Take Me To Neverland

16 Sunday Aug 2015

Consider it a rite of passage, maybe even ordinary, when a Southern California family has annual passes to Disneyland. We’ve been putting it off for years, saving our money until the kids were old enough to remember the experience. But when our youngest turned three and fell in love with all things Mickey and Minnie, we knew it was our year.

An old plaque hangs at the entrance of Disneyland, welcoming families for the past 60 years. “Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow and fantasy.” The cryptic quote brought a smile to my face as we stepped onto Main Street that very first morning, towards our family’s new adventure.

Walt Disney’s vision is manifest throughout every inch of the park. It was evident while we soared with Dumbo in flight, fell down Alice’s rabbit hole and blasted into orbit at Tomorrowland. We stood in long lines for our favorite rides and received many hugs from Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck and Winnie the Pooh along the way. At the happiest place on earth, you’re free to be a kid again, riding on rollercoasters, indulging on ice cream, cookies and churros.

The first time our family saw Mickey Mouse, he was riding on a trolley through California Adventure. One glance and my three-year jumped out of her stroller and chased him down the street. I jogged along while she shouted, “Mickey! Mickey!” waving her arms at her long, lost friend. It was a memorable moment – and if Evelyn’s uncharacteristic performance is representative of how other children behave, then Disneyland employees have funnier children’s stories than most parents.

FullSizeRender Can you imagine a day in the life of Mickey Mouse? Every day he gets ready for work like all of us, but then he drives to Disneyland, walks into some top-secret building and POOF!!! No longer anonymously living among millions of people in Southern California, he transforms into the most well-known character on earth, chased by every child in the park.

He has to look, think and act like Mickey Mouse. I’m sure there’s a script and he’s initially overwhelmed trying to bring this character to life. But somewhere along the way, he’ll memorize the role and no longer need to think about what’s next. Having been through the motions so many times, it becomes second nature, so ingrained in his mind he forgets where Mickey cuts off and the real person begins. Like a child lost in play at Disneyland, altruistically bringing happiness to everyone in the park.

When I walk through the gates of Disneyland, a rush of pixie dust allows me to see the world through new eyes. It unlocks a youthful energy, unconcerned with judgment and criticism. The inner child breaks free, wearing Mickey Mouse ears, whistling and skipping through the park. It’s the one place on earth where it’s perfectly acceptable to be a kid again, no matter what your age.

Like a moth to a flame, children are to the senses, submersed in their moment to moment experience as if nothing else exists. We went hiking a few weeks ago and Mason picked up a stick, but in a matter of minutes he transformed it a dozen times. An airplane, monster, snake, cane – there were no limitations to its usefulness. Infinite possibilities, but my white washed, distracted version of the world won’t let me see it. My mind lacks the color, dimension and, more importantly, the creative potential to step outside of the mundane.

Play When I was a child, I wanted to be an adult and experience everything the world had to offer. Pursuing a “successful” life, I left behind my childish ways. Like a potter, creating her dreams out of clay, I reached new frontiers of responsibility. And only when I achieved what I set out to do, did I look back and notice how far I’d gone, standing in the corner of my own creation. Now that I’m here, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to figure out a way back, as I’d happily exchange the daily grind and monotony of adulthood – responsibilities, work schedule and routine – for the openness and freedom of my youth.

Somewhere along the way, happiness became synonymous with results and achievement, as I drown in my plans for tomorrow. Where is the present moment when it’s staged in the future and forgoes the innocence of experience? Children are free of that burden until adolescence arrives and reflects the mirror of self-awareness, forcing them to compare and contrast, dividing their world into categories, separating them from their experience.

I should have listened to Peter Pan. For once there was play and now there’s pursuit. I left the security blanket of childhood with a curiosity yearning for more and fell into a prison of my own creation. You can’t unlearn it once you know and it’s nearly impossible to find your way back. The ignorant desires of adulthood now separate me from the simplicity of happiness.

Like the man behind the mask at Disneyland, I have more quick changes now than a child growing up in the theater. Tiffany’s cast of characters present themselves throughout the day, invisibly trying to please and evoke confidence in those around me. At work, the manager is serious and analytical, trying to portray an image of control in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. At home I’m more relaxed and (usually) a fun mom, but I’ll quickly become a sergeant when my kids step out of line. The person that shows up depends on who I’m with and what circumstances are presented.

FullSizeRender_1 Contrary to the adult persona, covered in labels and expectations, a child’s mind has the freedom and security to be itself and dissolve in the moment. At the happiest place on earth, our family escapes into a world of fantasy, playing out unadulterated yesterday’s. Courageous vulnerability shines through in tomorrow’s free of the mask that separates the public and private self. Children are the portal, the keys to escape, illuminating the way to secret treasure and freedom. Not concerned with how they are perceived, raw truth is all that remains.

In the wee hours of the morning, while the world is still fast asleep, there are no faces, no masks – no need to perform. It’s the closest I’ve come to revealing my inner child in complete freedom and vulnerability. The darkness of the night carries me into the light of the moon, where the stillness and security give me enough courage to stretch beyond the confines of my mind. My thoughts float freely to the surface, peacefully, harmlessly. I accept everything as it is.

I’m determined to remain in the space where freedom lies, where my quirky tendencies are free to roam, where I’m not caught up with some idea of what I should be thinking or doing, where masks are no longer necessary because I have enough courage to be myself – because an imperfect truth is greater than any false, perfection I could portray.

When the sun goes down and the last firework blazes the sky, Mickey returns to the room of his creation. Rainbows descend from the corners of the room as he stores his costume for another day. A bittersweet relief reflects in the mirror, that’s no longer obliged with the need to perform. The remnant echoes of laughter provide shelter in the silence that follows. Stepping outside, under the light of the moon, he’s amused at the sight of his shadow. He looks up to the stars to guide him back home, with anonymity and silence til morning.

The Perfect Example of Love

16 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

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2015, Adoption, Anger, Children, Compassion, Confidence, Defiance, Divine Love, Father, Fear, Flower, Grief, Heart, Heartbreak, Heritage, Loss, Love, Marriage, Mother, Parenthood, Parenting, Soul, Tantrums, Teacher, Unconditional love, Valentine's Day

46 years ago this Valentine’s Day, a bright-eyed 22-year old man proposed to his 19-year old girlfriend. It had only been five months, but they were young and in love, and she happily said yes. Eight weeks later, they were married on a Tuesday at the local Methodist church. It was the beginning of a beautiful love affair, what would soon become the greatest love story I’ve ever known.

I’ve witnessed this marriage between my parents for over 36 years, and to this day I’ve never seen them argue. It’s the perfect balance between two people; so similar in their approach to life, yet different in personality and demeanor. My father, a creature of habit and routine, enjoys his scheduled lifestyle of leisure, while my mother’s unpredictable and lively nature keeps you guessing. They were ideally suited for parenthood as the harmony between them infused their children’s lives.

A stream of confidence that never wavered, they provided a solid foundation of support during the emotional roller-coaster ride of my childhood. They were the calm beneath my teenage storm, a warm shelter and soft place to land. They always put their children’s needs before their own.

Now as a mother and parent of three strong-willed children, I think of their example as I react to the ups and downs of daily life. I feel their strength when I’m at my best and their forgiveness in my downfalls. I remember their kindness before responding to a tantrum, and I still ask them for advice on a regular basis.

Here in the throes of motherhood, I have many opportunities to practice patience. Like most moms, I am constantly being challenged by my kid’s outbursts and behavior. I get easily frustrated with Evelyn’s shouts of defiance in her attempt to gain independence, and while I’m open and receiving of Mason’s wisdom and energy, I’m fearful, even angry, when he blindly follows his friends. Already a mother, yet still the student, I try to respond with kindness, but fall victim to my fear instead.

It has been widely quoted that “making the decision to have a child is to forever decide to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” I find it both exciting and terrifying to have such little control over these beings that carry my heart in their hand. For one day soon they’ll be making their own decisions and charter a new path. They’ll sail off into the world, taking my heart with them, but I’ll do my best to support their decisions, as my parents did for me.

A few weeks ago, Tilley and Mason brought home a heritage assignment, the most dreaded, yet cherished, school project for an adoptive mom. Although we talk about Mason’s heritage on a regular basis, this assignment facilitates a deeper discussion, providing a great opportunity to explore his feelings and any questions he may have. On the morning of his presentation, my heart leapt from my chest as he courageously presented to his classroom. He spoke proudly of his country, his heritage, and the details of his adoption.

As part of the assignment, we were asked to choose eight significant life events to outline the story of his life. Of course, I wanted to use his birth as the event that began his timeline, but we were asked to provide more specific details on what happened that day. Nervously, I dove into the discussion, wondering how he would respond.

On October 4th, 2007, in the capital city of Hanoi, Vietnam, Mason’s birth mother, doctor and nurses welcomed him into the world; a beautiful day when he and his mother spent precious hours together. This woman, who I may never have the privilege to meet, made my son’s life possible and for that I owe her a great debt. As he wrote down the details, he looked at me with his wise, insightful eyes and said, “I bet she misses me.” Those five words split my heart into a million pieces, evoking feelings of love and deep sorrow. I responded, “of course she does.”

On that day she made the decision to have her heart walk outside her body in the most selfless way; she offered her son another path, a different life than the one she could provide. The love she has for her son is the most unconditional love I know of; a divine, selfless love that pours everything out, yet expects nothing in return. Even if there is sorrow, only the purest love remains. Like finding the most beautiful flower, but not picking it because you want it to live.

Mason’s birth mom may never get to experience the joy that I feel when his smile lights up a room and she may never bear witness to his compassionate heart. Although their lives took separate paths, the connection between their souls will never be lost. Instead, they are on a journey to find each other within, to achieve inner peace and solitude, even amidst the physical loss.

I’ve been told that a broken heart physically hurts because light is breaking in allowing the heart to expand. In these broken moments we can either repress the pain by closing off our heart in fear, or we can give ourselves some time to grieve, the catalyst to healing and growth.

Behind every one of my children’s tantrums is an opportunity for my heart to expand or contract. When I was a child I acted out, but my parents showed me compassion. That love is part of me; the living and breathing example that shows me which way to go. But when my defiant children stand before me and anger is all I can taste, I can think of a woman in Vietnam, whose heart is standing before me. I can sit with my fear, feel my heart-break, and experience a level of love like I have never known before; pure, unconditional love with no expectation or attachment to the outcome. I can just let go, and when I do, I will find her there.

The Art of Friendship

05 Sunday Oct 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom

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2014, Birth, Children, Comfort, Courage, Death, Elementary, Friends, Friendship, Genuine, Grandmother, Grey, Heart, Meaningful, Mother, Past, Peacocks, Pre-School, Purpose, School, Security, Superficial, Transparent, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, Wrinkles

On Monday, I took Evie out of bed, got her dressed, brushed her teeth and we went out for breakfast. The week officially marked her transition to pre-school. For the past three years, she’s had the luxury of staying at home with Veronica, our very helpful live-in nanny. Last week, however, Veronica transitioned to a new family, and our baby set off into the real world. Aside from being busy and emotional, the week was a great success. She didn’t cry at Friday’s drop off and, at pick-up, she always came running with a smile. The teachers reassure me that she’s having a great time.

During the week, we spent time exploring the magical grounds of the school. You see, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill place. On the contrary, this private elementary school (up to 6^th grade) is situated on a huge property in Laguna Beach. You step into a fairy-tale; the land is complete with multiple gardens, a huge teepee, a small tea house and European style one-room homes; each home accommodating a different classroom. A large portion of the property is dedicated to animals. There is an aviary with multiple peacocks, swans, chickens, doves, even rabbits, and a separate residence for horses, llamas and pigs. With language immersion options in German, Japanese, French and Spanish, we are happy Evie can continue learning Spanish, as she has the past three years.

Just like me, Evie loves peacocks. On Friday, we watched intently while one of them strutted around the aviary; acting like he owned the place. So many mornings I remember dropping off my big kids, who attended there years ago, and the peacock would stand there in full feathery display, shaking his vibrant, colorful body, and begging for attention. I would stand and watch, in awe of his majestic beauty, and enjoy his lively performance. I reflect on every beautiful creature, are how perfectly suited they are for this children’s community; teaching life lessons of individuality and diversity.

The teachers tell me that Evie has made new friends, but at three years-old, she doesn’t share much about her day. I’m sure they all play together, side-by-side, and get along just fine. It’s hard to watch as your children navigate the open sea that is the art of making friends. This year, my heart broke a little when Tilley received her 2^nd grade classroom assignment and found out that her two closest friends were in another class. Of course, after many tears, she found other girls to play with, and now, a month later, is enjoying those new friendships. As parents, I think the experiences are harder on us, as we share in their pain, and remember similar situations from our past. Forced to re-live our own painful memories all over again, in a real life scenario, like a gift, ready for us to dig up and rekindle. We carry it with us and it shadows over our reality like a dark grey haze.

This month, I traveled back to my hometown of Jamestown, New York and surprised my grandmother on her 90^th birthday. I had the opportunity to see my family and many old friends from high school. I was amazed to find that, from a friendship perspective, time had stood still. Twenty years later and our relationships are the same. The connection we shared as children continues on and allows us to easily share our greatest joys and deepest fears. Like nothing changed, we laughed simply, effortlessly. There is something special about old friends, a deep bond and connection that takes away any aspect of “trying”, a shared history and common values, an understanding that transcends normal relationships.

I have been blessed in my life with great friends; deep meaningful relationships that will last lifetimes. As I approach my 36^th birthday, I can’t help but think about how my closest friends, the most important in my life, were made before I turned 25. When I reflect on my adult life and the relationships I have (or haven’t) made, I find it ironic. It’s harder to find friends now, even though I am more in touch with myself than ever before. From that perspective, knowing what I want makes it harder to find genuine friendships.

Connecting with my friends from home, no matter how many years it has been, is so simple. My husband doesn’t understand and it’s hard to explain, but there is an understanding between us; like they know the real me, no judgment, no fear of rejection. There is a comfort and security from our past, and because of that connection, I’m free to be myself. I can open up and wear my heart on my sleeve. I dig into the treasure chest of my past and extend a long rope of trust. I reconnect to that powerful place and it refreshes me and it gives me a renewed sense of purpose and community.

One similarity all of my friends share is transparency and honesty. You always know where you stand and there is no bullshit between us. It might sting at times when they bluntly tell you what they think, but I’ll take that any day over them concealing their truth. We are honest with each other and that’s what true friends should do. We can pick up right where we left off, with no insecurity about not having seen or spoken to each other for weeks, months, or years!

I really suck at making new friends. Lacking substance and common experiences, I try to find connections through superficial things, like where they live, where they work, or where their kids go to school. My favorite thing to do is play “six degrees of separation” to find out if we share friends in common; as if that’s going to improve our odds of becoming good friends?! Furthermore, finding new friends, after marriage, or “couple friends”, is difficult, at best. But now, as a mother, making new friends is nearly impossible. Simply put, due to our schedules, we have very little time in our life to spend with our current friends, much less to cultivate new ones.

While I was home, I visited with my grandmother at her assisted living facility. I walked into the building and greeted the dozens of women in rocking chairs, chatting away with their similar hairstyles and smiling faces. I thought about how their husbands, probably long gone now, were nowhere to be found, and how I’ll be so fortunate if I reach that time of grey hair and wrinkled, sagging skin. All of us are just trying to find happiness amidst the suffering and change that comes with being human.

Maybe my expectations are high, but I want meaningful relationships, not superficial ones. I want to spend my precious time with friends who stand by in good times and bad, and who won’t go blabbing my darkest fears to everyone they know. I want to have fun going out at night, but I also want to wake up in the morning, so I can take care of myself and my family. I am comfortable in my own skin; those wrinkles are there because I’m expressive and I like to laugh. I don’t need fancy clothes, vacations or things. I lead a healthy lifestyle, eat well and exercise often, but I just walk out my front door. I don’t need fancy gym memberships or care for extreme sports. I want friends who accept me for who I am and I just want to be myself.

Unfortunately, the relationships I’m seeking are few and far between. So when you’re fortunate enough to find even one true friend, who shares your values and priorities, invest in them heavily. Some of Derek’s and my closest friends live 20+ miles away and, in the past, we just haven’t made the time to get together. Instead, we’ve prioritized geographical convenience and ease of scheduling over true friendships. I have wasted time trying to cultivate new (convenient) relationships that simply aren’t there. I’ve cared too much about what other people think of me, not being true to myself in the process.

We come into the world as little children, playing side by side, and, hopefully, we go out like those little old ladies sitting in their rocking chairs. In between birth and death we get so caught up with defining and labeling ourselves and the image that we want to portray. We hide behind our labels, our titles, our branding. We are so afraid of what others will think of the “real” person, we put up a façade. I’m the first to admit fault here, as I parade my life in pictures on the internet. But we’re just your typical, every day family with ordinary problems, trying to make it through another day. Through my blog, I’ve tried to be as transparent and honest about my everyday struggles. I probably share too much, making myself vulnerable, as my husband often tells me. But that’s just my way of being “real” and taking off those layers and labels in the world.

On a bike for the first time in 10 years!

It’s okay though. That’s just me. I’m at peace and I have no fear of putting myself on display. I’m not afraid to bare my insecurities and imperfections. Just like the peacock who stands in full bloom, I want to be uninhibited and show the world who I am with all my expressive colors. I want to be me, with all my strangeness, eccentricities and quirks. I wish everyone could feel that way and stop tip toeing through life, worrying about what others will think of them. Instead, I will live out loud, with my heart on my sleeve, and go boldly and courageously into the world. I don’t care if my words fall flat or my ideas are rejected. Not afraid of failure or making mistakes, I will be remembered as someone who lived fully, who tried really hard to be better for others, and who tried to stay in the present moment. Here I am. This is me, with all of my colorful feathers on display.

What is Mother?

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

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2014, Adoption, Children, Gardening, Mothering, Nature, Spring

Springtime has arrived in California. The birds are busy building their nests, the cherry blossoms are blooming, and we are planting flowers and veggies in our little garden.

I took the kids to Lowe’s last weekend, and we walked through the store and came across the plant “clearance” section. Tilley and Mason asked me why the plants looked so sad. As I picked up a bag of birdseed, I told them that those were the plants that no one wanted anymore and they were probably dying. Before I knew it, Mason had filled the cart with as many plants as his little arms could carry and told me that we were going to save them. My son’s great big heart of compassion couldn’t bear to have even one plant left behind.

We spent a good portion of our day in the backyard. We planted our new, sad flowers in their pots, soaked our flower seeds in jars and re-filled the bird and hummingbird feeders with fresh food.

As a child, I remember feeling very connected to nature and animals. My parents would constantly ask me to clean my bedroom, as the aroma of my hamster, mice, frogs and turtle was enough to keep anyone away. I grew up in the outskirts of a small town, and I have fond memories of hiking through the wooded areas that lined my street; writing poetry, sitting by the stream and just relaxing in nature. I could spend hours in my backyard looking for grasshoppers and other creatures, keeping them as pets for a few days before releasing them.

Aliso Niguel Canyon (2014)

As a mother, I’m trying to help cultivate that same connection to nature for my children. Although we live in a sprawling city, there are many places to explore and enjoy. From the ocean, to the canyons and desert, to the lake right down the street, my kids have more than enough to be wondrous about in nature. Tilley loves bugs and will happily pick up any creature she finds. Rolly pollies, worms, and snails… Tilley carries them around like her little pets. I try not to make a squeamish face when she picks up the slimy ones, as I really don’t want to discourage her fearlessness.

Last weekend we went to the park and walked the trails to find nature’s treasures; empty snail shells, acorns, pieces of bark, flowers and rocks. The kids were busy climbing trees and didn’t get excited when I found a miniature snail shell. I laughed and wondered who was acting more like a kid. Then I remembered… I’m usually the one that anxiously sits by and waits for the caterpillars to transform into butterflies. And it’s me who marks the transformation from larvae to pupa to lady bug.

Even if I am the one benefiting from these childhood activities, I know my passion will one day transfer to my children. Even now, they help me remove the snails and worms from sidewalks before the sun gets too hot. They use their shovels to dig holes in the earth, as I re-pot our vegetables and flowers for the summer. They mirror my excitement as the baby birds chirp and joyfully follow me to the nest to catch a peek.

Connecting our children to the earth and the ultimate “Mother” is one of the most beautiful things we can do. Mother Earth whispers her secrets in every flower, every tree and in every living creature.

Notice the difference between the noun and verb definitions that come from the word Mother. Of course there is the traditional “noun” definition which describes a woman that has “given birth”. But there is a separate, distinctly different “verb” definition that speaks to the day in, day out actions of providing “care and affection”. As we know, it is not always the birth mother that raises a child and “the art of mothering” goes well beyond the act of giving birth.

Through my actions, I am the same mother to Mason, Elisabeth and Evelyn. There is no difference in my actions of reading a book, cooking and feeding them dinner or taking them to the park. Although I didn’t give birth to Mason, he is my son through and through. He has adopted my mannerisms, my many food preferences, and he takes joy in similar pleasures. I can see myself reflected through him and his approach to life. His wide open heart, his joyful nature and his willingness to experience life are things I see in myself, now coming alive through him.

It is through the art of mothering that this transference has occurred. In my daily actions of love, care and affection, I have helped to shape the life of my son. I understand his needs and what makes him happy and scared. I know what to say to inspire him to take action. I know his favorite foods and what books will encourage him to read more. I know which parks have his favorite slides and the stuffed animals he asks to snuggle with at night. I know all of these things because he is my son, and I am his mother.

Nature and mothering go hand in hand. There are metaphors around every corner; in the new sprout, the bird’s nest, even in the strong climbing branches of the mature tree. I feel it in the energy of the buzzing bees, butterflies, and birds that pollinate my garden to grow. And although none of these beings have come from me, through our actions we participate in their creation and we help them grow. If I hadn’t soaked and planted a seed one week ago, then the sprout of this Morning Glory wouldn’t be here today. We are the ones that help the seed to sprout, by cultivating the soil, and by watering them until they bloom. Through our actions, we are all “The Mother”.

Just like a mother, we are… …the planter that transforms the seed into the sprout of the Morning Glory. …the provider of food that nourishes the plants and birds so they can grow. …the fertilizer that helps the vegetables achieve their fullest potential. …the watcher that lives through their eyes to make sure every need is met.

Not yet. Not yet. Eat me now. Too late.

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom, Wife

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2014, Aging, Beauty, Children, Death, Loss, Potential, Purpose, Regret

My friend posted this picture on Facebook the other day. Isn’t this the truth… you’re either waiting for an avocado to ripen or cursing it for going bad. There are many things in life that have a similar shelf life and quickly “go bad”.

I went in to Tilley’s bedroom the other day to pick out an outfit for her class project; I was frustrated to find shirts in her dresser that had never been worn. My kids wear the same worn out clothing on a regular basis, so when I find any clothes with tags and they’re too small, my blood starts to boil. I remember my pregnancy; staring at many pink and blue outfits, dreaming of the day I would meet my children. I thought about them and how they would look dressed in these little clothes. But life happens, and it’s filled with onesies and swaddles, not dresses and bows; and the inevitable sadness sets in when you realize those sweet little things no longer fit. Now in the midst of their childhood, I feel a sense of desperation for all things clothing related. These outfits, and their small window of opportunity, will be outgrown soon.

On Monday mornings, you will find me somewhere in Southern California, standing in a grocery store, choosing my favorite bouquet from an array of beautiful flowers. It’s a tough choice, but without fail, every week, one arrangement stands out among the rest. When I get to work, I clean out my vase from the week before and fill it with new, fresh water. It’s such an enjoyable ritual. I love having flowers in my office and I look at them often; sometimes even taking pictures to text to friends and brighten their day. I frequently get comments from co-workers who pass by and admire their beauty. It brings me a lot of happiness and I think it makes other people happy too; when I forget to bring them in I get lots of comments. On Fridays, I make a quick decision on whether to take or toss them before the weekend. If the flowers are healthy and strong, they come home. If not, they go in the trash.

Of course, I have also tried to keep potted flowers in my office. I absolutely love gardening, but I’m not good at it. Derek laughs every time I bring a plant home. “Dead already, but it doesn’t know it yet,” he’ll chuckle. I have to remind Derek that just because I’m not good at something, that doesn’t mean I’m going to quit! I will try and try (and fail) and try again, because one day I will succeed! In the end, so many plants will have suffered as a result of my learning, but one day I will become a great gardener! Their sacrifices will not have been made in vain!

My latest obsession is the orchid because it’s one of the hardest plants to care for. It’s a challenge for me; so I study it, nurture it and (want to) understand it so that (eventually) it will thrive in my care. But, if you’ve ever befriended a potted orchid before, you know how frustrating it can be. I can just look at it the wrong way and it drops its flowers. Only days before, it was a healthy, luscious, beautiful plant in Whole Foods; and now I’m left with an ugly stem and some leaves. It’s truly heartbreaking. Today, I have two “leaf plants” that will hopefully flower again, but no progress just yet.

Last weekend, I was looking at my Gerbera daisies, remembering how beautiful they were just days before. I reflected on how quickly a flower goes from “beautiful” to “wilted” in my eyes. Thinking; the aging of my flowers makes them less beautiful than before. Once the flowers beauty is lost, I throw them in the trash. Of course, I wouldn’t keep a bunch of dead flowers around, but do you see the problem here?

If I listen closely, all of these things quietly whisper their wisdom in my ear. The irritation I experience upon finding rotten avocados and outgrown kids clothes, the sadness over the inevitable decline of my waning wilted flowers; their short life cycles serve as every day reminders of life’s most difficult lessons. There is more to my frustration than some silly, outgrown clothing. I’m being quietly reminded how quickly life is passing by, and before I know it my kids will be grown and gone. As parents, it feels like we do a lot of waiting, but if we forget, or we are careless, we won’t get another chance. If I’m not paying enough attention, these windows of opportunity will be lost, as when I reach for that rotten avocado. The sole purpose of that avocado was to be utilized and enjoyed. I purchased it; it was my responsibility to help it achieve its purpose and I failed. Its potential is wasted, so I throw it in the trash. And my Friday flowers; they served their purpose and are no longer useful to me, so I throw them in the trash too.

Although it sounds overly exaggerated to mourn kids’ clothing, avocados and flowers, you don’t have to venture too far off to find more realistic examples of where this happens in life. Even now, in my thirties, I can look at pictures from the past and think about what I once had that is now gone; mourning my youthfulness, resilience, innocence, even my physical strength. I can’t even imagine how I’ll feel later in life. But those pictures and memories I have are deceiving. Said differently, it is confusing the pictures I take of the Monday morning flowers with the real flower. I know that the flower will wilt and die within a week, but I don’t celebrate the wilted flowers come Friday. I don’t take any pictures of them. I simply remember them as they once were and that is all.

Rather than trying to find acceptance for the flowers in every stage of life, we attach to the immortal version of the flower that we can find in pictures only. We don’t want to accept the wilted flowers any more than we are willing to accept some less than perfect version of ourselves. I think, if left unchecked, I am always striving to get back to the “Monday morning” version of myself. I don’t want to accept the lesser version when I know that an “idealistic” version has existed in the past. I incorrectly think life should be a deliberate and constant improvement from status quo and things can only get better from here. This is deceiving. We know that, physically, we are no different than the waning wilted flower. We know that we will age, get old and eventually die, yet we don’t want to accept this. Instead, we distract ourselves with superficial treatments to make us look youthful again. If you can’t relate to this, just give it a few years, I promise it’s coming.

No one wants to feel like they have wasted their potential. We are all striving to avoid the rotten avocado phenomenon. If there is purpose and potential, then it must be utilized. We cannot afford to be careless and risk being tossed out in the trash. Life is too short. Instead, be primed and ready to use those kids’ clothes as soon as they fit, cut open that avocado as soon as it’s ripe, and accept the flowers in all their forms.

This is how we improve. This is how life becomes a constant upward spiral. When we understand and cultivate a life that is ever more accepting and understanding and we strive to meet our fullest potential; and we support one another so that all of us can achieve these things. No one should feel that their purpose and potential has been wasted.

But no matter what happens, let us not forget that the avocado and flowers will find new life and purpose in tomorrow’s compost piles and those unworn kids’ clothes will go walking on someone else’s beautiful child one day. Although life didn’t go the way we thought it would, it will work out from a different point of view. There is always potential even if we are unable to see it. So don’t ever take those “leaf plants” for granted and forget their invisible potential. They will find their way into the arms of a great gardener and flower again one day.

Enough.

01 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom, Wife

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2014, Enough, Future, Gratitude, Past, Present, Running, Thankful

My chest felt constricted, my breath was fast and shallow, I was only 1.5 miles into my run, but my body was tired and I wanted to stop. For 30 seconds, I let myself walk and regain my strength. I ran the first mile too quickly and was now paying the price. It was morning in the park, there were no cars to be heard or seen and I watched as the birds flew overhead. I felt the sun’s warmth as it came down on my face. As I picked up the pace, I paid attention to my stride, my breath. My attention shifted to the geese as they socialized by the stream. There were dozens of them.

I ran up the hill to the lake. Even at this early hour, there were dozens of fisherman in their canoes. I stopped to observe the ducks and geese as they sailed by. I smiled as two beautiful cranes swam in sync with one another. I watched as a dragonfly rested her body, and sent ripples from her wings as they touched the water. I was there, fully present, absorbing the moment in all of its beauty. It was peaceful, and fleeting. My attention turned to the voices passing by, the bicycle tires hitting the trail, and my phone as it lit up with messages. The family would be back soon. The moment passed. I jogged on.

I am usually distracted with everyday life. My mind spins a million miles a minute as I try to get everything done. I think about the future; a presentation to prepare, a dinner menu to plan, a project to complete. I think about the past; yesterday’s meeting, a memory of a friend, a concerning comment. Rarely am I aware of the present moment as my mind flips between these thoughts of past and future. Sometimes I am so distracted, I realize the kids have called my name 3 or 4 times before I actually respond.

Even after 8 years of meditation, I still find that remaining in the present moment is one of the hardest things to do on a regular basis. In an effort to be more present, I left my cell phone in the car and ran in to Starbucks for some coffee. I observed people sitting, talking, laughing; simply enjoying the morning. A constant stream of patrons walked in and out of the store; checking their phones, impatiently waiting for their order. They were going about their day as they normally do, but today was different, today I noticed.

The barista prepared drinks behind the counter. She wasn’t her normal self; no smile, no make-up, no greeting. Concerned, I waited for her to look up, so I could say hello. She finished my drink and moved on to the next. I walked out the door, coffee in hand, disappointed that I didn’t find an opportunity. As I got into my car, I thought about how if I had been distracted thinking about my day or looking at my phone, I wouldn’t have noticed she was upset, nor would I have been available at all. At the very least, I was aware. I was available, if she needed me.

This thought stayed with me, as it came clear that being available is really an act of compassion. At Starbucks, I simply made myself present, and in doing so, I got myself out of the way. Rather than being stuck in my own head, my “me” centric universe, I shifted my attention to the world around me. Being aware is really the opposite of selfishness. It’s almost like a state of gratitude for what the moment has to offer. You are there to observe and to be open; you are not worried about yourself and what you will receive.

When we are aware, we leave an open space, we welcome possibilities. When we are distracted, we are closed off and unsettled. We are either thinking, seeking, desiring, craving, fixing, or planning. It’s active discontentment. If you are unsettled, your cup is empty; you distract and busy yourself with actions to fill it. But if your cup is full, you have nothing left to seek. You are already fulfilled. Your mind can just stop, be aware, be present, and be available.

I think contentment only comes about when we start practicing gratitude. Right now, no matter what is going on in your life, if you can find gratitude, then you will find happiness. For example, if you are reading this right now, then you have a home, or at least a place to kick up your feet and read this. You must be educated, and you’re probably living in a developed country. If you are reading this right now, that means that you either have a phone or a computer, which means you have the money to buy these things, and you aren’t struggling to meet your basic needs. You are blessed.

Really, we are all blessed enough and when we arrive at this realization of “enough”, we will be happy. Maybe it will come about when we stop looking at the world with what it has to offer us and start thinking about what we can offer it. According to the Global Rich List, you are probably richer than 96% of the humans that inhabit this planet. (Click on the link; type in your income and find out) You live during one of the most privileged times in the history of the universe, as you scan the internet, and benefit from the information waiting at your fingertips. If you have all of these things, then you must be one of the luckiest people to have ever walked on the planet. So, what are you doing with all of this good fortune?

We have so much to be thankful for already and (guaranteed) we can find others worse off, who are in need of our help and support. Isn’t it time to stop distracting ourselves with thoughts of “me” and start distracting ourselves with thoughts of how we can help others to be happier and healthier?

If that’s too hard to do right now, because you have serious challenges going on in your life, then just relax and think of all of those things that you do have to be thankful for. There are so many things when you really think about it.

At the very least, if nothing else, try to practice awareness and exist in the present moment; it’s really one of the most selfless things you can do.

We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves. ~Dalai Lama

3 Ways to be a Good Mom (everything is awesome!)

16 Sunday Feb 2014

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

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2014, Anxiety, Children, Fear, Insecurities, Legos, Mom, Motherhood, Perfectionist

Last weekend our family went to see the Lego Movie. And although I was a bit distracted by Evie’s unsettled-ness, and her need to run up and down the aisle, I watched and observed as Emmett set off on his adventure. Unaware that the movie’s lesson was aimed squarely at me, I blissfully watched the Lego characters search for the “missing piece”.

While I exited the movie theater, my awareness of this parenting lesson began to sink in. Wasn’t I the same parent that Will Ferrell so artfully portrayed in the movie? Haven’t I been enforcing the same “rules and instructions” on my kids? Aren’t there two boxes of Legos sitting in the corner of Mason’s bedroom, right now, completely off limits to him?

As we walked in the door to my house, I asked Mason to find his Legos. I let him know that there were no longer going to be anymore “rules” on how to put Legos together and he could make whatever he wanted. Joyfully, he ran up the stairs and played, for hours, with his new found freedom.

If you read my blog post last week, it may have felt somewhat vague. But if I can explain with context, you will understand. We all have emotional baggage that we are carrying around; in many forms. Anytime we feel a tinge of anger at a person, or an annoyance at the world around us. Anytime we obsess over something, feel greed, pride, jealousy or the need to defend ourselves. All of these things are pointing to something inside of us that needs to be addressed.

Our intentions and motivations are little windows to the soul. When we observe them, and see them for what they are, we learn about ourselves. You see, Legos are just one of my examples to explain how my insecurities come alive.

Mason, the “Master Builder”

The last time Mason and I played with Legos we opened the box, pulled out the instructions and organized the pieces. Step by step, we read and followed the directions until we created the Police Mobile Unit. I was in my zone; an 8-year old girl again, constructing this amazing creation out of hundreds of little pieces! Mason sat there, and twiddled his thumbs, as his mother so carefully created his Lego toy. While I experienced a surge of new found energy and looked at my project with pride, Mason’s anxiety grew as his mother cautioned him to be careful with his new toy. I held my breath every time he picked it up and even stored it in my bedroom so it wouldn’t get broken!

I don’t know about other moms, but I will speak for myself and say that when I sit down with my kids to complete an art project, I become an obsessed, competitive perfectionist. The 8-year old little girl inside me comes alive, just as she did back then, competing to win the most creative or perfect award. (Of course there is no such thing as a perfect award, but I would still like to try and achieve it!) So why am I surprised when Tilley and Mason compare and contrast their projects, arguing over whose is better, prettier or more creative?

You see the Legos are just a physical representation of my insecurities. When Mason opens a box of Legos, I get anxiety. He mixes the pieces together, loses some, he separates the instructions from the box and starts putting them together whatever way he wants. Okay, first of all, do you know how annoying it is to look for that one missing Lego piece? Mason’s fearless approach to Lego building represents everything that pushes my buttons. He is out of control, messy, and doesn’t follow instructions. It triggers something in me and is the reason his two boxes of Legos sat there for months, collecting dust, in the corner of his room. Now, although I do so unintentionally, I am (sadly) stuffing my son full of anxieties and transferring my emotional baggage to him.

This whole situation reminds me of when the kids had this project, last year, in Kindergarten. The teachers scheduled a few sessions, in the middle of the day, to inform parents about the project. Since I am a working mom, I decided, instead, to ask for the Cliff notes version as I dropped off the kids that morning. The teacher handed me two pieces of wood, one for Tilley & Mason. I was to “secretly” bring it home and surprise them with it. She showed me some examples of how we could decorate the board with stickers and paint. Her examples were elaborate. We were supposed to decorate them with anything that the kids cared about.

The Sunday night before the project was due; I pulled out the boards for the kids to decorate. Instead of being my usual self and going overboard on art supplies, I decided to dig into my supply bins, and pull out some markers and stickers that we already had. Those teacher examples had been way over the top anyway. We didn’t need fancy stickers to have fun with this project!

I restrained myself from wanting to step in; that tendency of the perfectionist normally takes over anytime the kids have a project. Instead, I just watched and enjoyed as they happily decorated their boards with the stickers and supplies they had been given.

On the day of the presentation, the parents were to be in the classroom midday, and Derek and I took time off of work to be there. I had been looking forward to it all week. The teacher asked the parents to come up one-by-one with their kids to present their boards. Slightly confused, I let other parents volunteer before me, so I could just observe.

The first mother came to the front of the classroom, pulled out her board, and read from a letter she wrote to her child. Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I realized that I misunderstood the assignment. This project was for the mothers to complete and present to their child. Horrified, I looked for the closest exit! I wasn’t really going to leave, but I really wanted to curl up in my chair and die. Derek was confused, and asked me what was wrong. I explained the situation, but he told me to just relax, it was no big deal.

As I watched the mothers, one by one, present their boards to their children, my anxiety grew. Each board was better than the next. These parents took time and energy to create their boards for their kids. Some were fully painted, and decorated with expensive scrapbook stickers; some even had been strung with ribbon so the child could hang it on their bedroom wall! Mine looked like they had been put together with duct tape and feathers. I was humiliated!!!

I sat there; furious with myself, and furious about the project. I was so distracted with my life, my work, that I didn’t understand the simplest instructions. I felt regret that, amongst this circle of moms, I didn’t have any close friends (yet) that could have clued me in to the assignment. Right there, all at once, it became overwhelming; my regrets, insecurities, anxieties… looking at me squarely in the face, everyone could see it, my greatest fear coming true that I WAS A TERRIBLE MOM!

Finally, the last parents to volunteer, Derek, the kids and I walked to the front of the room and took our seats in the little chairs. I told a story about how we named the kids, and how during Mason’s adoption, Tilley had (surprise!) graced us with her presence. I said a lot of stuff, most of it forgettable by now, but what I do remember was the way the kid’s smiled as I spoke in their classroom. The way they held their boards up, with pride, and happily displayed it for all of their friends.

You see, my kids won’t remember that we did the assignment wrong. In fact, they didn’t notice anything was wrong that day. What they will remember was how mom let them have fun decorating their boards. And how both mommy & daddy came to support them on this day, and spoke in front of their classroom, to their friends and teachers.

Looking back now, does it matter that I didn’t put my heart and soul into that silly little board? Anyway, if I had understood the directions, that board would have been just another one of my endless pursuits of unachievable perfection. Instead, a blessing in disguise, this project taught me a lot about myself. I have been forced to reflect on my own insecurities of failure and why (WHY?!) I equated not understanding the assignment with being a bad mom.

Of course, I know that these things don’t really make me a “bad mom”. And what does it mean to be a “good mom” anyway? I have given this topic some thought, and although I don’t think that I have everything figured out, I think that really “good moms” do three things well. I am sure there are more, but stay with me for a minute…

We let our children be who they are. We do not try to control or direct who our child will turn out to be. We do not think that our child is an extension of ourselves, but rather that they are their own person. As parents, we of course can provide good soil, sunlight and water, but whether they turn out to be a palm or a pine tree has nothing to do with us. It’s only our job to accept them as they are.
We give them unconditional love, and at all times. (Key word: unconditional) We should not put conditions on our love, understanding, support, encouragement, advice, or just a shoulder to cry on. Although this seems obvious and somewhat simple, if you ever attach a condition to anything, then this by definition is NOT unconditional. (Warning: many blog posts will stem from this one!)
We restrain ourselves from passing down all of our fears, baggage and insecurities. We refrain from making the subtle comments, sharing our all too obvious anxieties, so that these things don’t trickle down for them into their adulthood. This is much easier said than done, but if you are aware of it, then you can do a much better job of controlling your speech and actions.

The common thread of Legos and this Kindergarten project is they both fall into Tiffany’s category #3. However, if I am aware of my triggers, and I don’t allow my fears of not being good enough, to pass on to my children, then I am going to (probably) help them to avoid a similar future of insecurity. Hopefully, with awareness, the opposite of oblivion, we can shine a light on our insecurities and we can work with them. Maybe we can even get to the root of them and overcome them, if we’re lucky.

We are all on a journey of self-discovery and the point is to evolve, become better people, so that we can help other people… and hopefully, so that all of us can just be happy.

Once a perfectionist, always a perfectionist. A week after the class presentation, we flipped the boards over, bought our stickers and completed them the “right” way!

take joy in serving others

09 Tuesday Feb 2010

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Mom

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2010, Balance, Children, Communication, Joy

No one said parenthood would be easy. In fact, there were many months where I was beside myself with frustration at my terrible two-year olds who didn’t listen, did the opposite of what I asked and pushed me over my edge. A little over a month ago, things began to change. Sometime around Christmas 2009, my little babies stopped being so baby “ish” and started communicating.

I have watched myself change so much through the different phases of their lives. I began as a very relaxed newborn mother. I had everything figured out. Then they began to walk and talk and do the opposite of what I asked of them. I became so hardened in my style. The majority of the words out of my mouth were directions and scolds. I would push more and enjoy less.

As they have grown up a bit, I find that I have less anxiety about everything we do together. Taking the two of them out for dinner tonight (alone), watching them eat their dinner without the constant scolding about running away from me and jumping all over the tables. They listened and understood what I asked of them. It was like a perfect orchestra in concert. They held hands as I walked them to the car. They held on to mommy while in the parking lot. They walked upstairs without debate to get their bath. They played so well together in the tub.

When we got into Mason’s bedroom, I went through the normal process of dressing, lotioning and getting them ready for bed. Tonight, however, instead of moving on to the next task or chore as it has been for me for so many months, I did something different. I asked the babies to sit in front of me on the floor. Out of nowhere, I started singing to them. They started dancing around the room. We made silly sounds and faces at each other as they ran around the rocking chair. They giggled hysterically and had pure joy written all over their face.

I realized that I was no longer in a survival mode of taking care of 2 children as a single-wife during the week. I was enjoying the moment by moment experience of loving my children. Some mothers may not understand where I’m coming from. However, parenting 2 two-year olds, without a spouse at home, while working full-time can be quite challenging. I have lived in survival mode for so long that I am just now learning what fun I can have with my kids. I don’t need to be so militant in my approach with them. They do listen. In fact, they enjoy listening. I don’t need to run such a tight ship to get through my day. In fact, I have found that when I let go, I find true joy in caring for them, and they respond to me so much more.

Call it a lesson-learned… but it came at a perfect time. (it was a necessary lesson) The look on their faces tonight told me that I was, in fact, doing everything right.

the little things

09 Tuesday Feb 2010

Posted by tiffanyshaw in Me, Mom, Wife

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Actions, Blogging, Challenges, Potential

Life is wrapped up in the little things. Everything we do, say, think is 10x more powerful than we can ever imagine. I have always loved the following quote because it reminds us that the smallest deeds can be very powerful.

“Sow a thought, reap an action; sow an action, reap a habit; sow a habit, reap a character; sow a character, reap a destiny.”

Every time you think or do something, you become one step closer to becoming that person that you want to be. A more perfect you. Simply put, you achieve more of your potential. You have accomplished much more than meets the eye. The smallest action has the potential to change your life.

Whether it be through new experiences, challenges or thoughts, I am constantly pushing myself to think outside the box and step out of my comfort zone. It may sound strange, but I just feel like if I continue to do everything that I’ve always done, then I won’t grow and change. I want to learn new things everyday.

I have a new plan. I will utilize this virtual place in the world to assist me in my journey through small, new experiences. Whether it is something simple or slightly more challenging, I will write about it here and keep it as a journal of my baby steps through life.

One day I will have a completed book that I can print out and save to read when I’m old & gray. My children and grand-children can live through my experiences. In my opinion, I think that is one of the greatest gifts you can leave your children. A lineage. Family memories and leading by example. I will attempt to share my lesson’s learned and let everyone know my opinions on the must do activities on this earth.

I hope they will enjoy reading through my journey as I experience it first-hand.

Wife, Mom and Me

~ Everyday thoughts about life

Category Archives: Mom

Take Me To Neverland

The Perfect Example of Love

The Art of Friendship

What is Mother?

Not yet. Not yet. Eat me now. Too late.

Enough.

3 Ways to be a Good Mom (everything is awesome!)

take joy in serving others

the little things