Behind the Family Photo

Behind every family photo I can still feel the Herculean effort and coordination it took to get it. We are never just strolling through an orchard in flannel at sunset with a selfie stick. It starts with locating all family members, which can be difficult especially if you are in an open space. This feels a lot like herding cats who are very angry because you forced them to wear sweaters. The only time two independent toddlers want to be held is when your arms are already full of groceries or another child, so you are forced to artfully create a scene that makes the “arched back pose” seem natural (parents will also recognize it as the “it’s time to sit in your car seat pose”).

Never say cheese! That quickly reminds your children of the food bribe you have offered them to smile which is most definitely not a complete protein, but rather ice cream or something equally goopy and sticky that you have withheld from them for the sake of the outfits. The only break you seem to catch is that fall colors actually blend well with spills, snot, and dirt. You have long since ditched your dogs for the photo because wrangling that many wild animals is only something you'd enjoy watching on the Discovery Channel from the comfort of your couch. 

It is never the picture where you look gorgeous because in that one no one else does and this is simply sacrifice number one million two hundred fifty-six you’ve made since you became a mother, but who’s counting? They say a picture is worth a thousand words and even then, it's not the whole picture. 

All the Feels

There was a time when I’d roll my eyes with the best of them, but now if I see a meme of tiny footsteps in the sand, I’m tempted to look for it on a throw pillow, add a quote about the fleeting nature of childhood innocence and I’ll probably be in tears. Strike that; I will absolutely be in tears. Ever since I peed on a stick and literally saw a double rainbow, I am one big ball of cheesy. While some moms are tempted to laugh it off and blame hormones, it is so much more liberating to crawl out from behind the box of tissues.

Recently a friend of mine had a baby. In college we bonded over a shared hatred of kissy pictures and dad's wearing their children as accessories. I asked her what she thought of motherhood so far and she texted me a picture of her husband rocking a Baby Bjorn along with some happy crying emojis, “It’s all those sappy, clichéd things we used to make fun of.” Exactly.

On Saturday I completed my fourth half marathon and one of the pacers near me continued to shout words of encouragement to runners that looked like they were struggling. At one point I wasn't sure if it was tears, sweat, or rain in my eyes. Afterwards I talked to another mom friend that completed the half and asked her if she too got choked up at several points during the race. "Absolutely!" she said, "On mile 12 when I got to the same location where I trained with my son in the stroller, I heard his little voice telling me I could do it and it empowered me to get to the end." I'm not crying, you're crying. 

I knew I was already done for because I was a very emotional person before kids. But as a parent, you feel everything at an eleven, so when your oldest runs into her sister's room to pat her on the head and tell her “Good morning, I love you, Sissie!” it hits you somewhere between your tear ducts and your ovaries.

I’m not sure who coined the term “all the feels” but my money is on a mother.  

WHAT I WILL TEACH MY TINY AMERICANS

A week before the election, when I believed that come January, Hillary would be hanging her pantsuits neatly in the White House, I joked that none of this would be happening if all men just had penises that were the same size. Surely, Mr. Trump wouldn’t feel the urge to compensate for his own insecurities through his toxic need to make others feel as small as his undoubtedly minuscule member. On Wednesday morning, the joking stopped. I wanted to sit and pout like a child, figuring if certain people could tantrum like children and get elected into our highest office, I surely should be allowed one day.

I was tempted to keep quiet this week and thought, how could I share something that hasn’t already been said? My writing is about motherhood, not politics. But all I was left with was a feeling of powerlessness and if I’m to be a role model for my kids, it is time to pick myself up and show my girls what strong women are made of. All I needed to do was see them looking up at me with their wondrous blue eyes and I felt the weight of this awesome responsibility I have before me. 

So here is my pledge for my tiny Americans and while I once believed these things were common sense and there was a universal understanding about the fundamentals of right and wrong so it therefore didn't need to be repeated, I have learned a valuable lesson, that silence is even more dangerous.

I will teach my children that they are to be respected and cherished. Real men do not joke about sexual assault no matter if they are in a locker room, a bus, or the White House.

I will teach my children that bigotry and sexism are not democratic values. Of all the articles I read post-election, this chord struck the deepest. Since I was once a Junior High teacher, I could easily picture my 15 year old students telling me they are now free to use certain words or promote violence in this new "Trump USA" and my heart ached for every educator backed into this corner. My babies are too young to understand this, but not too young to wave and smile at everyone in line at the grocery store. 

In the words of the eloquent First Lady, Michelle Obama, “When they go low, we go high”. I am beyond tempted to start spewing hateful language about Trump and his supporters, but this is both hypocritical and unproductive-- so if you need me I will be on the high road, offering hugs and messages of hope.

My cousin, Justin, took to the streets of Oakland to offer unity in a time of fear and uncertainty. 

Above all, I will teach them that love trumps hate. I adore word play and never has a message been more witty or profoundly relevant.

As I spent Wednesday morning in a puddle of tears, squeezing my kids every second they would allow me, I thanked Charlotte for her love and she said, “Love makes everything all better.” Perhaps this means I’m on the right track.