Confession of a Human Mom - I Am Not A Saint!

The natural state of motherhood is unselfishness. When you become a mother, you are not longer the center of your own universe. You relinquish that position to your children. ~Jessica Lange

Sounds quite idealistic... doesn't it. 

Mommy or Me - Selflessness or Selfishness? 

When I became a new mom and the ripe old age of 20, again at 24, and again at 27,  each one of my children became the beacon of my life.  My world revolved around providing a home, a life, and an existence for them. I was (and still am) passionate about them, dedicated to helping them grow, responsible for providing them stability, and accountable for giving them the tools that they would need to be productive and contributing members of society.  I gave my all to them, for many, many years.  I was able to stay at home- we had reasonable financial stability, and my husband fully supported my desire to be an at home mom.  My life, my existence, my passion, my interest, my career, my vocabulary, my interaction, my effort, my energy, my everything all flowed to one glowing ball of light.... my children. It was the natural state of "motherhood".  The job of motherhood.

I must confess - it was not the natural state of my humanness.

Don't get me wrong - I loved that I was able to be in that place.  I would not trade a single second of any of it. I am honored to be able to call myself Mom to three amazing women. In the ideal days of mommyhood, I played the role well.  I played it with heart.  I played and lived it with every fiber of my being.  I was happy in that.  I had focus, I had purpose, and I had an audience - three little children who needed me every second of every day. If moms could get Oscars - I think I would have been at least in the running for it. I was in the role, but I  WAS the role. 

 But I am not going to lie. As the kids started to grow a bit, I tried to keep the script and the ideal the same. But there came a point that I just wasn't driven or fed. Instead of joy with moments of work, it became work with moments of joy.  My energy began to run low.  My tank was empty. My kids were still the center of my universe, but my revolution around them began to grow weary.  I became unhappy, lonely and empty. 

I lost myself. I questioned myself. I made these realizations about myself. 

• I knew that how I felt had nothing to do with them or my relationship with them.  It had everything to do with my relationship with me! 
• I knew I had, did, and always would love them more than life itself.  I would forever move heaven and earth if I could for their good.  They were by far the most important human beings in my world, and as long as I was on this earth they would always be that. 
• I came to terms that there really were times in "mommyhood" that I wanted to just shut myself in my room and not be responsible. I called it needing a breather, needing a break or taking a time-out.  The reality was I CRAVED time for ME - time that I neglected.  
• The idea of motherhood being hearts and flowers and puppy dogs and cute kids - it was a crock.  Trying to make it look that way only led to failure and exhaustion.  There were days when I really didn't care if someone judged me because my daughter wore a plaid flannel shirt, a floral skirt, and pink cowboy boots on the wrong feet to the store. She was covered and dressed. MORE IMPORTANTLY was that the battle of getting her that way was over. 
• I realized that I was jealous of all of the time and attention that I and their daddy could give to them, but I failed to give to me or us. It wasn't the green face of envy, but it was certainly a gnawing very quiet message of  I wish I had someone paying this attention to me.  
• What in some moments was my giving and existing in selflessness, felt like sacrifice in many others.  (The difference in meaning and attitude surrounding those is huge.) 
• I questioned my own heart as to why I was not fulfilled in the way I thought I should be. 
• I faced that as much as I loved being Mom, there were moments that I just didn't like motherhood. 
• I realized that I needed to do the things that refreshed me and filled my pitcher. That way I could fill the cups of my children.
• I realized that what I was experiencing was the natural state of HUMANNESS!

It's ok to throw some selfishness in with the selflessness.  It's the only way to not suffocate and to be able to grow and best serve in the role of mom.  It's also the best way to grow yourself for the day when your mom role changes as kids launch into the world.

I like to and I need to feed my OWN spirit, my OWN goals, and my OWN self. There are times when I want to be the center of the universe. Sounds pretty selfish, I know. But it's true. It doesn't make me a bad mother - it makes me an honest and healthy one.

 I am a human Mom - not a saint. 


Do you struggle with feeling selfish for needing some time for yourself? 

Growing the Good

Is there a reason why bad things in life happen? When the garden of our lives are full of abundance, why do they sometimes get plundered?

We search for meaning in the tough parts of life.  We have a desire to know why a tragedy happened, why we lost a job, a home or a loved one. Our efforts are spend figuring out why as an individual, a community, or a nation has suffered a loss. 

In those moments of trouble, if we know we have not been doing all we could to prevent the trouble in the first place, hopefully we can see where we could have changed course and we can take steps to correct our paths in the future.  But when we are moving along, doing what we should, when we should, and why we should - that is a different story. 

Life is suddenly changes.  The smooth soil of our existence is suddenly overturned, with it taking the things that we have worked so hard to grow in the gardens of our life.  Our happiness is shaken and battered.  Our home life can be uprooted.  Our sense of security and ability to see forward to brighter days can be buried underneath, hidden by the darkness of all that has fallen upon it.  We try and try to till the soil, to bring it back to it's normal state.  We look for remedy and reason, but the garden just does not go back to what it was before the trials hit. 

The garden of life gets overturned  and plundered for so many.  We may know the person or the tool used. We may even know the reason why the person or tool was used. But we struggle to find a reason why it was OUR lives that were a part of the reaping. 

However, what often gets planted after the bad things in life offers hope. Compassion and understanding from ourselves to others and from others to us, become the seeds of new life. With the water of patience and the sunlight of care, seedlings emerge and a new and different abundance fills our soil.  The garden can flourish and thrive again. And in time, the garden returns.

The reason why it was our garden my never be answered. But, goodness and kindness that others and ourselves are willing and compelled to give to those who are suffering offers hope, faith and a sense of security.  It plants the seeds that allow life to continue on, differently than before, but with the ability to once again be abundant. From the destruction and darkness the garden springs back to life, and it is Growing the Good.

Fortyness - Finding Community

Fortyness is a time when we need community.

Throughout the other decades in our life, most of us have had some sort of automatic involvement with a community just by the mere fact that we are around people that have a shared interest with us. In our childhood, we had schoolyard and neighborhood friends that were our in-group simply because of our closeness to one another. In our teens, our bus mates, classmates and lunch buddies gave us a sense of belonging. In our twenties, workmates, other playgroup moms and dads, and even our parents (yes, we realized how much they REALLY knew) became our confidants and cohorts as we navigated our way in the world. In our thirties, our children became the axis of our community as we taxied to sports games, school commitments, the school pick up line, and the multitude of kid related activities that dominated our lives and schedules. We had a built in support system - or at least a common ground with groups of others that could in some respect understand what our day to day existence entailed, and often walk the tough roads with us.

Then comes Fortyness....... and it is very different.

Although every decade, and day for that matter, brings change , this one brings some challenge. Our sense of community and belonging takes on a different shape as our roles and connections that are automatic with those roles change. Relationships morph and reshape, along with our attachments. Some that were close become distant. Some that were steady and strong suddenly disappear as the reality of mortality reminds us that we really are destructible. Our children grow and go. Our jobs, mates and tangible belongings that once defined and created a temporary dwelling place for us to have community, no longer are enough. We find ourselves like the one helium balloon that has broken loose - seeing that there is a place for us, but drifting and floating not quite knowing how to find our way back to the bunch.

In Fortyness, we must be bold. We must go out and find community, make community or open a space for someone like us that is feeling the same way - so that they may have community. We can't wait for it to come to us - because it won't. We must be intentional about it, reaching out to and for others. The things and others that have been a part of us have shaped our expectations of commonness. But by opening our eyes, hearts, and mind to all the possibilities of connection with others, we will develop a place of support, connection and fellowship.

In Fortyness, we don't have to be that drifting balloon. We will find community, giving us a safe place to navigate this road in life.

Pass the Cheese Please......

When my husband and I were first married, we had an apartment warming party. I cooked lasagna for the entire family. I was so proud to have everyone over to our new domestic haven. I had prepared all day long for the meal and was looking forward to showing off my domestic prowess. I laid out a buffet of food to share with my lasagna as the centerpiece. The table was worthy of a photo to place in an “Our First Home" photot album.

I had prepared the lasagna the way my mom had always cooked it, and similar to the way it was prepared in the prepackaged Italian dinners - the way I had ALWAYS eaten it. As we gathered around the small apartment we blessed the food and began breaking bread together as one big happy family. I lovingly watched my handsome young husband as he enjoyed the meal. I was honored as he took a bite of the lasagna and his eyes got wide. I about burst with pride as I figured my husband was enamored with my cooking. I could see he was about to offer up words of praise….I waited anxiously.

As any blushing bride would, I listened adoringly for his praise. Then, in front of all of his family, my family and all of our friends, my husband exclaimed

“WHAT'S THIS?”

…..and not in the tone that indicated he was pleasantly surprised. It was a tone of disbelief. I, his new bride, had committed an awful sin. I had used cottage cheese, not ricotta, in my lasagna. To my Italian husband and his family, this was practically unforgivable.

For the next 17 years, I endured ridicule as the story was re-told countless times. “Remember the cottage cheese…” , “Can’t be as bad as the cottage cheese incident….,” “Angie, what kind of cheese did you use in this?”

Then, on Christmas day, 2008, I got one of the greatest gifts I could possibly have received. My father-in-law pulled a recipe box out of his cupboard and slowly opened it. As he opened it, he slowly issued me an heartfelt apology. In this box was a recipe from his mother - an amazing woman and the quintessential Italian grandma. The very first ingredient on this recipe for some sort of Italian pie was….you guessed it…..COTTAGE CHEESE!

Finally, after all of those years, the “cottage cheese incident” could no longer be held over my head.

Now did this incident occupy all of my thoughts for all these years? No. Did it stop me from meeting goals and living a happy life? No. But, I have to admit, it felt pretty good to be vindicated!

Why did this vindication feel so good? Why, when I knew the lasagna actually tasted pretty good, did I let this even occupy any space within me? I guess it is because at some level as humans, we all want to fit it. We want to be accepted. We want community with others and acknowledgment. I am no different. I want that too. This little incident at some level, although not a conscious level, made me feel like I didn’t belong, like I was different, like I didn’t fit in with my community. Hearing that I wasn’t the only one who had used the cottage cheese, and then hearing the acknowledgment finally gave me a place within the group.

Is this a MAJOR over analysis of this situation? Yes and no.

To all my family that reads this…it hasn’t bothered me all that much. I have even found a lot of humor in it and I have even broadened my culinary skills because of it. But, I think the general idea is not a really a stretch. We should continually be aware of how we are acknowledging others. As members of this big human family, we have a duty to foster community with others and create an environment of inclusion - even if others do use cottage cheese in their lasagna…..

By the way....my husband has NEVER had that kind of reaction to my cooking again. I guess we both learned some valuable lessons from that lasagna.

Caffeinate Me!

"Medium mochajava, half-caf, soy, sugar-free, no foam, no whip, 115degree, latte - double-cupped and sleeved."

"Large caramel, skim, decaf, iced, upside down macchiato."

" Small drip. "

Isn't it amazing that there is a whole culture and language associated with coffee? This coffee culture looks and sounds something like this:

Inhabitants enter their caffeine habitat and form a long row, each facing the back of the next. They stand in silence, occasionally searching the clear glass vessels containing sustenance for the morning meal. Their eyes move from the glass vessels to tablets placed above them. They appear to ponder over their next move and how they are going to be successful in their hunt for nutrition and hydration. In turn, each steps forward until they are facing another inhabitant at the front of the row. The only sound heard is when the two communicate in a language understood only by other members of their culture. The language appears to only consist of adjectives, but somehow the communication is clear. The inhabitant in the line exchanges some currency - usually made out of some type of plastic, and within minutes, the morning hunt is complete. The inhabitant proceeds to either a designated eating area where an electronic device or informational material is observed; or to their transportation vessel where then they partake in fruits of their hunt - still in silence. -Mozilo, 2008


Now I must confess, that I am part of this coffee culture. I love coffee and even have my own special coffee shop that I frequent. I will stand in line with the rest, not saying a word to anyone until I am at the counter. I then sputter my favorite drink order - Venti, half-calf, sugar-free, soy, vanilla latte, no foam, no whip. I hand my cash (yes I do use cash) or my gift card to the cashier, and I am off on my merry way. Sometimes I sit at a table with my nose in a book, oblivious to the world going by me. Cell phones, conversations, and situations elude me as I retreat into my own little caffeinated cave. I become self-absorbed, introverted and disconnected with everyone around me.

Not long ago, it dawned on me how many opportunities for connection that I was missing. By hiding out behind my latte I was shielding myself from relationship with people that I saw almost every day. I decided to make an effort to be more aware of the people around me at the coffee shop- what they looked like, what their lives might be like, how often I actually came in contact with them and hadn't ever uttered a word to them. But, how could I connect?

Then the idea of all ideas struck me! I could open my mouth and just talk to them. At first it was a little intimidating. I wasn't sure of what to say. That underlying fear of rejection that most of us seem to carry around would rear it's ugly head and I would want to clam up. But not too long after I implemented my brilliant idea, I began to see the rewards roll in. I began to feel better through connecting with others. By stepping out of my "coffee culture" I began to find people that similar interest and life stories and situations as I did. I built a "coffee community."

What are some ways that you can connect and build community with others? Do you have any fears about talking to people you don't know? I challenge you to find one or two people to connect with today through conversation, e-mail or a letter. When you have, post a response at let other's know what your experience was like.

I'm looking forward to reading about how it went!

P.S. If you are really nervous about talking to a new person, have a double espresso....you will have no shortage of words :)!