Year End: Blog In Review

     When I began this blog on June 2, 2012 I didn’t know what to expect.  I wasn’t sure if anyone would be interested, if I would have enough to write about or if it would be worthwhile to anyone other than myself.  As of today I’ve had 1,332 page views, that’s an average of 47 views per post.  As I have posted religiously every week, (except for the month I took off to write my novel), I’ve clearly had enough topics to sustain a weekly blog.  From the comments I’ve received both on and off my blog, I know that I’ve struck a chord with at least a handful of people.  And so it seems my blogging has been a successful endeavor.  

When I was struggling for a purpose and looking for a way to get into writing again, Joe suggested I start a blog.  I came up with the title Bottling Time months before succumbing to the idea of actually writing a blog.  I knew posting consistently would force me to write and what I wrote would allow me to bottle moments in time with my kids and thus I began my blogging journey.  I’m not sure how long I expected to stick with it, but am grateful I have.  I’m damn proud of myself for being able to do this amidst my full time job and helping to raise two young kids.   

Each week that I’ve been etching my parenting moments in time, I’ve gotten more personal than I had intended, but in the end think this is what people have found most interesting.  I’ve been putting my words out there in the world for others to consume and at times have felt emotionally naked, baring it all or at least most of it.  Yet, this is what writers do, be it fiction or nonfiction, we put ourselves out there with the desire for our words be read and to touch those that read them.  In being honest about my faults and fears of parenting, I’m learning more about myself.  Also, I’ve come to realize how important it is for parents to share in their parenting woes.  It’s so freaking hard to raise little people and even though it’s a blessing, we don’t talk much about just how much of a burden it can be.  In reaching out with my blog, I’ve discovered that I’m not alone in my anxiety.  I’m not the only one wringing my hands with worry and wondering if I’m doing this parenting thing right.  While I have way more questions than I have answers in examining myself I’ve been able to get new perspectives on my experiences with my kids and my role in their lives.   In both small and large ways I’m strengthening my relationships with Zoey and Hunter through my blog.  Someday I hope they will read my posts and be grateful for my words and my attempts at bottling time.              

As with most people, one of my New Year's resolutions this year is to drop some pounds, but I also intend to continue my aim to remain present with my kids and not let my anxiety tarnish the precious moments.  In the new year, I will continue blogging, but going forward will post every other week instead of once a week. This will give me more time to edit and work on my novel in an attempt to make something happen with it and doing that is also a resolution of mine.  I'm hoping there's some truth to that old saying, do what you love and the rest will follow.

If you enjoy reading my blog, take a minute to feed my writer ego.  There are a few ways you can do this: by clicking “Join this site” you can follow my blog, you can share the link on Facebook or Twitter or tell your friends about it, you can leave comments on specific posts or simply like the link on my Facebook page.  Let me know which posts you’ve liked best (or not liked) and why, so I can write more (or not) like them.  I appreciate all of you that take the time to read my words, I hope I’m making it worthwhile and you’re enriched in one way or another.  Happy New Year to all!

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Here Comes Santa Claus: Evolving Traditions

    Christmas and Santa Claus now belong in large part to my kids.  As an adult, there isn’t anything that I really want that I can’t buy for myself.  Kids without means to buy whatever they want, want everything and Christmas presents are a huge deal.  It’s now about their joy and excitement over the season.  Even though, we have toys coming out of our ears, I still enjoy buying them new toys, knowing they will end up scattered about and not played with as much as I would like.   As a kid, of course, I didn’t think much about who I was with when said desired presents were opened, but the memories were etched in my mind.  The presents I received have long been loved, lost or forgotten and what I’m left with is not the memory of the gifts, but the people that gave them to me.  I hope it will be the same for Zoey and Hunter, that in time it won’t be about the presents, but about being loved.

As a kid, Christmas Eve was spent at my Grandma’s house in Whittier.  We ate dinner at a table without an inch of space left for one more platter or bowl heaped high with food.  We opened presents by a Christmas tree dashed heavily with silver tinsel.  My Grandma spoiled us and the floor beneath the tree was always covered with presents and we had to search for the ones with our names on them.  We opened presents youngest to oldest and took turns playing Santa and grabbing the present for the next person.  We waited impatiently while our Grandpa took what felt like years to open his presents, slowly removing the paper with the help of his pocket knife.  My Grandma usually skipped turns and ended up with a pile of presents by her feet.  My Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Tim walked us to the car, stood waiting as we were buckled in and waved goodbye as we drove away.  On the drive home to Redlands we listened and sang along to Christmas music while looking for Christmas lights on houses visible from the freeway.

On Christmas mornings, we woke up early, filled with anticipation for what we might find wrapped beneath the tree.  For years, Krista and I were the first ones up, waking up Brittany and Brooke.  As Krista and I got older, this changed and they started waking us up.  We bounced around and whined as our mom and dad, (then later just mom), slowly got out of bed.  Mom came from her room, pulled on her robe, tightened the belt at her waist, then started a pot of coffee before joining us by the tree.  We started with the stockings exclaiming at what Santa had left us.  We then took turns opening presents and watching each other unwrap them.  We saved the Santa presents, which were always the biggest and best, for last.  The presents disappeared quickly and we ended the morning with piles of wrapping paper, new toys and clothes surrounding us.    

I don’t remember exactly how old I was when I started questioning the existence of Santa Claus, but my parents were still married, so I must’ve been about ten or so.   My sisters and I were playing in the backyard near the tent trailer that was kept by the side of our house. One of us opened the trailer door and discovered my mom’s hiding place.  There in front of us was a Nintendo box, an obvious Santa present.  This only confirmed what I had already begun thinking, that my mom was Santa.  We didn’t tell her what we had found, but waited until Christmas Eve to bring it up.  Krista, and I shared a room and we had always stayed up as long as our eyes could stay open on Christmas Eve, listening for the sounds of hoofs and jingle bells on the roof.  One year, I think we really heard them, but that year we weren’t listening for Santa.  As my mom was putting us to bed, I looked over the edge of the bunk bed and asked her if Santa was real.  Krista was two and a half years younger than me and thinking back, I wish I wouldn’t asked for the truth another time, so Krista could’ve remained a believer a little longer.  My mom attempted to convince us that he was real, but after about twenty minutes of begging her to just tell us the truth, she caved and begrudgingly admitted the truth, there was no Santa.  The next morning, we opened the Nintendo box and thanked Santa for it, not letting on that we no longer believed because Brittany and Brooke were still believers.

As we grew older, our parents divorced, we got boyfriends, then got married and had babies, our traditions had to change, as traditions must sometimes do.  We weren’t all able to make it to Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve and instead made Christmas Eve plans with our new extended families.  Even though it’s been years since I was a kid, I still love the tradition of Christmas morning at my mom’s house.  We usually spend the night and my sisters and their expanding families come over in their pajamas and we all open presents together, like we had as kids.  We now do Secret Santa amongst the adults and buy presents for all the kids.  

We have developed our own family traditions.  To name just a few, ever since Zoey was born we have taken her to see Santa at the Cerritos Mall (same guy every year, so far).  She’s always too shy to talk to him and this year was no exception.  Last year Hunter was too little to be scared of Santa, but this year he wasn’t happy that I put him on a stranger’s lap.  We drive around one night close to Christmas and look at people’s Christmas lights.  We go to Joe’s parents house on Christmas Eve and my mom’s on Christmas morning.  In order to be at my mom’s on Christmas morning, Santa has been bringing presents to our house on the 23rd.  Soon, Zoey will realize that Santa Claus is coming to our house on the wrong day, that it’s not normal to open presents from Santa on Christmas Eve morning and we will have to adjust this tradition. I’m not looking forward to having a conversation with my kids about the existence of Santa and will do what I can to stave it off.  So their believe will remain in tact, likely next year, Santa will visit our house on Christmas Eve and we’ll begin a new family tradition.  But, this year, I will wake up on Christmas morning at my mom’s, like I have practically every year since I was a kid, excited for what the day will bring.

         

       

The Things We Carry

      A little over a month ago when I was giving the kids a bath, I saw a flash of my Poppa in Hunter.  Hunter was playing in the tub, moving water from one cup to another.  His thin, new hair, slightly overdue for a cut and was sticking up at the nape of his neck.  It was in that moment that I caught a glimpse of my Poppa.  Seeing Hunter’s hair that way brought a memory of him to the forefront of my mind.  I don’t remember exactly when I saw my Poppa’s hair, lifted up in this way.  It could’ve been one of the times he rode his bike to our house when I was a kid or when I was a teenager and ran into him at the gym.  His thin white hair when wet turned up at the ends the way Hunter’s did.  My loss for my grandfather hit me again, there in the bathroom, as my kids played noisily, unaware of what I had just seen.  I thought about him as a person, about our relationship and about how much he would’ve enjoyed meeting my two little rascals.

I thought about a memorable email he sent me in 2001.  We both had AOL accounts and emailed each other occasionally.  He had always expressed interest in my writing and had he still been around, I know he would’ve read my blog religiously.   He felt that I was going to be a famous writer someday and I believed him.  On occasion, he talked to me about how he also liked writing, as well as reading.  His favorite writer was Sara Paratesky, a mystery author who was Swedish like him and set her books in Chicago, where he had grown up.  I was intrigued by his life.  He came to the United States when he was three from Sweden.  He grew up poor in Chicago during the depression.  He joined the Army and fought in WW II.  He ended up living in Redlands and ran his own construction business.  After he retired he joined the city council and eventually was elected Mayor.  

A young Poppa, I keep this photo on my bookcase.

This sighting of him here in the bath with my kids was the night of the 2012 Presidential election.  I thought about the night my Poppa was elected Mayor.  My family and I went to his campaign headquarters to wait for the polls to come in.  My Poppa was in his suit and tie looking dapper, as usual.  His charismatic presence filled that meeting room in the high rise bank building in downtown Redlands.  It grew late and the results still weren’t in.  It was a school night and my younger sisters were tired and ready to go home.  I didn’t want to go, I wanted to stay until the end, until I knew officially that he had won because I just knew that he would.  My mom took my sisters home and I stayed behind with my dad.  I waited amongst the adults and when it was announced he was the winner, that he would now be the mayor of Redlands, my heart burst with pride.  I was too young to grasp how really proud I should be, of how far he had come in life, but I had always been proud and awed by him.  

  

Having been reminded of the email, I went into my closet to dig it out.  It’s dated one day after my twenty-fourth birthday.  He must’ve emailed me a birthday message and I must’ve responded with something silly about getting old and questioned where my life was going.  Joe and I were in the first year of our relationship and going to San Francisco on our first trip together, in a way my life was just beginning.  I cherished my Poppa’s words then and with time they have come to mean even more.  I’m so grateful I had the foresight to print a copy of the email.  Here it is in all of his Poppa-ized glory, no editing.

“HI TRISH: Your youth is NOT slipping away.  You are a smart, lovely, very young lady with un-limited potential.  I hope your vacation trip up north is a happy one for you and Joe.  IF Joe becomes a part of your life, one day, he will become a part of ours as well.  We love you and want the best for you, you have plenty of time to make good decisions.  The great talent you have is not an “off the shelf” talent, such as an auto mechanic, or a computer technician.  You have to be discovered, and be at the right place at the right time, as I am sure you understand.  I just get nervous when I get ‘vibes’ that you are discouraged.  Soo easy for me to say, however I HAVE been there and to some extent am STILL there. Bottom line I love you and I WILL see you happy and successful.  POPPA”

These words are in a nut shell what he did for me as a grandfather.  He had belief in me and hope for my future.  I hope I can be the kind of grandparent to touch the soul of my grandchildren, the way he did mine.

   

Back to that night in the bathtub, Zoey noticed I was crying.  I told her I was thinking about her Great Poppa and was a little sad.  When Hunter heard my sobs, he looked at me with concern.  I didn’t want to scare them and told them I was okay, just remembering.  They continued to play and I thought about how pieces of our ancestors are passed on through us.  Even though, Zoey and Hunter never had a chance to know their Great Poppa, they carry pieces of him and pieces of so many other ancestors in their genes.  Back when Zoey first started walking, I noticed that she had my grandmother’s feet and ankles.  Her feet are sort of flat and her ankles turn slightly inward.  I think of my grandma and how she walked, several times a day, as I see Zoey walking with feet like hers.  My grandma died only recently, but Zoey will have no memories of her.  In ways seen and unseen, knowing or unknowing in the way our hair lifts up when wet or how our ankles turn in, we carry our ancestors with us.  I carry my grandparents that have moved on in my heart, in my memory and in traits of my own.  As my final living grandparent, my grandma, lies in a hospital bed struggling with the failings of her almost ninety year old body and mind, I think about how eventually she, like the others, will live on through my children, through their children and will always be carried on. 

Crying It Out

        Hearing one of my kids cry and not doing anything about it is torturous to me.  Yet in the case of trying to get Hunter to sleep better, there didn’t seem to be any way around it.  Each night Hunter consistently woke up about the time I went to bed and being afraid he would wake up Zoey, who we always struggle to get to sleep, we rushed to take him out of their room.  To calm him down enough to go back to sleep we gave him a bottle and laid him down between us.  Then we all proceeded to not sleep through the night.  In attempts to get comfortable, Hunter kicked us, hit us in the face and at times would lay on top of us.   He woke up often throughout the night and we’d give him more bottles in the hopes this would help him back to sleep.  On the rare occasions when he slept in his crib or play pen we all slept soundly.  He couldn’t roll around too much and we didn’t have to fear him rolling off of our queen size bed.  As he was waking up so often, it became easier to put him in our bed.  Was giving him bottles in the middle of the night bad for his teeth?  Of course.  Was giving him a bottle helping us get some sleep?  Hell yeah (or so we thought).  We did what we needed to do to survive the nights and didn’t know what else to do.  All we really wanted was to get some freaking sleep.

I had to work the day of Hunter’s 15 month checkup, so I sent Joe with instructions, determined that he come back with a magical answer that would ensure a resolution to all of our sleep problems.  I suspected what the doctor would advise, but hoped for otherwise.  The doctor said it had become part of his routine to wake up, come into our bed and drink his bottles.  We had to break him of the habit and to do that we needed nerves of steel and, yes, to do this we needed to let him cry it out.  

We were familiar with the cry it out method, as we had used a version of it with Zoey, after having the same problems we were now having with Hunter.  I hated it, but it worked.  Here we were again with another baby and just so exhausted.  We had yet to really try the cry it out method with Hunter because he and Zoey share a room and it’s tough for me to do.  The doctor said after a few nights the routine would be broken.  It seemed too good to be true and it was, as it took about five days to break the pattern. Each day got easier until, miraculously, he began sleeping through the night.

The first night was the worst.  I was still torn about our choice, but not knowing what else to do, we were going ahead with it.  He cried for at least an hour and I was crawling out of my skin.  His crying woke up Zoey, as we had feared it might.  She came into our room and fell asleep in our bed.  I continued to listen to my crying Hunter with my heart pounding.  I laid there beside Zoey imagining what Hunter must’ve been thinking.  Did he feel abandoned or just ignored?  It broke my heart thinking about what he might be feeling.  At about the hour mark, I got up and stood outside his door, wanting to burst inside and take him in my arms.  I heard him coughing and sort of gagging between cries.  Joe tried to keep me from going in, but I couldn’t contain myself anymore and rushed in just as he threw up a little.  I changed his pajamas and held him close.  I was under no circumstances going to put him back into his crib that night to cry any longer and maybe never again, questioning if we were doing the right thing.  

He calmed down quickly and I attempted to get him back to sleep by laying with him on Zoey’s bed, as she was sleeping in ours.  He kept moving around and sitting up and just wanted to play.  After about an hour of this, I took him into the living room to try sleeping on the couch, as we had down with him before.  He still struggled to go to sleep, but eventually did sometime after one a.m., only to wake up several more times that night.  This just wasn’t going to work.  I resolved to try the cry it out method again the next night.

On night two he woke up around his usual time.  After he cried for a while, I went in with a sippy cup of water.  I picked him up and sat down with him on my lap.  He drank some water and calmed down.  I told him it was bedtime, showed him it was still dark outside and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as I do every night before I put him to bed.  I gave him kisses and put him back down.  He cried for about half an hour after I left the room, then fell asleep.  He woke up about 3 a.m, but after a few minutes of whining went back to sleep.  He slept until morning and I woke up with a start amazed that I had just had several hours of uninterrupted sleep.  We continued doing this and after about five days he was sleeping through the night and so were we.

During those first few days, I worried that Hunter would wake up in the morning upset with us, but he didn’t.  He was always fine and well rested, having forgotten the night before.  He’s happier throughout the day now and eats better than he was when he was getting milk throughout the night.  Granted, we had a rough couple of days, but we stuck with it and it had paid off.  It was worth the torment of hearing him cry for a few nights for the sleep that we all get now.

Strangely, there was a downfall to Hunter sleeping through the night, as I now spend less time with him.  I get home from work about an hour and a half before his bedtime.  When we slept with us, I was with him all night and in a way it was a comfort to be so close to him, even when I was annoyed with him for kicking me. The time spent with him in the middle of the night wasn’t quality time but it was time.  Also, often he woke up before I left for work and followed me around as I got ready.  Now, he’s sleeping soundly, usually snoring when I leave in the mornings.  While this makes me sad, I know it’s for the best.  I have started keeping him up a little longer at night, so I have a little more time with him.

Instinctually, it’s difficult for a mother (and some fathers, though Joe admits he wasn’t too upset by it) to hear her child crying, it goes back to the cave man period when a baby’s cry meant they were in danger.  I always knew Hunter was safe in his crib and if I was uncertain, I peeked in to make sure.  If I do happen to wake up at night, though often I don’t wake up until my alarm goes off (which is amazing!), I still go into the kids room to listen to them breathe.  Usually they’re both snoring loudly (I think they inherited Joe’s sinuses) in their beds.  It just took a few nights of me fighting my instincts to get all of us on a sleep routine.                

I’m not a parenting expert and will never claim to be.  I just know what it’s like to be a mom to Zoey and Hunter and rarely do I feel like a parenting expert with them.  No two parents have the same parenting style and we all have different ways of showing our love.  In the end, we all just want what is best for our own kiddos.  We do what we need to do for ourselves and for our kids to survive.  I still haven’t stopped giving Hunter a bottle during the day, as the doctor suggested, or taken away his binky, as the dentist recommended.  We’re down to one bottle in the house, but I’m just not quite ready to take it away from him because he loves it so much and it comforts him.  I’m trying to give him less binky time, so he can start talking more, but right now, he’s dependent on it and in a way so are we, and for now, that’s okay.  

My Personal Legend

“[Your personal legend] is what you have always wanted to accomplish.  Everyone, when they are young, knows what their personal legend is...at that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.  They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.  But as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their personal legend...whoever you are or whatever you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe.  It’s your mission on earth....and when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”  --The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

The last thirty days have led me back to my personal legend.  As I wrote in my car before work, on my lunch breaks and after the kids went to bed, I was realigning myself on the path from which I had strayed.  Those writing filled days helped build my confidence that telling this particular story and writing, was something I was supposed to be doing.  I was knocking that mysterious force to its knees.  Without my friend, AJ, who reminded me about National Novel Writing Month, I don’t doubt I would’ve arrived at this place yet.  I know I would’ve eventually, as I was already on my way, but I might’ve struggled a while longer before I got here. National Novel Writing Month was the kick start I needed.  

I began my journey back to my personal legend when I began writing this blog.  Combining the two things I felt I was put on this planet to do: write and be a mom. Writing was put on the back burner to mothering, well let me be honest, writing took the back burner to everything.  The excuse that held the most weight, of course, was being a working mommy without time to pursue anything beyond that.  I told myself there would be time later, when the kids were older, then I could get back on track and realize my dream.  Yet, there would always be something in my path, some force to hold me back, some measly excuse.  I discovered three things in the thirty days of November. One, that deadlines are highly motivating (self imposed deadlines, might be another story, though).  Two, that it’s possible to find time to pursue my mission on earth.  Three, I haven’t lost my creativity or drive to have my voice heard.  

There are other mothers out there that have been able to achieve success in the writing world.  While, I do not dare to dream of reaching the heights of J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame or Stephanie Meyer of Twilight fame, what they have been able to accomplish while raising kids is motivating and reassuring.  Of course, there are so many other mothers before them that were able to write and publish while raising children, but today it’s these two that are the most famous.  I see now from a personal standpoint, that If the drive to accomplish ones personal legend is strong enough, it truly is possible. I am my own proof of that.   

The real work on my young adult novel, has yet to begin.  I have several revisions ahead of me: scenes to expand, background to build upon, scenes to add and remove.  Joe is in the process of reading my precious 174 pages now.  He opted to print them out, saying he wanted to hold my book in his hands versus read it on the computer.  I watched as the pages rapidly spit themselves out of the printer.  I held the bulk of my 52,451 words in my hands and flipped through the pages, impressed with what I had achieved in just thirty days.  After Joe gives me his honest opinion (yes, he is my husband, but he will be honest) about the story, I will roll up my writing sleeves and dig into it myself.  A few drafts later, I hope to have a handful of other readers, beginning with my family then friends review it for me.  Then depending on the response, I will likely have more changes to make.  Finally, after I feel I have a solid piece of work, I will look into getting it published.  It’s so easy to self publish now, so that option is always there.  I can’t wait to get this story into the hands and minds of others to see what they think and get their opinion on how my words affected them.   

         The stories and the characters in my head have been quieted these past few years.  I didn’t stop listening to them, but sort of pushed them aside as I made, had and began raising two beautiful children.  My ideas and desires remained somewhat dormant, but did not disappear, as they shouldn’t.  Motherhood shouldn’t be a barricade to pursuing ones passions, but just a mere speed bump.  My creative juices are flowing again and in the midst of writing my young adult novel, Somewhere in Between an idea for an adult novel began taking shape in my imagination.  I will wait to tackle that idea in November 2013.  My goal has always been to be an author and I have taken longer to get there than I wanted, but I’m here now, willing to work on my craft.  This past November, I put in the hard work, made time and have emerged, as I had hoped, with a working novel in hand.  Now, come on Universe, conspire to help me make something happen with it!