Leprechauns, Luck, and Loss

Earlier this week, my five-year-old daughter asked me about St. Patrick’s Day and leprechauns. I didn’t want to inadvertently start some new candy-infused tradition, so I dug into something rare with kids and holiday characters – the truth. 

“Leprechauns don’t bring you anything,” I said. 

“Nothing?!” she asked in disbelief.

“Well, sometimes they bring you luck,” I replied trying to appease her. 

She didn’t understand the concept of luck.  As I struggled to define the word, I started to think about my complicated relationship with luck through my life.

When I was younger, I thought I was really lucky.

Then when my mom got cancer, I questioned whether I was still a lucky person.  Her cancer started really small and insignificant.  Each time we thought she was cured, doctors told us there was only a small chance that it would return.  

I believed the harder I worked, the luckier I would become.  Fate was something I could control.   Yet my mom relapsed four times, despite all my research on new treatments, doctor visits, and hospital overnights.

During her illness, I was also single.  I thought I could change my luck in love by trying harder.  I participated in speed dating, online personals and set-ups from strangers.  But no magnitude of bad dates seemed to change things.  I was still single, and my mom was still dying. 

I felt pretty angry about how unlucky I felt.  I blamed God, fate, and myself.  I assumed maybe I had done something bad or wrong in life. 

But what I didn’t realize was that my struggles were not related to luck.  There were some things I could control, and some things I couldn’t.  Luck had nothing to do with it.

I was grateful to have my mom for all the years I did.  I was lucky to recognize what I wanted in a husband by learning what I didn’t want in one. 

Once I let go of my anger and expectations, I found gratitude in my struggles. 

No matter how much I try to shield Amelia, she will feel unlucky at some point in her life.  It’s my job to teach her how to find grace when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

I still believe in luck, I just don’t rely on it.  Life is full of delightful surprises and good fortune.  But when it doesn’t, I don’t blame the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow.  I look for my own gratitude somewhere in that cloud. 

Amelia trying her luck with a NCAA basketball bracket...

Not Anymore

Over the holidays, my two-year-old son surprised us with a new phrase while I was changing a particularly messy diaper.

“Don’t want wipes,” he declared.  “Not anymore.” 

No wipes?  I didn’t understand what he had against cleaning wipes.  Then I saw his red, sore bottom under that poopy mess.  He didn’t want wipes because it makes his diaper rash hurt a lot more.

I sympathized, but I had to do what I had to do.  Poor boy.

Yet, now he uses this phrase all the time.  Poor mama. 

At bedtime I hear, “Don’t want to go night-night.  Not anymore.” 

In the morning he tells me, “Don’t want socks.  Not anymore.”

When I try to put him in a sharp looking button-down shirt, “Don’t want to be handsome.  Not anymore.”

I can’t get mad at these mini-tantrums.  There are a lot of things I don’t want to do anymore, too.

Duncan will learn so many things, but the biggest lesson I hope to teach him is to manage his free will.   The journey in his life will twist and turn based on when he decides to persevere in the face of challenge and when he chooses to quit.  He will need to exercise his right to do something ‘Not Anymore’ long after he’s out of diapers and getting dressed on his own.  

But first I must set the example and quit some of my own unhelpful behaviors.  I need to stop moving so fast and slow down.  I need to stop extreme multi-tasking and rest more.   I need to quit worrying about the future and trust the journey. 

If I stop those things, then I say yes to less stress, and less regret, and more happiness. 

Yet, quitting is a new-year resolution that feels near impossible for me.  I live with unending to-do lists and ambitious dreams.  Letting go and choosing to stop doing things will be my greatest challenge of free will.  But I will persevere because I don’t want to miss these development years of my sweet Duncan.  Not anymore. 

The Light that Never Goes Out

Yesterday was the anniversary of the day that my mom died.  I can remember gently holding her hand as she took her last breath, even thirteen years later.  Time has healed the wound, but the scar is still present.

For this thirteenth year, I struggled with how to define, or dare I say ‘celebrate’, this day.  It felt strange to do my daily activities blindly.

Go to work.  Buy groceries.  Pay bills. 

Is this respectful enough of the life she led?   Thirteen years ago at this moment I was not thinking about work, or meal planning or money. 

So I did what I thought reflected my values: gratitude, reflection, and honesty. 

Gratitude:  First, I let myself have uncomfortable moments.  I thought about what I lost.  I wondered how my life would be different if she was still here.  And then, in that painful valley, I remembered all that I had gained.  She taught me how to love with compassion, live with enthusiasm, and light up others.  She gave me perspective.   Her void was back filled with so many other people that make me grateful to be alive. 

Reflection: I lit a candle and let it burn all day as a constant reminder of her presence.  In the middle of making breakfast or cleaning dishes, mom was there, too.  Her brightness remained strong in the whirlwind of daily life.  When I came back from running errands, her light was still there - reminding me she’d always be at home waiting for me.

Honesty:  I told my co-workers about the symbolism of the day.  I told new friends who didn’t know my history.  And more importantly, I told my five-year-old daughter as she sat on the kitchen counter waiting for breakfast.

“Today is the day that my mom went to heaven,” I said with tears in my eyes.  

“Before she was a hundred?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, well before that.” I said, knowing she understood.   We hugged each other, and I let that emotion sink in so I could always remember it. 

I don’t know if I spent the day in the right way.  But the bigger question is whether I’m spending this life in the right way.  This anniversary is the reminder that my life needs to be more than the daily grind.  It’s a reflective, honest, struggle that I’ll chase the rest of my life.  And for that, I’m grateful. 

I don't know anything about Paris

Me at a sidewalk cafe in Europe

I don’t know what happened in Paris or Mali.  I never turn on the television at home and drive in silence in the car.   I know there were shooting and violence, but that’s about it.  It’s been an intentional choice to remain ignorant of the details.  My heart crumbles for the victims and their families, but fear stops me from going any further.   

It’s not because I don’t feel anything during tragedy, perhaps it’s that I feel too much. I’ve traveled to places in Europe and Africa.  I’ve eaten in sidewalk cafes and hotel lobbies.   It could have been me. 

My problem with fear is that I am unable to forget.  I still have nightmares from watching horror films at sleepovers when I was a teenager.  Nearly thirty years later, you won’t find me in a cornfield, an empty hotel, or near anyone with a hockey mask.  These days, I can’t even watch a trailer for a horror film. 

This tricky combo of fear without forgetting makes daily living even more challenging for me.  I have imagined being on a plane headed for a tower.  I have imagined feeling trapped in a college lecture hall.  I have imagined racing to the elementary school desperately praying my child was not in that classroom. 

But if I stayed in my house and did nothing, I still would not be safe from harm. For now, I will remain uninformed and active.  Not because I don’t want the terrorists to win, but because I don’t want to stop enjoying my life.  This may not be the best strategy, but it’s all I’ve got to continue to travel, learn, and put my daughter on the school bus every morning. 

None of us know what will happen next.  There is no script for life.  I don’t think there is a God who is just reading the prewritten lines, and we are all acting accordingly. 

Every day, I have to make up my own story.  And if the next chapter has tragedy and sorrow, then I will do my best to turn it one page at a time.  For now, I have to focus on the beautiful part of the unknown future, and keep writing. 

Membership in the Laundry Knob Society

About three weeks before my expected due date with my first child, I still did not have baby things ready.  No car seat installed.  No crib built.  No hospital bag packed.  Instead, I focused on what I felt was the most important endeavor for the health and well being of my baby-to-be.  I spent three hours  cleaning the built-up grime from the laundry knobs of our not-that-dirty washing machine (using 30+ Q-tips, of course!).

So a few days later when I went into early labor, I seriously panicked.  I doubted and questioned myself.  How could I be a good mom if I chose insignificant cleaning over building a crib for my child to sleep in? (Note: my darling husband and father-in-law raced home to fix this situation while the new baby and I rested in the hospital). 

I tell you this because on the surface, many people thought I had it together in those first weeks, months - even years.  But truthfully, I was full of self-doubts and guilt.  Early motherhood humbled and crushed me in ways I never expected.  Life with a newborn was not about cute nursery décor (didn’t have it) or clean laundry knobs (didn’t need it).  It was about sacrifice, fear, exhaustion, and wonder (holy crap).   I wanted my life to look like a parenting magazine ad, but it never did.

I felt massively lonely in my overwhelmed state.  What I wanted more than the time back to fix my mistakes was someone to just reach out, put their arm around my shoulders, and admit, “Yeah, me too.”  So I started 'The Laundry Knob Society' with some of my best friends when I was pregnant with my second child.  It was in this truth telling and secret sharing that I finally became a little less hard on myself (and just avoided the washing machine all together).

My friends and I continue to share all those awkward, challenging moments when life gets weird and unscripted.   And the simple act of honesty is the scariest and most rewarding part.  Whatever your challenge is - being a parent, moving to a new place, losing your job, or micro-biotic cleaning - I say, “Yeah, me too.  And welcome to the Laundry Knob Society.”