Our Meltdowns, Our Teachers

If you’ve ever had that morning when your two year old clearly knows you have a 9 am meeting so she decides to throw a fit when you leave and your babysitter pries her out of your arms and you make it to the subway, to the office, coffee in hand with one minute to spare. Then you have that sinking feeling when you arrive and the conference room is empty and you check your calendar again and realize—the meeting was actually at the agency’s office across town. (Cue Meltdown)

How about when you’re running in to pump in your boss’s glass office that you’ve covered with poster board from floor to ceiling. You have 30 minutes until your next meeting. You race to get undressed and strapped into the torture device (I mean, pump) and realize you’re missing one essential part. (Melt. Down.)

Or you hear the date of the final class trip you promised you would chaperone and it turns out, you’re scheduled to present to the CMO. You break the news to your irate daughter and all of a sudden Kindergarten is locked down in infamy, as “the year mommy didn’t go on any trips.” (Ready, set, meltdown)

In these moments, my gut instinct used to be berating myself about doing a shitty job at this whole balancing act. And asking, “How is this ever going to work? How do other people do this? Where’s the ice cream?” I was left confused and paralyzed…with a nasty sugar hangover.

I’m a Type A at heart, so I don’t expect these meltdowns to go away completely, but in the past two years, I’ve been able to consciously shift the way I handle these moments. I may always be pushing the boundaries of time and my finite amount of energy, but I’ve started respecting these red flags and using them as reminders that I don’t have to live like this all the time.

When I work with clients who are dealing with this same struggle, that feeling that they’re “not doing any of it well”—I teach them the approach I use to get back on track. 

It goes like this...

1. Cheer up your best friend, you:
   Instead of dragging yourself through the mud (you know how that feels), try acknowledging how much you’re pulling off. Believe me, your husband, your boss and your kids are not going to see it, if you can’t see it yourself.  Find what works for you, but I’ve written a little speech that I like. 
   
   You’re doing/juggling/pulling off a ton right now and you’re doing most of it really well.
   You’re not a robot. (Sometimes it helps to say this 2x.)
   It’s not going to all work perfectly and that’s ok.
   Perfect is boring and people love you because you’re weird…in a good way!
   You got this.  
    
2. Create a buffer:
   You’re doing too much. You need to clear the decks and add more space into your life. What are you doing that your husband or other family members can do? What can your children do for themselves? One of the best days of my life was when my 7 year old started showering on her own.  Are you a laundry addict? Try going from 3 times a week to 2, or blasphemy…1.
    
3. Write, re-write or pull out your priority list:
   Back when I was single and dating, somebody quite wise told me to write a list of 4 to 5 things I wanted in my ideal guy and to keep that list in my wallet. I thought it was ridiculous at the time, but I was open to trying something new. I did it and my list went like this: Smart, Funny, Doting, Handsome, Creative. Anytime I started dating someone, I would run him past the list to make sure he had everything on it. And most of the time, he didn’t. Until, finally, he did…and I married him.
   
   Now, I want you to do the same thing with the high level things you want in your life. It’s not a detailed life plan, but it’s a quick barometer that can let you know when you’re out of balance.  Here’s mine: Peace, Courage, Connection, Inspiration, Fun. When I’m doing too much, I run some of the things I’m doing by this list and it helps me filter out the tasks that aren’t bringing me there.
    
4. Add something you love back into your life:
   As moms, our creative outlets and our joy often come last on the list of daily agenda items. How’s that approach working for you? Instead, choose something you truly love and do it for an hour a week. If an hour seems like too long, start with 15 minutes. It doesn’t need to be something you’re good at, something you’ll make money doing or something you share with anyone. It simply must be something you love. Something only for you. You deserve it. Refer back to number 1 to remind yourself of all that you’re doing! Not only is it your treat, but the creative fuel will give you the mojo to charge through the rest of the items on your list like a boss.

Now of course, if you’re motivated, you can kick this process into gear without having a meltdown moment. But the next time you (hypothetically) almost miss your client session because the Keyfood delivery is two hours late due to a hurricane that never happened, just know that there’s a way to bring yourself out of the depths and back into a world where you can be your imperfect and authentic self. 

Unraveling My Class Parent Flavored Mommy Guilt

Last week I went to my sixth and final preschool “Meet the Teachers” evening. All the preschool bases were covered—emergent curriculum, the not-so-subtle helicopter parent warnings, show and tell of the sweet art that will be sent home (95% of which will end up in the trash under crumpled paper towels when nobody’s looking) and then it happened. The moment I’ve dreaded for six years running. The Class Parent Solicitation.

Since I’ve done this a few times, I could basically lip-synch the speech. “It’s not that much time. Just a few emails. The more parents who sign up, the less work it is.” And then, in slow motion the public humiliation began. The sign up sheet was passed from one parent to the next until it made it’s way around the room. As it came closer, I felt the room heat up a few degrees, the sweat dripped off my temples and the excuses bubbled up to the surface.

On the menu this year: “I can’t, I’m building a business!”
Last year: “Forget it, I’m running the marathon.”
The year before that: “We're moving.”
Before that: “I have an infant.”
Finally: “I’m pregnant.”

While these are all valid excuses, it doesn’t take a genius (or a coach) to figure out—“Hold up, something’s telling me, I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS!” And I feel like I should—but why?  If I tell myself it’s for the kids, the truth is—that they have no clue what a class parent does. They don’t see the emails back and forth about teacher gifts and every last school fundraiser.

For me—and I’m guessing a few others out there—it’s about my own guilt and what others might think.

Bypassing my inner conflict, I also handed the sign up sheet, unchanged along to the parent next to me, but that moment stayed with me for the rest of the evening. 

At first I calmed myself by saying, maybe next year (lie) but then I thought,

What would my connection to my kids’ education look like if I was NEVER a class parent?

What’s a way to get involved that feels (dare I say) fun and not like a chore?

As a wave of relief ran through me, I was flooded with ideas:

• More class trips (in my favorite city)
• Singing in class with the kids—which I love!
• Career Day (hello 26 seven year old Coaches unleashed on their respective worlds!)
• Dramatic readings of my favorite (age-appropriate) Judy Blume books

Yes. This all feels more like me and less like who I think others think I should be (especially when they’re probably not even thinking that).

And while my list resonates with me, I’m quite grateful for all of you parents out there who look at it and would actually prefer the administrative Class Parent role. I know you’re out there. I’ve talked to some of you and I hope our kids will be in the same class one day.

I know I'll get an Amen when I say--we’re all busy. We’re all doing our best. When you feel that guilt creep in, challenge it. Question it. What do you really want here? You may be able to find your way through it, get what you want and still get the chance to read “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing” a second or even a third time. 
 

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Setting A Clear Intention

An armadillo prepares for his northbound road trip

Last weekend my husband, J, and I went off to Florida without the kids to help organize and pack up my grandmother’s home. Grandma passed away in July, but my family members are the proactive types so the place was already looking pretty clutter-free. Marie Kondo or her disciples had been there, and I started our visit grateful that we weren’t walking into a hoarding situation.

That said, there was still much to be done. We had to photograph everything, figure out what each family member wanted, pour over file and photo boxes, clear out the epic pantry (that was always stocked with Oreos, peanut butter, Dove chocolates and anything else that could make a grey day sugary sweet)—and most importantly make the tough decisions about the armadillo, the elephants, the hippos and the porcelain seal pup (who is still up for grabs if there are any seal pup fanatics out there).

J and I formulated a plan of attack (and as my sister pointed out—that’s one of our favorite activities!), but before we got started in tactical mode, I took some time to reflect over my morning coffee. I set a clear intention for the trip. Being home now a few days, I’m certain this is why I feel so good about our work and what we accomplished.

My intention: be a partner, a helper, a facilitator, bring the wit and be the person to truly be there for my aunt and uncle who took the lead in my grandma’s care for so long. I wanted to relieve the pressure. Clear the path. Create healing space for our entire family.

As we moved through the weekend and I questioned a decision or our next move, I used my intention as my filter. What would my next step be if I were a partner, a helper, a facilitator or brought the wit to this situation? My intention enabled me to move through whatever was holding me back in that moment. Sometimes the solution was to spend that extra time taking photos out of frames so that dozens of extra boxes did not turn up at a family member’s door. And sometimes it was perfectly placing the armadillo in a spot that would be met with surprise (maybe even shock and horror) upon receipt. Whatever it was—I felt I had a compass guiding me through a difficult task, that my north was a destination of pride at all we could do in a few days and our reward was hearing my aunt and uncle's laughter over dinner at my grandma’s favorite Jewish deli.

When I think about the weekend now, I smile remembering my sister and my aunts and uncles who will soon receive deliveries of 70 year old photos of my grandfather in uniform, the smart and love-sick letters he wrote to grandma dated one day apart, the Barbara Streisand anthology and of course the armadillo, stepping into the role of exclamation point for a plan well executed.

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The Healing Power of Quiet

As a coach, a mom, a wife and a human being, I'm always striving for balance. That said, I have a not-so-secret love for getting things done. I love being productive, checking things off my list, doing things for my kids, my house, my family and my business. Doing three things at once. Using Google calendar to schedule the things I need to do. And if I’m not doing, I’m thinking, “What should I do next?”

For the first half of the summer, I felt like I was in the flow, getting a ton accomplished—and even making time to have fun with friends and family—and then I got the news that my  Grandmother passed away.

She was not the kind of Grandmother who shared treats and wisdom in the background of my world. She was the kind of Grandmother who moved in with her grieving 11 and 15-year-old grandchildren after their parents died. She moved into our house and in her late sixties attended Back to School Night and negotiated with the angry teenage version of me. She was the grandmother who let me into her bed at night no matter what happened between us that day.

So when she passed, time stopped. Feelings and memories filled the space of To Do lists and project plans.  I sifted through pictures, wrote a eulogy and talked to our Rabbi and friends for support. At the funeral, we all said what we needed to say and then spent the rest of the weekend being together. My 4 and 7-year-old girls unleashed their hugs and love for our entire family like a pair of therapy dogs at work. And man, were they good at their job!

Then everyone went home. Life went on as it should. The kids went back to camp, everyone else returned to work and I went back to doing. I launched my blog,  created new partnerships and planned my social media blitz. I did everything I wanted to do the week before, plus a month’s worth of work as a bonus. I was tired and stressed, but I felt a magnetic tug to my ever-growing list of tasks.

Finally, I had a moment of clarity and decided to drop into a yoga class. I hadn’t done yoga in over a year, but I loved the idea of moving my body while quieting my mind. Multi-tasking, sold!

Once I could get out of my head in class to stop focusing on doing everything right or my proximity to my neighbor, emotions came rushing to the surface. Tears fell from my eyes on and off through warrior and pigeon and tree poses. When we laid down for meditation, the music sent a lightning bolt through me. Our instructor asked us to “stay in the moment at the end of our breath.” I found that space and that quiet moment and it all came pouring out of me. Everything I covered up with doing. All the pain I numbed with meaningless tasks so I didn’t have to feel the loss.

While everyone in class meditated in their own moment, our teacher gently put her hands on my head and sat with me for mine.  She was with me. I was with it. I let it burn through my every cell, capture my breath and paralyze me.

After several minutes, we opened our eyes. I felt release, relief, calm. 

I was filled with a longing for more quiet space and a curiosity for what it brings into my life. More time to remember the people I've lost and to savor the people I love. Whether I practice walking away from the blog post for a day before I hit publish, pack lunches in the morning instead of at 10:30 pm or simply choose to do less, it's my job to create more quiet moments to renew and to be me.