life in urban light

This bully issue is still unresolved, but it’s close.  So close.  The next step is right around the corner and it should be the final step.  It’s been exhausting, emotionally.  My time in therapy has been mainly dedicated to talking about it.  Time with friends has been spent discussing Henry’s social and emotional health.  I wouldn’t necessarily call it all-consuming, but…maybe I’m fooling myself.

I’m not fooling myself, however, when I say that sometimes I wonder exactly what it is that makes one (me) a mother.  Is it merely the fact that I gave birth?  Is it the maternal feelings I have toward my child?  Is it the ownership of unending patience (which I don’t have?)?  Is it the ability to come up with arts and crafts on rainy afternoons and actually enjoy doing them with your kid(s) (which I don’t do)?  Is it some other elusive quality that I may or may not possess?  This question haunts me and on anxious days it downright tortures me.  Am I doing it right?  Am I enough?

I just heard the following quote and it hit me like a punch to the gut.

“A mother is only as happy as her saddest child.”

Yes.  So very yes.  I am a mother.  I might not be the craftiest.  I might not be the most patient every day.  But I ride this emotional roller coaster with him and I do what I can to pad the ride just enough.  Enough that he feels the bumps and dips but doesn’t suffer unnecessarily.  I think that’s enough.

When Henry’s New Years resolution was to “let go of being bullied” you can imagine how many feet my heart sunk.  Terror.  Fury.  My flight instinct kicked in at lightning speed.  We’ll get him tested for APP, we’ll send him to Thurgood-Marshall, we’ll get him out of there.  Oh, the rabbit hole and how fast I go down into it.  But then.

But then (over winter break, I might add) I emailed his teacher a long and sad email about my heart and Henry’s heart and how we need help.  And God bless the woman who responds to me ON HER BIRTHDAY about how she’ll take care of us.  How she has strategies and she will help.  My flight response eases up.  And then.

And then I casually mention to a few friend parents at school this whole mess about bullying and a friend mom says to me “Have you talked to the school secretary?  She’d know who’s doing it.  She knows everything.  Do you have a relationship with her?  I’ll go with you to talk to her.”  And I think to myself, “Wow, she cares about us.”  And then.

And then the next day after school at the park I’m talking to other friend parents and this whole mess about bullying comes up again.  A friend mom hears me and immediately yells out to her kid, goes to talk to him, comes back and says “T doesn’t know who’s doing it.”  She had gone, within seconds of hearing about it, to ask her child if he knew who might be hurting my kid, and tells me that he and another child will be there for Henry on the playground.  If he ever needs support at recess, he can go find them.  They are bigger and older than him and they will look out for him.  I thought “Wow, she cares about us.”

And it’s not just thinking that’s going on, it’s the feeling that’s happening.  It’s feeling like, holy crap, we have a COMMUNITY.  We have a COMMUNITY that I didn’t know existed.  These people actually CARE that someone is hurting MY child.  And that flight response?  It’s gone.  So far gone. How could I flee this place of people looking out for one another?  And then.

And then Henry comes out of the woods with a couple of other kids.  And one of the kids stands there with his mom and tells me bravely and articulately that another kid called Henry the “B” word and hit him with a stick.  And his mom tells me that the other child has been a problem before and asks her child, “A, will you look out for Henry at recess?”  And A agrees that,  yes, he will look out for Henry at recess.  And now.

And now I’m so wrapped up in gratitude and in awe of these people around me that I have to explain to Henry why there are tears in my eyes.  No, pal, you don’t have to look up at me and twist your hair out of nervousness.  Mama isn’t sad, mama is just surprised that so many people around us will take care of us, and we get to be a part of that, and take care of them, and that this is our place.  Mama didn’t know that net was there for us.

And Henry, don’t you know?  Bullying is terrible, and the way this kid is making you feel is absolutely not okay.  It will end.  I will ensure it.  But this community of ours?  It has provided kids to look out for you on the playground, it has reacted to our situation swiftly and efficiently.  This community of ours?  We didn’t realize it was there before the kid started being a jerk, and that is the bright spot.

.  Driving through a sudden swirl of bright yellow leaves that literally takes your breath away for a few seconds.  (Thank God for a daily drive home that takes you through the Arboretum)

.  A one-line text to my brother in a far, far away land (San Francisco) that elicits a one-line response: “F*ck yeah.”  Goodness, I miss him.

. Reaching for what I know is an empty tube of toothpaste (because I still haven’t replaced it), only to realize that Ben replaced it for me.  Yes, we use different toothpaste.  Don’t ask.

.  This video.

.  This comic:

.  These pants.  They’re basically my uniform when I’m at home.

.  Blue pumpkins.  And the Pumpkin Fairy.

.  A three-hour conversation with a long-distance friend.  The kind of conversation that spans a long car ride, lunch preparation and consumption and the ride to school to pick up your kid.  And when you hang up, your ear hurts.

.  This shower gel.  Followed by this body scrub.  A little bit life- (or at least skin) changing.  Yes, really.

.  Brussels sprouts.  With bacon.  And lemon.

.  Teeny-tiny salt-on-the-go, for the sodium addicted salt snobs (like me).

.  Lighting every candle in the house.  Especially ones that smell perfectly autumnal, like this one – a new favorite that I burned down to the bottom in less than two weeks.  It’s that good, and that perfect for the season.

.  Soup. Packed full-o-veggies.

.  When Ben turns on the music and announces in an authoritative voice to Henry and me that it is Time. To. Dance.  We dance.

Whoa.  The fact that we have been in our New Old House for three months is just mind boggling.  When I looked at the calendar and realized the time I thought it would be a good time to reflect a bit on how life has changed (or hasn’t) in our new space.

So, some thoughts, three months in:

1 – I remember coming to the New Old House to take measurements (before we had keys) and standing in the kitchen thinking “I will love this house when it rains”.  I was right.  The windows are so dramatic about the rain.  The window screens hold onto every droplet and the glass gets streaked like a watercolor painting.

2 – But on the topic of rain… Ben and I got quite the shock when we were down in the basement assembling some furniture a month and a half ago in the middle of a torrential downpour and heard water rushing through the back door.  Down the linoleum.  Into the laundry room.  Ben threw on his coat and shoes and took the shop vac out to handle the drain that wasn’t draining. I think that’s the day we became homeowners.

3 – Or maybe it was the day, a week into living here, that we had to call a plumber to fix our upstairs bathroom sink that wouldn’t drain.  No landlord to call there!  So I stopped freakin’ and called Beacon.  As it turns out, that obnoxious tagline is catchy and comes to mind at just the right moment.

4 – Henry still refuses to be upstairs or downstairs alone.  I am still annoyed by this.  I’m working on it.

5 – I think the Pumpkin Fairy might have come with the house.  I can’t be sure, because I have absolutely no idea who he/she is, but I know they didn’t visit our Old Old House.  The Pumpkin Fairy might be the best part of October in the New Old House.

6 – I thought the gas fireplace was a bummer because it’s all “automatic” and “not authentic”.  I was wrong.  I turn that sucker on every morning and really like watching Henry eat his breakfast in front of it.

7 – I still don’t totally know how to use my stove/oven.  The manual is translated (very poorly) from Italian and it’s got me stumped.  But so far I’ve baked a few things and made lots of dinners, so we’re getting there.

8 – I love having kind neighbors.  We only know 3 households but they are nice people and I enjoy the sense of community.  When Henry woke up with a fever one morning I was able to text a neighbor and she came over with a thermometer, a bad-ass one, and TOOK HIS TEMPERATURE FOR ME.  That’s so much better than borrowing an egg or cup of sugar.

9 – I miss walking to school. So does Henry.

10 – I don’t use the garage nearly as much as I thought I would.  Having a garage was on Ben’s “must” list, and I thought for sure we’d never find a house because, hello, garages in Seattle?  Not the easiest find.  We lucked out in that the first house we toured had a garage and now we own that house and that garage.  Ben parks in there all the time.  I park there maybe 40% of the time.  A back-up camera would help.  Or a wider alley.

11 – You get the house right away, but the  building of a home takes time.  I am impatient about this, especially when I’m flipping light switch after light switch with exasperation that I can’t figure out which one turns the damn porch light on, or when I can’t forget which cupboard houses the measuring spoons.

I will try to be more patient as we settle into this place.  Our place.  We have all the time in the world to be together here, to live here, to mess things up here, to listen to the rain here, to be mad that when you yell to someone downstairs from upstairs that they can’t hear you here, to eat dinners here, to host dear friends here, to watch movies here, to fret about the yard here.

This is our place, now.  And my guess is that sooner rather than later it’ll start taking on that comforting, familiar feeling.  After all, it’s only been three months.

I am not a stay-at-home mom.  Yet I am at home to drop off at school, I am home to volunteer in the classroom and hold office on the PTA.  I’m home to pick up from school. The unseen part of my life is that 3-4 days a week I jet off to photo shoots after drop-off in the morning.  This is a confusing concept for most of the people in my life, myself included.  I have the benefit of setting my own schedule and allowing ample time for Henry.  This is such a blessing.  It is also a curse.

Sometimes I find myself envying my friends who just go.to.work.  They have an office, co-workers, lunch breaks, set hours and weekends.  I wouldn’t trade those things for the luxury of owning my own business, but every now and then I feel envious.

I feel envious because along with the benefits of setting my own schedule is the responsibility of setting my own schedule.  How much should I work?  How many portraits is too many?  When that 9th couple wants to book a wedding with us, putting us over our 8 wedding quota, what do I do?  Especially when I love the couple?  I have no boss to blame when a weekend of 10 shoots leaves me run down to the point of getting the flu.  I set that schedule.  It’s up to me.

And yes, I am grateful.  So grateful.  But right now I am in a place of feeling stretched in a million directions.  Henry woke up vomiting this morning (yes, exactly a month after he got sick previously).  This morning I also had a photo shoot scheduled.  Similar to waking up to a sick child the morning you have a big presentation at work, I would imagine.  You know you’re going to let someone down, and you have to decide who that person is.  For me, it’s not going to be Henry.

I’m no saint.  I didn’t reschedule my photo shoot with ease or without being a little pissed off.  Not at Henry, not at Ben for having different work responsibilities, but just at the situation.  At how hard it is to straddle these roles.

I am lucky that the clients I had booked this morning are longtime clients and friends and are understanding to the point of making me tear up while on the phone with them.  I am lucky that I can reschedule.  But…it’s also hard not to feel resentful.  I want to be here with Henry, to comfort him when he’s sick and take him to the doctor and make sure he feels loved while he feels so poorly.

But I also want to work.  I was so looking forward to my photo shoot this morning – the first after our trip to NYC (soon to be relayed here on the blog!) with people I care about immensely.  But my son is sick and needed to get to the doctor.  Ben had a busy day and is facing a huge deadline tomorrow.  Today, being a mom trumped being a businessperson.

I love my son.  I love my job.  I don’t love when my job as mom and job as photographer bump into one another.

There is solace in knowing that few of us are immune to this pull.  There is solace in knowing I did right by my son today.  But there is also work to be done here.  Work on guilt, on finding the right work/life balance.  Work on rolling with the punches, trusting that doing what’s best for Henry is always the right choice and that my work is with people who mostly understand the pressures of motherhood and related obligations.

Solace and work.  Story of our lives.

Henry woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, so I’ve got an unexpected sick day on my hands.  Sick day for kiddo = sick day for me.  I don’t mind.  I’m glad I get to have him to myself today, especially on this gloomy, rainy day.

Back to school is hard on everyone.  For Henry, it means longer days with a lot more concentration.  For me it means a lot more rushing and reminders.  The transition is tough, so the thought of a low-key day with my boy isn’t a bad one.

“The best kind of rain, of course, is a cozy rain.

This is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember, the rain that falls on a day when you’d just as soon stay in bed a little longer, write letters or read a good book by the fire, take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked windows with complacency.”

– Susan Allen Toth

Raise your hand if you are also swimming around in a big lake of never ending “shoulds”.  You know what I’m talking about, right?

I should exercise more.

I should enjoy spending time with my kid(s) more.

I should make more dinners at home.

I should feel better about myself.

I should have more energy.

Those “shoulds” that creep in and invade my head.  I’m full of them right now.  Right to the tip top.  Most of them are centered around health, as I’m working with a nutrition coach and trying to find a sustainable path to eating healthy and feeling better.  Eliminating the foods that don’t do me any good and focusing more on the things that make me feel great.

The process has been hard, I won’t lie.  Being very contentious about food and eating is hard work.  It’s a lot easier when you’ve got a plan (Whole30, Advocare 30 Day Challenge) telling you exactly what to do and when to do it.  But for me at least, that is not a sustainable track.  Those plans are extremely successful for me while I’m within the 30 days, and I end them with a head full of confidence.  And then I slowly slide back toward my habits.  And that doesn’t work.

So this is new.  There are no rules.  Just real life.  Entertaining, eating, caring for myself through the way I feed myself.  It’s all good, but right now it’s really hard.  Sugar isn’t off limits.  Alcohol isn’t off limits.  Nothing is off limits which means you have to think about WHY you’re having that third glass of wine, or that second macaron.  And let me tell you, in case you don’t know, thinking about that stuff sucks.  Because then, for me at least, the “shoulds” (or “shouldn’ts”, as the case may be) come a rollin’ in.  I have never been one to be easy on myself, so it’s not a huge surprise that I give myself very little grace when it comes to cleaning things up.

So, there’s that, I guess.  The “shoulds”.  I should be easier on myself, right?  Oh wait.  There I go again.

I share this because I believe I’m not alone in my battle with the “shoulds”.  And I want you to know I’m here.  From this absolutely exhausted girl to you, I’m here.

So, around this time of year I start hitting fatigue with work.  My busy wedding season heads straight into an even busier fall season, with holiday photos and other family portraits.  It’s so easy for me to fall into a “woe is me” attitude about being busy, and stressed out, and stretched thin.  But you know what?  ENOUGH of that.  You know what?  I am so.damn.grateful.  And that is where my focus should be.

I have lived this dream of owning my own business making art for the past NINE year.  NINE!  I would have never guessed such a thing would be possible.  Just me, in my office or in a field or at your wedding with my camera.  But it’s worked, and I am so.damn.grateful.

Ben and I will often snap photos of each other working at weddings (the only thing we shoot together) and I keep them all in a file called “at work”.  Clever, huh?  Right now that file has 153 images in it.  Some are old, some are from our wedding last weekend.  My clients never see them.  They’re just for us, to remind us of what it’s like to work together.  I love looking at them because they remind me of  how worth it the whole thing is.  I get to do this.  For a living.  All the time.

It’s not always roses.  I DO get burnt out.  And I DO sometimes want to give it all up.  In fact, earlier this year I took a 3 month sabbatical to focus on Henry and some stuff he was going through, and I loved it.  I loved the time off.  I loved actually making dinner every night and having my weekends free and not being burnt out or busy.  But when the sabbatical ended I was rejuvenated and excited.

My clients will tell you what a dork I am when I shoot.  I FREAK OUT when I get the shot.  The goosebump shot, or the one that makes me cry behind my camera, or the one where I really found the perfect light.  And that’s me.  Loving my job, even though it makes me insane sometimes, and even though it’s hard to explain to Henry that my job isn’t like Dada’s.  I don’t work a 9-5.  I work evenings and weekends and weekdays, too.  I might have 1 day off a month, but I am also fortunate to have flexibility to be there every single day to pick him up from school.  I try to help him understand how great that is.  He’ll get it, some day.

Also, if you must know, we generally leave weddings feeling a little like this.  A heart full of love but a body ready for sleep:

But the humorous moments like these help the fatigue:

And I live for these moments:

So, to you, my clients, I dedicate this quote with a heart full of gratitude and thanks:

“When buying from an artist/maker, you’re buying more than just an object/photograph.

You are buying hundreds of hours of failures and experiments.

You are buying days, weeks & months of frustration and moments of pure joy.

You aren’t just buying a thing.

You’re buying a piece of a heart, part of a soul, a moment of someone’s life.

Most importantly, you’re buying the artist more time to do something they are passionate about.”

– Anonymous