It Takes A Village, Seriously.

During my mommy group's monthly gathering yesterday, several of us commented on that old adage "It takes a whole village to raise a child."  That is the God's honest truth.  There is no way to (sanely) raise a child solely on your own.

Your village is not necessarily where you live.  It's your community, your family, your friends, everyone who helps you with the upbringing of your child(ren).  I've become that woman in the store who approaches the parent with the uncontrollable, screaming child, asking if I can help.  Sometimes, I get the look that says "Get the hell away, crazy lady."  But often, I get the look that says "Oh yes, thank God!"  We've all been there.  There are days where your child simply will not listen to reason and especially not to you.  But when Grandma, or Auntie, or Crazy Lady steps in, the kid simmers right down.  That's your village.

As a newly single mother, I'm still figuring out this solo babyraising business.  I hardly had time to figure it out as a co-parent, before I was thrust into doing it all on my own.  It is every bit as hard as other single parents claim.  Harder, actually.  In the last two months, I've had more bad days than good.  The good days are very good, but the bad days are soul-crushing.  I'm only being the slightest bit dramatic.  I often drop my head in both my hands and cry.  Fortunately, my parents have been extremely involved with taking care of both of us.  My sister-in-law has become a second mother to my Babydoll, and both of my brothers happily (and easily) fill the father-figure role.  My friends... oh, man.  I'd be lost without them.

Everyone needs a village, and not just for raising children.  Life is hard.  At times, it's so hard that it's ridiculous.  You need people on whom you can rely to pick you up when life has knocked you down.  Someone to call at 2 am who will answer their phone.  Someone to bring you a bottle of wine or a box of cupcakes.  And you definitely need someone who doesn't make you feel like a whiny crybaby when you unload all of your problems on them.  I have lots of those someones.  I'm a lucky girl.

The Widow's Lament

I'm gonna bitch for a minute, about some random shit that's been on my mind ("it's my blog and I can do what I want," if you will).  

People say truly comforting, supportive things when you've lost a loved one.  They come out of the woodwork to let you know that you are not alone in your grief, that they are thinking of you and praying for you.  Sympathy cards arrive in the mail, with powerful messages of love.  In your time of need, friends and family come to your aid, sit by your side, and just hold your hand or squeeze your shoulder.  They step in and take care of your child, without being asked, so you can fall apart for a minute or two.

Then, there are those people who say really shitty, insensitive things.  Like what, you ask?

"What did his body look like after he passed?"

I don't know.  You're seriously disturbed.

"Do you think he knew what was happening when he was dying?"

I hope not.  I'd imagine that would really suck.

"Oh, you weren't with him when he died?  That must be hard for you to live with."

Yeah, it pretty much consumes my thoughts every day.  Thanks.

"How much life insurance money will you get?"

None.  Why?  Did he owe you money?

"I don't know if cancer is what really killed him."

I'm pretty sure it was, since he had it all over his body and brain, and cancer's main goal is to kill you.

"He's in a much better place now."

How do you know?  Have you been?

"He'll always be watching over you."

I hope he's not while I'm pooping.

(I know a lot of people think that last one is comforting, but to me, it's creepy.  I don't want to be watched 24/7.  I hope Heaven is not just a big viewing room for "Big Brother: Earth Edition.")

And finally, there are those people who don't know what to say, so they just ignore you.  They won't look you in the face, they'll pass by you in the halls without acknowledgement, they'll whisper about you to another person then stop abruptly when you walk into the room.  That's the worst.  Does losing my partner mean that I'm branded with a scarlet W for the rest of my life?  I don't look good in red.

When someone you know is losing, or has lost, a loved one, the simplest thing to say is generally the best: "I'm sorry and I'm here for you."  That's it.  Trust me, that's all anyone needs to hear.  If you don't hear back from them for a few days, or even a couple weeks, it's okay.  When your husband, or anyone else you love, dies, it's pretty easy to lose track of time.  There are days when the only thing you can focus on is getting out of bed and feeding yourself, and remembering to respond to an email, or phone call, or Facebook message, or text, just isn't priority # 1.  But eventually, you'll catch up.

And you don't have to mope around as a grieving widow, forever in black (with that big scarlet W).  It's perfectly acceptable, wonderful even, to move forward with your life in whatever time frame suits you.  Missing someone doesn't mean you shut down.  Missing them means that you keep living, while a little bit of you, a tiny piece really, will always be looking for their face in a crowd or subconsciously expecting a phone call from them.

The thing about life is, no one gets out alive.  So live it.  And enjoy it while you got it.

Thou Shalt Not Wallow

Shit happens.  To everybody, at one point or another.  No one is immune.  Once we all accept that, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to deal with the shit.

I'm not a wallower.  Never have been.  I've had my moments, certainly, of brief wallowing, but I never linger in it.  I asked my mom (aka The Rock) if maybe I am just a little less sensitive than other people, a little more cold in the heart, or hard around the edges.  "No," she replied.  "We are just resilient people.  We're strong.  We bounce back pretty fast."

I sat back and thought on that awhile.  I think she's right.  Everyone in my family, we've all had our share of ups and downs, collectively and individually.  But none of us are broken.  None of us have become so damaged that we cannot move forward with our lives.  Many of my friends have been knocked down by life, too.  Everyone gets back up, brushes off the shit, and moves forward.  I'm surrounded by a very muscly bunch of folks.

My friend K, another rock in my life, sent me a quote and I can't recall the phrase exactly.  It was something along the lines of "everyone grieves in their own time frame" or "you can't grieve on anyone else's schedule."  How true is that?  Some people cling to their grief the rest of their lives.  Others give themselves a schedule ("I will get over it in exactly six months...one year...ten years.").  Some of us, me included, hold onto bits of it because it has become attached to the love we feel for those we are without.

None of that is wrong.  I can't judge anyone's grief, nor will I answer to anyone's judgement about mine.  We all, in our own time, move forward.  Not "on," just "forward."  I've found that my Babydoll propels me quite a bit.  Her young age means that she doesn't have full comprehension of what has happened to us.  She knows when Mama is sad, and my tears bring on her own.  In fact, she cries any time someone else does.  She's a very sensitive and attuned person.  My life's purpose is to make her happy, so wallowing in my grief simply will not do.  When I smile and laugh, she does, too.

And there it is.

Finding Our Way, Or How To Have Faith When Life Hurls Shit In Your Face

I haven't written in awhile.  A dear friend told me yesterday that she misses my blog.  My response to her was that I haven't been inspired, but that's not entirely true.  I generally try to share information that is relevant to my style of parenting and my lifestyle, and I always try to keep it upbeat.  My inspiration, of late, has been dark and melancholy, without a hint of sunshine anywhere.

My family has been through an unbelievable trauma.  I don't want to use the word "tragedy," because while our loss has been tragic, I don't consider it a tragedy.  But "trauma," that word fits.  Cancer struck our home and ripped it apart.  My dear, sweet daughter, my most precious charm, my angel, is without her father, and I am without my partner.  I will skip the details, because, quite frankly, I don't want to talk about it anymore.

What I've been working on is maintaining my faith.  My family has helped me tremendously.  The love within ours is fiercely protective and unconditionally accepting.  A hug and look from my mother reassures me that I will get through this, that I will undoubtedly pull myself together, and that life will absolutely go on.  The quiet strength and resolve of my dad lends itself to everyone in our family - some things don't need to be spoken.  They just are and always will be.  My youngest brother provides proof that laughter is the best medicine, and my other brother always demonstrates that hard work and perseverance, never giving up and never accepting "No," always pays off in the end.  My sweet sister-in-law gently lifts us up and brings us together in so many ways. My aunt gives the the tightest, most heartfelt hugs and small whispers of encouragement, and sometimes that is all you need to keep going.

And then there is my baby.  It is she who truly keeps me going, and it is she who reminds me that faith lives in my heart.  I do have faith that we will find our way together, and that we are, in fact, already finding it.  I've made some small strides in reclaiming my life in the last couple of weeks and one great big one is on the horizon.  I have faith in my higher power, in my loving family, in my amazing friends, and most importantly, in myself.

I hope that you will always have faith, too, in whatever form suits you, no matter what life hurls at you.

Groovy Recipe: Baked Butternut Squash Pasta

This year, I made the decision to become a full-on vegetarian.  Babydoll absolutely refuses to eat meat or poultry, and since I'm cooking for just the two of us most days, why bother buying it?  It's been 21 days, and except for the occasional cheeseburger craving, I'm not missing the meat.  I came up with this dish after seeing something similar on Pinterest.  It was one of those dishes that sounded great in theory, but after I read the recipe, I knew it wouldn't work.  Thus, I experimented with my own.  Voila.

Why do people do that, by the way?  Post recipes that don't work?  I made a dish off Pinterest last week, and it sucked.  The proportions were way off.  I'm a fairly competent home cook, so I know it isn't (always) my fault that a dish doesn't turn out.  I always test my recipes before I post them.  I don't want an angry mama screaming at me that my quinoa quiche was a big piece of crap.  Food bloggers, beware.  I'll call you out if your recipe wastes my time and resources.

Anyhoo.

Pre-baked beauty

Baked Butternut Squash Pasta

* 8 servings

Ingredients

1 bag whole wheat bowtie pasta (farfalle)

2 cups vegetable stock

1 cup butternut squash puree

1 cup butternut squash, petite dice

1 medium onion, petite dice

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 cups fresh spinach, chopped

1 cup low-fat ricotta

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 cup shredded mozzarella

2 tbsp butter

2 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper

Method

Preheat oven to 375.

Mix ricotta with salt, pepper, and crushed garlic.  Set aside.

Cook pasta to al dente according to package direction.  While pasta is cooking, melt butter and olive oil in a large pot over high heat.  Add in onions; season with salt and pepper.  Cook onions until they are almost caramelized (about 10 minutes), then add in minced garlic.  Reduce heat to medium and pour in the stock.  Bring to a simmer, then stir in the diced squash.  Let simmer until the squash is very tender and the liquid reduces by about a third.  Smash down the squash slightly, using the back of your spoon or a potato masher.  Stir in the squash puree.  Bring back to a simmer.  Stir in the spinach and let simmer for a few minutes.  Remove from heat.

Mix the sauce with the pasta.  Spread half of the pasta in the bottom of a good-sized casserole dish.  Layer the ricotta over the top (it's pretty hard to spread the ricotta, so I just drop it in spoonfuls on top, then smash it down with the back of the spoon).  Pour the rest of the pasta on top, then sprinkle the mozzarella over it all.  Bake at 375 for 25 minutes.

Remove from oven and let sit for 10 minutes or so.  Grub.

The kid ate all of hers and almost half of mine.  That tells me it's a winner.

30 Days of Motherhood: Day 14

Day 14: Don't let the bastards keep you down.

If there is one lesson I want my daughter to learn from me, it's to believe in your dreams.  To not accept "No" as a viable answer to your heart's desire.  I found the above quote last night while cruising Pinterest and I instantly knew what I was going to write about today.

I have always wanted my own child.  Always.  You know that scene from "Steel Magnolias," the one where Shelby cries to her mama: "I want a child of my own!"  Long before I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, long before doctors began telling me I wouldn't get pregnant and, if I did get pregnant, I wouldn't carry to term, long before all of that - I watched that movie and that scene stuck to my heart.

The day I found out I was pregnant was surreal.  It was early morning and we were living quite a different life than we are now.  It took me nine months to believe that I was definitely having a baby.  I was scared the entire time that I was going to lose her.  I refused to take the tags off baby clothes and other gifts we received until after she was born.  I was reticent to put together her nursery (and we didn't move into our house until three weeks before she was born).  I was worried about giving her a name before she was born.  But still, deep in that sticky place in my heart, I knew that I was going to be a mama.

Some things, you just KNOW.  Many call it faith...I'm one of those people.  I had faith that, no matter what those bastards told me, I was going to be a mother.  I didn't know if I would give birth or adopt, but I just KNEW that some little person would call me Mama one day.  When I tell Babydoll that she is every wish I ever made, it's the truth.

30 Days of Motherhood: Day 13

Day 13: Experiencing Life

(looking for Days 2-12?  Check out my Facebook page here.)

My friend Sarah has a cute little firecracker daughter, who is a few months younger than Babydoll.  I like to call her Livyloo - she cracks me up, and Babydoll loves playing with her.

Anyhoo, the point of today's post is that Sarah often talks about giving her daughter new experiences.  I'm in love with this idea for so many reasons.  Namely, it's easy.  Think about it.  What does a toddler know about life?  Not much, really.  A task as simple as peeling a mandarin orange is mind-blowing for a little kid.  Pointing out a hummingbird in Grandma's garden is HUGE and cause for giggles and shrieks.  A simple walk around the neighborhood yields 100 things your babe has never seen, heard, smelled, or felt before.

And the best part?  Seeing my child's joy over each discovery softens my grown-up hard-ass idea that I've seen everything already.