She appears possessed and says things that my wonderful child would never say, in a voice I don't even recognize, and on several occasions I can hear Sofie poke through and whisper that she wants help, but doesn't think that she deserves it, or that she wants to eat, but she just physically cannot. After many years of terribly hard parenting times, it is amazing but this is the absolute hardest thing I've ever done. This battle is horrendous, and terrifying, and sneaky, and depressing. All I can do is try and hang on while I wave my machete and chop down the vines one by one. 

Scattering Love

It has been four months, three weeks, and two days since our kids lost their mother. I don't know what the hardest part is for each of them, but I would guess it is trying to make it through every day as though everything was normal, when it so clearly will never be the "normal" they once knew ever again. It might be the fear that everyone else has forgotten, that everyone has moved on with their lives, and they have been left behind in a space of despair, desperately yearning to talk to her again. They each vocalize (or don't vocalize) their grief in such completely different ways, but all equally profound and deeply heartbreaking. We never forget what they've gone through, the sadness in their eyes won't let us forget.

Today would have been Rebekah's 39th birthday. To commemorate the day we made a pilgrimage to her favorite beach, Scarborough Beach in Rhode Island, to scatter some of her ashes at the spot where her family has vacationed for years. The day was warm and sunny when we arrived at the beach, but a thick warm fog quickly rolled in and enveloped us. It felt like a spirit embracing us, and I can't help but wonder if Rebekah wasn't with her kids as they sent her ashes off to sea. The kids wanted to walk quite a ways out on the jetty, to a small inlet that was protected from the wind. They took turns sprinkling the ashes and watching the water sweep them away. It was a beautiful moment, one that I know would have made their mother proud.

After the ashes scattering we headed north to Enfield and met up with Rebekah's family at the cemetery to bring flowers to the space where the rest of her ashes are buried. The kids were very happy to see their grandparents, and it was a nice way to end the day.

Jon and I are beyond proud. We are in awe of these kids. Their kindness, grace, strength, and perseverance in the face of such a deep and profound loss never ceases to amaze us. They are beautiful, resilient humans who I am certain will grow up to become beautiful, resilient adults.

I want it to get easier for them. I don't know when or if that will ever happen. I cannot imagine losing my mother, not even now at 38. Thinking about it makes me weep. I want to shoulder some of that for them so that they can feel joy for at least a little while. I am hoping that at some point they will find some peace. Until then we will continue to hold them up with love as best we can.

Going Home

I just returned home from two weeks in the Dominican Republic, a country that helped to shape the core of who I am. I have been back often, as most of you know, but for the first time in 16 years I was able to visit the town that first made me fall in love with the island. I did not visit San Cristobal while I was married to Francisco for many reasons, most of all because he wasn't comfortable with the idea, and also because it was logistically hard to fit into our trips there. Jon was on board with the idea of us visiting the town I called home back in the 90's, and was excited to meet the people there, so we went together.

It's interesting visiting a place that you were so desperately in love with, so long after that time. So much has changed, and yet somehow nothing has changed. Many people have moved, died, or grown up and didn't recognize me, but the feeling was the same. It's a gritty town with an edge, but at the core, just like any other place on the island, it's filled with loving people who are trying their best to get by. We sat on the porch at Maria's (a woman who was like a mother to me), although she had just recently left for a trip abroad to visit her daughter in the Netherlands, so I was unable to see her. Life flowed around us the way it usually does, and I felt like I had never left. I haven't had so many feelings overwhelm me in a very long time. I found myself texting Jane (my best friend who lived there with me) to give her a sense of how it felt, but even with that I couldn't make it clear how surreal it was.

Being back in San Cristobal was like floating like a ghost over my adolescence, viewing my 18 year old self from above and feeling like I was watching her from above. It felt like going home again. The poverty there is always staggering, and it always leaves me with an ache to not be able to help my friends more, but I was able to do a lot with the donations we had collected to rebuild a friend's home that was destroyed by fire. We were also able to pay for medical expenses for several  people and buy groceries for some hungry families, so our trip was helpful on many levels. I wanted to stay there forever, or at least for a few days, and hopefully at some point I will be able to go back and stay a while, as opposed to just a few hours.

The rest of our trip was exciting and packed with fun and sunshine. We brought my daughter and three of Jon's kids, who did well with the culture shock. I was ready to come home after the two weeks, as the exhaustion of translating was wearing on me, and I missed my surly teenage son (who sadly didn't want to come with us for many teenage angsty reasons). So we're back in the gray New England winter with cozy fires in the pellet stoves and dogs to snuggle with, and our kids are back to ignoring us and hiding in their rooms. Life with teens is a constant feeling of loneliness and angst, but at least I have the memory of the warm salt water washing over me and the sun of the island to keep me company.

Grief

I have been trying to muster up the ability to write a blog for quite a while, but I can't seem to get myself to sit down and get the words out. First I was consumed by the busy everyday life of the working mom, driving kids around and helping make sure everyone has taken their medications, does their homework and picks up their bedrooms, while also staying up all night at work helping bring babies into the world night after night. The regular routine many of us are used to that swallows us up when we aren't paying attention, and leaves little room for much else. So I didn't write for months.

Then something big and awful happened.

My step-children's mother, Rebekah, died on Thanksgiving day.

It came out of nowhere and we don't know what happened, but she died suddenly and without warning and for a long while our lives just stopped moving. We have been picking up the pieces ever since, trying to help sort out the confusion that comes when someone dies.

We had a challenging relationship with Rebekah, as most people do with their exes, but for the most part we worked it out and were able to parent the kids in an amicable way without too much drama or arguments. We were able to share holidays together with the kids, and talk back and forth about the minutiae of life in a way that felt good to all of us and made the kids feel safe and secure. Although she struggled to find her path in life, she loved her kids, that much I know, and they loved her very much.

It has been a roller coaster of emotion for the four kids she left behind, to say the least. It is an unparalleled level of unfairness that they have to endure this kind of a loss this early in their lives. When they should be thinking about college, and prom, and theater productions, and middle school instead they are left feeling empty and sad and confused. All I want is to ease their burden, but I can't. There isn't really anything anyone can do or say that can make this easier for them. They just have to go through the process, and the process is hard and shitty.

There are a lot of things I am grateful for. I am grateful to everyone in our lives who have helped to hold up the kids, and Jon, and me so we can be there for them when we need to be. The amount of food and love and kind words and cards we have received has been both overwhelming and uplifting. I had no idea how helpful food was when people are grieving, and this will certainly change the way I approach helping people when a loved one dies. I don't know how much it was helpful for the kids, but it sure as hell was amazing that Jon and I didn't have to spend every waking moment in the kitchen. I am grateful that the kids were home with Jon the night that the police banged on our door to tell us the news, and they were not with her to witness such tragedy. I am grateful that her family was warm and accepting of the role that I play in her children's lives, and that planning her services was not a difficult ordeal. I am grateful for the love that Jon and I have for each other and our kids, that keeps us afloat as we wade through this deep ocean of child grief.

I just wish I could hold onto the kids' sadness for bit so they didn't have to. And at the same time I don't ever wish to feel that kind of pain. It is remarkably unfair. Helping kids grieve is a challenge I don't feel like I have the training for. Each day is up and down and I honestly never know what kind of emotions to expect at any given moment. I feel like we are grasping to the side of a fast moving train, trying to stay attached but at any moment one of them might lose their grip and fly away.

We are gearing up for everyone to go back to school tomorrow. We have had as good a Christmas as we ever could have hoped for, given the circumstances, and I think some routine will do everyone good. I am looking for the light at the end of this dark and narrow tunnel, and although I do not yet see it I am hopeful it will come soon.

Gearing Up for Summer With Teens

I love summer. It is my favorite season, which likely comes as no surprise to anyone who knows how much I love hot weather. But the one thing I do not love about summer is spending it with teens.

I don't mean to be negative about teenagers in general. Most of our kids love to go outside and do things, and I have so much fun doing that with them, but there is a small sect that would be the most content if they were able to stay inside and play video games 18 hours a day. It is unfathomable to me to think about spending even one glorious summer day indoors, let alone all of them. A couple of our kids have no interest in going to camp, or joining us on our family camping vacation (just one someone in particular, but that is so sad to me). So I dread the summer when it is my job to break out the mental jaws of life and force these kids into outdoor fun.

The hard part is that they often are too busy complaining to allow themselves to have a good time. Nate is especially good at this routine. He will not have fun, and you can't make him, so this year I am giving up on trying to make anyone enjoy themselves. I will force them outside (partially by withholding all access to video games) and then the rest is up to them. I'm hoping this takes the pressure off of me, and allows me to enjoy my own summer.

This is all likely a product of my having spoiled my kids. If I could do it again I think I would likely withhold all fun things until they were begging to go to the lake or out to ice cream, and not make it all so readily available. Jon and I are going to try changing our video game policy in our home (to no video games in our home) because who actually benefits from those horrible things anyway? I also need some creative strategies to convincing a kid to go outside and making him think it's his idea. So if anyone has any thoughts I am all ears. Summer in New England is way too short not to enjoy every second of it.

In The Trenches

Parenting  is HARD. This is not a cliché. This is not a whining mommy blog where I can't get my three year old to put on their socks (which was also hard, not to minimize the experience of people dealing with three year olds, I whined loudly on this blog during those times as well). No, this parenting of these children who are both my children and my blended children as they emerge from divorce and rocky pasts, and struggle through depression and anxiety and trauma and heartache is so much harder than I ever thought possible. I am talking the hardest fucking job I have ever had.

It is not the daily arguments or tantrums that overwhelm me, but the emotional sadness that they all feel at different times. It is usually staggered, but sometimes it's all at once, and it is a deep, deep sadness. It is an intense pull of emotional turmoil that they need to let out, and sometimes they do and they feel better. Other times they don't let it out but instead it festers into a dark and scary explosion, which splatters our lives with the heavy, sticky paste of raw emotion gone wild. It is both emotionally depleting and heart-wrenching for us to muddle through with them. Even when they express these emotions and feel better, as a mother I can't help but absorb those emotions in to my own being and hold onto them for my children, and it drags me down into sadness and misery right along side of them, as they seem to rise out of it I feel wasted and vacant.

The part that also saddens me is that they don't really seem to rise out of it. Most of our kids seem alright for a few moments, maybe a week or even a couple of months, but then we're back to the pit of sadness again, with threats of suicide and hurting themselves, trips to the doctors and therapists, and anger and crying that is often worse than the last time. The older they get, the more intense the emotional rise, and the harder the crash.

What is also alarming is that it is every single one of them. We have six kids, and not one of them is OK. I thought for a while that maybe they were feeding off of each other, and I do think that the amount of attention paid to a child in crisis does affect the overall morale, but these kids are individually feeling the pain of their lived experiences. There is nothing that either Jon or I can seem to do to ever make it better for any of them. We try and we fail, and although I believe that we are not terrible at this, I can't help but feel like a failure most of the time.

I get a lot of "those kids are lucky to have you" which, like adoptive or foster parents know, is not actually true. These kids would be lucky to have not gone through all of the shit that got us here in the first place. All of our kids deserved two loving parents from the inception who loved each other enough and were stable enough to create a healthy home. Our kids deserved to not witness the collapse of their families. Our kids deserved to not have terrible things happen to them. Our kids deserved to have a life free of emotional abuse. Our kids deserved to be able to express their emotions and have them validated. Our kids deserved all of this before they were so old that they were broken and harmed from it. All kids deserve these simple things from the beginning.

I hope we can get them all safely to the other side. I don't know what will happen or how their lives will pan out but as any parents knows, all you really want is for your children to be happy, in whatever way that is possible for them. I absolutely hate not knowing what to expect next. I wish I was a religious person who could pray loudly to my deity for salvation of their souls, but I don't believe in any of that, and I am pretty sure it wouldn't do much anyway. Right now we live in the trenches of parenting, and here we will remain for many more years. Here's to hoping we all make it out safe.

Last Night in Cuba

It’s our last night in Cuba as I write this, and I really don’t know that I am ready to leave. I miss my family and I am anxious to get back to them, but I cannot believe what an excellent trip this has been. I love traveling and I love the Caribbean, but there is something about Cuba that is so distinctly unique and special, it’s almost beyond words.

Cuba is relaxed in a way that is unlike anywhere else. It isn’t just an “island time” kind of relaxed. Cuba is relaxed in that the people who live here are not stressed and worried about life all the time. They are neither starving to death, nor rushing around to get everything done all the time. Cubans are not worried that someone will rob them, or shoot them, or about where they will find their next meal. Above all, the people of Cuba are the nicest, most welcoming people on Earth. There is virtually no crime here. Women are generally very respected, and there is minimal racism. Also, it’s warm and beautiful, and we have seen no mosquitos.

This week I have hiked in the mountains and swam in the cleanest river water I’ve ever seen. I dove into the turquoise blue of the Caribbean and danced to the twirling hypnotic rhythm of salsa with talented partners who brought me back to my early 20’s in Miami. I climbed to the tops of tall old castles and took in the endless miles of stunning landscape, and I absorbed the deep, meaningful history of this island that is so remarkable in its triumphs. I spent a week with my mom and didn’t have one argument. In fact, we have had a fantastic time and I would be more than happy to do it again.

This week we have been unplugged from all of our outside lives. There is minimal wifi in Cuba and when you do find a connection it is spotty at best. I managed to find a signal for about 20 minutes on Tuesday, so I could call home and check in, but other than that I have no idea what’s going on in the world outside of this island and I love that. I have read an entire book, I can’t remember when I last put my phone down long enough to do that. I have used my iphone to take pictures and check the time, and nothing else, and I do not look forward to picking it up again. I do not remember the last time I felt this relaxed, it may have been the last time I was in Cuba. I need to make some adjustments to the way I do things at home and the way I prioritize my time, because I would like to feel this good more often.

I think everyone should come to Cuba. It is magical here, and it sinks into your bones slowly and without you even realizing it, until, as my mother announced a few days into our trip “I really love it here”. Every single person we have met this week has treated us with unwavering kindness, from the hosts at our casas particulares, to the people on the street who we asked for directions. I have asked multiple Cuban people if this is their experience with everyone here, and they tell me that yes, it is. Someday I will come back and bring my kids to experience this slice of paradise and hope that they feel the magic as deeply as I do.

Saying Goodbye With Love and Hats

This weekend we laid my grandfather Nathaniel Harrison Hartshorne to rest. Our family gathered together and donned his many hats to parade in a line (in order of our age) to the Blawenburg cemetery and bury his ashes. We held hands and took turns throwing dirt into the spot and saying a few words of thanks or "love you". My grandmother started it off with a smile saying "save a space for me!" Tears were shed, then we shared a moment of silence on a cold, crisp, spring morning that he would most certainly have loved. It was short, sweet, and a perfect send off. We will have a large memorial service in the summer, with the many friends and extended family members who were touched by Bumpy's life, but this week it was just us, and we all needed that.

My grandparents' house feels so different now. It is cozy and warm as always, and my grandmother is the most adorable and hilarious person in the world (putting things away in the most bizarre places, plates slid in among the cookbooks, orange juice on top of the washing machine) who is still able to laugh at herself and see the joy in life. But it is so strange to have spent the past 37 years coming into a house and now suddenly not find Bumpy in his office writing, or out chopping wood in the barn. Death is the most unsettling of situations, because even when you understand it and are at peace with it, you still find yourself looking around for that person and feeling the hole they have left in you. We each took one of Bumpy's hats home, and I will hang mine in my closet and look at it daily when I get dressed, to remind myself of the pride Bumpy took in getting dressed each day. Forever a dapper gentleman, wearing button down shirts right up until the end, I will strive to take that kind of pride in myself.

Thank you, Bumpy, for always listening, and for teaching us all to be the best we can be. Farewell.

The Ultimate Responsibility

Man, my kids have been giving me a run for my money lately. It's really not much fun sometimes. It's interesting to try and figure out how one can simultaneously love being a mother and hate all of the responsibility that goes along with parenting at the same time.

I have come to the conclusion that I really do not want to be ultimately responsible for whether or not these kids turn out to be good humans. It's certainly a lot to shoulder. But yet I have no choice, there will definitely be some raging internal guilt and harsh judgement from others if I totally drop the ball and don't see them through to adulthood.

My son was particularly challenging this week. This child has been difficult from about the time he could walk. I love him dearly. As in throw myself in front of a bus to save his ungrateful ass kind of love. But uuugggghhh, is he hard to manage on the day to day without going bald from ripping out my hair. He is smart, and charming, and has the potential to be kind when he wants to be, and really, really mean, angry, anxious, depressed, and selfish a whole lot of the time. We are working on that, along with all of the other intense 12 year old emotions that come with middle school, divorce, moving, and blending families.

I realize that other people have it much worse. Nate isn't challenging in the intense ways that many kids I know are challenging, he doesn't have an attachment disorder, or autism, or any physical or learning disabilities, or any other major issue that I see making so many other parents struggle. I am lucky to have him and his sister and their ultimate health and good fortune. Nate is just a run of the mill kid who was given an adult body and hormones far before he was ready for them, and who has always pushed me to my limits, ever since he could talk. The combination of the two, along with a whole lot of change that he didn't ask for has made him unbearable most days. For me, when managing the emotions of five other struggling teens and tweens, this is enough to make it hard to deal.

This week (before all the struggle) we had planned an event for just the two of us to go out for his birthday. I debated cancelling this event, it was a major plan, had cost a lot of money and was his big birthday gift, but in the end I decided that I still wanted to go and spend time with him one on one. I am extremely grateful that I made that choice, because ultimately what I always find is that when one of my kids is acting out it is often in response to them trying desperately to get my attention. We had the best time together that we've had in years, and at the end of the night he was laughing with me and taking selfies, and connecting with me in a way that I really had worried for a while wasn't possible anymore. I am so relieved to know my boy is still in there, masked most of the time by teenage resentment and hostility. The glimmer of his true self gives me hope, and helps me get up in the morning to keep trying to see them through to adulthood.





Preview attachment IMG_4634.jpg

IMG_4634.jpg

1 MB

The Final Months of a Beautiful Life

This week I am in New Jersey helping to care for my dying grandfather, a man we call Bumpy. Bumpy has always been the pinnacle of strength in our family, a man we all look up to and ask for advice on how to navigate life. Growing up Bumpy taught me many important lessons, including how to correctly tie a bow tie (always a distinguished gentleman) and how NOT to put your elbows on the table during dinner. His steadfast and adoring love for my grandmother is still going strong, even as he is too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.

In order to leave us all something to remember him (not that we won't have a plethora of memories) in the past month Bumpy published his own book of letters. This collection is a treasure trove of various letter he has written to friends and family members over the years, a true testament to who Bumpy is. We all received countless penned letters over the years, it was truly a gift of his. Bumpy had a way of writing letters that made the recipient feel incredibly lucky to have such an interested correspondent.

Watching my grandfather come to the end of his life has been an enlightening time for me. Our family is incredibly lucky, and to die in your own home, with your wife of 65 years by your side, surrounding by all of your loved ones and with all of your faculties intact, is an enormous gift. It really is beautiful, may we all be so lucky.

The Daily Fear of Sending Your Kids to School

I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to blog about today. It's been a while, I don't have a computer so it's hard to find the time. I have a lot on my mind, but mostly I am weighed down with the heaviness of what our country is going through, day after day, week after week, with the amount of gun violence in the USA. As a mother of school-aged children, I don't feel safe sending my kids to school, or really anyplace else right now. Kids are getting shot and killed in the place that was designed to help them grow and learn, and NOBODY IS DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Children in this country have literally been dying for years and we are so tremendously damaged as a society that we actually have stopped noticing when this happens.

It is terrifying to parent like this. I would give anything to pack up my family and move us to a country with gun control laws, but at the same time that seems so impossible to orchestrate and carry out. What do we do as parents? What can the mothers do? We have to stop this insanity and we have to make people listen. I feel powerless and it is consuming me and every one of us.

In our own  personal lives Jon and I continue to slog through each day with its individual rewards and challenges that come with managing the blended family. So many needs on a daily basis, and it often feels like none of them are going to be alright, but I hope I'm wrong about that. I feel like 85% of my life is just keeping them alive and the rest is a crap shoot. It's hard to find the joy in that idea, but somehow we must keep on trucking and hope we don't get in the way of somebody's misplaced rage.

We need help as a society, help beyond help beyond help, and so far there is not even a glimmer that anyone with any power at all gives a shit about any of us. If someone has a tactical solution for how we can effect some positive change, I am all ears and on board to fight this shit.

Five Days of Heaven: Food, Friends, and Fauna in Portland

Last month Jon and I took a couples trip to Portland, OR. We went with two other couples that we are dear friends with, to visit another wonderful couple that lives in Portland. The ladies and I have been best friends since high school, and we are all fortunate (after many years of trying for some of us) to be married to lovely, kind, funny, and compatible men. None of us had been on this type of couples-only trip before, and Jon and I hadn't been to Oregon before, so it was quite the adventure for everyone. We expected nothing less, as we never have a bad time when we are together, and leaving the kids at home always opens up the potential for total relaxation and spontaneity. We were not disappointed.

We ate, hiked, and laughed our way through Oregon, in the best way that only friends who have loved each other a really, really long time can do. The food was spectacular, with a food truck (or 20) on every corner, and amazing choices everywhere you look. The hiking was straight out of Narnia, jungle vines and moss covering million foot tall trees, overlooking wide views of the Pacific Ocean. It was easily one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. One day we were dipping our toes into the Pacific, while making a fire on the beach and sipping champagne, with a bald eagle soaring overhead, while the next day we were hiking through snow along the Pacific Crest Trail around Mount Hood. Ridiculous.

I am hoping we have struck a cord in each of us, and that we can make this fantasy trip a reality more often, to different cities or gorgeous spots. These friends feed a piece of my soul that no one else can, and traveling with them (and having time with Jon without our kids) is like medicine for me. I can't imagine wanting to do anything more, so the next time I scrape together some cash and some time off, you know what I'll be doing. Can't wait to see where the next adventure takes us.

The Process

I'm having a bad week. I just realized that the last time I wrote a blog post (yikes, six months ago, our computers have all died) I was also having a bad week, or at least a stressed-out parenting week. This week a few things have happened that have made me feel unsettled and anxious, but beyond that, I believe that I am moreover having a release of some feelings I have been bottling up since the divorce. I am realizing that those emotions will not simply go away when ignored, but need to be felt, dealt with, and then released so that I can be a complete person.

I think that I had some denial initially about how traumatic my split from my ex was for me and my children, and how it would affect us in the long run. In the moment (2.5 years ago) I was so focused on keeping my head above water that I didn't acknowledge the explosive intensity with which the marriage ended. The lasting effects of that ending are still felt by all of us, although none of us seem to know that's what we're dealing with. My kids' father is now living near us again, and having to interact with him on a weekly basis is incredibly challenging. We all need a therapist, and I'm working on that. Meanwhile, I cry a lot when nobody is looking.

Beyond all of that, the challenges of daily life go on. We have five full time kids in our house right now, which was a transition for the kids and an exercise in patience for Jon and me, and our wallets. Ultimately, it is turning out to be really good for them, but getting used to a new way of living is hard on everyone initially. Sometimes it's great and we all get along easily, and other nights I barely make it to bed without weeping. We are so fortunate to live in a place filled with abundance, in a beautiful home, with plenty to eat, but still I find myself struggling to find joy sometimes, and daydreaming of a life in Costa Rica or somewhere equally lovely (and with a better political climate than our current situation).

Generally though, I'd say life is improving (although it was never bad, just a constant state of adjustment). Jon's younger kids are getting used to me, and to the rules/routines/structure of our home. His older two are blossoming into adulthood in a way that makes me very proud of both of them. My kids seem alright, although I constantly worry about their emotional well-being. I worry that I am fucking them up beyond repair, although I think that because I am worried about that, it probably isn't the case. I am fairly certain that I do the wrong thing a lot of the time, but I'm hoping their resilience can outweigh my parenting mistakes. I am trying to remind myself that all of this is a process, but it's easy to forget. This time of year has never been my favorite, and I'm definitely struggling with it, but feeling fairly certain that I'll reach my peace with all of this, I'm just hoping it doesn't last too long.

Motherhood and the Emotional Roller Coaster

Happy belated Mother's Day all.

Tonight as I listen to the roar of kids laughing in the other room, and the chirp of the peepers beginning their song, and the tinkling of the ice in my glass I am feeling pretty relaxed. Finally. It has been a challenging week. Not anything out of the range of normal challenges, just a week filled with the constant worry of whether or not I am doing the right thing by my children. Am I listening to their needs enough? Have I guiding them well through all of our massive transitions throughout the past two years? Am I managing their anger, anxiety, fears, and social challenges well enough? Will I help them turn into decent happy adults? God I hope so, but, when you're in the thick of it, sometimes it sure is hard to tell.

I have tripled my flock of children in a matter of two years, and I am still learning everyday how to manage the emotions of this huge needy brood. The balance between day to day parenting, step parenting, and every other weekend parenting is like a juggling act, one which I think Jon and I are doing our best at, but which never fails to make me feel inadequate. Ultimately I am pretty sure they will all be just fine, but of course in the day to day it's easy to lose sight of this. The jolly smiling pictures splayed across social media say nothing about what daily life is like with your kids. It's always amazing to me how perfect it can all seem in pictures. We are good. Great even, but we have our major share of screeching, breakdowns, sob-fests, rage, meetings with the principal, fights with siblings and friends, and the everyday "EVERYONE HATES ME!" "NO ONE COULD POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M GOING THROUGH!" (storm off, slam door, repeat an hour later). Good times people.

One wonderful achievement this month is that RJ will be graduating in just two weeks. One down! Five more to go! I am immensely proud of RJ and his success this year, this kid has traveled many emotional miles in his short life, and I love the person he is turning out to be. It's funny how you can not be someone's mother, and come into their life when they are already so far into it, but still be able to take them into your cocoon and help them to grow wings. I cannot wait to see what life has in store for RJ, every step he takes towards adulthood makes me immensely proud.

This is what I know about motherhood. You spend your entire life in fear that something bad will happen to your children, and that you can't/won't prevent the bad, or, worse yet, you'll cause the bad or not be able to fix the bad. The truth is that the bad is unavoidable at some point, for some far worse than others, and there is totally nothing we can do to stop it. Some of it comes before we even meet our kids or step kids, some of it is natural consequence for life events, and some of it is just hideously unfortunate. Whatever the bad comes from, or whatever they have been through before us, we can only do our best to love the crap out of them and hope that they know it. My hope is that they carry that love with them to get them through the dark times, and hold onto it for whenever they need a little light to guide them. For now I will continue listening to the peepers and keep hoping for the best.

Honeymoon in Cuba: Exploring beauty in a crumbling paradise

CUBA! We are back and I can't find enough people to tell how much I love this quirky island. I wish we'd had many more weeks to explore all that this lovely time capsule has to offer, but alas, it is hard enough finding five days together without kids, so we chose to enjoy the hell out of every moment.

The first, and most important thing I have to say about Cuba is that this island is home to the nicest people in the world. I am still in disbelief at how kind and helpful every person we encountered was to us. Not only was everyone extremely helpful and friendly, it was in a completely genuine and non-solicitous way. They were nice to us because they ARE nice, not because they felt like they had to be, or were trying to get anything out of it. In a time where it feels like Americans are frequently dropping the ball on kindness, this welcoming community was a tremendous relief.

Secondly, the Cuban people were greatly open to talking about life in Cuba, which is fascinating on many levels. I can definitely see both sides of the struggle, where people are upset about their lack of progress and upward mobility, but yet no one is starving, you see nobody begging in the streets, bleeding to death from untreated medical issues, or the rounded bellies of malnutrition. Nobody flaunts their tremendous wealth, and nobody is left to flounder in poverty. Everyone is educated, but everybody earns an extremely small salary (as in $10 per month). No one we met had more than one or two children, as birth control is wide spread and accessible, and abortion is safe and legal. In Vinales, a mountain town in the north of the country, no one locks their doors, even at night, because they just do not steal from each other. Crime is almost non-existent.

We spent the first two days in Vinales, hiking through the valleys where the country grows the tobacco for their famous cigars. We hiked on foot, instead of the widely offered horseback tours, and we were so glad we did, as we learned more from our guide Claudia than from almost anyone else on the island. The horseback tours offer beautiful scenery, but not a lot of conversation with the guides. We hiked into the Valley of Silence, a green lush landscape dotted with farm animals (interesting side note: cows are all owned and sold by the Cuban government, if you kill a cow in Cuba you get more jail time that you do if you kill a person. Beef is only sold in government restaurants).

We watched a local farmer roll cigars and bought ourselves cigars directly from him. The farmers are allowed to keep 10% of their tobacco to sell, while 90% of the tobacco gets taken by the government and made into the famous brands like Cohiba and Monti Cristo that are so highly sought after and expensive.

It was striking in Vinales how all of the food that was eaten and served was fresh, local, and in season. There is very little that is traded so the Cuban people work with what they grow and raise, which seems a million times healthier to me. There is almost no pre-packaged foods, and everyone goes straight to the farm to buy their goods, or lets the vendors come to them with their wheelbarrows full of bread or fruits. We ate fresh papaya and pineapple daily, rice and beans of course, and many other delicious concoctions cooked up by Dayanette, the owner of the Casa Particular we called home.

In Cuba, the most popular way to visit is to stay with someone in their home, in a sort of Air bnb type scenario. Homeowners can rent rooms out to tourists for a fraction of the price of what a hotel room would cost (we paid $30 per night). The rooms that we stayed in were clean, private, with our own bathroom and a private terrace, and both had a rooftop patio where we could see a tremendous view of the mountains or the ocean, and the stars at night. The casa owners were a tremendous help arranging tours, taxis, and just giving us ideas of where to go and what to do. Hosting tourists is their livelihood, and they take great pride in providing us with all of the makings of an excellent trip. Casa owners will provide meals for you, and this is absolutely the way to eat in Cuba. Restaurants are not excellent, but home cooked meals are spectacular. We had breakfast and dinner each day in the two casas where we stayed, and what a fantastic choice.

We spent our last two days in Cuba at the beach in a town called Guanabo, just east of Havana. We traveled to Guanabo via a 1953 Plymouth taxi driven by a man named Alexis, who made a pit stop at a local waterfall in Soroa, and natural pool where we ate lunch and swam in the cold fresh water. Alexis charged us $80 for the day and was happy to wait for us as we explored Soroa. The only glitch was keeping him awake for the second half of our four hour drive as the rice and beans had him nodding off while driving. Yikes!

We wanted to avoid the city this trip, as we were coming and going quickly, but we wanted some time at the ocean. The casa we rented was run by a woman named Marlene, who rents two rooms upstairs from the family's home. This casa felt more like a hotel and less like a home share, with the rooms having a separate entrance. The beach was a quick walk, and although it was quite removed from the town of Guanabo, it was nice to have a private stretch of gorgeous beach to enjoy on our own. Guanabo is a town where the Cuban government sends its employees for vacation. The government owns tons of crumbling houses along this strip of beach and rents them out for a week at a time to Cubans and their families. Locals told us that in the summertime the town and beach are packed to the gills with vacationers, but in the off season it was not the most exciting town to visit. We found the beach in Guanabo to be relaxing and unassuming, a great place to kick back and enjoy a rum and coke and a book.

The saddest part about our Cuban honeymoon was the fact that it ended so quickly. We will definitely be returning to this magical island, feeling more confident in our destination choices now that we've gotten a bit of a feel for how to get around. Cuba is a place of unexpected beauty and crumbling infrastructure, huge smiles, and deep connection to what's really important in life. Visiting Cuba has awakened a part of me that has been closed for a long time, the desire to travel again to places that are real and beautiful and not made shiny in the name of tourism. Let this be the beginning of many more adventures to come.