A Bone to Pick

“To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone, and a funny bone.” Reba McEntire

Forget achievement, in marriage and parenthood these bones are critical for survival! Each of these fragments provides us a defense against the daily disasters life throws our way. If we don’t make sure to exercise them, they won’t be able to bear the weight that stress, worry, and heartache put on us through the years. Unfortunately for us, it doesn’t seem that we get to pick and choose which bone gets a work-out, when.

I think I discovered my wishbone first. I remember playing make-believe with my best friend from the time my memory begins.  I was anything from an FBI agent to an astronaut, whatever life I could dream up seemed possible back then. In this never-never land, my imagination ran free; for here in this sacred place of innocence, reality did not trespass. When choosing my pretend profession, I didn’t once think about what salary it would earn, or if it came with benefits. I didn’t worry about whether it would match my 401k. Nope. The only determining factor was what I wanted to do that day.  I can still remember how liberating it felt to not be tethered by the restrictions of debt. Oh, how my mind soared! Then, my dad got sick, and my thoughts were grounded.  I knew I had to put my wishbone away and find my backbone.

Since I hit puberty, I don’t recall not having a backbone. I have relied on this part of my anatomy figuratively for as long as I can remember. It’s gotten me through unthinkable loss, impossible odds, and unbelievable setbacks. I’ve never taken it for granted and do my best not to under estimate it. I have found that your backbone can’t be broken; it can be stressed, strained, or even splintered, but never broken. We all have experiences that test our backbone, that push us to the limits and then further still. As I visited my friend and her newborn son at the hospital on Sunday, I all but saw her backbone struggling to handle this most trying ordeal. When she held him, I noticed the tell-tale stiffening of her spine and the dogged glint in her eye; he would get through this, she would get through this – no matter what. It’s this fiery determination, this passionate persistence, this obstinate resolution that lends you a strength you never knew before.  To some it feels like it comes out of nowhere, just when they need it most; to others they’ve known it’s been there all along.  Either way, your backbone is a silent superhero, coming to your rescue when crisis calls.  Just as I was getting ready to leave this new mommy, her little guy did something to make her laugh and a smile shone in her eyes.  I knew then it was going to be ok, for she hadn’t lost her funny bone.

I often believe that the type of life you live is determined by your ability to maintain a sense of humor. I think the trick to surviving the everyday lies in finding the comedy embedded in the drama. In our house, my sister could sling a one-liner that had us all rolling on the floor in fits of hysterics before the tears had a chance to fall. It’s often these moments I’m most thankful for. Her knack for finding the joke in the somber has always helped me find the silver-lining.  I suppose it’s the funny bone that keeps the backbone from burying the wishbone. Lately, I've been getting the feeling that it's time to do a little digging.  

Whether it be rousing your wishbone, strengthening your backbone, or tickling your funny bone, you are fortifying the frame that protects your soul.  This week, if you’re wrestling with the small stuff or in a battle with something big, and you feel like your backbone is over-worked, you lost your funny bone and a wishbone is nowhere in sight, make sure you let your thoughts take flight; who knows; maybe you will find that amusement is the wind beneath your wings. For  sometimes, success (or survival, depending on how you look at it) lies solely in hanging in there until another day dawns. See you in the skies, my friends…

Where Your Heart Is

Ok, so we know that Rome wasn’t built in a day, Albert Einstein failed math, and it took Benjamin Franklin 101 tries to get it right. We learn early on that to achieve any great professional success, one must be determined, persistent, and relentless.  We’re cautioned it takes focus and energy to climb up that proverbial corporate ladder. Why then aren’t we taught that personal success requires the same? There is nothing that demands more of me than my relationships with family and friends. I think there is no greater commodity than your time and attention, and nothing is more telling about a person than how one chooses to spend them.  I elect to invest mine in those I love. That’s where my heart is.

 “Twice the reward, half the effort.” As I passed this bulletin board advertising a guy purchasing red roses from Weiss’s, I was immediately disgusted by it. The campaign was clearly targeted towards men to sell easy purchasing for Valentine’s Day. Maybe if the ad would have used a word other than “effort” I wouldn’t have been quite so put-off by it. But as it stands, I was truly ticked. What is it with this lackadaisical mentality about love?  Relationships take work – a lot of work.  They require commitment and demand sacrifice. And sometimes, they are just not convenient! Now, to some reading this, I know this may come as a shock to you. You, born of the reality TV age where love is a contest set in fantasy locations¸ where celebrities get married and divorced faster than it takes most people to plan a wedding. I can see why you think that love isn’t supposed to be difficult. Multi-billionaire networks and the ridiculous antics of the famous have led you to believe that relationships aren’t supposed to be hard, that people are disposable and quickly replaced. Oh, what a sad, superficial portrayal of such a profound emotion.

While I may not be a true romantic, I am most definitely a sentimentalist. Now I wouldn’t go so far as to say I don’t enjoy receiving red roses and reservations at a five star restaurant, because I do – I really do! It’s just that fresh picked weeds and handmade burnt toast mean more to me. I am completely swept off my feet by thoughtfulness. I want a gesture or a gift that makes me feel special, that shows the time and attention you invested in it. Unfortunately for Weiss, that necessitates effort.  Again, just to recap, so do relationships. Never more so I am discovering, than the one you have with your child.

As habit follows, it’s now the wee hours of morning, Sunday’s I think, and because of how spectacular Liam’s poop was, I just finished changing not only him but his sheets, too.  Since he has been going through the apparently infamous, four-month “wakeful” period, sleep hasn’t been something I’ve gotten to enjoy too much of this week. For all the wonderful discoveries my son is making, being able to find his nook and put it back in his mouth regrettably isn’t one of them. And since my husband is still immobilized on crutches, every single one of these reconnaissance missions fall on my feet alone. But for each of my boys, I will heed their call.

And so, this Valentine’s Day finds me celebrating a new relationship and focusing on a different facet of love. This February 14^th, I commemorate a mother and a dedicated wife. Although I’ve only been married little over a year, the Honeymoon period has long since ended. In all that has happened since saying “I do”, we have come a long way from that couple in the pictures. With baby spit-up on my shoulder, in my white granny panties¸ I feel like I barely recognize that girl in the beautiful dress. But just as I close our wedding album and begin to wonder if Brian and I had any inkling of what a real marriage takes, I hear him hobble into the nursery and comfort Liam. I guess we did. Turns out, we’re both determined and persistent when it comes to our personal success. When I went in to the baby’s room to join him, I saw his heart next to mine in the middle of that crib.

So in tribute to this love that takes commitment and sacrifice, I am going to boycott “The Bachelor” Monday night, rent an old Cary Grant movie, and snuggle in next to my husband, enjoying just each other’s time and attention.  Here’s to whatever love you are celebrating this Valentine’s Day, wherever your heart is <3    

If You Can't Walk, Crawl

It’s often said that a journey begins with one step; what they don’t tell you is that once started, there will be times upon the voyage when you are going to find yourself faced with obstacles that make walking no longer an option.  When this happens, you have two choices: sit there and wait for someone to come along and pick you up or pull yourself to your knees and start crawling. As I hit hurdles in marriage and parenthood that leave me feeling temporarily crippled, sitting just doesn’t seem to be an alternative…

It’s been over a week since Brian blew out his knee and has been confined to crutches. Watching him struggle with the most mundane of tasks, I am amazed at how much we take for granted basic mobility. Although I know pain is a constant state of being for him, he astounds me with his fierce determination and unrelenting persistence at becoming more self-sufficient each day. When he decided to tackle the stairs, and started scooting up them backwards on his behind, I was reminded what I loved most about my husband: he is a crawler.  As he tackled those steps one by one, I reminisced back on milestones in my life when I was incapacitated.

In looking back on my pilgrimage from childhood to adulthood, I would say that my character was built by each pivotal moment I had to clamber my way through.  I didn’t think of crawling as an option then, or even a choice, but rather an automatic response to a call in arms. And since my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer when I was 11, suffice it to say there were many rings to answer.  But since meeting and marrying Brian, I feel like I have been cruising along easy street. It’s been such a luxury to have had the opportunity to hitch-hike aimlessly through these past five years, with only the responsibilities and needs of him and I alone strapped to my back. What an opulent indulgence to focus exclusively on ourselves. Outside cancer’s debilitating reach, I rediscovered the simple joy of a stable, low-stress environment that created for me an illusion of control. Each morning I woke up in this happy place, I felt like I was in Disneyland; I knew what a vacation from my family’s reality this was, especially my mother’s. For the past 15 years, she’s been the sole captain of our family’s ship. With all of our collective needs weighing only on her shoulders, we came close to sinking more times than I care to count. But because of her tenacity and the sheer power of her will, she managed to keep us a float.  Somehow, some way, whether she has had to beg, borrow, or steal; our heads always remained above water. Now, if you look at her closely, you can see the scars crawling through the past decade has left. The ones on her knees catch your eye first; however, it’s the ones on her soul that you can’t look away from. Since Brian had his accident, and all household responsibilities have fallen onto my shoulders, it forces me to question whether I still remember how to crawl myself.

Last night after I lugged the trash cans to the curb and tucked Liam into his crib, I stood in front of my grandmother’s vanity as I got ready for bed.  I remembered when Brian and I picked it up from the house my father grew up in, and put it in the first bedroom we shared together in our apartment on Walnut Street.  It’s hard to believe that just two years later, here it sits in a home of our own, just a room away from where our very son is beginning to grow. As I started to change into my PJs, I thought about the many different fights and struggles Brian and I have been through that led to me standing on this new silver carpet. When my pants fell to the floor, I noticed scars I had never seen before on my knees.  In disbelief, my eyes flew to the face in the mirror; there, hidden in the depths of my reflection, were matching marks on my soul.  I couldn’t help but smile in pure satisfaction as I realized I haven’t forgotten how to crawl after all, I guess I’ve been doing it all along…

It’s frustrating to go from being able to walk to being forced to crawl. No matter what stage of life you find yourself in, your knees balk at the travel ahead. But your soul welcomes the chance to grow. So tonight, if you find yourself sore after a long day, maybe an even longer week of crawling, take a good look at yourself; when you notice scars never seen before, know that you are pulling yourself along your journey. Albeit at what may feel like a snail’s pace, we are nonetheless making our way through these character-building stumbling blocks. Crawl on, dear friends…