Magic

Posted on by Lauren

“Dying on your couch while watching TV by yourself is a tragedy. Dying while doing something you love with every part of your body is magic. I wish you magic.”*

The entire premise of my New Leaf Parenting blog is that “Every Day is a Fresh Start”. There’s a lesson to be found in every great or minute facet of life. 

But sometimes there is tragedy.

As humans, I believe we are built to persevere, to overcome, even in the darkest of times. Surely survivors of The Holocaust and modern atrocities have taught us that. If they survived, we must. 

The truth is, the wind was knocked out of my lungs when my friend called to tell me she had discovered that our pet died the morning after we had left for our longest-ever 10 day vacation. 

He was “just a rabbit”. Not a human, not a dog or cat. Just a rabbit that happened to be my first pet since losing my precious dog to a rattlesnake bite when I was 12 years old. 

He was our first family pet, purchased at the beginning of the pandemic when we decided to homeschool our four daughters then ages, 2, 4, 6 and 8. 

We called him our “therapy rabbit” because he was forever patient- if the girls were loud, he would form into a “loaf”, blocking out the obnoxious sound. When the girls were sad, he would recline next to them, offering unlimited pets. They would nuzzle their face into his and he accepted their grief without question. 

He was my morning coffee buddy and my late-night snuggler. 

He died because he escaped his enclosure, unnoticed before we left town. Our last security video shows me and my husband ensuring his safe keeping but unbeknownst to us, he made his escape and met his end by another animal that night. 

I lie awake, thinking about his tragic, painful, lonely end. Was he scared? Did he feel betrayed by us for leaving town? 

He was so good to us, he deserved better. 

But then I read fiction to escape reality and come across quotes like the one above and I wonder, did he know we were leaving? 

Did he leave before he was left? Not knowing the dangers that lurked in the darkness?

Sometimes there is tragedy and no good lesson to be found. 

But I think I’ll sleep better if I believe Oreo died rebelling, refusing to be domesticated a day longer.

I think I’ll sleep better if I believe in magic. 

I wish you magic. 

* Napolitano, Anne. Dear Edward. New York. Random House. 2020.

Prevent

Posted on by Lauren

I remember. 

I wish I could but I never will forget the supreme loneliness I felt as a child. 

And I suppose that is why, as an adult, I feel so committed to seeing children.

Physical presence is not enough. 

Neither is saying “I care.” 

It’s action. 

Before I took the pills that landed me in the hospital, before I stood on the edge of the balcony threatening to jump, I cut myself as a way to ease the pain. 

I was 12 years old. 

So, when my daughter exhibits signs of distress, 

I take her seriously. 

When minimal interventions (intentional time together, changes to routine, etc.) fail to work, I take action: therapy, medication. 

Prevention is not easy

But it sure is preferred to regret. 

LOUD

Posted on by Lauren

“Be quiet!” 

“Shhh, you’ll wake the baby.” 

We grow up with family. 

We mature in school.

We share rooms and apartments with college friends. 

Then a home with our children. 

How often are we ever alone?

And what do we do when we are?

I wonder, what if we live a LOUD life?

Unafraid of our noise disturbing others. 

How do we teach our students to be quiet in the classroom

But LOUD in life?

Camille Vaughan Photography

My God

Posted on by Lauren

There are no sick days for mothers. 

A day of rest guarantees a day’s worth of extra work for the future. 

Never was this any clearer than when Elizabeth was six months old. 

My body had given up. 

I had spent the summer with all four girls at home while Emmett was at work. 

They were ages 6, 4, 2 and newborn. 

Elizabeth was “failure-to-thrive”. Not gaining weight, vomiting and crying constantly with eczema covering her body and we couldn’t figure out why. 

I was down twenty pounds, eliminating foods in a desperate attempt to continue breast feeding my last baby, only to find out later that the avocado I was surviving on was one of her FPIES (Food Protein-Induced Entercolitis) triggers. 

My back completely gave out and I was incapacitated in a chair watching friends and family trying to substitute for me: Laundry, meals, diapers, playtime, housework. 

It was laughable to think I had attempted to manage all of that on my own. 

I finally agreed to hire the help my husband had been encouraging me to get for months. 

I felt foolish staying at home and hiring someone to help complete my unpaid job but once she arrived, I was free to be a more present mother and enjoy my children rather than just survive them. 

Six years have passed and the nanny days are long over but mothering isn’t and I’m realizing, never will be. 

What happens when mom gets sick? 

It’s a lonely feeling. 

As a mom, I’m always anticipating my family’s needs but when sick, I’m still having to direct the show from bed. Appointment reminders, meal tips, boo-boo kisses and bedtime tuck-ins. 

Things only a mom knows of her own kids. 

I suppose that is what led me to pray to my heavenly father tonight. 

To ask him to take care of me when I’m feeling overwhelmed and neglected. 

No, there are no sick days for mothers. 

But it’s nice to know there’s someone always ready to embrace me. 

My God. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Gone

Posted on by Lauren

I was 21 when he broke my jaw. 

And honestly, I’d been waiting for it as a reason to leave. 

Never mind the years of emotional abuse. 

A broken jaw was a concrete, valid excuse to leave. 

I packed my bags and got a new apartment assigned, while he was in class.

The police arrived as he tore my belongings from my car. 

All I’d ever wanted was for someone to promise me forever.

But I quickly realized the commitment wasn’t worth the cost. 

Today, I visited the dentist for another cavity on the other side of my mouth. 

The one I’ve learned to chew on, the last twenty years. 

Gone, but not forgotten. 

Gone, but never the same. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

The Gift of Time

Posted on by Lauren

It’s a well-known fact that we have a tendency to over-correct.

I just wonder how many of us recognize when we are doing it. 

I did when it came time to create the annual “Gift of Time” envelopes for my girls. 

A few years ago, in an effort to guarantee one-on-one time with mom or dad, I gifted each girl a stack of 12 envelopes- one for each month. Inside, a card with an activity they could choose to do with just mom or dad- no sisters. 

We were drowning with the responsibility of caring for our health-challenged youngest, not to mention juggling four young kids. The Gift of Time ensured we got that one-on-one time with each daughter. 

But, year-after-year, it turned into expectation. 

When they opened the envelope and it was a trip to the library or a bike ride, instead of the bowling alley or putt-putt, they were crestfallen. 

I realized I was creating presumptuous monsters, instead of appreciated moments. 

So, I’ve paused. Reevaluating. 

Sure, I want that precious time but at what cost?

I spent my adulthood wishing I’d had a closer relationship with my mother, when I was a child. 

But what if my children rely too much on their parents to feel satiated?

Is it possible that I’m setting them up for failure? A childhood so idyllic, it’s difficult to replicate? Is that a crime?

I’ve parented long enough to become comfortable in the gray- the not knowing the next step. 

Instead of forcing my choice, I watch and wait. 

The Gift of Time. 

Relevant

Posted on by Lauren

You prepare for the pregnancy, the birth, even the baby. 

Then, the child is revealed. 

She graduates towards adulthood as you wonder, 

Who was I before this and who am I still becoming?

Yes, I am a mother. 

But above and beyond that I am an intellect. 

Worthy of deep conversation and consideration. 

How do we procreate the next generation and still remain relevant?

My best friend Harper on our trip to Savannah, GA to celebrate my fortieth birthday.

Nothingness

Posted on by Lauren

“Sit down, it’s Sunday.” My husband encouraged. 

“But if I do,” I explained “things won’t get done.”

“There’s always something to do.” 

I looked around at the smudges on the walls I’d been meaning to scrub, the tiny toys under the living room furniture and that dead moth that’s been trapped inside our family picture frame for literal years. 

I’d changed five sets of sheets, scrubbed two bathrooms and vacuumed but the list never ends.

One of my friends shared a photo of her rewriting worn recipe cards and I remarked, “How do you find the time?” She suggested that perhaps it was the two less kids.  

Maybe so. 

Or maybe I just need to slow down. 

Life in perpetual motion is never dull but also exhausting. 

Where’s the time to appreciate the exquisiteness of nothingness?

So I sat and ate my new box of girl scout cookies wondering all-the-while if that moth would fully decompose before I took the time to remove it. 

Maybe so. 

Clearly, I have more important nothingness to do. 

I captured this man soaking up the sunshine on my fortieth birthday trip to Savannah, GA. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from him!

Aurora Mae Turns 12

Posted on by Lauren

12.

Here you are, baby girl. 

On the precipice of teenage-hood and totally not looking forward to it. 

I get it. 

You were 11 days overdue and never wanting to leave has been your MO. 

I have a recording of you crying about going to college when you were just 6 so it’s nothing new. 

You are a creature of comfort. 

Your bed, your hair, your charisma, the softest. 

In addition to a slew of Taylor Swift themed gifts, I also presented you with a copy of articles I’ve written in your honor over the last eight years. 

You wept in my arms over the article I wrote about my own mom, What I Want You to Know

Because you felt the same about me. 

And it dawned on me. 

Mothers and Daughters are forever. 

You may be 12, 

But we are forever. 

Camille Vaughan Photography – 2020 -all four girls tried on my wedding dress.

Badass

Posted on by Lauren

Everyone warned me of teenage daughters. 

Maybe they forgot that I used to be one. 

I’m not afraid of the road I’ve already traveled, 

Even if it looks different, these days. 

It’s hard, 

But our needs are the same. 

Recognition, empathy and encouragement. 

I love that my tweenage daughter appreciates music and novels. 

I love that my tweenage daughter cares about matters outside of herself.

I love my tweenage daughter’s courage and fearlessness. 

And yes, I love knowing I fostered that. 

She’s a badass.