Felix's Nursery

This post is sponsored by Hibou Home - a sophisticated collection of contemporary, designer wallpapers and fabrics inspired by timeless themes children know and love.

Even before I knew whether our third baby was a girl or a boy, I knew I wanted a traditional nursery. I've done modern. I've done rustic. I wanted a nursery that was delicate and light and ALL BABY.

As I began looking for inspiration, I found myself drawn over and over again to nurseries featuring wallpaper. During my search, I found Hibou Home, which features the most precious children's wallpaper you've ever seen. I immediately fell hard for the Secret Garden design in Waterlily. 

I didn't want to paper a whole wall knowing the nursery would only be used for a couple of years. Instead, we put up three panels and framed the panels out with molding spray painted gold. Then, I added a gold branch accent that I'd inherited from my great-aunt. I absolutely love the finished product. 

I loved the wallpaper so much and had PLENTY left over that I decided to cut silhouettes of all three boys using the remainder. I used my Silhouette Cameo, which cut the wallpaper perfectly and recycled frames my mother had given me. I especially love Griffin's profile with the branch falling across the middle!

The rest of the room features our old changing table and new rocking chair both with a fresh coat of custom-mixed chalk paint by Flower + Furbish. I hung the "where" print by holli and painted "sweet dreams" using This Little Street's printable as a stencil. 

I'm so happy with the results!

AND I STILL had wallpaper leftover so my friend Liz used it in her baby girl's nursery!

Gratitude

I’ve taken a long walk on the beach every day since we’ve been here.

Every day I walk and I think. I think about how I got to be in such a desperate state. I think about what is at the base of my fears, my anxieties, my stress.

The first day it was obvious. I was tired. The second day and each day after I unpacked the less obvious – laying down each burden one by one – my fear of failure, my longing for a daughter, my regrets, my grudges, and my struggle with control.

Today as I walked I just felt quiet. I didn’t hear a chatter of emotions competing for my attention. I didn’t feel as if I was untangling a complicated knot of sadness trying desperately to get at what was bothering me.

I just felt calm and peaceful and so, so grateful.

Thank you.

Those are the words that kept running through my mind. Thank you to my dear friends for sharing their parents’ vacation home with us. Thank you to the babysitters we brought along so that I could actually have a vacation. Thank you to my husband for letting me disappear and write every day.

And ESPECIALLY thank you to all of you. Every day - Every. Single. Day. – since I first confessed I was struggling there has been a steady stream of support pouring in from all you. People reminding me I’m resilient and strong. People calling to me from the shore – saying they made it safely to the other side and so can I. People struggling to stay above the surface just like me - people who thanked me for giving voice to what they were feeling.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I’m not foolish. I know it can’t stay like this. I have to go back to reality and try to keep ahold of some of the peace I’ve found here.  Some days will be better than others, but no matter how bad the day gets I will never forget this journey. I will never forget how wonderful all of you have been.

I’ll be tired again. I’ll feel sad and vulnerable and even overwhelmed.

But I’ll never feel so alone.

Thank you for that.

Sarah

Control

Several months ago I wrote a post about how I was a secret perfectionist. I wrote about my desire to be a perfect mother and some of those words I wrote are still true. I’m hard on myself and I need to practice more self-compassion.

However, I’m realizing that my issue isn’t with perfectionism. It is with control.

The situation doesn’t have to be in perfect as long as I’m in control of it.

I LOVE to be in control. My family calls me the cruise director. A marriage counselor once looked at me and stated matter-of-factly, “Well, you clearly steer the ship.” Friends often put me in charge of projects and activities. Even my kids will tell you, mommy is in charge.

Perhaps it comes from being an only child. I had complete and total control of my environment. No siblings messing with my stuff. No competing agendas or priorities. I wasn’t necessarily the center of my parents’ world but I was most certainly the center of my own.

You would think being married for twelve years and parenting for six would have loosened my death grip, but no. If I can be, I still want to be in control.

When I feel out of control is when I suffer the most. When I lost the baby. When I’m taking care of a baby. When I’m exhausted. When people are being mean or unfair.

When something is not going my way and I can’t do a DAMN thing about it.

I hate it. I feel powerless and vulnerable and stuck. My word of the year is vairagya. It is Sanskrit for non-attachment. The idea that you don’t become attached emotionally to things you can’t control.

Clearly, the universe is teaching me the first lesson of that which is “Hey, Sarah, YOU CAN’T CONTROL EVERYTHING.”

Sometimes I will be tired. Sometimes things just won’t go my way. Sometimes I will make mistakes. Sometimes people will be mean.

And there is nothing I can do about it… which even as I type those words makes me a little nauseous. It's easier to cede control while on vacation when I have unlimited free time and babysitters and ocean waves to inspire me. 

Alas, I can't stay here forever and I can already feel myself ramping up for the return to real life. I can feel the part of my brain that manages and schedules and prioritizes and CONTROLS getting louder and louder the closer we get to departure.

I don't know how to quiet that voice and keep the calm I've found over these past few days. I know writing and exercising and meditating are all a part of the equation.

But I also know that some days won't go as I planned and there will be LOTS of things I can't control either way.  

And instead of feeling like that is a challenge to be tackled maybe I need to see it as a reality to be accepted. 

Until tomorrow,

Sarah

Forgiveness

We’ve been at the beach for four days now. More times than I can count I’ve dove in the ocean or the pool only to kick my way to the surface seconds later. The moment I break the surface of the water and take a breath always feel a little magical.

It’s how I feel right now. I feel like I’m breaking the surface of this funk. I’m coming up for air.

It feels so, so good.

It feels like I’m letting things go. It feels like I’m moving on. It feels like I’m finding my balance.

Of course, JUST when you get your balance life has a way of shoving you off your feet. Yesterday, at the pool, I had pulled Amos with me into the deep end to practice his swimming. He has been fighting us tooth and nail all summer, but we’d forgotten his floaties and I decided now was my chance.

He cried and hollered. I told him he knew how to blow bubbles and hold his breath that I’ve seen him do it all summer. I dropped his underwater a few times and sure enough he did exactly what I thought he would do. He held his breath and blew his bubbles.

Still, he’s a stubborn kid and he kept fighting me. I stayed calm. I told him I could stand here all day and that his friends were having fun and he could join them if he tried. I told him he was a big strong boy and I knew he could do it.

He calmed down a little but the second he’d go underwater he’d freak out again and grasp for me. I never let him go. He never choked, but he still kept fighting me.

Finally, a lady came over and said, “If you dunk him one more time, I’m going to report you. I’m a licensed reporter. That is not the way to do it and everyone is watching. I’m DISGUSTED.”

I just stood there. Speechless. Amos in my arms. Then, I went to the steps and kept practicing with Amos, who finally agreed to go under water if I went with him.

Meanwhile, I was in a full blown shame spiral. I felt terrible. Maybe I was pushing Amos too hard? Maybe I was going about it the wrong way?

I wanted it to be simple. She was a bitch and I was doing nothing wrong and that was the end of it.

I’ve had a lot of confrontations with friends and some strangers over the past few years. Confrontations that still haunt me when – like now – I’m feeling vulnerable. They’re old wounds I like to reopen when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Broken friendships. Hurtful comments. Tokens of my failings I spread out on the table to prove I’m actually as terrible as I feel.

I want my own personal brand of closure for each one. I want the person to sit down and apologize for hurting me and it has taken me so, so long to realize that is not EVER going to happen.

It wouldn’t matter if it did. It’s almost never as simple as they were wrong and I was right. I wish it was.

In an interesting twist, it was a book on organizing that finally helped me see the light. In The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, Marie Kondo states simply,

Not every person you meet in life will become a close friend or lover. Some you will find hard to get along with or impossible to like. But these people, too, teach you the precious lesson of who you do like, so that you will appreciate those special people even more.

I want every friend to be my best friend. I want every stranger – including the lady at the pool  - to see my parenting and think I’m the BEST. 

Alas, it doesn’t work like that. Some people are only around for seasons. Some are meant to teach you valuable lessons.

The biggest lesson I need to learn is forgiveness - whether I get my cathartic closure or not. The first thing Annie says every time I come to her complaining about the latest insult or insensitivity is "Have you forgiven them?" I know she's right and I know it will be a struggle.  

Forgiveness is so hard because I'm unforgiving of myself. I've beat myself up all day about the pool fiasco. Telling myself I was wrong. Telling myself I traumatized Amos.

Instead, I should acknowledge the complexity of the situation. I was not at my best and neither was she I'm guessing. I'm still a good mother and she's probably a good person.

I can't control anything about that woman or anyone else who has hurt me in the past. All I can do is choose to learn a lesson, practice forgiveness, and move. on.

Until tomorrow,

Sarah

Regret

“There ain’t nothin like regret... to remind you you’re alive.”

— Sheryl Crow

I’m going to be 34 next week. I always thought I would enjoy aging. When my grandmother and mother would complain about growing older, I would roll my eyes and ignore them. No one wants to get gray hair or aching joints, but confidence and wisdom and self-acceptance? That always seemed pretty great.

I owe my mother and grandmother an apology.

Suddenly, turning forty isn’t some far off fantasy where my life has sorted itself out and I’m enjoying the fruits of my labor. Suddenly, forty is SOON and I don’t feel sorted out at all.

I’m still not 100% sure of what I want to be when I grow up and I know no one would describe me as anything other than grown up. My body shows the effects of four pregnancies and three births. Even my red hair (which thankfully hasn’t gone gray yet) doesn’t make me any less invisible to most people I pass on the street.

Or at least that’s how I feel sometimes.

When you’re in your 20’s, everything is so full of promise. Mistakes only occupy the past. They don’t define you, because you have so many years to figure everything out. You have time to start over. You have time to change paths.

Now, mistakes suddenly take up so much space in the future. It’s not just that you screwed up. It’s that you wasted so much valuable TIME screwing up and time has suddenly become a precious commodity.

Listen, I know I still (hopefully) have lots of time left. Women in my family tend to live into their 90’s, which means I still have two more acts.

But … THIS ACT... This act is over and I worry that I made all the wrong choices.

I see my friends who have spent years accumulating promotions and raises and I wonder if I’m made a huge mistake by staying home. I see careers I envy. I see jobs I would enjoy. I worry that I put all my eggs in the wrong damn basket.

I realize that there are things I really want to do but I am so, so scared to try. I am so scared that I will fail and it will mean more time wasted.

I was just expressing these fears to my friend today when only a few short hours I ran across this little shot of amazing courtesy of Elizabeth Gilbert.

“These days, though, I spend less time thinking about my Inner Child lately, and more time focused on my INNER CRONE — the old lady who lives inside me, whom I hope to someday be.

Because she’s a serious bad-ass.

The really old ladies always are bad-asses. I’m talking about the real survivors. The women who have been through everything already, so nothing scares them anymore. The ones who have already watched the world fight itself nearly to death a dozen times over. The ones who have buried their dreams and their loved ones and lived through it. The ones who have suffered pain and lived through it, and who have had their innocence challenged by ten thousand appalling assaults...and who lived through all of it.

The world is a frightening place. But you simply cannot frighten The True Crone.”

— Elizabeth Gilbert

Then, I remember aging isn’t awesome because you’ve figured it all out. Aging is awesome because you realize that NO ONE has it all figured out and that figuring it all out isn’t even the point!

I love being married but not because I’m perfect at it. I love it because it’s hard and rewarding and frustrating and magnificent and I’ve picked the most awesome person with which to take that journey.

I love being a mom but not because I’m perfect at it. I love it because it forces me to fail and then to pick myself up and try again. I’m so scared all the time as a parent, but it doesn’t matter because the momentum of life carries me forward through a million hugs and runny noses and temper tantrums and my fear wears itself out along the way.

Like I’m always telling my kids everything great in life is a little bit scary and I suppose that includes life itself.

Aging is HARD. My fear and regrets aren’t going anywhere. Neither are my mistakes. But I’m still here. I don’t know if I can envision my True Crone quite yet but I can envision Sarah 20 or 30 years from now. The version of yourself Tara Sophia Mohr calls your Inner Mentor.

I can see her. I can see her smiling with gray hair and lines around her eyes. I can hear her urging me on – past the fear, past the regret – into future where there might be less time, but there’s still plenty of hope.

Until tomorrow,

Sarah