Pieces

“I think I take pieces of people with me.”

Figuratively, of course.

I spoke those words to a school counselor early in high school. I remember picturing little specks of multi-colored glass in the palm of my hand. Each tiny fragment represented a memory or feeling; some were big and sharp but others small and smooth. No one could see this glistening collection, but I knew it was there; the broken pieces somehow made me whole.

I celebrated my birthday this past Friday and I couldn't help but appreciate this memory. I am still a people-piece collector today. Back in high school ev-er-y-thing was a crisis. Though I had my fair share of not-your-average high school problems, I pulled through and became better despite the difficulty. Many years later, when adversity reared it's nasty head yet again, I wasn't ready – by any means – but I definitely was stronger; an army of lessons-learned and feelings-felt was protecting my heart.

We are all broken.

We all carry pieces of memories-past in our pockets.

If we take the time to look at each speck, we will realize that the good in our lives undoubtedly outweighs the bad.

A little while back, I went in for a scheduled waxing. It was of a “personal” nature, which I will spare all of you – and my mother – the details. I was chit-chatting with the esthetician and we somehow got on the subject of Aiden. I noticed her body language shift. Brandishing a hot wax applicator in one hand and a tissue in the other, I watched her dab the corners of her eyes. As she removed hair from skin she shared the story about how she lost her baby girl. Amidst remnants of sticky, orange wax and worn cloth strips we hugged. Mother-to-mother, stranger-to-stranger and esthetician-to-client, we shared pieces of ourselves that day.

I am proud to be broken.

I am one made up of many.

My family, friends, even complete strangers make whole.

To the greeter at Walmart who watched my cart o'diapers while I ran my tantrum-wielding-toddler to the car, thank you for sharing a piece of yourself. To the usher at church who always offers me a smile, even when mommy-brain (and timing) effects my punctuality, thank you for sharing a piece of yourself. To the stranger I “danced” - and wholeheartedly laughed – with at the grocery store while trying to walk past, thank you for sharing a piece of yourself. To the cashier at Panera who always takes the time to ask my child about his day, thank you for sharing a piece of yourself.

As we get older birthdays signify much more than presents and frills, they offer a time to reflect and cherish. Life is in abundance of good moments for those who are willing to seek them out. Stop and take the time to really see the world around you. Take a piece of the people you meet and offer a piece of yourself in return. After all, life isn't about being put-together, it is about being broken.

~ My Birthday Weekend In Review~

Exploration

Indulgence

F-U-N

"Work"

Cheese!

TINY MOMENTS MATTER: Aiden the Protector

Thanking the barista while I grabbed my extra-dry cappuccino and Chris' skim mocha, I made my way to the children's book area. Barnes & Noble was hopping; I tightly embraced both cups o’ joe to prevent any spillage as I dodged tiny heads bouncing up-and-down all around me.
 
Ahhhh...how I wish I had the energy and vibrancy of a child...no caffeine needed.

I am a sucker for children’s books, which is why I frequent the library and steer clear of book stores. Yesterday - President's Day - with my banker-husband away from his office, I made an exception. Brightly colored books adorned each shelf and a table devoted to springtime was all-but-blooming in the center of the room.
 
Of course, I found Aiden ogling over a book about bulldozers - complete with sound. Chris was kneeling next to him, whispering something in his ear. I had not yet been noticed by my eagle-eyed todd so I drew in the moment, revering in the simple sweetness of a father with his son.

 Then I felt the slight brush of two itty-bitty bodies rushing past me; gigging to one another, unaware of the daydreaming adult brandishing hot java overhead. I did a quick spin but caught myself - and the coffees - despite my accident prone nature. Smirking and chuckling to myself I felt inclined to do a happy dance, but thought better of it...remembering, again, the coffees.
 
Beeeeep, Beeeeep, Beeeeep...crrrrruuuun-ccccchhhhh, crrrrruuuun-ccccchhhhh...

 "Mommy, look at the bull-boze-er!" Aiden's eyes were wide with excitement, obviously proud of his bookstore find. Chris reached for his coffee, which I readily relinquished; no longer wanting the responsibility.

 "Wow, I see and hear it! Very cool, my little man."

 Chris and I were slowly inching Aiden towards the children's exit. Framed with more books and images of story-time favorites, we took our positions. Aiden though was no longer in tow. He was holding a thin Now You Can Read book with both hands. Aiden was not smiling and did not attempt to open the cover.

 "Mom-my, MOM-MY! It is Paranorman. This book it too scary. Daddy, DO NOT open it. Toooo scary." Aiden opened the cover peeked inside, quickly shutting it again. "DO NOT open it."
 
Chris and I exchanged a knowing glance. About three weeks ago, during our family movie night Aiden saw a preview of the aforementioned, Paranorman. Since then, he has brought up the never-seen flick at regular intervals. Usually this occurs in the car while stuck in traffic.
 
"Mommy (very matter-of-factly), tell me about Paranorman."
 
"Well, honey, I don't know about it since we never saw the movie."
 
"Plllleeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Mommy. Pleeeeeeeease!"
 
This banter uaually goes on for five minutes or so (or until I am successfully able to turn on Toddler Radio). Then pleeeeeeease, pleeeeeeeease is replaced by "I've got to shake, shake, shake my sillies out..." It's really a tossup.

I could tell that Aiden was very interested in the book; he even wanted to hold it while we walked to the front of the store. "We will need to leave this at the book store for the older kids, okay?" Aiden nodded but continued on his way. I envisioned a quick grab-and-toss was in our future, but enjoyed a few more moments of serenity. After all, life-sized children's lit characters and tempting gifts-with-purchase were behind us.

Sipping my cap, I continued forth. Then I saw it, but was too slow to react. Aiden was in front of the Lego table - a good distance from the children's area might I add - and he was commanding an audience...book-in-hand.

"Paranorman is too scary! TOOOO scarrrry. Do not open it!" He then walked up to a very small little boy, who couldn't have been more than a year old, put his hand on the child's shoulder and - in a much softer voice - whispered, "Paranorman is too scary for you."

The little boy's mother laughed and commented on Aiden's articulateness. I, too, found myself chuckling and my heart melted a bit at his sincere concern for fellow-child. Chris had been up at the register purchasing my "little" bounty of spring-time books. He met us at the Lego table just as we were leaving, the Paranorman book far away so the "little boy, Aiden's junior, would not get scared."
 
As we walked to the parking lot, hand-in-hand-in-hand, I shared Aiden's Paranorman admonition with Chris. "Looks like we are doing something right; our little man here is quite the protector and not scared to show it!"
 
That night there was no more talk about the "scary movie." Having warned another child of the "scariness" put Aiden in the driver's-seat. He was more interested in his new books celebrating warm weather, flowers and sunshine.
 
As I peacefully sipped my hot caffeine-free mint refresh tea - no longer fearing for the safety of little ankle-biters tempting my lack of balance - I thought about the simplicity and joy of a day spent with those I love.
 
Tiny moments really do matter.

Aiden "creating spring" right in our kitchen

The finished product!  Wishful thinking on this chilly day



Mommy's version of "wishful spring thinking"



Family movie night

Another family movie night where Aiden donned

his cape and boots to save Wilbur in Charlotte's Web 2



Love Note

Even in a young marriage, as time passes, the expression of love begins to change. Sometimes, I find myself saying “I love you” before starting the day or ending the night. I feel in love but I have forgotten how to really say it. Love is not supposed to be easy and cannot grow while set on autopilot.

We all suffer difficulties, endure struggles and are tested – sometimes more often than we like. Embracing the strength that is offered to us, as we triumph over each obstacle, will make us stronger, our relationships stronger. We all will continue to learn and love as we grow.

Below is my gift to Chris this Valentine's Day. We, together, want to share this message with all of you.

* * *

Dear Chris,

I remember the Monday before you asked me to marry you. It was a late October night; a slight chill gently kissed the darkness as we sat on the stoop. We were talking – really talking – and listening. I could tell you had something on your mind. Your eyes were twinkling so very quickly in the moonlight – begging to cry out – but your mouth never gave in, never offered up your secret.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” The words escaped your lips so suddenly that I could feel my breath hitch. I slowly drank in the cool air, letting it temper the blush I felt blanketing my body. We had said those three little words before...but this time...it was different.

Only a couple days later, you got down on one knee and asked me to be your wife. I said yes and at that very moment I could see love – and relief – in your eyes. Your secret was finally out.

* * *

I could feel my father's arm linked with my own – holding me up, offering security – but it was as if all moisture had left my mouth. I tried to swallow away my nervousness but nothing seemed to calm my jitters. As I contemplated a run to the water fountain I was ushered forth; heavy, honey-colored doors slowly began to open. Suddenly we were walking – dad and me – and I could see you off in the distance.

Photo courtesy of Kate Triano Photography

Butterflies were still dancing the tango in my stomach when I felt my father kiss my cheek, but, as you took my hand in yours, I again felt safe.

Our vows were traditional; though we had spoken of writing our own, we were young and caught up in the hoopla of wedding planning and preparation. I have no doubt that we meant the words heard so many times before – to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health... – but if I had to do it again now, knowing us like I do, I would write the words and truths spilling from my heart.

Photo courtesy of Kate Triano Photography

You are still my best friend. My love.

Superhero father to our son.

I never would have imagined six years ago that our journey together would take us to the places we have been. To the pain and devastation we have felt. I never thought that 'in sickness and in health' would apply to the well-being of our son. To the mental, physical, emotional prowess we needed to survive as a couple, as parents, as individuals. I never thought that we would find ourselves questioning our union, our place in each others lives.

So much has seemingly changed since we said 'I do.' Yes, I never would have imaged this life for us, but it is ours. Together, we know the love of – and for – a child. We have experienced the purest of joy in the good times and gained raw perspective in the bad. We are strong, even when we feel weak. We are wise, even when we question. We are partners in this journey of ours.

Our love has undoubtedly changed, but I can honestly say I love you more today than ever before. We are still growing together, learning together, forgiving together. The knowingness that 'life is not easy' reminds us to persist. After all, we are a family of survivors. Believers of miracles and celebrators of life.

I love you.

* * *

I knew when when I woke this morning – so very early – what I wanted to write. The gift I wanted to give to you on our seventh Valentines Day as a married couple. From the onset of Aiden's diagnosis and through much of his recovery, we were focused on one thing: the health of our son. We knowingly put our relationship in the back seat. We all but buckled it in; figured it would be easy enough to bring forth when the time was right.

Our son is healthy and thriving; but – not that long ago – our relationship was tired and drawn. It would have been easy to walk away; to not face the anger and frustration we felt when Aiden got sick. We envied our friends with their healthy kids and seemingly healthy marriages. Yes, everyone has their troubles but our hearts were worn and we felt isolated in our pain. We wanted our life-before-cancer back.

What I now realize, though, is that in our devastation we gained a very rare awareness. This knowledge in and of itself is powerful, beautiful and unique to us, together. Now that we have been able to step back, realize that troubles are relative and that we are not alone in our struggles or joys; life has so much more meaning. I have no doubts in us and in our love.

* * *

This morning when I hugged you in the hallway, three times, and exclaimed – in the loudest whisper I could muster – that I loved you, did you see the twinkling in my eyes? Could you tell I had something on my mind? I could feel the words escaping my mouth so very quickly. My eyes, my heart they had a secret to share. Looks like my secret – this very love note – is a secret no longer.

Happy Valentine's Day, my love.

Always yours,

Leslie

Photo courtesy of Kristen Gardner Photography

Photo courtesy of Kristen Gardner Photography 

Being 'Busy'

Last night I did all the wrong things before bedtime: scrutinized every task left unfinished, scanned Pinterest on my iPhone, watched mindless TV onDemand and neglected to wash my face. Aiden was asleep, Chris was asleep, the dog was asleep and I wanted to join them. The desire to cop some z's was not enough, though, as I found myself rummaging the pantry, fridge, freezer for a post-midnight snack only moments later.

Flax seed oatmeal, organic apples, yogurt cheese, frozen organic wheatgrass juice … Yes, Leslie, you are a health nut but would it kill you to tuck some junk food away?!

Unsatisfied and irritated, I shut off the kitchen light and headed back up the stairs; careful not to evoke any creaks with my ascent. Grasping the lever ever-so-softly, I gently eased open the door and entered the guest-bedroom-turned-office. I stared at my blank computer screen for a few seconds, debating whether to click the mouse and awaken the monitor. Against my better judgement, I clicked.

Now what?

I knew I was in no shape to write and I couldn't muster up the energy to return the massive amount of emails in my inbox. Job searching was O-U-T of the question.  Something was nagging at me and I couldn't put my finger on it. I rewound the day's events in my head; all-in-all it was a good one in which I focused entirely on Aiden. I made the conscious decision to let everything else wait.

Was I going through withdraws? Is my body programmed to always be in overdrive?

I read a NY Times article over the summer, which highlighted “The 'Busy'Trap.” At first, the Opinionator made me very angry. Touting that busyness is self-imposed and avoidable. “The present hysteria [busyness] is not a necessary or inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it.”

Back then, I was amidst a move, new job, childcare search, doctor appointments left and right for my little man and even an upcoming medical check for him in Boston. I felt like busyness was pumping through my veins and this article made me mad … really, really mad.. As if it was sooooo easy to stop the madness; trust me - if I could've, I would've.  Looking back, though, I realize the author had actually struck a vein; causing the busyness I felt inside, to swell. I had reached my whits end and my reading of “The 'Busy' Trap just didn't jive with my current set of circumstances … or so I thought.

Last night, I found myself thinking again about the article. I have been out of work now for roughly a month and somehow my calendar is already busting at the seams: playdates, early-development classes, lunch meet-ups, and the like. Of course, the calendar doesn't include my self-imposed to-do list which is full of house cleaning, job searching, dinner-making, writing. I know guilt is driving me – but last night I found myself just wishing things to be simple; apparently my subconscious was yelling out the very same thing.

* * *

This afternoon Chris asked for me to pickup his dry cleaning, but mentioned that I should check our bank account first. Oh guilt, rearing it's ugly head once again. I said that I haven't been eating out or shopping for anything but groceries. “We need to pay down our credit card and start saving again.” I know that he is right and that we need to get things back on track … rather, I need to …

Guilt, guilt go away ...

Preceding Aiden's diagnosis, I had been working in medical marketing and sales. I was driven – a border-line workaholic. In May 2010, our lives changed forever. I never second-guessed my decision, no one did, to leave the workplace and care for Aiden full-time; he needed me and, boy, did I need him. We moved in with my folks, rented out our home and made it work.

Despite the circumstances, I do feel fortunate to have been able to spend so much time with my little man. Returning to work will give me the ability to once again contribute to retirement, help build Aiden's college saving plan, and make sure we are not one emergency away from financial collapse. We wear rose-colored glasses no more. The problem is that my struggle exists in the trade-off.

I don't know what the future may bring for any of us, which is what makes this trade-off especially excruciating given all we have been through. I am hopeful that only good things are to come, but I am also realistic and I know that life is not perfect. I am tired of existing in limbo and I so terribly want to be with my son, my family and write. Currently, though, even being home I don't feel like I am truly being with him.

I can't win.

I didn't want to write this entry; it is not well-planned and makes me feel utterly vulnerable. I refuse to be silent, though. I made a decision to always write out loud so I do not plant to fill my blog with untruths or fictitious renderings of my life. Silence, too, is telling, which is likely why it has taken me a bit to write a post such as this one.

This is me exposed and this is my life right now.

Many people have asked what my plans are as “Leslie Lipscomb AspiringAuthor.” I am still figuring it all out, but I know – in my heart of hearts – I will write a book. Even if I print it out at Kinko's and it sits in my bedside table, it will be my gift to myself … and to Aiden. For now, my blog serves as a brainstorming bubble. I use it as a journal-of-sorts, but it is also helping me organize my thoughts and ideas.

* * *

Earlier today, when I started writing, I asked Aiden what "being busy" meant.  He looked at me blankly, opened his palms to the ceiling, shrugged his shoulders and said "I dunno."  That's when I got it.  Busyness is self-imposed; a grown-up perverseness to work, work, work.  

Well, it appears I have been caught in The 'Busy' Trap, even while life afforded me lots of perspective and a little break from the traditional workplace. I need to have faith moving forward that things will turn out okay and start letting go of things I cannot change. As it turns out author, Tom Kreider, had it right all along; “Life is too short to be busy.”

Below are some pictures from this past Sunday and our impromptu visit to the Heritage Farm Museum.  Here's to many more days full of unplanned fun!

Good ole fashioned fun

This is what life is about 

A "Super" Time

I could feel my jaw tensing as I slowly ground my teeth together.  Bad habit, I know, but breaking said proclivity was no easy feat.  I was on edge - irritation slyly creeping through my body as if to conceal a sinister takeover plan.  All too quickly, I surrendered and let myself fall into the abyss of a “bad” mood.

Crunch, grrrrrind, grrrrrind, crunch… My dentist would not be happy.

I speak of perspective and celebrating the “right now,” but I am human and just as vulnerable to kicking off the covers, placing my feet on the floor and stepping forth from the dreaded wrong side. Fortunately or not – depending on how you look at it – I recognize the predilections of a bad day almost as soon as they begin to appear.  This heightened sense of awareness, though, only seems to increase my irritability.

Come on, Leslie! Life is too short to be wallowing.  Pull yourself together, lady!  Thanks, Self, duly noted.

The onset of my bad day began at 5:32 yesterday morning when I sleepily stumbled from that ill-fated side.  I had planned to get a productive start to my day, but that apparently was not in the cards.  I have spent the past 100+ hours endlessly dog paddling in the murky waters of the job search pool.  I have tried to keep my wits about me but when faced with laborious application systems that are incapable of actually working, I start to hear the little cuckoo cuckoo bird going off in my head.

I want to spend this – short, in the grand scheme of life – time off with Aiden; playing games, making crafts, singing songs and the like.  He is only a toddler for so long! Instead, I have been dropping him at the sitter just so that I can find time to really look for a part-time job. 

Soon my toddler will be in school, ready to tackle the world, waving bye-bye as he boards the big yellow bus.  I, however, will be gripping the stop sign pole for support as I heave between sobs.  Awkward glances from passersby and all, I welcome it.  Now, though, I am desperately trying to find a good work-life balance…and a little sanity. 

Mamas of the world, I know you are singin’ this tune.  Honestly, in some aspect or other, we – mom or not – are all minstrels of the same song.  Life is about a balance, which we all struggle to find…and, more importantly, keep.

* * *

“I am SUPERHERO AIDEN!  Here to SAVE the day!” 

As I walked down the hall, I saw my little love bug wearing nothing but a cape, diaper and Spiderman snow boots.  I could feel the icy hold of my bad morning slowly starting to melt.  Annoyances dripping off my body onto the wood floor as I walked towards Aiden’s room.  Drip, drip, drip…

My little superhero - cape, diaper, boots and all :)

“How long have you been up, Superhero Aiden?

“I have been up saving people, Superhero Mommy.” 

Superhero Mommy?  Huh, I kind of like the sound of that.  At that moment, irritation’s sinister takeover plan was foiled by my very own superhero and I was reminded that I, Superhero Mommy, had the antidote all along.

As I continue to look for the right part time job to supplement income while I pursue writing /consulting, I will wear my cape in all its glory.  Irritability beware, I am learning more lessons as I go.  I am Superhero Mommy and together with Superhero Aiden we are here to save the day!  

Always making me smile

A reminder...