Mom Love Poem

How much I love you

I love you deeper than all the oceans combined
I love you farther than the sunset
I love you past the clouds and back

Finding words to describe my love for my children is not easy. It is a love I never knew before and nothing I read or heard gave me even a sliver of a sense. Each time I was handed one of my children, either after giving birth or in a transition house in Addis Ababa, I was overwhelmed with the same emotion that took my breath away.

As my children grew, now 14, 10 and 3, my love for them evolved. Having my children spaced apart in different stages provides a unique vantage point. I remember my 10 year old as a 3 year old when my 3 year old passes a new milestone. I remember my 14 year old as a 10 year as my 10 year anticipates the end of grade school. What a difference a few years made -- nearly a foot taller, feet almost as big as his father’s and a voice that deepens by the day. My teenager scolds me, “Stop using my sister (or brother) for life lessons.” This usually occurs after I told him something like, “When you pout, you looks just like your sister throwing a tantrum . . . just bigger and more ridiculous.”

When they were infants, I loved their sweet, innocent angelic versions. They were completely dependent on Michael and I for survival. I found this terrifying. . . each and every time. My love was mixed with much worry .. . are they eating and sleeping enough, too much, are they developing normally . . .

As my kids became toddlers, they developed the gift of language (which they all have in spades) and began exhibiting their independence. This push to become their individual selves, I found both exhausting and exhilarating. I also gained a glimpse of the adults they will one day become.

With both my biological boys through the years, I had the sense they were “mine.” I knew intellectually they were their own people but my heart felt them as extensions of my husband and me. When we brought our daughter home from Ethiopia, I was forced to rethink this comfortable assumption. Here I had another child who was bound to my heart. Yet, I knew her biological mother was a very important piece of who she is and will become. Could she still be mine then . . . I pondered?

After considerable soul searching, I realized I was thinking about it wrong. None of my children are “mine”. . . although the connection is so visceral and deep it is hard to get enough distance to see this with any clarity. They are mine to love, to raise, to guide, to teach and to nurture. But ultimately after I give them what they need, I must let them go to make it in the world on their own.

My heart breaks just a little each time they push me away and pull a bit more for themselves. My 3 year old’s version is, “I do it myself, Mama.” My 10 year old’s is, “I don’t need a ride. I will take my scooter.” My 14 year old’s is, “I am going to hang out with my friend’s. Sorry I can’t go with you.” I know it is good and right but it still gives me a little pang.

The poem above was written by my 10 year old to me for Mother’s Day. Yes, I teared up as I read it. He has a gift with the written word as I shared before. As he described his love for me, he also described my love for him (and his brother and sister) perfectly in a way I never could. He also gave me the gift of knowing that the depth of love runs both directions. My three awesome, goofy children are pictured below enjoying each others company . .my heart is full.

Do You Need to be a Mother to Appreciate Your Mother . .. . or Does it Take More? - - - - - Happy Mother’s Day to “The Best Mother I Ever Had!!”

I blogged before that my mom and I were close when I was a kid but a gulf grew during my teen years. In my early adulthood, I also put physical distance into the mix. I moved to another state to go to college. When when I didn’t know “what I wanted to be when I grew up,” I dropped out and left the country. I checked in occasionally but my primary motivation was to visit my little sister. My mother and I were cordial. But there was a brittleness.

When I had my first son, I gained a different, eye opening view. Before, I had a sense my mom should know most everything and somehow be immune from youthful insecurities. However, I did not feel at all competent when I became a mom. I was more than a little terrified to leave the hospital. It seemed ludicrous I couldn’t drive a car without getting a license. But I could be handed my innocent, helpless child and allowed walk out without showing any evidence I was up to the task of raising him.

After my son’s birth, my mom wanted to come and help. I was unsure; I didn’t want our complicated relationship to color the pure, simple love I was experiencing. I didn’t know if I had the energy to navigate that complexity as I adjusted to my new role. I asked my elder sister to come first and my mother later. As I watched her soak up her new grandson, a window opened to a different relationship – mother to mother. Her validation of me as a mother was a defining moment.

I had a dear friend then who was my mother’s age. I talked to her about the distance that persisted even though we could connect about my son. She explained how she felt about her four daughters and gave me the “mom of grown-ups” view which helped me to see things from my mom’s vantage point. Over the years, we became closer. There were still pieces held back but they mattered less.

When my son was seven, I received a serious diagnosis requiring surgery. My mom again wanted to help. I thought I would be fine with assistance from local friends. Many lent a hand. The friend I mentioned drove my second son to day care every day. My mom insisted on coming a couple months later. She gave me a piece of her mother's vintage jewelry. I knew this was a deep sacrifice. My grandmother shared my love of the sparkly (although ironically I am named after my other grandmother). Her pieces were a special connection for my mom since her mom passed. This gift told me more than the words she couldn’t always find. After she left, I wrote her a letter sharing how much I admired her even if we did not always agree and how touched I was she shared a piece of her memories with me.

This exchange seemed to take down the remaining walls. My mother wasn’t perfect but then neither am I. I enjoy getting to know her more deeply as a woman, a mother and a grandmother. She has wonderful stories from her days growing up with five siblings in the Netherlands. My mom recalls interesting moments about my early life that for me are buried in my subconscious. She sent my baby book at one point which let me see her as a young mother with the same joys and insecurities I had.

My kids adore their Oma (Dutch word for grandmother). And they remain the primary topic of our conversations. My mom recently asked if I could bring Leyla, our youngest, for a visit. My boys spent lots of time with my parents. My mom admitted she was concerned Leyla hadn’t gotten that chance. And as my mom gets older, I see her not taking time for granted. I found a weekend where the two of us could travel. My daughter is shown here giving my mom one of her special “Leyla hugs” – which make you feel like the most loved person in the world. Looking at that closeness, I hope I can use the lessons of our mother - daughter relationship as my daughter and I go through the normal ups and downs in our relationship.

Happy Mother’s Day to my wonderful mother . . .and thanks to my three awesome kids (and amazing husband) who make me feel cherished even if it is expressed as my son Damian once said “You are the best mom I ever had”.

Middle Child Solution --- Food is Love

My second son Damian and I always connected in a special manner through food. He loves to eat and I love to watch him savor my latest culinary creation. We have called him a human Pavlov’s dog because he loudly salivates when one of his favorite foods is mentioned or shown. Damian is also my official “baking buddy.” He takes the responsibility quite seriously. Damian is pictured sampling a Dutch treat called poffertjes which are little puffed up pancakes covered in powdered sugar.

When we brought home his little sister, I could see him struggling a bit to understand his place since his previous position as baby of the family had been usurped. I was a middle child too but my younger sister came 2.5 years after I was born. I don’t remember any different. However, Damian was 7 when his sister arrived and he had reveled in his unique last place spot.

I saw a bit of internal conflict too as he absolutely adored his sister and spent much of his time trying to make her laugh. Often doing things I would prefer he wouldn’t like loudly repeating nonsensical noises which brought peals of laughter from his little sis but drove me batty.

I tried telling him he was the only one in the family that was both a big brother and a little brother. But he appeared thoroughly unconvinced. He still had the air of someone who thought life had just short-changed them. He had lost a bit of his natural adulterated exuberance and seemed a bit adrift within the family unit. I wanted him to still feel valued, unique and anchored. However, what I had tried wasn’t making it real for him and my willing clearly wasn’t sufficient.

So during my adoption leave, Damian and I came up with a plan to create a “Damian and Mom’s cookbook” through tastebook.com. Damian and I would test recipes. His brother Dimitri and dad would rate them. If the finished products received two thumbs up from our judges, we would include them in our cookbook. Damian loved this new “in charge” role. It also provided a great way for me to focus on him while doing something we both loved. We now have a nearly complete cookbook. And more importantly, we have many wonderful memories included in the food, the friends and family who contributed, and the photos. Our test kitchen efforts often lead to some funny and insightful exchanges.

Once, as we were baking my “almost famous chocolate chip cookies,” Damian said to me, “I love baking with you.” My heart swelled, and I replied, “I love you.” Then Damian clarified, “I like baking for the tasting .. .” And then added, rather belatedly and I am guessing perhaps because of a look on my face, “But, a-a-ah, also doing it with you.” Well then, I stand corrected, I thought. Damian is not the most tactful child and is honest about his feelings almost to a fault. I have to remind myself sometimes to not let it hurt my feelings.

Then Leyla bounded the kitchen and I informed her, “Damian is baking cookies.” Leyla’s little face lit up and she exclaimed enthusiastically, “Thank you for making us cookies, DA-MEE-AAN!!” She is a kindred spirit of her brother's when it comes to the sweeter things and instantly smiles whenever he comes into her view. I then asked Damian in a lighthearted tone, “How does that make you feel?” He replied without hesitation, “Like SUPERMAN!!” My heart swelled even more – who knew it was possible.

Am I a Bad Mom if I "Want It All"-- Career and Kids?

Since I started blogging on AdoptiveFamiliesCircle.com and WorkingMothers.com, I spend more time reading other people’s writing. A recent discussion (and blog below) pierced at the heart of mommy guilt. The discussion asked, “Would you choose your baby over your career.” I bristled at the question – to me, it implies there are two choices: your career or your child. I obsessed about this when I first became a mother because I wanted both, to be successful at my career and to be a great mom. I needed to believe it was possible, albeit extremely challenging. I wanted a full range of options without feeling like I couldn’t truly be a good mother if I wanted more.

I was under no illusions that staying home with my baby would guarantee I was a good mom. However you manage your life, motherhood is hard. My mother stayed home with my three sisters and me. She had a successful career as a teacher for ten years before my sister arrived. Those were the expectations of her time; I don’t think she had the same choices available. When my younger sister was 7, my mom planned to return to her beloved vocation. As she got re certified, she exuded joyful anticipation. But then she became unexpectedly pregnant. Even at ten, I felt palpable disappointment mixed with her bubbling excitement of welcoming another child.

Later as a teenager, I pushed back hard against my mother when she called me ungrateful. I vividly recall saying, “I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask you to make sacrifices for me. If you are unhappy about either, it's on you.” I feel almost sick inside thinking about it now. I found out years later from my dad how much I hurt my mother. At the time, she silently left the room. I can almost feel the sucker punch I dealt with those spiteful words as I imagine one of my children saying the same. My mother may have expected more of us because of what not having choices took from her, especially when we pushed for our independence. She also had an extremely challenging experience as a teenager herself.

Having gained these perspectives made it easier to transition back to a job I loved when my first was four months old. Although I had moments like those expressed in this anguished plea from “A Feeling-Absent Mommy”, I also saw an article describing how working and stay at home moms often spend similar amounts of quality time with their kids that acted as a counter-balance. Using my mother as an unscientific sample of one, it seemed about right. And to be honest, I wanted to believe it.

I cherished one on one time with my mother when I was young but don’t recall lots of it. Times were tough. She cooked three meals a day, cleaned and managed our extensive garden including freezing and canning. She sewed many of our clothes and stretched every last penny. I am in awe of her now although then I had little appreciation. I recall when I was 9 and home ill. She made a special box with me out of discarded greeting cards and left over bright orange yarn (I still have it). The day stuck in my heart in bright detail because it wasn’t something she had the time or energy to do often. Also, I witnessed a joyful, creative side of my mother. That memory inspired me to try to create these types of special moments with my kids.

When I returned to work again after adopting my youngest, I realized my barometer is less my mom now and more my earlier motherhood experiences. My eldest and I have a special bond even as typical teenage challenges are our reality. He is an open, caring, funny kid I adore. I get glimpses of the man he will become and I hope to be friends with that person. Sure, I missed times with him as he grew up. But he always came first (as do his brother and sister -- pictured below having a belly laugh -- a frequent occurrence) and he knows it.


I adore my little girl with every fiber of my being. But I knew I would return to work before she joined our family. I had much less anxiety about it because of my experience with her brothers. I realize what a gift it is not to carry that burden. We have an amazing connection. I look forward to helping her grow into her larger than life personality.

I wish I could tell my younger self not to fret so much because doing so robbed me of joy right in front of me. I wish I could share the same with struggling young mothers like the one who wrote the blog. I don’t think there is a right answer. I do believe "having it all" is uniquely defined for each mother. I needed to be happy and fulfilled to be the best mother I could be and that included pursuing a career. I communicate to my children often and passionately, no matter what I do for a living, they are always my first priority.

When I allow guilt and uncertainty to creep in, they steal my ability to live fully with my kids in the fleeting moments of their passing childhoods. I work to recognize when these unproductive emotions are spawned from other's judgments like those implied above. I do my best not to allow them to pull me into their dark undertow. I try instead to hold onto the light and good in my life. I believe I can “have it all” if I chose and work for it.

Motherhood ....... My Leap of Faith ..... (okay maybe my eyes were closed)

As my eldest turned 14 recently, I reflected on where I was before he made me a mother. Michael and I were married five years. As I mentioned in my initial post, becoming a mother terrified me. I thought about it a lot over those early years.

Since graduating high school, I supported myself. I worked throughout college and law school. I then joined a prestigious law firm. I took comfort in knowing I could support myself whether through my law career or through the skills I had acquired. I knew I could choose to do something else at any point. I lived abroad and lived in different places in the US. Not all these efforts were smooth or easy but I felt in control.

Becoming a mother felt like I would lose all control. I had a conflicted relationship with my mother. It weighed heavy and forced me to consider what my relationship might be with my child. Would I be a good mother? Would I be like my mother? Would I enjoy being a mother? Motherhood didn’t offer me flexibility to “try it and see”. I needed to take a leap . . and that wasn’t the way I operated.

So I put all sorts of conditions on when we would have our first child. Michael needed to quit smoking. Then, I needed to finish law school and be established in my career. We need to own our home and have our finances in order. When those were accomplished, Michael asked, “Are you ready now??”

I played with his question in my mind. I found a new one feeling as I contemplated motherhood. It was a small peaceful spot within the swirling uncertainty. As I stayed there for a few moments, I realized I was ready. I was still afraid but I felt I could walk toward the fear rather run away.

The remaining uncertainty exhibited itself in different forms. I almost irrationally wanted a boy. I knew deep down it was because of my relationship with my mother. I recall being close to her when I was younger. We road bikes together and talked about all kinds of things. But when I became a teenager, we struggled as I shared on a previous mother’s day blog. Years passed and there remained a gulf.

I didn’t want to replicate this experience. And since I didn’t know how it happened, I didn’t know how to avoid it. I took comfort in the belief it would be easier if I had a boy. My husband had a close relationship with his mother. She was a young mom and in some respects they grew up together. She was the fun, beautiful woman in the pictures I saw in the albums. In many of them, he looked at her with adoration streaming from his eyes. And more importantly for me, they maintained that closeness into his adulthood. I felt I would get a fresh start with a son.

Turns out, I was right and I was wrong. I have a close, special relationship with my first born son. And we share a bond that looks a bit like my husband’s with his mother. We are pictured below in his first few weeks of life and more recently. I also now have a second boy and a little girl. I have an equally special but different connection with each of them.

I appreciate much more now that relationships are unique and complex, and ever evolving. I am thankful to again have a close relationship with my mother. In 14 years, much changed but uncertainty remains a constant. I am just more comfortable with the associated loss of control. And walking into the fear comes a bit easier.

Finding Inspiration

A question I get with some frequency is: “How do you do it?” It is usually followed by some more specifics: “have a demanding job and raise three kids” “have a two parent working house and be involved in so many activities” or “have a job, a teenager and a toddler.” The honest answer is I don’t really know. There are enablers but it’s a fluid and personal process. For me, what makes it possible continuously changes as my life unfolds and I evolve. One key constant remains the inspiration I draw from people who demonstrate through their lives what is possible.

When I was 39, my dad completed a project he had to wait to retirement to find the time to do. It was the story of his childhood to share with his four daughters and at the time two grandkids. Many of the players within his story inspired me. I was named after my father’s mother (and in a bit of cosmic humor look just like my mother’s side of the family). Her story was of particular interest to me. In my father’s accounting, events that happened to my grandmother when she was 39 are pivotal to the family.

My father is Dutch. His family live in Indonesia, a former Dutch colony, when he was born and during his early years. My grandmother was the same age I was reading it when she was forced to flee Indonesia with her five children. Her children ranged in age from 13 to an infant. She ended up in Australia and had to make a new life for herself as a single parent. She needed to learn a new language and raise her kids, three boys and two small daughters, in a foreign country. And do it all while dealing with the unthinkable.

Her husband, my grandfather, was captured by the Japanese and was likely dead or in a concentration camp. My grandmother lived a rather sheltered life up to that point. She was a stay at home mother. And as was common in that place and time, she had help around the house for the kids, the cooking and the cleaning. In violent series of events, she was thrust into a harsh reality. She lived in a foreign place with no husband and no means of support with five anxious offspring.

I thought about how that compared to my life at 39. I also recently had to move to a new city with my two boys, four and eight, without their father. He stayed behind because of his work for the first year. I had a different job to learn, a home to settle in and kids to adjust into a new place and new school. Their father came out every 10-14 days for a long weekend. I struggled as a single parent to keep it all going when my husband was away. It was often lonely and hard. I found my life was reduced to splitting time between trying to “get it” at my job, which was quite demanding, and parenting my two boys. There was little time for anything else. I felt stressed and stretched most of the time.

When I thought about what it must have been like for my grandmother, I can only see the chasm between what she faced and what I had to manage. I don’t know how I would have found the strength to get up each day and the face the horrors of what might be happening to my husband (if he was alive) and the uncertain future for myself and my kids. I don’t know how I would have provided for my children who needed me to be both parents to them as our lives took this unexpected, terrible turn. But my grandmother did it somehow. Her five children retained a special closeness to her even though she was not always as easy woman. They were willing to go the extra mile for her until she died in her nineties. I believe the bonds she forged by being their rock through what is beyond comprehension left an indelible, lifelong impression. Below is a picture of my grandmother and her five kids.



I am inspired by my “Oma” who set the bar very high for any balancing act I might try to achieve. How do I do it, you might ask? One reason is my grandmother showed me what is possible.

Together We Can!!

Beyond finding creative ways to make the balancing work -- and I found it is an individual effort informed by what I gain from others -- I also learned to be fully present to savor those “mommy bliss” moments. They remind me, no matter what else is going on, that it is all totally worth it. I plan to share some here because they are key to my balance. Another key is hearing other mother’s "bliss" moments -- the next best thing to having your own.

I had one such moment recently. I blogged about our state’s art context called Reflections in an earlier post. It is a voluntary effort that runs across public schools. It has a central theme. But the kids decide what type of art work to contribute that speaks to the theme for them. I made my eldest son enter last year when the theme was "What is Beautiful." I enjoyed the finished result which gave me insights into what was beautiful in my son's eyes -- a rare treat. I found out after it was over that the contest was open to my younger son as well. I told them they would both be entering this year since they have limited options to exercise their artistic muscles with school belt tightening efforts.

The 2010 theme was “Together We Can.” We talked about it a little over the summer and they had some good preliminary ideas . .but nothing came of it. Then the school year began with all the craziness that starting 4th and 8th grade bring. We had a brief discussion in all hub bub . . but nothing concrete happened. Then about 10 days before the deadline for entries, I was leaving for India to attend a friend’s wedding. I reminded them of my expectations and stressed I would not be available to bounce ideas off so they needed to work together. They both nodded and said they understood and would do that. And they sounded so-o sincere and earnest.

I came home. And you guessed it . . nothing had come of it. At that point, the deadline was a mere two days away. I was not prepared to give up. I thought about how to make the best use of the limited time. So I suggested to my youngest he write a poem since that comes easiest to him. My eldest had his own ideas about the medium but wanted some thoughts on bringing the theme into our reality. We discussed how recycling and our family, with members from different parts of the world, were two examples of together we can.

After dinner that night, the boys got busy on their separate efforts. They both intently focused on putting together their submissions. They were adamant that they did not need any further assistance. I itched to watch the creative process in action. But I restrained myself and settled for enjoying the fact that they finally embraced the challenge. When they were finished, I was amazed at what they produced.


In viewing both, my heart melted. Like most moms, I am completely biased when it comes to my kids. But what gratified me the most was the sentiment that they genuinely shared in their very different modes of expression. What you don’t always see with motherhood, behind first the diapers, and then the homework and carpooling, is how they teach and inspire you often in unexpected ways. I am looking forward to seeing what they do next year and in their lives. My youngest brought me down to earth a bit when he said, “I hope I ‘at least get to state’ like Dimitri did last year.” And here I thought he just did it to be a better global citizen . . . good reality check.

"Together We Can" applies equally well to working moms and moms generally. For me, sharing the journey ,including the joys and burdens, makes the load lighter and the path more rewarding.