Category Archives: Parenting

When Parenting Overwhelm Makes You Want to Escape: What Helped Me Stay Sober

Posted on by
Reply

Here’s the thing: I was so livid after what I heard that I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream louder than I ever have.

But I had eight teenage eyes watching me. My brain decided that the little-bit-better solution would be a stiff gin and tonic. I mean a beverage is better than broken pieces, right?!

Except it had been 549 days without one. I could smell the lime being squeezed. I could taste the gin hitting my tongue. I could feel the instant relaxation going down my throat, sip by sip by sip.

And I could see what would come moments later: an empty glass held by a person filled with disappointment, shame, and regret that she had let herself down. That she hadn’t kept her promise not to drink.

So I didn’t make the drink. The decision Was. Not. Easy. One would think that going 549 days without alcohol would make it easier. Kinda like how people say to parents with young kids, “Don’t worry, it will get easier!” As a parent to teens, 20 years later, I can assure you…it has NOT gotten easier. It has simply changed. 

Some days are easier than they used to be. Some days are harder. The same goes for my journey not to drink.

I can go weeks or months without thinking twice about alcohol, and then BAM—the struggle is so real it hurts. The double hurt is that in those moments, when I feel so crappy that a drink seems like it will wash away all my pain and bring me back to a better place—it won’t—it becomes abundantly clear that I’m doing the right thing by choosing not to drink. It becomes as clear as gin that my relationship with alcohol is no good.

And I didn’t even drink *that* much. But I saw the intake creeping up. I saw the craving increasing. I saw my desire, my enjoyment of one drink… become a need for one drink.

And that is very hard to swallow. Because it means this journey is about more than making it through the day. It means making this choice every day for years and years to come. And I’m not gonna lie. I miss alcohol. I miss the taste and the rituals (not what alcohol supposedly did for me, I’ve found good enough substitutions).

But oh how I love a good margarita by the pool. A glass of red wine by the fire at Christmas. Champagne to celebrate. The substitutions for these just aren’t the same or even good enough.

And I know me. Sips of the real thing won’t stay sips. So I will keep doing what I did that day when I wanted to break something, but pouring a stiff drink wasn’t a choice I was willing to make either. I’ll ask myself: What do I really want to feel? What feeling am I chasing? What need do I have? That day, I put on my sneakers and went for a walk around my neighborhood. In my wet bathing suit. If you want to know whether it was an awesome look, the answer is totally not.

Rest assured though, it was a skirt bottom so it wasn’t totally awful. And I felt less awful afterward. I called a friend while I walked. I shared my frustration about life. Then I did a second lap.

And I got back to life. I made it to bedtime without a drink. Today is day 559. The last ten days have had their moments too—moments when gin told me it would make life better. That it would be the sugar to make the medicine go down, so to speak. I didn’t listen. I found other orange to help me carry the gray. If there is one thing that has become even more clear during my journey of not drinking—and during The Orange Rhino Journey Part 2—it is this: When gray happens, which it will, it doesn’t just poof! disappear.

Drinking certainly didn’t make it go away. It usually made it heavier. Not drinking doesn’t magically make the gray lighter either.

But it makes it easier for me to manage. So does acknowledging the gray. It keeps it from taking up every inch of space in my mind. I can’t make the gray disappear.

And I don’t think carrying it will magically become easy. But every day I don’t drink, I get a little better at carrying it without adding more weight. And isn’t that what so many of us are doing? The heavy, non-disappearing, perhaps permanent gray may not get lighter.

But we get better. And somehow, that makes it feel lighter to carry. Sending warmth to you today, especially if this post hit too close to home. Solidarity my friend.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Your College Kid Calls Upset: How to Listen Without Fixing Everything

Posted on by
Reply

Your college kid calls upset. You hear their voice on the phone. And you hear all the other voices in your head. The voices reminding you of how you’re supposed to respond.

Let them vent.
Let them share.
Let them be.
Let them fly.

The voices in your head remind you this is their chance to grow. To learn. That’s it’s okay to hurt. That they will heal and come out stronger, wiser. As you listen, you hear it. You hear their hurt. You hear their frustration. You hear their fear. And oh, do you feel it.

You feel it so very deeply.
And you want to give them advice. You really do.

Because you see the path to feeling better. Faster. Easier. With so much less pain. But you know that easing their pain today, right now, can just create more pain in the future. You know that letting them figure things out now, even though it hurts, might actually help them hurt less later.

And so you bite your tongue. And you fight like heck to hide your own pain.
To sound confident in their ability to figure things out.
To not sound concerned.

And you struggle right along with them because this is not easy. In the moment, their pain is your pain. You hurt with them. Oh, do you ever. And you worry right alongside them.

But you don’t offer advice. And you don’t ask leading questions. And you don’t dig for more hard stuff.

You offer love.
You offer a soft landing place.
You offer “uh huhs” and “oh, that’s hard” and “I’m here for you.”

And then you offer to make homemade chocolate chip cookies even though you simply do not have the time.

Because that is all you can do to make them actually feel better. And then you think, not to them or of them, but to yourself:

Who is making me chocolate chip cookies to help me feel better?

Because this stage of parenting? Honestly? It can be brutal.

He is okay, to be clear. This wasn’t a crisis. Just one of those tough, emotional, figure-it-out moments that comes with being away at college. Having our college-aged kids, especially our freshmen, far away from us, struggling, and not knowing which adults in their life are there to support them, guide them, help them find the answers they need? B.R.U.T.A.L. The letting go here is an incredible act of strength.

Of course I will lean in when I have to.
But I will also let my kiddo fumble a little.
I have to. It is part of this stage. This journey. His journey.

And also? My kiddo wants to. He is in his independent era. We have returned to the “I do” phase. Except now it’s a more complete sentence, not that of a toddler.

It’s: “I got it, Mom.”
I know you do, kiddo. I know you do.

He sent me this text last night:
“Good night. Love you. Thanks for the support (even though I keep denying I need it or want it. When I’m ready I’ll ask for it. Let me know when the cookies are coming.)”

Ooof. That hit hard and heavy in a wonderful way. That’s the whole ache of this stage. Being needed in a whole new way. A quieter way. A farther away way. Not to fix. Not to solve. Just to stay close enough that they know you’re still there.

Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you all this Monday morning.
You are all loved and appreciated, near and far.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Your College Kid Comes Home and the Transition Is Hard for Everyone

Posted on by
Reply

I knew it would happen. And it did. Sometimes I hate being right. As much fun as I had picking up my college kiddo from the airport and having dinner together that night, I want to share another truth. Having him home was hard. For both of us. He (mostly) likes college better. He has friends there. No “quiet hours.” No expectations from me—directly at least;) Here, well… We all had school or work the next day so he had to be uber quiet at night.

And since the renovation, I’ve been slowly putting everything away. So he came home to a house where he suddenly didn’t know where any of the important stuff was. Phone chargers. Pens, pencils. Silverware. It was frustrating for him—to feel out of place. Literally and metaphorically. And honestly? It hurt a little for me too. I also wished he felt more at ease here, at home. Like he used to. You know, in the “before college” days. (Shite, those wet things on my face again.) It’s a strange feeling when your child comes home… and home to them feels different…and you know things are just no longer the same. Not bad, just changed.

Still, there were warm moments. We watched a new cooking show together. The next night, at his request, I made the meal from it and we both loved it. (Street tacos. O.M.G. Amazing recipe. This never would have happened before college, so there’s one, okay of many, upsides.) I introduced him to my mocktail, which he loved. We walked the dog together. It wasn’t all hard. By Saturday he was finally settling in… just in time for him to spend his last day home working on a school paper.

And that’s when the disappointment in myself started to creep in. I knew when I dropped him back at college the next day, I’d be bummed that I hadn’t been as present during his time home as I wanted to be. That I’d be bummed that I’d been frustrated when he’d been frustrated. I was also bummed that our time together was so short to begin with. He spent half the week in Florida with his dad (as he should) and his new friends.

At the same time, I was so happy he went on a trip with them, had a blast, and found a new level of confidence. Enough confidence to go skydiving. And yes, that was a long half hour waiting for the phone call that he was fine lol.

I know this is the new spring break normal. Trips with friends. I think this is one of the quieter heartbreaks of parenting older kids. They either come home on breaks, but not quite in the same way. Or they choose friends. Either way, you’re grateful they’re growing, gosh you are so grateful, and you’re happy they’re healthy and happy…but you’re also missing what was. Just because I know this doesn’t make it easier though.

Likewise, I know this summer, when he transitions home again, it’ll be bumpy at first. That doesn’t make it easier either. Knowing does help me plan ahead though. Not worry… just create some workarounds to ease the easing back into home.

Yesterday morning, I made him pancakes and bacon one more time. Then I drove him back to his second home. It wasn’t even a few minutes into my drive back home before I got this text: “I love you mom. I already miss you. I had a great time watching the cooking show with you. I love you so much and you’re a great mom.” Exactly the dose of orange I needed to make it home without bawling my eyes out. LOL. I pulled in the driveway and another message from him popped up.

It’s in the comments (assuming I can figure out how to share it haha) Cue the tears. Oh life… you sure are full of grorange. Parents of older kids… did this stage catch you off guard too?

Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you all today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When the Other Shoe Drops in College: What I Learned as a Parent

Posted on by
Reply

I’m still processing what happened yesterday. The range of emotions I feel is unreal. The event was scary, worrisome. It was also incredible, surreal, beautiful, uplifting, inspiring. It also gave me valuable insight into several things I need to do as a parent that perhaps you all already do but if not, here is your chance.

Okay, here’s what happened. First off, remember how I wrote Saturday that I was waiting for the other shoe to drop for my college freshman?

Well, it dropped. He ended up in the ER yesterday. He is fine. Why? Because of the amazing friends he has met that were raised by some amazing parents that I would love to meet. And because of an amazing school that I need to thank for having a great emergency system. My gratitude runneth over. Last January, my son had a cardiac event. It was scary to witness.

Yesterday morning, my son called to tell me about his night and again, how happy he was. I’m lucky that our relationship is strong enough that I got all the details about the night. Even the ones I didn’t want lol. More on that tomorrow. He sounded fine. We talked about how he was going to find a way to watch football that day. He hounded me for the Verizon password and yada yada. Two hours later he called telling me he didn’t feel well.

He was exhausted. He felt like his heart was racing. I told him to not drink any caffeine that day, but lots of water. To rest. To make sure to wear his apple watch and to check it on occasion but to not worry. That maybe he took his medicine twice by accident – that I’ve done that. It happens. He called an hour later. His heart rate was 165 when he walked. He felt hot.

“Mom did you pack me a thermometer?” Did I pack him a thermometer?

I held back my chuckle and remembered his snarky “you packed too much crap” comment when I moved him in. “Of course sweetie. It’s in your medical kit in your closet.” I said.

“Oh, by the pulse ox and my inhaler?” he asked.

“Yep.” I said, holding all loving sarcasm to myself, not the time;)

“No fever.” he said.

“Okay. Well, covid is going around. Let’s see if you spike a fever. You could be getting sick. Last time you had a cardiac event it was when you were sick. Take it easy. Call me if it gets worse or find a friend and go to the health office.” I said.

Phone rang again. “Mom. My friend and I couldn’t find the health office. My legs are weak. I can’t walk. I’m dizzy.” He said. I could tell he was about to pass out. He was practically slurring his words and barely making sense.

“Ok. Where are you?” I was oddly calm. Oddly friggin’ calm.

“My friend took me back to our dorm. We are in the lobby. He called Public Safety.” he said.

 “Okay. Can you put him on the phone on speaker?” I asked, again, eerily calm. He did. I walked his friend through what he needed to do. How he needed to keep my son awake and upright. How he needed to stay with him but look around and watch for any stranger to help him.

How if he could, to call another friend to come help. He did GREAT. Great. I could tell he was nervous as my son was going in and out. Public safety showed up and drove them to Urgent Care. Urgent care eventually said he needed to go to the ER. Public safety came back and drove them the 5 min drive as Urgent Care said it would be cheaper, faster and he was stable enough. (Not sure about that looking back as his blood pressure was 158/98 when he arrived at the ER….) And then his friend called me saying that he and 4 friends had all forgone watching football and were in the waiting room with him.

Bless those kids. Be still my heart. I just can’t. My son – who struggled to have friends in high school – was surrounded by true friends…in a waiting room…on the kickoff day for football. I have no words. NONE. Parents, good job. You did good. I then had a major debate about whether or not to drive down. Do I let go? -or- Do I go? His friend asked me to come so I went. He was on the front lines so to speak and could see him.

I trusted him. Worst case I would be told to turn around and I would have had time in the car enjoying my choice of music! Friend #2 kept me updated as I drove down.

Honestly these kids. First class kids. The universe was on my side. No traffic. Perfect weather. I made it there in the shortest time ever. My son’s blood pressure was stable when I arrived and he was turning the corner thanks to IV fluids and time. The nurses and doctors were the kindest people ever. One nurse in particular. She also has a freshman in college. She validated my driving down and praised the kids for how well they did.

She talked to my son about how well he did for knowing he needed medical help and shared her experience with making a similar mistake. No shame. Just support. As it should be. Shame doesn’t leave room for learning. Shame slams the door shut real fast on any opportunity for connection and therefore learning. Beautiful, truly. Again, gratitude runneth over. And here is where I share advice, which I rarely do (at least directly) but feel moved to.

My son’s phone was at 10% by the time he got to the hospital. –> If his phone died, his friends would NOT be able to reach me because they would not have my number. Nor would the hospital be able to get the information needed to reach me. One of the scariest things about our kids being away is the “what if there is an emergency” bit. We all have “in case of emergency” in our phones…but… Do your kids’ FRIENDS have your number to call in case of emergency, especially your college kids?

I know our college kids just got there, and maybe don’t have friends yet BUT do they have 1 or 2 kids they trust enough? Does their roommate have your number to call in an emergency? Listen, I am not about bribes BUT kids “yes” us. “Yeah, yeah mom I will do it.” NO. Offer $20 to Wendy’s to have your child’s friend send proof and call you. IT MATTERS.

This applies to any kiddo with a phone, high school, middle school. Shoot. This applies to OUR friends. Do our friends have our partner’s phone numbers?! Why? My son’s phone died and his friend had my number and called to tell me what hospital he was at. I couldn’t locate him otherwise. It was one of the first things I did when I found out what was going on.

If your child takes medication, do they know the names and doses? My son was smart enough to write it down and bring it with him. (Also, WOW and I’m still in shock. Like, what?! Bravo kiddo. Bravo.) I’m going to write it all on a credit card size piece of cardstock and laminate it so he always has it. Along with his birthday and my phone number. 

This was his second cardiac event. We think it was his medicine but…what if it wasn’t? If your child is over 18, do you have the necessary legal forms in place to be able to talk to doctors if needed? Luckily I did, BUT I forgot them;) Thankfully my fiancé scanned them and sent them to me.

I used Mama Bear Legal Forms. Super easy. So there you go. An uplifting Monday morning story with several nice little lessons too. I hope it made sense. I rolled in late last night and like I said, I’m still processing it all.

Today I have to figure out how to send cookies to these kiddos and find a way to let the school know how incredible their system is. And rest 😉 Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you’re worrying about your kiddos. Parenting is a lot and ain’t easy. End of story;) but even the hard moments have beautiful moments within them. Thinking of you all.

xoxo Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

College Move-In Is Coming — and I’m Already Grieving

Posted on by
Reply

I’m still a mess, six days later. And my son hasn’t even gone to college yet. The official move in day is Tuesday. 48 hours from now.

So, um, yeah. How about no?! Ugh, I just choked up…again. This isn’t far off from how I felt a year ago when I received the big manilla envelope from the high school about all the things “Senior” year related, like ordering a cap and gown. The anticipation of the year to come was brutal. It was a wake up call that time was going too fast. Too, too fast. It made me stop and think, “shoot, did I do a good job?” And not, “did I do a good job teaching him” but did I do a good job being the mom I wanted to be?! Did I live up to my ideals, goals, dreams? Or am I filled with regret?! And there’s the pit in my stomach…again. Sending a kid to college is hard. Full stop. Period. Whether it’s the first time, the last time, whether it is your child or grandchild, it is hard. It. Is. Hard.

This post though is also for anyone who isn’t sending a kid off to school…but is close or remembers college life themselves. This post is simply for anyone feeling the grays in life right now and feeling how this monumental milestone that we all see everywhere (every single store is screaming college!) is about a heck of a lot more than college.

It’s a friggin’ wake up call, forcing one to take stock in their life. And now I know why my gut called this month, “Au-dit-gust.” Blech. Do know, this is not a rah-rah, you’re going to be okay post. I don’t do toxic positivity around here. Nope. Not how I roll. I face the hard, the gray, the REAL tough and not-so-tough feelings head on. Otherwise they knock me down even further and getting up and getting going is that much harder. (And that isn’t even taking into account my joints or lack of flexibility these days) I don’t have time to be knocked down more than I already am, please and thank you.

I’ve got packing to do…so that I feel reassured my child is taken care of. I’ve got pictures to print…so that I feel confident I’ve set my child up in a space that feels like home. I’ve got letters to write…so that I feel satisfied that I’ve said all I want to say, mostly, “I’m so friggin’ proud of you and I love you. Have fun. I’m always here.

Also, don’t forget to return my texts or I’m showing up and will embarrass you.” I’ve got administrative crud to do…so that I feel content knowing I did my last job in this stage and my child can focus on adjusting. I’ve got moments to cherish the best I can…so that I don’t feel the weight of regret, which is a beast. I’ve got things to do so I feel the best I can in a hard situation. I don’t have time to pretend my feelings aren’t real and aren’t happening.

Ironic, right? So many people tell us to stuff our feelings and move forward. I agree with the moving forward – but not if stuff is not processed or at least seen and acknowledged. Moving forward will be a wicked workout instead of a walk in the park.

So here I am. Seeing all of you and the comments you wrote on my post about my firstborn going to college. I’m humbled by the attention the post received. As a “writer” I should be ecstatic. Want to know something? I’m not. I’m sad, heartbroken actually (and not just because of my kiddo going off to college officially, officially on Tuesday.) My post resonated for lots of reasons, but a few are because so many of us, too many of us, don’t feel fully seen -or- don’t feel fully free to express all the feels we feel -or- don’t know feel fully supported, but instead pressured to find the positive, feel better already, and just move on.

And this breaks my heart. I know how it feels to go through hard times alone. I know how it feels to have to bite one’s tongue, hold their feelings back, pretend everything is okay. I know how it feels to be misunderstood, judged, ridiculed for feeling fully. and I know how it feels to feel all the feels and wonder, how, how will I feel better and when will I feel better? It just doesn’t feel great and I wish, I wish we didn’t feel this way.

But…feeling sad happens….feeling lonely happens….feeling worried, overwhelmed, scared happens. and…feeling unsupported and misunderstood, sadly, happens.

But it doesn’t have to happen totally alone. All this to say, I see you all. I’m not joking when I say I wish I could be with you all in this moment and let you just be real. Let you feel seen.

But I can’t. Like I said, I’ve got packing to do 😉 So here’s what I’m thinking. This is what WE are all going to do, if we can.

  1. We are not going to hide. We are going to keep feeling all the feels out loud, here, so others can see and not feel alone. This will bring comfort to so many. And if we have the strength, we will reply to another comment to show love and support and to spread warmth.
  2. When we are out and about, if we see someone who has that same look we saw when we looked in the mirror this morning – maybe puffy eyes, maybe sheer exhaustion, maybe a sense of loss – we are going to share a gentle, loving smile. Maybe a tissue (lol, if we have one to spare.)
  3. We are going to keep sharing the heck out of the post in the comments (about my firstborn going to college.) Not because I want it to go viral (lol, kinda busy right now for this to happen, but my son is THRILLED) but because it is clear that people need it.

They need to know they don’t have to rush through their emotions right now. They need to know they aren’t broken. They need to know they are surrounded by others who get it. We all need each other – in person and virtually. Let’s lift each other up, the Orange Rhino style. With compassion, understanding, and real, honest to goodness, vulnerability.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, and especially if you are in the hard right now with me. I have so many more thoughts. They will be pouring out all week.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Sending a Child to College: The Excitement, Grief and Everything in Between

Posted on by
Reply

Here’s the thing –> I’m a mess. I know I’m not the only one here sending a child off to college for the first time. This post isn’t just for those of us in these shoes. It’s for anyone feeling all the feels except for the one of being able to freely share that they are. Maybe I’m the only one feeling this way and if that’s the case, well, alrighty then. I don’t think it is though. I think there is a lot of subconscious messaging out there that leads people to not fully share how they are really feeling because they worry it won’t be received well, won’t be understood, will make them excluded, will make them feel broken or even more alone.

Again, maybe it’s just me and my past traumas and life experiences speaking…but I don’t think so. For whatever reason, I feel like I have to put on a brave face and pretend everything is honky dory right now, or at least mostly honky dory, as I prepare to send my firstborn off to his Freshman year. Social media is flooded with sentiments around “it will be okay” in regards to first children going off to college for the first time.

I know that, but right now? Right now, I’m not there. Right now, I have more worry than feelings of ease. I’m inundated with inspirational messages about how hard it is, but that I’ll get through it. Or there are messages of: I know how hard it is and here’s advice. These are great messages; helpful, beautiful, SPOT ON ACCURATE.

But right now? I’m full of overwhelm, doubt. My child isn’t even on campus so I can’t even think that far ahead. And also, right now? I don’t want that. I just want the messages to stop at, “It’s hard.” Or at least be followed by something along the lines of, Hey reader, I see you. I know you are feeling all sorts of feelings around your oldest child going to college for the first time. You are both excited for the fun you know they will have…but also worried that wait, maybe they won’t?

You know everyone takes a while to make new friends and really find a groove, and that it does work out…but also, what if it takes too long and turns into real homesickness? Or what if, what if they don’t find their people and it’s a repeat of high school? You know you have done your best raising them and teaching them about the ins and outs of the world, how to be street smart and book smart…but also, what happens when push comes to shove and it’s the new environment when peer pressure is a beast? What then?

You know you will both rise to the occasion, work through the challenge, and that your child will learn from it and that it is part of the experience…but also, UGH it isn’t fun, and also, what if, what if?! You know they have picked a great school, a great match for them and you feel so confident they will be taken care of…but also, gosh, darnit, you are going to miss them so much. So. Very. Very. Much.

How are you going to keep going at home for your other kiddos when you are missing one so much? You know this isn’t forever, that they will be home for breaks and summer vacations but also…you know this is a massive change in the way life looks moving forward, that this is the beginning of a major shift in the makeup of the home and vacations overall and that is hard as heck. How do vacations look in the future, especially as a divorced family?

You know it will all be okay at some point, that you will be okay through it all and also will be okay at some point…but also, but also… Can I please just feel all the feels right now and not have to feel better right now? Can I not pretend? Can I be real? Can we not say how hard and bittersweet it is, even though we know the future is also beautiful…and also bittersweet? Why do we always have to sugarcoat?!

Sometimes the best way to help someone feel better is to simply meet them where they are at and to STAY THERE in that feeling without moving them through it right then and there. I am not looking to wallow. I am not looking to stay stuck. I just need to admit that this shite is HARD and I’m feeling so many frigging emotions – and not because of perimenopause but because this transition is GARGANTUAN and it deserves the full acknowledgement as such.

I’m excited for all the experiences and friends and memories to be made…I’m sad because my buddy won’t be flashing his smile at me daily or his smirk when I make a bad mom joke; but facetime is a good replacement. I’m confident in the school and my son’s ability to figure things out…and I’m nervous for the transition, the skills that aren’t there, the challenges that I do know will happen. I’m overwhelmed because there is still much to do and I’m reassured because there is always Amazon and Target after the fact.

I’m all sorts of everything. And if you are too, I see you. I’m standing right there with you in the moment and staying there with you.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, and especially, especially if you are feeling for whatever reason that you can’t fully express yourself or feel all the feels. I get it.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Letting Go as Your Kids Grow Up — Without Missing the Beautiful Parts

Posted on by
Reply

I didn’t have kids so that I could be away from them; I had kids so that I could be with them. I didn’t have kids so that I could be around just for the tough times; I had kids so that I could witness, actively participate in the really beautiful times. The milestones. The celebrations. The achievements. Their excitement. Their joy. Likewise, I didn’t get married so that I could get divorced and then have to split up special days in my kids’ lives and therefore miss out on some pieces.

But here I am. Divorced and missing out.

Today, my second son is heading out for two weeks to go to a college for a science course he is wicked excited about. I helped him find the course, apply to the course, and pack for the course. I’m not taking him to the course though, his father is. I am taking him to another course later this summer, which is at my alma mater, so that’s cool. And we agreed to this arrangement for a few reasons so it kinda sorta makes sense that I’m not going today and also…and also…

It SUCKS. Like, a lot, a lot. I want to be there when his eyes go wide open as he sees how beautiful the campus is that he got accepted to for this summer program. I want to be there when he smiles with excitement as he sees all the events he gets to participate in. I want to be there to help him unpack and set up his dorm room. Sure, it isn’t “college” but it is a dry run. He’s my first kiddo going away for more than a weekend and well, it’s a big deal, for him, for me.

I want to be there to make sure he knows the this, the that, the that, the this. I want to be there to do the mom things, you know? To answer his questions. To ease his anxiety (which I know is high.) To support him in any way he needs. I just want to friggin’ be there.

But I won’t be. I’m missing out on a really, really big moment. And it sucks. It hurts. Like so, so much. I didn’t have kids so that I could be away from them; I had kids that I could be with them. I didn’t have kids so that I could be around just for the tough times; I had kids so that I could witness, actively participate in the really beautiful times.

The milestones.
The celebrations.
The achievements.
Their excitement.
Their joy.

And also, their worries and their needs, expected and unexpected. I had kids so I could be there for them. Life is both/and. Life is both orange and gray. We can understand something, and also not like it. We can support something, and also, strongly, strongly dislike it. Part of me is really friggin’ mad at myself for not saying I wanted to go as well but…it’s just the way the cookie crumbled. I just don’t like the crumbs.

Because that’s the thing, divorced or not, as parents, we do miss out sometimes. Even when not divorced, I missed out, rather, I opted out.

I remember my ex wanting to take the boys skiing for the first time. I really, really, REALLY wanted to go. But I was so overwhelmed with writing my book that I knew for me, I needed the day to myself to enjoy the quiet so that I could show up better for everyone that week.

So I missed out by opting out. MOOO lol. Even though it was my choice, it was still a hard call. The right call, but also the hard call. Same with the divorce. Same with today. And even though I have not missed a lot, and even though my ex and I have beautifully shared a lot, and even though I am so grateful for how well we have done, today, today is still hard and… I’m not feeling all the warm fuzzies about life.

I’m feeling them about my son though. I’m bursting with pride and excitement for him; with amazement at how he follows his heart time and time again. Life is both/and. If there is one upside to my divorce, it’s that because I do miss out on things now, I am much, much more intentional in living and much, much more intentional in my times with my kids.

People talk about FOMO oh so casually and almost make fun of it sometimes. Well for some of us, it’s real. So I make sure, when and where I can control things, I don’t miss out. I don’t want to miss out on anything because of my own doing, because of my own actions. Sure, I will opt out for my mental health so that I can show up better, so that I don’t get so burnt out or sick that I do miss out in the long run but… I won’t set myself up to miss out in the present.

I actively work to set myself up to be as present as I can in the moment. I didn’t used to be so good at it, but now, now I try harder than ever. It’s hard. (Okay Sheil, that is kinda a realllly big understatement lol. You couldn’t find a better word?!) And, it does put a lot of pressure on myself. No doubt. It’s extra hard now that I am actively working to effectively launch a new company. Trying to be the fully present mom I want to be so I “don’t miss a thing” while also trying to launch a company so that I fulfill my needs (which by the way, fuels my heart which helps me be more present) is a lot. It’s a juggling act, one I’m still learning.

This week, the company got dropped. It didn’t feel good. But I didn’t miss out on what mattered with my kids and that felt wonderful. My son and I packed all day yesterday. I was as present as I could be, pushing all my feelings aside to focus on him. Not easy. I’m going to post this and wake him up to see if he wants to go for breakfast, then send him off with his dad with a big hug and smile, and fight like heck to hold back my tears so I send him off with warmth, strength, and my confidence and happiness.

I don’t want to send him off with my baggage, just his. It won’t be easy. But when is parenting ever easy? Thinking of everyone today who is feeling the reality of life being both/and today knowing that we will all, yes all of us, get through these tough both/and moments. We will, we will. I promise. Truly.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you know all too well what I mean about missing out, divorced or not.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

How Tuning Into My Teen’s Needs Led to the Conversation I’d Been Waiting For

Posted on by
Reply

It happened…but it almost didn’t, because of me. I’m so glad I woke up and tuned into my teenager’s needs. Last night, I had a forty minute adult conversation with my teenager. Like a legit, adult to adult chat about important things. Really, really important things. I’ve been waiting for this exact conversation to happen for a couple of years.

And it was great and wonderful and all the things I’ve dreamed it to be. The questions he asked were thoughtful. The statements made were insightful, beyond insightful. The conclusions were spot on.

And then…and then… I started nodding off 🙁 ARGH! I so wanted to stay awake. To keep my son talking, to keep the conversation that I had longed for, going. But I couldn’t stay awake. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I was exhausted. (And you know because of course it was past 9:00!)

But you know what? I still savored every word my teenager said. Especially the, “hey mom, you look really tired. I think you need to go to bed. We can talk more tomorrow. You need to sleep. I love you.” And with that, just as suddenly as the conversation started, it ended.

But the conversation almost didn’t start…because I was so exhausted. He had come into my office where I was seeking quiet. He chitter-chattered away and I reactively replied, “hey buddy, I just need a minute. I just got back from back to school night and I’ve 

been up since 5 and had a loooong day.” Not going to lie, I was hoping he would take the hint. I didn’t have it in me to actively listen.

I was more than physically tired. I was emotionally tired. It had been a day. It’s been a couple of weeks. I’m so glad he didn’t take my hint though. He kept chatting.

So I took his hint that I had missed. He wanted to connect. No, he needed to connect. I got up and said, “Let’s go talk in the family room.” The rest 

is history. Last night was the beginning of a new chapter for my son and me. It was the beginning of a new chapter for him.

And it almost didn’t happen. You know what made it happen? The Orange Rhino Challenge and The Orange Rhino 2.0

The Orange Rhino Challenge taught me to yell less which helped me become responsive instead of reactive. Without it, I totally would have been snappy at him when he wouldn’t stop talking and he might have shut down and said, “You know what, forget it” and walked away. 98% chance of that. The Orange Rhino 2.0 (that’s the season I’m in now, don’t have a new name yet) is reminding me to create and live a brighter, lighter life so that I have the energy to remain responsive even as I face life’s daily challenges.

I’m more grateful than ever for The Orange Rhino this morning. The little logo that could;) I’m so glad it stayed with me all these years and encouraged me to keep going, to be warm, to remain chill. Seriously. And I’m so grateful you all have stayed with me and given me a place to write, to be, to think, to grow. Last night also happened because of the community you offer. THANK YOU. Just thank you. Last night was a gift that happened because of The Orange Rhino.

Call it cheesy, call it whatever. I call it amazing.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, and especially if you are holding onto hope for the day you have that “one” conversation with someone dear to you, that one where they finally get it. I hope it happens soon.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Mother’s Day Can Be Complicated: Making Room for Joy, Grief and Everything Else

Posted on by
Reply

It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow, a day intended to be filled with joy, celebration, acknowledgement, rest and more. But in reality, it’s a day that for many is a day filled with sadness, loss, grief, disappointment, exhaustion and more. This post is dedicated to all the women who, like me, are feeling ambivalent about tomorrow. I see you, I feel your discomfort, your sadness, and I would do anything to make tomorrow a little brighter for you.

Truly. Since I can’t physically send you all flowers and cards telling you how special you are, know that I’m thinking of you and you’re not alone in these feelings. * I’m a single mom to four boys, teenage boys to boot. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when I was married and my son’s dad worked with my kiddos to ensure the day was special and I was acknowledged for all my hard work as a mom. I will not receive a card that says, “Thank you and the boys are lucky to have you as their mom.” The loss of the appreciation will be felt deeply.

Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my kids were toddlers and made cute hand printed gifts and took naps during the day so I too could rest. The loss of thoughtful, unrushed gifts will be felt. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my kids were in elementary school, and I was newly divorced, but the teachers helped the kids to make cards, ensuring that I was thought of on that first Mother’s Day as a single mom.

The loss of carefully written cards with caring messages will be felt. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my boys were just pre-teens and had less intense bickering matches because well, they weren’t fully teenagers yet and hormones and stress hadn’t fully entered the house. The loss of more family time together, laughing, will be felt. And Mother’s Day will absolutely, positively, 110% not look or feel like I imagined it before I ever even became a mom.

The loss of that dream will be felt. Life is different today. My dreams of what my life would look like as a mom, how it would feel, how I would be supported, are entirely, 110% different. On many days I have come to terms with that. And on many days, it still hurts. Mother’s Day is confusing for so many. It isn’t just a cheerful, “I love you” holiday. It’s also a cheerful and “I lost…” and “I long for…” holiday.

I lost my mother.

I lost a child.

I lost a relationship with my mother.

I lost my spouse, the one who helped make me a mother.

I lost a partner, and now I help my kids celebrate me because I am alone.

I long to be a mother.

I long for more children.

I long to actually be appreciated as a mother.

I long to find motherhood less overwhelming. 

I long to have a day off, an hour off, a mere break.

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓’𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆.

It’s a tough day. It isn’t all flowers and brunches and cards and family dinners. There are also tears and quiet wishes for things to be different and reflective moments and feelings of loneliness and “is it Monday yet, but wait, this moment is special too.” Many of us, myself included, will go through the day, smiling then wiping away tears. Smiling some more, laughing even, then wiping away tears. Mother’s Day will be long and exhausting for me, and perhaps for you too.

I will be thinking of you tomorrow and all the moms and women whose hearts are full, but also are hurting, healing, and hoping for things to get better.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When a Teen Health Scare Changes the Way You See Everything

Posted on by
Reply

I experienced the most beautiful thing Friday afternoon with my son. Two weeks earlier, I had experienced a most scary moment with him. This son eats, breathes, lives for volleyball, plays year round. He was on the court for the first game of the high school season. I turned to his younger brother, who is just getting into the game, and said, “Something doesn’t look right. Your brother looks gray. He looks out of it. He must not have slept well.”

Just then, the ball headed to him. He positioned his body to hit it. Now, he has done this loads of times in the same gym, same lighting conditions. Folks, he completely whiffed. Not a little, but a heck of a lot.

And it wasn’t just an oops, “I misjudged and had a bad swing.” It was a, “what just happened to me” kind of miss. Afterwards, he blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes. He looked up to the stands, scanning the crowd for me. Once he spotted me, he started motioning to me, pointing to his eyes, mouthing something to me which I of course couldn’t understand seeing as I was far away from him but I loved that he was trying to communicate with me 🙂 I was so grateful to be there, to have witnessed that event.

It was unsettling to say the least. But I was glad to be able to see it with my own eyes. The game continued. He did not play well. He was completely off. Something clearly was bothering his eyes, his head. The game ended and he rushed over to me.

“Mom, mom. I need to go to a doctor. I feel like I am going to pass out. I can’t stand the bright lights. My head hurts.” Indeed, his eyes were completely dilated. Of course he couldn’t stand the lights.

“What happened on the court?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I lost track of the ball. Everything went blurry. I couldn’t see it. It’s like what happened right before spring vacation.” I’ve had vision problems for years and ended up at a neuro-ophthalmologist in NYC to help me out. It’s unsettling when everything goes blurry and it hurts like heck under bright lights.

I took him to the pediatrician the next day and he cleared him of the major stuff (no concussion, no medications, anxiety attack, etc…) and agreed with the eye specialist I had set for Thursday…and neurologist for potential ocular migraines like me, or more.

It was a miracle that we got an eye appointment within two days. This doctor is normally at least six months but my son’s symptoms were deemed emergency.

Now, he always had an ever so slight nearsighted diagnosis, but not worthy of glasses or cause of symptoms. Turns out, it changed.

But barely…just enough for glasses…but not the cause of the symptoms. “Get glasses, but also get to a neurologist,” the eye doctor said to us. Swell, I thought. Another appointment to fight for.

So good news, but not total relief news. But good enough news. Because it’s what brings me to the most beautiful part of the story. Friday I took my son to pick up his glasses. I wish I had video. You know those videos of babies hearing for the first time? Or seeing for the first time? Where you just can’t help but cry?

Okay, imagine a teenager who doesn’t smile a lot. Now, put glasses on him for the first time in his life. Then, add the biggest, shite eating grin ever. And leave it on there for at least an hour. Or longer.

“MOM! OMG! Everything is so clear! The colors are so bright! OMG! OMG! I can see so well!” He. Couldn’t. Stop. Smiling. It was so incredibly beautiful. The optometrist was smiling. I was crying (discreetly of course, because you know, with teens in public lol.) Another mom was smiling, telling me when her daughter got her pair of glasses.

It was beautiful beyond words. Beyond words. I’m tearing up now thinking about it. I love this kid and how much he appreciates the beauty in the world. While the glasses don’t provide a total explanation of his symptoms, they do provide a little relief from the total stress of the situation. They do provide some clarity, some peace and for that I am grateful. For me, for him. It’s been just a few days with his glasses and my son is still smiling EVEN THOUGH he doesn’t love how he looks.

I mean, he’s a teenager with a little acne and now with glasses. BUT he can see the world in a better light and that is making everything a little bit better. How’s that for inspiring? We don’t always have to be 100% positive. Nope. But how about just see things in a little bit better of a light so that we can handle things, so that we can endure the hard things – the long waits for answers, the getting through tough challenges, the exhausting new parenting seasons – just a little bit better? Not ignore the hard things, not, not talk about them. Just adjust our mindsets, our views, our actions so that we can handle the hard stuff a little bit easier.

It just feels so much better to feel BOTH. The hard stuff and then add in some good stuff too. Like seeing the beauty in life a little more clearly. The sun is shining here again today. Gosh, I’m grateful. It’s cheesy as all get out. I know.

But I’m going to absorb all the happiness of seeing and feeling the sunshine I can get today. I need it to help me get through this week. What beauty can you fully absorb today? What do you find utterly beautiful? Or what do you create that’s beautiful?

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino