Pushing Through

This mom gig is not for the faint of heart. With two kids a year and a half apart, the early years are a bit of a blur. I had two babies in diapers at the same time, two babies who didn't sleep through the night at the same time, two toddlers who desperately needed daily naps they refused to take at the same time. I felt like I didn't sit down or have an uninterrupted night's rest for about five years. Of course, there were a lot of touching moments, too. I vividly remember the first time my oldest daughter, unprompted, told me she loved me. The first time my little one dragged herself all the way across the carpet, sliding out of her pants in the process, to ask me for a hug with open arms, clenching and unclenching fists, and baby grunts. It's an overwhelming feeling of being chosen to be both someone's one true love and their lifelong servant at the same time.

My first born turned ten recently, and her sister is now eight, so the baby days are long behind us. These days they are smart, passionate, driven academic stars. They are also goofball performers who don silly outfits and make videos of plays they act out in the living room. They are athletes, they are readers, they are selfless champions of their friends. They are everything I ever hoped they would be, and more than I ever imagined they could be. And they are wise and fearless in ways that push me to follow in the unique paths that they are now blazing on their own.

My oldest daughter has been in recreational (not competitive) gymnastics for years. She was invited to join the competitive pre-team class repeatedly. She said no, over and over, because, perfectionist that she is, she didn't want the added pressure. I backed her up on this. She holds herself to such a high standard that I've never once scolded her for not taking something seriously enough. Instead, our daily mantra was this very simple exchange. "What is your number one job?" I'd ask her. "To have fun!" she'd say, usually while rolling her eyes. Because it was hard for her to let up the pressure, to relax and enjoy the messiness of life, to laugh at her mistakes. But over summer, when she was asked again to move to pre-team gymnastics, she agreed to try it out. And she loved it. More time doing gymnastics meant mastering more skills and making more friends. But it came at the cost of her down time. In seven months she's moved up two levels, and quadrupled the amount of time she spends at the gym. It's been hard. She's got some brutal days where she's on the go from dawn to dusk without a single moment to stop and rest. I could see it wearing her down this week, when she had a fever that flattened her on Monday, fought through illness for an eleven hour day Tuesday, with the added load of make-up school work from her absence, and rallied for another eleven hour day on Thursday. She pushed through the entire exhausting, busy week on fumes. It was hard for the protective mom in me to watch. I told her that if it's just too hard, she doesn't have to stick with gymnastics. "Remember, your number one job is having fun!" I reminded her. She nodded, dark circles under her puffy eyes, soldiering on through a single sheet of Common Core math where the simplest division problem requires hundreds of steps and pages of graphics, and said, "I'm not going to quit. I want this." And it awed me, this grit of hers.

I will never regret the years of endless diapers, sleepless nights, toddler battles. They were the foundation for this, the privilege of now getting to watch these two amazing souls on their paths to being the kind of strong, fierce, silly and joyful women I myself aspire to be. I'm fantastic at not quitting. I'm better at that than at remembering to have fun. I've been the perfectionist who shunned challenges I wasn't certain I could beat. Of course. The mantra wasn't just for her. It never is, is it?

On Wednesday, halfway through the most brutal week she's had in months, I stood and watched my girl, my bright shining star of perfection, make up a silly song and dance number with her sister and friend. She staged this show on the lawn outside gymnastics, singing at top volume, spinning around with tons of people passing by and taking in the display. Because, you see, her number one job is having fun. The fact that she can do this, find this unbridled joy while running on empty, pushing herself so hard she can barely keep her eyes open after dinner, is my best example yet of my own potential. She's leading the way now. And I'm honored to follow her.

The Single-Mom Author: A Balancing Act

I’ve been a single mother for three years now. I had to get over the fear of being a single mom before I could settle in and enjoy it. I had the skill set down: my ex-husband traveled extensively for work while we were married, so I was flying solo with my kids much of the time. But after we separated, giving up the notion of a backup partner, even one on a different continent for weeks at a stretch, took some getting used to. After surviving the single mom initiation of late-night ER visits and broken-down cars and financial tight spots on my own, I learned to embrace the role, and now I know that my merry little trio is the best family I could have imagined.

My amazing daughters, aged 7 and 9, are bright and lively girls who keep me busy. They are my nonstop job, my constant companions, and what keeps me going every day no matter what. And best of all, they have been by my side as I finally made that great leap from being an editor who wrote on the side to an author who used to work as an editor: passing through my office to ask for a snack or help with homework as I worked on my novel, celebrating with me when I got my agent (then asking what an agent is/does), and after I got a book deal with a major publisher, we headed to Hawaii together to celebrate. They know that the inspiration for my novel was their amazing Uncle Mike, who they never got a chance to meet, and who had Asperger’s Syndrome. And they know that there are swear words in my novel that they aren’t supposed to repeat out loud.

My girls are avid readers, so they know a thing or two about books. They have opinions on chapter titles, points of view, and character development. They are expert typo finders. When my publisher sent me an abundantly colorful cover mock-up, my 7-year-old took one look at it and said “That looks like a little kid’s book.” My agent and editor agreed, and the blocks of pink, purple, red, and orange were gone from the next version.

Motherhood, single or not, carries its own challenges. It can be all-consuming, never-ending, and cause serious sleep deprivation. The writing life can be isolating and quiet, with hours spent in your own head and before a blank page or screen, waiting for that perfect string of words to come. Combining motherhood and authorhood can be a lot to juggle. For the past year I’ve been learning how to balance the two, and I’m still figuring it out.

There are limitations. I can’t just head to every writer’s conference that interests me. Before even considering it I need to find a sitter who can handle the morning school prep, homework and school project duty, and getting my girls to their gymnastics class and horseback riding lessons. I enviously look at listings for week-long writing retreats and think, someday, after my girls are on their own, I’ll do that for myself. When we were planning the release date for my debut novel, my agent had my publisher push it back from spring to summer, because it was easier on me to schedule events while my girls are out of school.

My debut novel, The Art of Adapting, comes out in 8 weeks. I’m scheduling book signings with my publicist at Simon & Schuster with an eye on the calendar, considering everything from my children’s swim lessons, to their bedtime, to my own conflicts. The juggling never stops. I am constantly pulled in two directions. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Because when the galleys for The Art of Adapting arrived, and my daughters sat down on the floor to flip through the hundreds of pages of my words, when they looked up smiling with understanding that all of that time I had spent in front of my laptop was for this, when they turned to the dedication page and their faces lit up, surprised to see their own names there, I knew I had struck the perfect balance.

I am a proud single mother. And I am honored to call myself an author. And I am grateful to be able to teach my daughters by example that life is what you make it. Challenges will come. Heartache will happen. But in the face of hardship, you must keep dreaming and working and striving and loving. And one day, in the midst of all that struggle, you will have a moment, maybe when you see the wonder in your own child’s eyes, when you realize that you have everything you ever dreamed of. And it’s just the beginning.



This post originally appeared as a featured blog post on She Writes.