As a mom, and an adult, I can look back on my childhood and see the stuff that maybe I wasn't aware of. Or the stuff that I chose to ignore. Or the situations that I didn't even consider her feelings about. I can see her perspective now.
So, on the 30th anniversary of my dad's death, I just want to say: I miss you, dad, so much.
And thank you, mom, for everything. Love you.
Read MoreMy journey with minimalism began with decluttering my physical space. But minimalism doesn't end or begin there. There's so much more, including mental minimalism and emotional decluttering--clearing out my "internal" space.
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It may seem indulgent when you have a family to try to plan a vacation without the kids. It may seem hard, it may even seem unnecessary. But, once you do it, I think you'll see the value in it.
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Jealousy is not a welcoming, warm spot to dwell. It's isolating and damaging--to your soul, to your spirit.
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Have you ever noticed that oftentimes the most romantic moments in movies happen at sunset? There really is something about that light...it's romantic and beautiful. It really is the perfect setting for romance.
But I have a confession.
While I like sunsets, my real passion is on the other end...sunrises.
Not that I see a lot of them, or am able to really enjoy them if I do see them. Having a couple of preschoolers has made that a little more difficult.
But, when I am around for them, I love them. I love them because it's a new day and whatever seemed overwhelming in the darkness of night is washed away by the light.
And they are incredibly romantic.
Say what?
I have a reason for this--let me set the scene.
May, 2003. A chilly (very) early morning in Milwaukee. My alarm goes off and I begrudgingly force myself out of my warm bed, get dressed and make my way into the kitchen. Marc is already there, pouring coffee into a thermos. We exchange pleasantries and then gather the blankets and bag of treats and leave the house.
As we make our way to the lake side I wonder why this is so important for Marc to show me. He has brought up the sunrise on the lake so many times in recent weeks. At first I thought he was just telling me how pretty it was and that "one day" we should check it out. You know, "one day." But then he brought it up again...and again...and actually put a plan in place for us to see it. The urgency! We had just rolled into town the night before and now we were up early to go see the sunrise. I just felt tired and cold. I was a little grumpy.
He parked the car and we made our way down a beautiful staircase. A very long, beautiful staircase. All I could think is how much I was not looking forward to the return trip.
He found what he deemed as a perfect spot and we put out the blanket and sat down. I also covered myself in layers of blankets--it was cold.
The next thing I heard was a bottle being popped. Champagne? What was going on? I couldn't get over just how much he really loved sunrises.
So we sat, alternated between sipping our bubbly and coffee (a weird combo, but it worked--both were warming me up) and talked.
It was so nice. My grumpiness faded and we talked about everything. Our pasts, our present, our future. We knew we were going to get married. We knew we'd have kids. But we also knew we wanted a house and a dog, first. Oh the plans we made, the wishes we had.
Unfortunately for Marc, the sunrise wasn't exactly cooperating. It was a cloudy day and the beautifulness that he wanted to share with me was partly blocked.
And it was cold. After a couple of hours I mentioned how cold I was and asked if it was time to go. The sun had risen and although it was a wonderful morning, I was ready to get into a heated vehicle.
He agreed and we started to pack up our stuff. While packing we talked about ring shopping and I said I wanted nothing to do with that, I wanted him to pick me a ring. I trusted him and wanted him to do it all on his own.
"Ok, well, what about this one?"
When I turned around he was on his knees.
My first reaction was to laugh. I literally thought he was joking. Like he had just picked up a branch or something and quickly made a "ring."
But, as I looked closer, that was no branch.
The rest is a beautiful blur...there were tears, the most lovely speech and promises. There was love.
And it all happened at sunrise on Lake Michigan in Milwaukee.
Oh, and the "return trip" of climbing that very long, beautiful staircase I was so worried about? It was super easy because I floated up them.
This is why sunsets don't own the "most romantic" part of the day for me.
Because the sun also rises and it's the most beautiful thing.
My grandma turned to me and advised that having dates with your spouse is important. She added that dancing forces you to be close--emotionally and physically. It makes you accept missteps. They happen, but you keep moving.
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It's funny how some nursery rhymes mean more when you're an adult than as a child. I've known this little rhyme forever, but it has taken on new meaning in recent years.
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My husband always says that the comment sections online are a great window to see the worst in humanity. People write things that they would never say in real-life. It's easy to voice your "opinion" when your identity is not attached to the comment. I often wonder when I wade into the murky waters of online comment sections if the people who write such awful things would write those things if their mother saw it. Their neighbors. Their children.
Even though my husband has said this for years, and I have agreed with him time and time again, I do sometimes make that little trip over to the dark side. And while it's generally disappointing and sometimes angering, it's never personally hurt me. Until a few years ago.
My daughter's birth was not an easy one. In fact my whole pregnancy was not an easy one. I had an unfriendly doctor who caused me so much stress that I had blood pressure issues almost every time I saw her. Due to some complications during the pregnancy it was decided that I would be induced.
Anyone who's been induced knows that it's not a simple thing. Nor is it quick. It took two full days for my daughter to finally show up--and three minutes before the deadline of my doctor wheeling me in for a c-section.
So, the hard part was done. Or so we thought.
Our stay at the hospital was not pleasant (although I don't know many people who have "pleasant" stays at hospitals, to be honest). We were first time parents and this was a whole new world. Neither of us had really slept in a couple of days due to the longevity of the birth so we were (already) running on fumes. And it's in that fog that our nightmare began.
It all started innocently enough. The nurse came in and mentioned that before we could leave the next morning we needed to have E's hearing tested. They would just take her into the nursery and we could get a couple of hours of sleep. Neither of us thought twice about this, we knew we needed a little shut-eye to prepare for the next day.
After they took her out and my husband tried to get comfortable on the lovely chair/bed-thingy they have, we decided to turn off all the lights. It was our first attempt at sleep in complete darkness in days.
And I don't think I said one word or had one thought...as soon as my head hit that pillow I was out. We were both completely exhausted.
Fast forward an hour...or two...but what felt like 5 minutes...and a crying baby was back in our room, lights were turned on and a nurse was talking to...no, scolding...us. Actually, scolding me.
In my blur, I remember a baby being thrust upon me and a nurse repeating over and over "We can't test her hearing because she's just constantly crying. She's hungry. You need to feed her. You have to feed your baby. She has to eat."
I had been struggling with nursing, but the other nurses were encouraging. Helpful. This nicotine-fueled nurse (the smell of her just-finished smoke break was overwhelming) kept forcing the baby against me.
In all the fog I had a fleeting thought. Our baby girl was not wearing the same pajamas I had put her in before she had left the room. She was back in the hospital provided onesie. I thought this was odd, but just set it aside. She had probably made a mess on it, if you know what I mean.
At this point my husband was slowly coming around. And I was so happy because I could share the most wonderful news...
She had latched on to me!
Up to this point I couldn't get little E to really latch on. Sometimes I'd think she had but after I felt her in this moment, I knew that she really wasn't getting it before.
But my husband seemed distracted. I had asked him to check for the other pajamas in her things and he was rummaging through the blankets. He had a weird look on his face. There was a teddy bear in the crib that he kept looking at. It was new and I had seen it, too, but I assumed it was a gift from the hospital. I thought they gave one to all the babies. Or something like that.
Then he said those seven words I'll never forget.
"Hey...are you sure...is that....Elena?"
And that's when time stopped. It didn't slow down, it stopped all together.
All the clues that I had rationalized away...
Different clothes.
Teddy Bear.
Latching differently.
I knew before I even looked at the tag on her ankle.
Now time sped up. My husband lifted the baby out of my frozen arms and placed her back in the crib. He took her out to the nurses station. He returned, face pale.
"Where's Elena."
"Where's Elena?"
"Where's Elena!"
Those were the only words I was able to form.
Within a minute or two she was returned to us. With the head nurse.
According to them, she had been in the nursery the entire time. There was a miscommunication and the nurse on duty for us had not followed protocol. This was their fault. They were so sorry.
Over and over again she said this.
Neither of us really said anything. We were still in a state of shock.
After she left we tried to settle in again.
And then our original nurse came back into the room.
She seemed embarrassed and sorry. That I could somewhat accept. But it was the excuses that made me sick to my stomach.
I was just coming on to my shift.
They told me to bring that baby here.
They told me it was absolutely necessary the mom feed the baby.
I was just doing exactly what I was told.
I should have checked the tags.
But the baby was frantic, I was trying to best take care of a distressed baby.
My shock was starting to wear off and anger was filling its place. And I could see the anger in my husband's face. Hear it in his voice. Wanting to avoid a scene I nodded and she left.
Only to return an hour later to check on us. That's right, she was still on duty and still covering us.
We didn't sleep the rest of the night.
And around 5am she returned saying she needed to get E in for her hearing test, they still hadn't done it.
My husband went with.
The next morning the Hospital Head Nurse came to see us. There were apologies. There was sympathy. But there were also a lot of excuses. And things that I think she said because she thought it would make us feel better. Here were some of my favorites.
"Your baby was safe in the nursery that whole time. It's really the other mother that this affects."
"In some cultures wet nurses are common."
"We'd love to cover your parking."
And then she gave us the good news. How, although completely optional, they would really appreciate it if I would submit to some testing as bodily fluids were exchanged between the baby and I. They wanted to reassure the other mother that nothing bad was transmitted to her daughter.
Of course I agreed, because if the roles were reversed I'd want the other mother to do the same. But being poked and having more blood drawn added to the overwhelming sense of shame that was starting to spread over me.
Leaving the hospital and returning to our house helped tremendously. The first day home flew by; my in-laws were there and it was nice having that help. But nothing prepared me for that first night.
As we got ready for bed (meaning I changed out of one pair of yoga pants and into another) I had an anxiety attack. I couldn't get my breathing under control and couldn't see straight. When I finally regained control over my body I laid down, with a light on. It took me almost a year to be able to sleep in a completely dark room again.
And it was during the nights over the following months that my mind would return to that night in the hospital. The same thoughts would come back, repeating in my head like a broken record:
I should have known it wasn't my daughter.
I should have asked about the pajamas right away.
I should have looked at the tag.
I should have known.
I should have gone with to the nursery.
I shouldn't be so upset, it wasn't my child that was given to the wrong mom.
I should have spoken up about the crib and the items in the crib.
I just should have known.
I can't remember how long after my stay at the hospital that a news story broke (in another part of the country) about this exact situation happening. And then 2 years later it happened again in Minnesota. I remember seeing this story pop up on my Facebook timeline. All the shame and embarrassment came flooding back. And then I saw that there were hundreds of comments. I naïvely thought the comments would be focused on the hospital and questioning their failure to follow protocols that are in place to prevent these things from happening. But, no, instead I was blamed. I mean, the mom that was given the wrong child to breastfeed was blamed.
So many people said that she should have known it wasn't her child. One woman (the mom of 4 she proudly declared) wrote that she had the faces of each of her kids memorized the second they were born. That any good mom, any mom paying attention, should know her child. Another woman commented that the mom who breastfed the wrong child was making a big deal out of nothing--it wasn't her child that was given to the wrong mom. A man wrote that he was grateful he was married to a woman who never allowed their son out of their hospital room for the duration of their stay. Another man suggested the family of the child that was given to the wrong mom sue the hospital and the other family because they touched their child without permission.
I could go on. I didn't read them all, but I read a lot of them. And every negative feeling I've ever had about myself, every "should have" scenario, every question, every hateful thought came rushing back. I texted some friends, talked to my husband and called my mom. After they all scolded me for even looking at the comments, I laughed about the stupid things people say (especially when they are hiding behind a keyboard and the name "anonymous") and discussed how easy it is to have really firm opinions about things that you've never experienced. And I felt better, but wondered if I'd ever truly get over it.
It's been four and half years since this incident. And while I think about it from time to time (mainly when I hear of this happening to others), it is not a part of my daily life anymore. And I learned a couple of valuable lessons from this experience.
Follow your gut. First I want to be clear on this: I did not do anything wrong. I know this now. What happened that night happened because the hospital, specifically that nurse, did not follow protocol. But the one thing I learned is to always listen to that little voice in the back of my head. There were certainly some signals that perhaps if I had picked up on earlier some of this could have been avoided. BUT, having said that...
Do not go down the "what if" path. One of the thoughts I would have late at night is "What if my husband hadn't spoken up? How long before they would have realized their mistake? Before we left the hospital?" or "What if I had just looked at her ankle tag right away, as soon as I noticed the change in clothes?" and "What if Elena had been given to the wrong family?" All this did was add to my shame and made me think about scenarios that never happened and more than likely never would have.
And, the biggest lesson of all: have compassion. It's so much easier to have compassion for people who are going through a hard time instead of judging them or offering opinions. Including strangers. And, if you wouldn't say something to your mom, wouldn't want your kids knowing you said something or wouldn't want it said to you...don't type it in a Facebook thread. Don't make that comment on an internet article. Don't say it.
As far as reading comment sections? I generally don't because I've learned that people just want to fight and be aggressive. And I don't have time for that. So I just stay away from them. Which is unfortunate because there are times when good discussions are started on comment threads. It's just hard to filter through all the crazy stuff in order to find the quality remarks.
And, if you were wondering, we did not go back to that hospital for the birth of our second child, eleven short months later. And while I will not write which hospital this all occurred at, I will gladly give you recommendations of some of the other wonderful hospitals at which I have had great experiences.
xo Sara
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I read a great blog post from Meredith at Baubles and Birds recently about relationships. "5 Ways to Instantly Make Your Relationship Stronger" was filled with great insight and after I finished reading, it got me thinking of my relationship and what I would add, if anything.
Then I thought of the number one thing you see when reading about relationships. How many times do you read a book/article/post about relationships and see this word:
Communication.
I see that and always think--obviously. If you don't "communicate" with your significant other, what do you have left?
But it took having kids for me to truly understand this.
Pre-Kid time in my relationship (I'll just speak for myself since I'm not an expert and certainly don't want to make assumptions about other relationships) was easy. Sure, there were conflicts that came up about money or how we wanted to spend our time or where we wanted to go to dinner...
{There were probably other conflicts, but honestly I don't remember what they were. It feels like Pre-Kid time was a lifetime ago.}
But once kids entered the picture 4 things happened.
I feel like I spent mid-2010 until early 2012 (Early-Kid time) in a complete fog. And my husband and I had a lot of arguments (lack of sleep is a cruel thing). Looking back, the majority of them were petty fights...disagreements over the smallest things, but at the time they seemed huge.
I was talking to a good friend back in those sleep-deprived days and we were saying how we wished our husbands would just do some things without being asked. I mean, can't they read our minds?
That was my "aha moment." Because, no, my husband can't read my mind. And I should probably stop wishing he could. If I need something, how do I expect my husband to help if I don't tell him?
This, I realized, was the source to much of my frustration: having to ask my husband to do things. Because I wanted him to just do those things, unprompted. You know, read my mind and respond accordingly.
But, here's the thing. Anytime I asked my husband to do anything, he did it. Every. Single. Time. Middle of the night. The second he walked in the door from work. It didn't matter when I asked him to do something or what it was, he did it. So I was wasting time wishing I didn't have to ask him for things? Wow. That seems kind of lazy, doesn't it?
But, like I said earlier, we were both in a fog. We both wanted our needs met by using the least amount of energy possible because we had nothing left in the tank. We really were running on empty.
And the most amazing thing happened. Once I stopped being resentful of having to ask him to do things--of no longer expecting him to read my mind--a lot of little fights (that would get blown up) stopped. And it worked both ways.
So. Communication. It just took a couple years of sleep deprivation for me to really understand.
And now my husband and I never fight. We are perfect.
Oh my goodness that's probably the funniest thing I've ever written. Trust me--we are nowhere near perfect and we certainly still argue.
But at least we know how to "communicate" what's bothering us and at a minimum don't expect the other to be a mind-reader.
And an update: Current-Kid time is going well...the majority of my conflicts these days are with my 4-going-on-14-year-old. She does not understand that I can't read her mind. Lord knows I wish I could, then I would know if I'm supposed to turn on her light today or if she wants to do it. Because, seriously, if I do the wrong thing it has the potential to ruin her our day.
xo Sara
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My sister is getting married. I'm so happy that after years of searching she's found someone who treats her right, loves her unconditionally and is her best friend. It's what everyone wants out of a life partner.
And I wish that is where the story ends.
But, it's not. This time in my sister's life has not just been filled with joy and love and support. There has also been anger and hurt and judgement.
And disapproval. Because...
Her soulmate happens to be a woman.
And according to some close to my sister, that makes their choice to get married--a legal activity in the state of Minnesota--wrong.
Marriage is between one man and one woman...according to these people. And what my sister and her fiancé are doing is not only wrong but completely against the beliefs of these people and what their definition of marriage is.
The definition of marriage. Something that has never changed and has only meant the union of one man and one woman. Right? Well, actually...
Regardless of all that, my sister and her fiancé are not trying to get married in "your" church. But "your" religion seems to keep attempting to trump their rights. They are asking for the same rights that all married couples have. That her own sister has. And why is that so bad?
The longer the stigma of gay and lesbian couples being less than heterosexual couples, then the longer discrimination and the unfair treatment of these individuals will continue. These things go hand in hand. If you say someone has all the same rights as other people EXCEPT for one (ie: marriage)--then you are discriminating and saying it's ok to treat some people differently based on one part of them (in this example: their sexual orientation). Just like it is wrong to discriminate based on the color of one's skin, it is wrong to discriminate based on who someone loves.
Since this is my blog, and I don't want to talk for my sister, I can only share my experience and feelings. I'm not gay. My wedding was a beautiful day that I was lucky enough to be surrounded by my family and friends that wanted to celebrate our love. And I remember thinking how lucky I was--how lucky we were. Everyone was there. Everyone supported us.
And, I might add, they supported us even though we did not get married in "their" church, either.
I want my sister to have that support and love. And she will, don't get me wrong. The people who will be there will surround them in love.
It's just that some people will be missing...and it makes me sad. I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to fight anymore.
I just want love to win. All love. The wise Lennon/McCartney songwriting duo said it best...
All you need is love.
