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What happened?

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“Do you mind if I ask…what happened?” Her face showed genuine concern as she asked a question I wasn’t sure I could answer for myself, let alone to a mom of one of my daughter’s friends on a school playground while we stood under our children on the monkey bars.   Six months after my divorce I started to realize no one else was going to tell people for me that I had gotten a divorce. No one else would provide excuses for my children’s age appropriate behavior for what was happening in their world, no one else was going to shield questions as to why I changed my last name on Facebook, no one was going to step in when someone who didn’t know that I didn’t have a husband asked me how my husband was doing or where he was working. It is not their fault for asking, and in most cases their concern was genuine. They loved and cared about me, and they were concerned for me. But they were also worried about themselves.   It was after a long conversation with a loved one that followed their quest
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Love Letters 3: Hey Boomers, I see you.

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I will be doing a  new weekly  an  occasional  (because weekly is too big of a commitment for an enneagram 7 in 2020) series called "Love Letters" on  smoreslife.blogspot.com.  Welcome to the 2nd edition. In each letter, I'll be writing to "someone" - that person may be you. It may be me. It may be both. But no matter whom I am writing to, I am writing from a place of my own limited personal experiences. It may be from a place of first hand experience, or it may not. I hope it touches you, but it may not. If you don't feel seen or heard in these love letters, kindly reach out to me. I'd love to hear about your own experience. Love Letter Series: Number Three Dear Boomers, You guys are getting a bad rep right now. Honestly, for some of you, it's validated. But for many of you, it is not. I want to tell you what this (barely a) Millennial sees in some of you. I see you reevaluating everything. I see you watching your adult children be grappled with mas
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Womb Blood, Ziploc Bags, Bears, and Baby Wipes

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If the talk of blood makes you squeamish, stop reading now. If the talk of menstruation makes you squeamish, blame the patriarchy, and also, grow up. I’m going to paint you a pretty vivid picture here of how I came to schedule a uterine ablation the same week I googled “can bears smell period blood” at 4am in the woods. I’m going to paint with blood. And also, with my words.   Before I get to the part where I found myself with my pants at my ankles, hand covered in blood, in the dark Alaskan woods holding a Ziploc bag full of my own urine, let me give you a little bit of history.   I have a couple reproductive conditions that make my periods real likely to create horror movie looking scenes in the bathroom at least one or two days a month. I have been back and forth with multiple providers and basically my options for not bleeding to death every month come down to two things. The first option is hormonal treatment/birth control, but that is actually not an option for my sanity, which w
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Love Letter 2: So your friend/family member is getting a divorce

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I will be doing a new weekly  an occasional  (because weekly is too big of a commitment for an enneagram 7 in 2020) series called "Love Letters" on  smoreslife.blogspot.com.  Welcome to the 2nd edition. In each letter, I'll be writing to "someone" - that person may be you. It may be me. It may be both. But no matter whom I am writing to, I am writing from a place of my own limited personal experiences. It may be from a place of first hand experience, or it may not. I hope it touches you, but it may not. If you don't feel seen or heard in these love letters, kindly reach out to me. I'd love to hear about your own experience. Love Letter Series: Number Two Dear friend or family member of someone going through a divorce, Shit.  (Or maybe FINALLY.) I don't know what kind of feelings you're having right now, after hearing the news that your childhood friend, college roommate, daughter, sister, or co-worker is going through a divorce. I don't know
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Love Letter 1: To The Mama on Switch Day

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I will be doing a new weekly series called "Love Letters" on smoreslife.blogspot.com. Welcome to the 1st edition. In each letter, I'll be writing to "someone" - that person may be you. It may be me. It may be both. But no matter whom I am writing to, I am writing from a place of my own limited personal experiences. It may be from a place of first hand experience, or it may not. I hope it touches you, but it may not. If you don't feel seen or heard in these love letters, kindly reach out to me. I'd love to hear about your own experience. Love Letter Series: Number One Dear Mom on Switch Day, I know you're feeling more than one thing right now. I don't know what those feelings are. They may be pure agony, fear, and resentment. Or they may be all relief, gratitude, and hope. It depends on so many factors, and I cannot assume any of them about you.  If your situation is anything like mine, it is a mix of both. I know that feeling of equally dreading
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If You have Mothered

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If you have mothered, I am holding space for you on Sunday. I am holding space for you: If you just saw the faintest positive on a stick, and are dreaming hopes and dreams for the life inside you. If you just received the call from the adoption agency that you have been matched. If you just left the ultrasound office and heard the words "There's no heartbeat." If you are up nursing or making bottles all night, falling asleep as you feed your baby. If you had to return the crib, and buy a casket. If you are drinking lemonade and poking your belly while your partner patiently waits to feel those (not so) little kicks. If you are making a birth plan. If you are having to rethink that birth plan. If Sunday comes, and no one acknowledges the life growing inside you. If you are greeted on Sunday with homemade breakfast in bed of Lucky Charms, OJ, and broccoli, or some other toddler perfected meal. If you receive a card with a child's growing hand print on it. If you receive
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A Poem for Quarantined Parents

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When all of this first happened We talked of the curve being flattened So when Covid 19 first hit, At first it seemed like it would just involve me having to sit I wasn't that sad, I'm not gonna lie Finally, an excuse not to have to hug to say hi I felt selfishly relieved I could drop the extracurricular schedule that was so complexly weaved Pretty soon it became clear The only thing dropping would be a tear And not just one or two or three So much crying and whining and being a bear and that's not including the kids, that's just talking about me I tried to watch Netflix and make my own cleaning wipes I wanted to learn a new craft and rack up some Bumble swipes But all of those hopes and dreams quickly faded As google classroom, Zoom, and Phonics apps were upgraded Suddenly I was a homeschool teacher and learning how to be a video making children's preacher All the technology was driving me up a wall I watched children balancing snacks and a macbook, trying not to f
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