When Lila was 7, I lovingly cleaned out her closet because it was a mess and she (or I) was overwhelmed. What I found was startling: Candy wrappers in every.single.corner. This was clearly the work of a crafty friend, not MY CHILD (hand on forehead with feigned outrage). 

The candy wrapper scene made me wonder: What else will she hide? Are my rules ineffective? 

As soon as Marlee could talk we started to implant “life” rules: Be kind. Tell the truth. Try your hardest. HAVE FUN! And also practical rules such as: Ask a mom if you need help, don’t get into a car with someone who you don’t know, call us if you need a pick up for any reason, pick up your stuff (hahaha…I know), strap in before the car starts moving, and stay together. There was an underlying guideline, “If you break the rules, don’t get caught!” which was always said with a wink (But I also kinda meant it). 

We had these on repeat, periodically asking the girls, “what are the rules?!” which back then resulted in them proudly reciting the rules but now elicits an eye roll followed by an unenthusiastic listing of some of the rules. “Stay together” always makes the list. “Be kind” often makes the list. “Pick up your stuff” is conveniently forgotten. 

Back then I thought I was teaching them ways to have fun while also being safe. Or, at the very least, giving myself peace of mind that they knew something useful. Now I realize: I was giving them actual tools to deal with real situations that made me deeply uncomfortable to think about but needed to be talked about. Which led to a lot of squirmy, awkward, conversations that were best had when they were trapped in the car with me (my time window was so much shorter than I expected. Now that they’re driving, these opportunities are less frequent). 

Now that they’re teenagers, those rules (and guidelines) still apply but they have a different meaning.

“Stay together” was originally intended for littles to avoid getting lost. Now it’s intended for teenagers (and beyond) to avoid someone wandering off drunk, falling face first into a puddle, and drowning. (You think this is far-fetched but a mom-turned-public-speaker visits high schools to share how this can (did) happen (to her daughter) and how to avoid it. This horrific story is exactly the moment when “stay together” became a lifelong rule) (Also, I still don’t know how that mom keeps her composure when she shares this story).

“Strap in before the car starts moving” upgraded to, “Strap in before you start your car and make sure everyone else in your car does the same. Do not have more people in your car than working seatbelts. Do not move the car until everyone clicks in.” My kids love when rules expand. 

“Pick up your stuff” is still “pick up your stuff” because some lessons are never learned. Or always avoided. Oh my god, why do my kids still litter in our house and cars?

“Don’t get into a car with someone who you don’t know” isn’t very practical anymore because it’s likely that a friend-of-a-friend is the one driving and “Mom! You totally know so-and-so who knows so-and-so” and anyway…Those girls are getting into the car no matter what I say (your kids are doing the same) so I need to upgrade this rule. Now it’s: “Don’t get into a car with someone who you don’t know and seems sketchy [this includes a list of ways to identify if someone is sketchy. ] But that’s not all! Also, “If you’re getting into the car of a friend-of-a-friend make sure they aren’t drunk and (you knew this was coming) strap in! and (no one does this) make sure their tires aren’t flattish” (because my dad, their grandpa will, in fact, demand a safety check of tires). 

“Call us if you need a pick up for any reason” is now…That, still that. “No questions asked (at least not immediately). You won’t be in trouble. Even if you weren’t where you were supposed to be. Or lied. Or are drunk or high. Anytime of day or night. Just call me.” Because I’d rather have them home, safe, and alive versus making questionable choices while in compromising situations when they’re judgment is also compromised.

The rules haven’t changed but they—like my kids—have grown and evolved. I realized that the older they get, the more I need to adjust the rules to be useful and realistic.

Which is exactly how I found myself calling to Lila as she rushed out the door to a friend’s house (ahem, party), “Have fun! And DON’T GET ARRESTED!” (which is the upgraded guideline of “don’t get caught!”) .

============

Memorandum #949

To: Smuckers

From: Management

Effective date: Immediately

It has been brought to executive management’s attention that you are falling short in the behavior department. This is despite your adorable demeanor and best effort, of course. Most recently you snuck into the cat-only area and chowed down the (used!) kitty litter then LICKED ONE OF YOUR MANAGERS. Gross! (We try not to toss around labels or judgy behavior but this was particular disgusting, Smuckers!).

Because of this, and other transgressions which are detailed below, we decided it’s time to put you on a performance improvement plan. While this is specific to you, remember that ALL memorandums apply to ALL pets, past and present. See memorandum #7 as an example.

You will be measured on achieving your goals in accordance with the defined plan, by the deadlines imposed, or else. Or else what? Nothing. Literally nothing will happen because you’re a dog and this is almost completely unenforceable (though we might resort to basic training again if necessary).

Itemized Transgressions

1. Conspiring to bring a mouse into the house, with co-conspirator, Bosco.

2. Woofing. Incessantly. At golfers. We do support your complaints against bad golfers, especially those who hit our house with golf balls. This includes your mom-like-manager.

3. Howling in the middle of the night. STOP.

4. Talking back. Wait, we think this is adorable. Management, please strike this from the performance improvement plan.

5. Busting into the cat area within minutes of being left alone. You’ve been caught SEVERAL times by a manager who was still in the house.

6. Not staying in your place when directed to do so.

7. Walking across and/or sleeping on the kitchen table. Seriously? WTF? We can see your paw prints!

Performance Improvement Plan

You will follow all commands, immediately and completely. We must see a 25% improvement each week, on each of the following items, for 4 weeks until you reach 90% compliance (We realize this doesn’t add up but again, you’re a dog, so we are granting some room for error).

You will stay in dog approved areas. As there is no reason for you to be in the cat area, this is effective immediately.

You may continue to remove unwanted guests (in the form of mice, lizards, and bugs) from the property (4 week improvement plan), but you MAY NOT BRING THEM INTO THE HOUSE (effective immediately).

Reduce the woofing and howling unless you are alerting us to danger. This includes letting us know of any, and all, attempts by Bosco to escape the premises.

When anyone in executive management says, “Place!” You stop everything and run to your place. Sit and wait for the “Free dog” command before shifting any part of your body off the place.

We appreciate your attention to these matters and ongoing cooperation for improvement.

The Management Team

(Jill, Josh, Marlee, and Lila)

Dear C,

Can you believe all that has happened between us in 21 years?

I remember when I first heard about you, sitting in the doctor’s office, leafing through Fortune Magazine. There you were on the “best” list and I instantly wanted to get to know you better.

You checked all my boxes.

Our meeting was a magical manifestation. Your people swung by to talk, brimming with enthusiasm about the partnership. I remember them saying, “it’s a wardrobe too” as they handed me a branded t-shirt. Our first photograph together was not the best – I slept late, threw my hair in a pony, ditched the make-up, and definitely didn’t match my socks (but managed to be dressed, so you’re welcome!).

Once we got together, you took away my free lunch and made me relocate but took care of me in other ways. Job promotion, healthcare, new friends, unlimited opportunity, new challenges, and so many t-shirts. Also, you let me retake that first photo.

You accepted my unconventional hair and pop-up piercings. I accepted your traditional ways. Sometimes we tried to change each other. Always, we were better because of one another.

With you, I learned how to advocate, negotiate, and influence. I got to travel and explore. I surprised myself again and again while you waited and watched, giving me space to make mistakes and grow.  At times, I felt unstoppable.

For all of this, I am grateful.

And yet, with all we have in common – particularly the shared value of wanting to do good in the world – our path forward diverges. Maybe it’s rooted in our fears. 

You’re afraid to look too deeply within yourself. I’m ready to examine everything within me.

You’re afraid of what the “outsiders” think. I’ve started to define myself, for myself.

You’re afraid to make hard changes. I’m open to the possibility change brings.

You’re afraid of losing. I’m afraid of losing myself.

Your fear is holding you back; my fears are leading to new freedoms. While you’re holding on to patterns that (and people who) no longer serve you, I am actively releasing ALL that does not serve me.

Are you still wondering why I’m leaving? When exactly I made the decision?

As you broke your silence on world issues, I broke my silence on the people who were acting contrary to our principles.  Once my mute button turned off, I was no longer willing to sacrifice myself or my values (and I appreciate that you didn’t expect me to). Too often I question if your values are guiding you (I ask this question of myself as well), and yet I feel proud as your voice grows stronger. The difference you’re making in the world is undeniable.

I leave you while we are on a high note, while we still believe in one another, have deep admiration and respect between us, and speak fondly of each other.  I loved being on this journey with you. I’m grateful for every step, especially the missteps that made us stronger. While it is time to part ways, you’ll always be a part of me.

Let’s check our last box, together: a loving separation filled with cherished memories and deep gratitude.

XOXO

J

P.S. This letter was hard to write and even harder to share with you. It’s about how all of my experiences, and the people within them – good and bad – affected my feelings and choices. You’re still the best, you’re simply no longer the best for me, right now.

I object.

I object to the sentiment that the “real heroes” are either, or. Us, them. That any one group universally has heroes or villains.

It’s true that we have heroes among the nurses and doctors, postal officers, delivery people, grocery store workers, and so many more. I have deep gratitude for those who risk their lives to serve us, especially those who are overworked, underpaid, and until recently were often overlooked.

It’s just as true that we have heroes among our government leaders and CEOs. Leaders who are using their power and wealth to serve the underserved. Who donate millions and billions of dollars and supplies to organizations who are skilled and staffed to help those in need. I have equally deep gratitude for this group who are currently being overlooked and underappreciated. Who have somehow become villains in memes.

Maybe I’m taking this uber personally because the company I work for (Cisco, led by Chuck Robbins) is doing amazing things.

We secured and distributed thousands (maybe millions) of N95 masks and surgical masks. We’re using 3D printing to produce more masks and shields. We donated $2M to Covenant House alone.  We rallied other companies in the Bay Area to support Destination: Home and continue to make large contributions ourselves. We had a 72 hour Let’s Give campaign which raised $700k+. We allocated $8M in cash and $210M in product to the global coronavirus response.  We sponsored the Global Citizen fundraiser, #TogetheratHome. We gave customers and partners $2.5B in financing for business resiliency. We continue to pay hourly workers who aren’t working (such as café workers and janitors). We increased volunteer hours from 5 to 10 days for the remainder of the year.

Did that last paragraph of some of the things Cisco is doing overwhelm you? It was meant to. It demonstrates a little bit of what one company, one CEO is doing. Yes, I understand that not every company or CEO is doing what we’re doing. But many are, and they deserve our gratitude not our disdain.

So, I object.

I object to the posts that say things like “when this is over, let’s remember that it wasn’t the CEOs & Billionaires who save us, it was the bus drivers, janitors, nurses, truck driver, and food workers”.

What is meant to be a message of redirected appreciation says that one group deserves recognition, but another doesn’t. It divides us. We can’t simultaneously say that we’re all in this together then segment our population to say that one group is helpful, but the other is not.

Perhaps if we focus on individual stories instead of lumping groups of people together we can see that every one of us has an opportunity to make a difference. It’s not about power, wealth or lack thereof. It’s about heart. Compassion. Empathy. And togetherness.

 

 

 

 

This is about the startling difference between a trendy shopper (her) and a basic shopper (me). Written by the latter (dress code: black yoga pants and t-shirt), who is in awe of the former (dress code: anything whimsical, trendy, colorful; always accessorized).

Attitude is a mindset.

Me: Do I have to be here?

Her: Do we need to leave?

Enter store. Cheer or sigh?

Me (sigh): Race for the black rack. (Note: this rack doesn’t actually exist, but it should, especially in the store called White House, Black Market).

Her (cheer): Beelines for clothes that she describes as high-fashion and vibrant, yet I describe as “too loud”.

Scan those racks (get your mind out of the gutter!)

Me: Quickly scan for clothes that meet stated goals. Impatiently move as quickly as possible.

Her: Laboriously size up every piece of clothing on every rack. Pick out the most intricate, stylish, clothes. “Ohhhhh” …. “Ahhhh” … as she goes.

Try ‘em on.

Me: Tries on clothes because I have to – who wants to end up back at the store to return stuff?

Her: Tries on clothes because she loves to – so.much.fun! (Also, loves an excuse to go back to the store).

Accessorize. Or not.

Me: I have clothes. I’m done.

Her: We need shoes and accessories.

Me: Fine. Let’s start with shoes. (here’s where I become slightly fashionable, but I ALWAYS regret shoes that look great but hurt my feet).

Her: We need shoes. Jewelry. Pocketbooks. Tights. (Wait, she says these aren’t in style anymore, but I love fishnets and refuse to give them up).

Mentioning the unmentionables.

Me: I don’t have a bra that will work under that dress, so I won’t buy it.

Her: You are WEARING a bra that works under that dress. See? It clips.right.here.

Me: That’s what that plastic thing is for?!

Her: Sigh…how do you not know this?

(This conversation actually happened while dress shopping).

Diane von Furstenberg approved.

Me: I want a black a-lined dress. Or a black wrap dress.

Her: You need something more fun.

Me: DO I HAVE TO? (Spoken in the tone of a 3-year old verging on a temper tantrum).

Her: How’s this…this..this…this? TRY THEM ON!

Me: I like the way this looks. We’re done.

Her: Buy it! Looks fabulous. But you can’t wear it to that event so let’s keep looking.

Me: What? We aren’t done? UGH.

(I still don’t understand why the dress that DVF literally invented isn’t good enough for her).

Click. Shop. Done?

Me: Order online.

Her: Go to store. Spend HOURS at store. Or online. She annoyingly can shop anywhere, anytime, for long periods of time.

How much is too much?

Me:  I have enough clothes to last me 7 days. I might need some more black t-shirts. And yoga pants.

Her: Must have many alternatives for many occasions.

8 a.m. on a Wednesday

Me:  I have nothing to wear.

Her: You could wear the such-and-such with the such-and-such.

Me: How the hell do you remember that I even own that?

Her: Emerges in a black Gap t-shirt dress paired with black Seychelles sandals, accessorized with a liquid silver necklace and her Nana’s vintage silver and stone bracelet. Hair in a pony tail, light make-up. *

Me: Emerges in…you guessed it: yoga pants and plain black t-shirt. *

*Literal descriptions from a text exchange at 8a.m. on a Wednesday. Also, I think Seychelles is an island, not as a shoe style. If you know me, you’re laughing that I even know that Seychelles is a place and you are positive I could not find it on a map. (You’re right. I can’t find my house on a map either!)

 Time to vote. Who do you want to shop with?

Do you want to shop with me? My approach is quick-and-easy-let’s-get-out-of-here.  Or better, we can sit next to each other and shop online while we drink wine.

Or, do you want to shop with her? The fashionista who always knows what’s trending, can size up any other person to gauge what looks stunning on said person, and is happy to hit the bar before shopping.

Yeah, I pick her too.

 

 

 

 

Hi Marlee,

When you decided to become a Bat Mitzvah we asked you SO MANY questions. And gave you quite a few options. It wasn’t the first time we did this with you (or, by your perception, to you).

Remember that photo I showed you last week? Standing in the driveway with Lila. You were about 5 and 3 years old. Big smiles on your faces. Wildly mismatched outfits.

That trend started when you were 15 months old, when your fashion philosophy was “I like this shirt. I like those pants. They go together!” (They didn’t). At first Dad and I thought it was adorable. Then we were curious. Then concerned. Then we wondered if we should intervene. Then you started wearing THAT OUTFIT and we knew we had to do something.

(Note: I have photo evidence to share with anyone who is interested. FaceBook periodically serves up this memory as well).

I asked around and found out that I was giving you too many options. So, the next time we got dressed, I tried to narrow it down for you.

“Marlee, do you want to wear this shirt or that shirt? These pants or those pants?” You looked right at me and said (with scorn), “Mommy, I want to wear the blue shirt with the yellow flower and the fairy. With leggings…that have the stripes!”. This outfit was that outfit.

Savta remembers that outfit with disdain. Meg is still trying to determine if it actually didn’t match based on my description (it didn’t!).

Day after day I offered you “this or that…these or those”. Every day you stomped your foot and demanded to wear some other outfit.

It was then that I realized YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO ARGUE WITH (Sam and Callie know what I’m talkin’ about!). It’s also when Dad and I figured something out: It’s not our job to make the decisions for you, but it’s absolutely our responsibility to help you make good decisions.

Whether they’re big or small, easy or hard. Whether it feels like you have too many options, not enough options, or no options at all. And especially when there is duality in the decision like when there are decisions wrapped in decisions, but it doesn’t feel like a gift. Like…

Going to camp? Easy.

Deciding which electives to pick? Hard. (Marlee claims this is not hard, just pick whatever Callie picks).

Doing gymnastics? Easy.

Choosing gymnastics over all other possible activities? Kinda hard.

Becoming a bat mitzvah? Easy.

Choosing who to honor in your candle lighting ceremony? So hard! And don’t get me started on the words for candle number twelve.

Marlee, here’s the thing. All the choices are your choices. Whether they are “right” or “wrong”, whether others agree or disagree, (and by the way, it’s hardly ever so black and white) they are always yours.

Dad and I support you. But, that doesn’t mean we won’t ask you so many questions (like we did with your Bat Mitzvah) or give you other options to think about (like we did with aforementioned blue shirt, striped pants combo.)

We’ll help you sort though the options of this or that, these or those.

We’ll guide you with the toughest decisions like who to let in and out of your life and which college to go to.

We’ll listen when it feels like there are no options, like when I pick you up at a sleepover at 9am but you want to leave at 11am (and now I can hear the future arguments about curfews).

We’ll remind you, over and over again, that you ALWAYS have a choice in how you react and how you respond. And this is one of the most important choices you’ll ever make. We hope you’ll do this with kindness, compassion, thoughtfulness, and empathy.

Marlee, we especially support the choice you made today. To become a bat mitzvah. To celebrate with friends and family. And, the decision I anticipate you’ll make next…Dad and Lila’s favorite: to have so much fun for the rest of the night.

Mazel Tov.

Oh, and by the way. That outfit? Great choice.

 

I sat in the mommy-and-me group feeling completely out of place. All the other moms cheerfully held their babies. They gushed about how many hours their baby slept. They giggled at their rare feeding mishaps.

They were so in control. So confident. And I? I was a mess.

You wouldn’t know it on the outside. I managed to smile and commiserate and not have (too much) vomit on my shirt. While the other moms made parenting seem effortless, I felt like I was in a triathlon (it’s important to note I dislike running, biking, and swimming.).

As I look back on those early days, I see the truth. They were hard yet gratifying. Overwhelming yet manageable. Mostly they felt confusing. My head was split in two as I tried to make sense of the opposing feelings battling in the foreground of my mind. There were so many things my mind didn’t know but my heart sensed instinctively.

I didn’t know that I could feel so alive at the same time I felt so exhausted. Every day felt equally like a gift and a chore. Basic things like eating and sleeping temporarily became advanced skills. My exhaustion felt like a trap that prevented me from living.

I didn’t know that spending all of my time side-by-side with another person would feel so lonely. Seems impossible to create another person, love that person with all your being, and then feel lonely being with them. Surrounding myself with family, friends, and other moms drilled in the isolation further. The physicality of support couldn’t unlock the emotional shackles I created in those early days.

I didn’t know that I could feel like I was going to lose my mind but still have infinite patience. Some days it felt like my mind was at war with itself. I wanted to scream and stomp and kick and cry. Yet I didn’t (at least not most of the time). I breathed in. I breathed out. I spoke calmly. I learned patience.

I didn’t know that being a working mom would feel so dreadful yet be just what I needed. Just when I started to get in my groove and gain confidence of being mom, I was back at work. Correction: I forced myself back to work too soon, dreaded every day, and spiraled into uncontrollable-postpartum depression. Yet recently when a mentor asked “why do you work” I didn’t hesitate to genuinely say, “working makes me a better parent. And a better person.”

I didn’t know that I was a great mom from the start even though I had no idea what I was doing. Up until becoming a mom I thought being great at something meant mastering a skill. Being an expert. I was no expert at being a parent (still am not!) but I did realize at some point that love and patience trumped talent and expertise. At least some of the time.

I didn’t know that one day I would long for the days I couldn’t wait to escape. The no-sleep-can’t-function-why-won’t-she-stop-crying-phase seemed endless yet today I look at baby’s snuggling up in their mom’s necks and I want to experience that moment again. Then I remember the crying (me and the baby), look at my tween girls, and feel grateful that we can have a logical (somewhat logical) conversation and express love in both words and actions.

The early days got me ready for the rest of the days. I still am not entirely sure that I’m doing this parenting thing “right”, but I am (more) certain that there is no right way to do anything (including parenting). I’m positive our girls know that we love them like crazy. And really, that’s half of what I’m supposed to be doing. The other half is better said by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe:

“There are two things children should get from their parents: roots and wings.”

I’m living in the decade my mom didn’t survive.

I just got here yet I’ll be here for a while. I wonder if that’s what my mom thought when she entered her 40s. Surely she didn’t think, “this is the decade I am going to die.”

Yet I fear just that.

Today I see all that she left behind. All that she might have seen. If only she were here.

My path is different.

I want to watch my kids grow up. To be part of their lives and their kids’ lives. I want to love them and hug them and smile at them and yell at them and fight with them and hold them close and let them go. I want to be their mom for a long, long time.

My path is different.

I want to grow old with Josh. To hold hands, have adventures, explore new places, discover new interests.  I want to reminisce about our life. Create new memories to reflect on. To watch our children become independent. Together.

My path is different.

I feel more love and gratitude than ever before yet I crave more. I feel confident yet inadequate. I feel like I am giving so much yet it’s never enough. I feel like I am surrounded by family and friends yet I am alone. I feel like I know myself better than ever yet there is so much more to discover.

My path is different.

I know the age of her death is arbitrary. I know the chance that I will follow in her footsteps of early demise is unlikely. Yet I can’t shake it. The closer I get to the age she died the more I feel like there is a shadow cast upon my soul.

My path is different. But only if I make it so.

This decade I will love more. Laugh more. Smile more. Feel more gratitude. Experience more joy.

Happy birthday, Mom.

 

Post Script from my actual 44th bday – post from Facebook:

 

I have my mom’s hands.

I often look at them with wonder. Curious what it would be like if she were here. Would we link fingers like I do with Marlee? Squeeze hands like I do with Lila?

Today isn’t just my birthday. It’s my 44th birthday. I have entered the age my mom was when she died.