Haunted by the inevitable

At some point, we are all going to die.

Not like this is ground breaking news that we all didn't realize before, but it's a fact I never really focused on until becoming a mom. Maybe it's because before starting a family, I really didn't care if I met my demise anytime soon. Maybe it's because I feel like I now have something to lose. Whatever the case, I feel like I'm constantly haunted by the inevitable.

Now that my boys are growing a little bit older, my husband and I have more freedom to go out on our own leaving them behind with a sitter. We are enjoying date nights at concerts at The Aggie and Mishawaka and have even started to do some overnight stays at hotels in Denver. The freedom to enjoy these moments with my husband is amazing. Long gone are the days of being home-bound and bored with limits and restrictions that revolve around diaper changes, nap schedules and feeding regimens. Through time, the shackles of babyhood have been broken, leaving us to run free.

On our last kid-free adventure, we drove up to The Mish with friends for a concert. Music blaring, friends laughing, the warm wind blowing through our hair as we rode the twists and turns of the road hugging the beautiful Poudre River while driving up the canyon. Our kids at home with the sitter and safely tucked in their beds, I couldn't help but think how dangerous this trip was. At a moments notice, we could be in a head-on collision, swerve off the road and into the river, or a true reality, hit a deer.

My biggest fear is not knowing what would happen to my kids if both my husband and I were to die at the same time.

Most families are fairly normal. When you have your first baby, one of the most important steps in becoming a parent is drawing up a Will, laying out a plan of care for your children if you should expire earlier than you hoped. Normal families have Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, or some trusted adults named to take over and keep your kids safe. We do not. Without going into a long list of specifics, there is nobody I trust enough with my kids if I should die.

This fact recently hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago after reading the news story in The Coloradoan. The one about the parents who made some very poor decisions, speeding and driving drunk down Lemay, only to end up in a fatal and gory car accident at the insurance office building. They left behind children with no plans for their care. Friends and family rallied to raise money to take care of the mourning children and their future was uncertain.

I can't even begin to explain how disturbing this was to me. Not that my husband and I make stupid decisions like speeding while driving drunk, but life is unpredictable. Anything can happen at any time. My boys could easily be in the same situation, parent-less and bouncing from house to house, or in foster care, while people manage the mess of the aftermath.

These thoughts are often buried deep within the halls of my mind, but every so often a door is opened and I'm tormented by what has surfaced. I don't care about an afterlife, meeting a maker or simply returning to dust. I care immensely about what happens to my children after I'm gone. And until they are able to care for themselves, I will always be haunted by the inevitable.

Kristin Mastre

Fear of the Unknown

Fear. If you think about it, it’s an unusual word; almost ubiquitous.

The dictionary defines it as:

Noun

An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

Verb

Be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

This one little word evokes so much—so much meaning, so much to think about, and simply, so much. But for me, it identifies something that has always been problematic—fear of interacting in a social environment.

Most that know me would ask “You? Afraid of being social?”

Let me make this a little more clear. I’m not necessarily afraid of interacting with others or the idea of being social, because I admit, I do enjoy the occasional solitude, but what has always been frightening for me was the enigmatic party atmosphere—where you walk around and mingle with the unknown; a stranger.

Will they think I’m foolish when I open my mouth and start speaking? Will they judge me because I like to wear black nail polish? Am I too outspoken for their not-so abrupt personalities? Perhaps. Although I typically don’t become concerned about what other’s think of me, there’s this little part of me that is fearful of that abyss we call socialization.

When I’m at a party and I’m surrounded by people I don’t really know, I notice there are others effortlessly mingling about and meeting new people, finding out what they’re all about, what they do for a living, how many kids do they have—the inquiries are infinite. How do they do this? For me, this has always been an extremely uncomfortable environment. I don’t like to be quizzed on where I’m from or grew up, I don’t like to be asked how many kids do I have, and inevitably everyone’s favorite—“what do you do for a living?” Now don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I’m not ashamed of it, but when approached on the subject, I become uncomfortable and insecure.

I often ask myself, why does it matter? Do you honestly care to know what I do for a living? Because to be honest, discussing what I do the entire evening is boring and trite. Aren’t we there to enjoy ourselves and get away from our work atmosphere to begin with? For most, it’s an ice breaker, but for me, it’s an intrusion on my privacy. For the most part, by asking me this one simple question, they are putting me in the spotlight.

Sometimes I find it unbearable walking around a party while trying to find the ideal subject with whom I can converse with, only to emerge in the same banter of what school my daughter attends, or what grade she is in.

Pleasantries aside, there are the select few whom I do enjoy meeting and getting to know, and although I feel like I’m attending a Jr. High dance for the first time, standing in a corner, waiting to be asked to dance by that one special boy, I typically leave that party enjoying myself. So while I get off of my fearful horse if only for that one special evening, I know in the end, I will leave with a sense of accomplishment and pride. And maybe a few phone numbers and email addresses to engage with my new friend(s) who ultimately, just a little bit, helped me escape from my fear of the unknown.

Suzanne

Double standards of discipline

One of the more prominent fears I had when raising my tantruming toddler was The Public Tantrum - the one in the grocery store that made customer's heads turn and stare, piercing me to the depths of my soul.

The judgmental stare. That's what I was afraid of.

Most mothers do the best they can to raise their children to be model citizens and decent human beings. Our society is very judgmental towards parents and their ability to control their children in public. I often hear bits of conversation around town about how moms need to whip their kids into shape and not be the doormat their children are turning them into. I actually hear this point of view much more than hearing about parents being too hard on their kids. "Spare the rod, spoil the child".

I'm a pretty strict mom that has high expectations of my kids. My older son is only three and a half, but I expect him to follow direction, to not talk back, to clean up after himself and do the age-appropriate chores he is given. I try to teach him independence and how to handle responsibility. I try to teach him to not only respect me and his Dad, but others around him. I'm not one to give up or fold in teaching these lessons either.

In raising a three and a half year old, I have dealt with my fair share of public tantrums. I've left full carts of groceries to walk out of the store due to meltdowns and I've taken him by the hand to sit on time-out in front of the store until he had calmed down. I've been stopped by both store employees and customers thanking me for disciplining my son and teaching him about good public behavior. I got over my fear of public judgment when dealing with tantrums because I knew I was doing what was best for my son and our family.

That is, until recently.

Our last weekly grocery shopping trip was a challenge. The Preschooler was having a bad day and he had the behavior to go along with it. He was ignoring requests to sit in the cart with his brother or to stay close if he chose to walk. Rather, he decided to do his own thing and get in the way of other shoppers. After a full shopping trip of constant reprimanding, I was worn out - physically and mentally. We stopped for lunch while my husband grabbed a last minute item.

While in line, The Preschooler was up to his usual defiant antics - not listening to my requests of staying close by, being the annoying kid running around and not being aware of those around him. After narrowly getting run over by an old lady and her shopping cart, I quickly grabbed him by the arm, pulled him in towards me with The Baby on my other side and scolded him for not listening and getting in the way of others. The old lady sweetly told me not to get him into trouble, to which I explained "Yes, he would be in trouble for not listening all day".

And then it happened. The glaring judgmental stares. Everyone around me had the look of disbelief on their faces as if I had just pulled out the wooden spoon from my back pocket to whack my disobedient son on is bare bottom.

"Oh, he's fine. There's no reason for him to get into trouble", the old lady requested again.

"But he's little! How old is he?", the cashier asked.

"He's almost four. He's going to start preschool. He's old enough to follow direction and behave appropriately in public", I defended myself.

An uneasy silence filled the line of customers and employees, with everyone shifting uncomfortably. I felt sick to my stomach. Was I really being judged for disciplining my child in public? Did everyone really feel that I overreacted in scolding him for getting in the way of shoppers? All I did was give him a stern talking to with a firm grip on his arm, he did not get spanked even though I felt like strangling him right at that very moment. I felt myself burn red, feeling vilified for my choice.

I paid for our meal and my husband conveniently joined us at the table. I couldn't eat, I was still irritated. The Preschooler was picking at his meal and dropping it on the floor. "That's it. I'm done. We're out of here," I said in exasperation. We packed up our lunch and drove home in silence, my husband unaware of the upsetting event that had just occurred.

That evening I felt the sting of the double standards of public discipline. Parenting is hard enough as it is without comments and judgment from the peanut gallery. When confronted about disciplining choices, it's no wonder why some parents just let their kids scream in the stores. Now that many days have gone by and time has healed that wound, I will never judge another parent on public discipline (or not disciplining) again.

Kristin

Fear Factor

Several years ago my two young daughters and I were laying on my bed one Saturday night. We were all comfy in our pajamas, we had our books in hand, the room was quiet and we were ready for a mother-daughter read-in. As we began reading, our cat begin meowing. It was a soft meow at first, which caused me no alarm as she continually wanted attention and I thought she was just demanding some petting. We all ingored her and went on with our reading. The meowing became louder and more relentless. She then began meowing with such a strange tone that it was really getting on my nerves. Exasperated, I put down my book, yelled “Sadie, shut up!” and took a quick glance her way. The visual of that night still sticks with me today. Our cat was batting her paw at a snake on my bedroom floor. This was what the frantic meowing had been about. Now, considering that the bedroom is on the second level of my house, and I am not in the habit of bringing snakes inside, I had no idea how the snake came to be on my bedroom floor. All I knew at that moment is that I was deathly afraid of snakes, and I would never be able to work up the nerve to catch it and remove it. I was already mentally preparing to move my family to a hotel to live until the snake was caught.

I quickly decided that my only chance at removing the snake was to coax one of my girls to do it for me. They were young and had not yet developed that horrible fear of snakes that many of us have. They still thought snakes were cool and interesting, and I was hoping that I could take advantage of their innocence. However, I knew that the only way my plan was going to work was that I would not be able to show any fear myself. I had to make it seem like it would be fun for one of them to catch the snake and carry it outside. I couldn’t allow them to see the absolute terror in my face or else they would potentially freak out on me, leaving us with our only other option: moving.

So, I nonchalantly called for Rachel, my oldest daughter, who was maybe 8 or 9 at the time, to “pick up the snake and take it outside where it will be happier.” I used my calmest voice. My verbal demeanor was that of “I would do it, but I’m a little busy right now, can you do it?” The same kind of voice I would have used to ask her to get something out of the fridge. No big deal, just get it done.

She obediently responded to my request and went to pick up the snake. I, of course, had to see with my own eyes that it was truly leaving our house, so I followed her down the stairs. Just as we reached the kitchen, the snake began wrapping it’s tail around her wrist. “Mom……”, she said in a tentative voice, “I’m scared, I can’t keep holding onto it.” Knowing that Rachel was my only hope, I shot her a quick, “don’t be silly, it’s not going to hurt you, just keep going.” I was praying that she could make it to the patio door before she panicked and dropped the snake on the floor, which would send me into my own episode of Fear Factor. I adopted the philosophy of “if I don’t show any fear, neither will she.” It was my only option.

I am pleased to report that many years later we are still living in the same house. Rachel made it to the patio door that night with the snake wrapped around her wrist, unraveled it from it’s grasp, and threw it into the backyard. She had accomplished a feat that for me at that moment was on the same magnitude as saving humanity.

Rachel still has no fear of snakes. In fact, she has a pet snake, which, ironically, is living in the same house with us right now. As for me, I gaze into it’s aquarium and look at it, but never touch it and never plan to. We occasionally talk about “the night of the snake” and laugh about it now. To this day none of us have any idea how it got into our house and into our second floor bedroom.

Peggy

Fear?

Dora the Explorer is interrupted with a honking warning sound as the emergency broadcast system is being tested. "Tomato!" "Tomato!" my daughter starts shouting and crying at the same time. She is 3 and thinks that this warning sound means that we are about to have a tornado. Not that she knows anything about tornados. She has never seen or been in one, I have never spoken about one, and I am not afraid of one happening here myself. But for some reason she thinks that something dangerous is about to happen - not to mention that they are only testing the emergency broadcast system.

How do we become afraid and more importantly how do we stop the fear. For her, it must be just an urgent and scary noise that has interrupted the normal dullness of the routine and Dora's perky quest to find the missing treasure. As we grow up we learn to fear things that seem to be more possible each day.

I hold her and reassure her and lie promising that we will never have a tornado here and that everything is fine and safe and that I will protect her forever. It seems to work for the time being, but I feel a little guilty with my promises, even though she is only three years old.

Now that she is nine, I still make promises that I cannot keep. When my mother died she immediately made the connection that I could die one day as well. I promised her that she will always be OK and that I wont die for a very long time. My four year old is unfased, "I am sorry your mother died he says, obviously mimicing what others before him have said. Then he says we are all going to die but not for a very long time", mimicing what I have said.

Everyone has fears. Here is my incomplete list: I am afraid of dying, leaving my kids, getting cancer, getting old, getting fat, getting Alzheimer's disease, spending too much money, losing a child, looking stupid, looking incompetent, dying in a plane crash, food poisoning, high fructose corn syrup, insomnia, and global warming.

We all have fears but we somehow manage to keep them at bay. If we did not, we couldn't function. I think it is because as humans we are stupid. We actually think that these things won't happen if we don't think about them. Some of us try to face our fears, but really what does that do. You know that old saying we have nothing to fear but fear itself - that seems ridiculous to me. There are a lot of things that we really should be afraid of. We just need to think about the reality - later.

That must be why we have TV! Television, whatever your poison be it the Real Housewives of Orange County or the Bachelor or Iron Chef allows us to not think about our fears. In fact, it is usually when I am lying in bed at night when the house is quiet and my husband begins to snore that I think about my list at all. The trick must be to keep occupied with all the other stuff. Maybe the interruption in Dora is what did it to my daughter. Maybe kids are smarter than we think.

Elisabeth

When does motherhood get easy?

Years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child, I didn’t have the ability to comprehend what lay ahead. I was completely focused on my pregnancy and the new addition to the family. In the early years, it’s easy to get caught up in the “baby-ness” of it all. There is such excitement about the cute little clothes, decorating the nursery, and picking out the perfect name. Of course, these things are great fun and they should be! Having a baby is truly the greatest life transforming event that we experience in our lives, but it is not as easy as I once thought it would be.

The baby years are all-consuming. Every ounce of energy is directed toward this tiny helpless being. I remember thinking that this is probably the hardest stage of motherhood and that my life would surely get easier as my babies grew up. They would become more independent and when they could do things for themselves, I would have my freedom back. There would be no more crying and screaming in public and no more toting a suitcase of baby paraphernalia with me at all times. What I failed to comprehend at the time is that it never gets easier.

The years passed and my kids became a little bit older and a little more independent. Surely this was the time when it would get easier. My kids could get their own food from the fridge, were potty trained, and were somewhat rational. I saw a vision of myself in a lounge chair in the backyard, sipping a drink and reading, while my little darlings frolicked happily in the backyard sprinkler. Unfortunately, my imagination and reality did not align as I had planned. Yes, I have sat outside while my kids played. But, instead of the calm and relaxing scene I envisioned, a more typical day went very differently. One kid pushes the other, at which time the pushed one falls into a pile of dog poop and screams. The youngest one, oblivious to his sisters’ fight, wanders towards to the far edges of the yard in pursuit of the dog. It’s hard to comprehend what you are reading when you are constantly monitoring the perimeter of the yard with quick glances and refereeing fights. I put my book down and repeat to myself, when my kids get a little older, this will be easier.

Now my kids are older. One is in college, one is in high school, and one is entering middle school. Years ago this is when I thought it was all going to get real easy. How wrong I was! When they are little, at least they are within your control and influence.

We now have meaningful adult conversations. However, I never realized that the meaningful conversations would revolve around topics such as drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex. I never imagined this, but this is what we as mothers must do these days.

I once again lose sleep at night, but it’s not due to a crying baby. It’s due to the anxiety caused by a teenage daughter who has just gotten her driver’s license and doesn’t come home on time. It is the fear that if the phone rings at night and the kids are out with their friends, that it is going to bring tragic news.

My kids are my life and my soul. I worry about them all of the time.

Being a mom never gets easy. It just changes.

Peggy McNeal

Things change and stay the same

My mother was complicated, but our relationship was not. In retrospect, I realize that it never changed or evolved the way that I would have wanted or even expected it to. It has always been the same and it has always revolved around her. Even when things change, they stay the same.

My mother was diagnosed as a manic depressive in her late teens. It was called bipolar disease later. Whatever the term, no one ever talked to me or my brother about that disease or what it meant to our lives. No one ever asked if we were OK, or scared, or angry. Everyone acted like she was perfectly normal and the crazy things that happened from time to time were not to be discussed among outsiders. When she would have an "episode" when I was a young child, my grandmother and grandfather would do their best to take care of everything and then when I became older I inherited that task. During these times I learned to watch out for her.

My mother was beautiful, intelligent, and talented. But she always felt that she was better than she was, better
than us or the rest of the world. It was her disease that gave her this confidence but at the same time it made it impossible for her to realize her potential. Throughout most of my childhood she alternated between depression, laying on the couch watching TV day and night, and intermittent episodes of mania during which we all lived in a state of unreality. There was a constant battle between realities - hers and the rest of ours.

I loved my mother and I have always felt that she did her best to love me. Like all children, I always tried to gain her love - whether by "being good" or getting good grades or keeping my room clean. It was not until I had a daughter of my own that I fully realized all that was missing. It happened when my daughter had just came home from the hospital after she was born. I was feeling insecure and tired and asked my mom to help give me her first bath. I thought that maybe this would be the moment - three generations of women - making a memory. I would tell my daughter the story when she was grown. In her usual form she just told me that you just give her a bath - you're a smart girl, figure it out. And that's when I finally did. There would never be any hallmark card moments between me and my mom and I would just have to accept things the way they were. I made a peace within myself - this is how it is and I didn't want to live without her, so I would try to believe that this was the best she could do and that it wasn't her fault. And I always knew that things would be the same until she died. That I would have to tip toe around her and her moods. That I would not be the center of attention. That my true feelings would not be heard. That I would never hear that she loved me or was proud of me and I would have to be all right in just knowing that she was.

Then one day she called to tell me that she felt a mass in her rectum. She hadn't even gone to the doctor yet. I felt nauseated but knew that it was probably real. I made plans to visit, once again putting my own needs and now the needs of my own children on the back burner to look after her.

I arrived at her apartment to find a thin, frail, sick woman. The house was in disarray and it smelled. She could barely walk. She hadn't made any appointments. When I saw her I started to cry and told her that she looked terrible and why hadn't she called be earlier. To that she responded that it wasn't nice to say that she looked terrible. Still living in her bipolar world. For the rest of the week I took care of her - not trying to keep her from sleeping with the milkman and trashing the house, but trying to keep the house from burning down when she dropped her cigarette, cleaning up after she went to the bathroom, and making doctor's appointments that she refused to keep. The whole time all I could think was this really happening, just as when she was manic and did crazy things. Will I forever question the reality of a situation? When she died, what I knew would happen did. She just slipped away without any words of wisdom, goodbyes, or even a will for that matter.

Now that she is dead, I miss her terribly. I want to call and tell he what happened. I can't erase her cell phone number from my phone. I want to feel like I still have a chance to change things between us and to be closer. But now that will never happen. Just as I knew before that it would never happen.

Elisabeth