Sheila Quirke

October 17, 2013

When Mom is a Mom Blogger

I have three kids. One is a newborn my husband and I adopted last month, one is a four year old who is brilliant and sweet (of course), and one is dead, the victim of an aggressive brain tumor at four years old. That’s my family in a nutshell. To me, these children are the most precious creatures that exist on this earth, probably a lot like yours are to you. I treasure them and wonder how I got so lucky in this life to be surrounded by such love and joy. I am blessed. Truly.

The child I write the most about is my beautiful daughter, Donna. Anyone who reads Mary Tyler Mom knows of my girl, as she is a central figure in both my life and my writing. She guides me through my days, reminding me to choose patience, choose joy, choose hope. These are lessons I need each and every day and my dear Donna is my constant teacher. I am grateful to have been her Mom and miss her utterly, completely, thoroughly.

My four year old is only referred to as Mary Tyler Son in my posts. He is a bright, beaming, curious, funny, smart boy. He is every inch four years old, which means he can be challenging at times, aggressive at times, endearing at times, playful most all of the time, and so, so beautiful. This boy saved me after Donna’s death. Rather than run down the rabbit hole, he reminded me, every day, with his ten month old self, that I was still a mother of a child that needed me desperately. He deserved no less than I gave Donna, which was all of me, everything. Mothering him pulled me through the thick of my early grief. Mary Tyler Son will always be my light.

And now, through adoption, we have been chosen to parent again. I honest to God can think of nothing more sacred than asking another human being to care for and love and raise your child. Think about that and just let it marinate a moment. We honor our selection, being chosen, and this beautiful boy by parenting him, just as we did Donna, and just as we do Mary Tyler Son. We are all in. All in. Mary Tyler Baby is what I will call him here and you will come to know him through my words. I don’t know much so far about Mary Tyler Baby, other than he fills me up, makes me smile, blesses me every day, and needs me to love and care for him. I am his Mom. That’s heady stuff.

That’s how parenting works, yo.

Right now my kids are of an age or a circumstance where they don’t give a fig about me being a mom blogger. Mary Tyler Son is intrigued by it and knows that when I am sitting in front of the computer screen I am blogging or Facebooking, which these days, is almost an extension of blogging. He calls me a writer and that’s just about the coolest thing I could imagine. Sometimes, he wants me to post about him, “Tell your blogging friends X, Y and Z,” he will demand of me. What can I say, it charms me.

There are strangers around the world who are charmed by Mary Tyler Son because of what I share in my blog and Facebook page. And I gots to say, it’s a great feeling when others find your kid charming, right? It happens in your life, too, even if you’re not a mom blogger.

What’s not so cool are some of the other things that happen when you’re a mom blogger.

Sometimes, when I write about the more challenging behaviors of Mary Tyler Son, strangers call him a brat or “full of himself.” Who in the hell says that about a four year old boy? Strangers tell me what I am doing wrong and that my poor parenting choices will absolutely result in raising a future law breaker, jail bird, loser. Oh! And how could I forget the woman who damned poor Mary Tyler Son’s soul to eternal hell and the gratitude she expressed at having children whose soul’s were not black like his. Sheesh. Fire and brimstone ain’t my thing.
Some folks don’t understand why I still write about Donna four years after her death. She has been called worm food and I have been told to “get a new angle,” as the Donna angle was “wearing thin.”
Earlier this year when something I wrote about adoption was featured on the Huffington Post, I was on the receiving end of two weeks of strangers lashing out at me, consistently and repeatedly, in the comment section from hell. I was called a baby thief, rich white bitch, narcissist, entitled, opportunistic, manipulative, and a few other choice words. I’m not gonna lie to you. That episode really ran a number on me and contributed to a depressive episode that made me question our wish to adopt.
A couple of years ago I posted a photo of Mary Tyler Son on Facebook that involved a parenting mistake I had made at the end of a stressful week. I captioned it with the words, “Worst Mother Ever.” A rabid pack of fellow mothers saw that and rather than acknowledge, yeah, that Mary Tyler Mom made a mistake, they wished for my son’s death. They then described the death they wished for in great detail, in hopes that I would learn a lesson. After that didn’t get a rise out of them, the image of my son was stolen, copied, and several Facebook pages were started with him being the poster boy/profile shot of new pages focused on what a bad mother I was.

So being the child of a mom blogger is not all it’s cracked up to be, you see. That is why I protect my kids. That is why I don’t post photos of my living children with their faces exposed. That is why I don’t use the names of my living children openly attached to my blog.

They didn’t ask me to be a mom blogger, to have their exploits, both good and bad, publicized for all the world to see. It’s not my place to call them names or endlessly complain about how they are ruining my life. Other mom bloggers do that and it’s super cool for them, but it just isn’t my cup of tea. And that is okay, cause you like what you like and there’s all sorts of fish in this mom blogger sea.

If you don’t care for what I’m doing, like the Facebook commenter this week who asked what the benefit of my page was if I only show my baby’s feet and don’t even give his name out, well then, it is easy as pie to hit the “unlike” button and go about your day. There are literally thousands of other mom bloggers who will fill up your news feeds with adorable photos of faces instead of feet. I promise, I won’t mind in the least. Most likely, I won’t even notice you left. That sounds harsh, but honest to God, I am sleep deprived these days and don’t drink coffee. I don’t keep up with the numbers like I used to.

For those of you who do stick around, who don’t mind a parade of baby toes in your news feeds, or a series of hilarious and wacky questions from the back seat that Mary Tyler Son asks on an almost daily basis, well hells bells, I am so happy to know you! You make my life richer in a thousand different ways that are hard to convey. I so appreciate your company and your respect and your empathy.

This parenting is tough stuff. My husband and I do the best we can. For us, that means no photos and no names of our boys. Other mom bloggers make different choices, which is A-OK! Hey, you can enjoy as many of us as can fit on your feed, and no doubt, that will involve a whole lot of feet and faces.

October 14, 2013

A Depressing Post About the Current State of America

Did you ever have an older relative who used to wax poetic about “the good old days?” You know the one, cause we all have at least one. I so distinctly remember listening to mine when I was in my early 20s. Good God, were those rants depressing, not to mention annoying as hell.

Well, boys and girls, my transformation into that older cranky relative appears to be complete, cause right now, right here, Imma unleash some words about the “good old days” as our country hovers over the cliff of default and remains in partial shutdown.

America, America, God shed his grace on thee

And if you don’t know about things like raising the debt ceiling and why our government is currently shutdown, WHY THE HELL NOT? You should. This is about you, my disinterested friend. That disinterest, that apathy you wear like a badge, is part of the problem. We’ve got some rogue politicians running amok in our capital these days, brandishing machetes and hurtling towards our well being. Do yourself a favor, your kids a favor, your neighbors a favor, and your favorite blogger a favor and spend a few minutes Googling. Start slowly with phrases like, “government shutdown,” and “debt ceiling.” Go ahead, the rest of us will wait for you.

You done yet?

Good.

Something I like to do first thing in the morning is scan the headlines of a few favored news outlets along with my Facebook feed. I’ve got some friends on both sides of the political spectrum, so typically get a fairly broad, albeit biased, selection of headlines. With a newborn now, I have mastered the one hand bottle hold, leaving the second hand free to swipe and scan. It’s not enough, but it keeps me informed.

And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea

This morning, among ever more posts about how stupid conservatives are, and others about how stupid liberals are, I had just about had enough. Enough. I wrote a barbaric yawp and posted it on the Facebook. (Please tell me you know what a barbaric yawp is. If you need to Google again, yes, we’ll wait. That is important information to have, cause you never know when you will need to sound your own barbaric yawp. That shit is therapeutic. You should try it sometime.) Anyway. This morning I sounded my own barbaric yawp and it went a little something like this:

A few words about our government: What happened to the concept of the greater good? When did Americans, left or right, red or blue, stop acknowledging they serve a people and not a party? We call ourselves the greatest country on earth, and yet are acting like we can’t wait to self-mutilate, self-destruct, and implode, wreaking havoc not only on ourselves, but those around the globe who used to look to us as an example, a guiding light, an ideal. It is a damn shame.

What I forgot to write is the line, “We are better than this.” But now I think I didn’t forget to write that line, I simply think it is no longer true. We used to be better than this, but now I’m not so sure.

Confirm they soul in self-control

More and more it feels like we only want to hear what we want to hear. We only tune into media sources that confirm our already solidified sense of the world, namely, we are right and they are wrong (or, conversely, we are left and they are wrong). Doesn’t matter which way you vote, cause that particular sin is absolutely bipartisan. We take glee, glee, in stories or headlines that tout how wrong/awful/horrible the other side is, accepting no responsibility for the issues and problems that our own party brings to the table.

It takes two to tango, you know?

As soon as one side, one party, is absolutely right and the other side is absolutely wrong, there will be no progress. And this whole no progress thing is becoming increasingly dangerous. Not just for the poor or vulnerable who have no voice and are easy to marginalize, but for the middle class, who whether they know it or not are completely dependent on a healthy operating government, and for the corporate class, who may be laughing all the way to the bank right now, but will rue the day that they chose not to trouble themselves with things like health care or retirement benefits for their workers.

O beautiful for patriot dream, that sees beyond the years

Has anyone stopped to consider what happens when huge swaths of people don’t have health care or retirement benefits? It ain’t pretty, folks. But with patience, we’ll find out soon enough, cause that is the direction we are headed.

Greater good, people. We need to put our differences aside for the greater good. We need to take an interest in how a handful of politicians, liberals and conservatives, are hijacking our futures for the chance to say, “We won! The other side cowered under the pressure! We are the champions!”

Truth is, right now, every single American is losing, and come later this week, many more global citizens will be losing, too, all at the hands of a very few fanatics in Washington, D.C., full of pride and self-import, and greed, and hubris.

And if you need to Google hubris, well, I’m not waiting any longer.

Til selfish gain no longer stain the banner of the free

America, America

October 11, 2013

Breast Cancer Awareness: Why I Will Be Wearing a Bra on October 13

There is a meme floating about the Internet these days suggesting a great way to honor women with breast cancer is to opt out of wearing a bra on Sunday, October 13. Just let it all hang out and have fun with it! seems to be the message. Yada, yada, yada. Yeah, no thank you. Call me a stick in the mud, call me a prude, call me cranky, hell, call me a pink party pooper, but I don’t think a great way to support our sisters (and mothers and aunts and daughters and friends and neighbors) with breast cancer is to let our girls go flapping in the breeze. This blogger, a woman coping with breast cancer herself, says it much better than I do.

This is not the bra I will be wearing, but you get the idea.

What is the point of an exercise like this, exactly? To me, it sounds a whole lot like “cancer cute.” Cancer is a lot of things — profound, life changing, brutal, wrenching, exhausting, terrifying. Cancer is not cute. Cell mutation is hella serious. Chemo? Not cute. Radiation is a bitch. And surgery is way too invasive to be cute.

But who am I to talk about breast cancer? I am known as a pediatric cancer advocate and typically stay mum in October. No doubt, some of the month is spent recovering from the fatigue of making folks aware that September gold is the color of childhood cancer, much like pink is the color of breast cancer. Some of the silence can be attributed to my daughter’s death anniversary falling in the same month. And if I am really honest, it’s that breast cancer has simply not impacted my day-to-day the way childhood cancer has.

That feels different now.

The older I get and the broader my circles become through this here Internet, I now know people whose day-to-days have been drastically impacted by breast cancer. And their experiences have nothing to do with pink or touting tatas or cancer cute. It is hard to be light and cute when the reality of words like widower and relapse are your day-to-day.

Truth is, I have the utmost respect for people who have spent time in Cancerville. There is a shorthand, a knowingness, that comes with the territory. If that knowledge originated in your child or your brain or your breasts or your colon, well, the common denominator of cancer seems to be enough of a bond.

And, as a nod to that bond, and a show of love, admiration, and support, I wanted to introduce you to three folks in my life whose knowledge of and relationship with breast cancer runs a hell of a lot deeper than wearing a bra on October 13 will or will not impact. Their efforts on behalf of breast cancer have nothing to do with trivializing it or being “cancer cute.” They have all used their own experiences to reach out to others to educate and inform and empathize. I am so proud of them.

Colleen. The first person I want to introduce you to is my cousin Colleen. Just three months ago, Colleen was diagnosed with breast cancer. She wrote about it recently through a Facebook status update in an attempt to make other women in her circle aware of the importance of early diagnosis, self-examination, and self-care. Here are her words:

I am a 44 year old woman. I found a small hard lump in my left breast. I knew that it wasn’t there the month before, because I did monthly breast exams. As I gathered my composure, I thought about the conversation my Mom and I had before she died 11 years ago. “Col, ANYTIME you notice something different about your body, it is GOD’s way of saying that something is wrong! Don’t ignore it!!!!” So, I took immediate action. I called and made an appointment with my gynecologist. She set me up for a mammogram and I had an appointment within days.

I told my family that I was diagnosed with early stage one breast cancer and I had found the lump through a self -breast examination. It was invasive ductal carcinoma and ductal carcinoma in situ of the left breast.

I go for yearly mammograms and within six months it was brewing in me and I didn’t know it? Within a month a lump appeared? My doctor told me that I was very lucky that I found that lump. She said that within that short amount of time it was already invasive and would have spread to the lymph nodes if it wasn’t for that self-breast exam. I am cancer free. Not many women are lucky enough to say that they had cancer for a MONTH!

I am not out of the woods completely. I still need 6 weeks of radiation five times a week, and may need chemo, but I no longer have cancer. If you remember reading this, and God forbid you find a lump, take immediate action. My heart breaks for all those brave women who are still fighting breast cancer. I am one of the lucky ones. – Colleen

Teppi. Being part of a blogging network has exposed me to so many interesting and diverse people I never would have met otherwise. One of those folks I have been lucky to meet is fellow ChicagoNow blogger, Teppi. We got closer after I wrote Donna’s Cancer Story and Teppi shared her own experience as a breast cancer survivor. I felt her empathy because of our proximity in Cancerville. We both spoke the same language.

Teppi, after ten years being cancer free, was recently diagnosed with a relapse of her breast cancer. She is currently undergoing treatment. After her relapse, Teppi learned that she was positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation, which happens to be the exact same gene mutation that prompted Angelina Jolie to have the double mastectomy surgery she wrote about in a New York Times op ed piece that was met with both support and concern.

As the mother of two beautiful (like total knock out beautiful) daughters in their 20s, Teppi has become a strong voice on behalf of testing for the BRCA gene mutation. She understands that just as she carries the gene, so may her daughters. Using her blog as a platform this month, Teppi has been sharing a series of guest posts each week day in October. It is an extraordinary way of learning more about this tool and how women are integrating the information (knowledge = power) into their choices. You can read the entire series here.

Other women should never have to go through what I have – there needs to be a raising of awareness about the BRCA gene and hereditary breast and ovarian cancer. This knowledge can help save lives. Sharing these women’s stories can do just that. – Teppi

Angelo. I was introduced to Angelo’s work, a photo documentary of his wife Jennifer’s treatment for breast cancer called The Battle We Didn’t Choose, on the Facebook wall of a friend about two years ago. I was immediately taken with not only the quality of Angelo’s art, but its beauty and intensity as well. He does with photos what I try to do with words. Our missions are similar, but the visual impact of seeing Jen captured in all phases of her treatment is powerful and immediate and magnetic.

Jen died in December 2011. Angelo is now a young widower. Such a hard word. He, like Jen, is magnetic. His work is purposeful and important and has helped people impacted by breast cancer across the globe feel seen and understood and less alone. After Jen’s death, Angelo has worked tirelessly to tell the story of her cancer through gallery showings, magazine articles, news interviews, and an active Facebook community known as, My Wife’s Fight With Breast Cancer.

Last month, Angelo had a dream realized with the digital publishing of his book The Battle We Didn’t Choose: My Wife’s Fight with Breast Cancer. It can be purchased through the Apple iTunes store or directly through Angelo’s website in a PDF format. 50% of all profits generated by the book will be donated to The Love You Share, Angelo’s non-profit that works to provide financial assistance for cancer patients. It is a moving and very human tribute to love and marriage and life and bonds that transcend.

So there it is. I will wear my bra on Sunday in honor of Colleen and Teppi and Jen and Angelo and all of you who live a life impacted by breast cancer. I don’t think what you experience is lightened in the least by gimmicks or ploys or pretty pink yogurt lids or electric mixers that corporate America profits from. Cancer is some serious shit. It deserves our respect because of the total command it is capable of in the lives it touches. And I promise that the bra I wear won’t be pink.

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