Author: Sheila Quirke

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Yin, Meet Yang

Tomorrow marks my daughter’s 7th birthday.  I call it her would be/should be birthday.  People correct me, “No, it IS her birthday, it will always be her birthday.”  Factually, sure, yes, that is an accurate statement.  Donna’s date of birth will always be July 20.  Seven years ago right this instant, I was in the midst of 54 hours of labor, at the end of which was Donna.  Beautiful, crying Donna.  We opted out of knowing her gender before delivery, but, yes, I was hoping for a girl, and there she was.  Gorgeous.  Perfect.  Donna.

Donna’s birthday is now complicated.  Very, very complicated.  How do you recognize the birthday of a child who should be 7, would be 7, were she not buried in the ground?  This is a question that is not so easily answered.  We’re still working on it, Mary Tyler Dad and I.  In years past, and there have been only two birthdays without our girl, we’ve taken the day and spent it as a family doing things Donna enjoyed.  The zoo, a museum, a favorite restaurant.  In 2010 I honestly entertained the idea of having a party at Donna’s graveside, inviting close friends and family.  Then I thought about cutting a cake and singing “Happy Birthday” to a gravestone.  Yeah.  Nixed that idea pretty damn quickly.

Cancer can suck it.

Last year we went to Donna’s hospital and dropped off iPads that Donna’s Good Things donated to the Child Life staff.  We went to dinner at a cute shop named Donna’s Cafe Chicago that happened to be just blocks from my Dad’s place.  A baker gifted us the most beautiful cake with black birds on it.  That was nice.  We didn’t sing any songs in celebration, but Mary Tyler Dad and Mary Tyler Son and I sat and talked about Donna and ate a pretty cake. 

Thoughts of Donna are with me every day, throughout the day.  Sometimes they are heavy.  Sometimes they are joyful.  When July rolls around, the thoughts of Donna intensify.  Her birthdays are much more difficult for me than her death anniversary, her “remembery’ as we call it.  The thought of what should be is so much heavier to bear than what was.  What was was Donna’s life.  That is known territory.  What should be is more painful to consider.  So much was lost when Donna died.  Things that we cannot even imagine. 

And in the midst of all of this is life.  Life that needs to be led.  There is our boy, our beautiful boy, who is tending to his own life. 

This afternoon I will leave the office, pick up Mary Tyler Son, and head to a pre-school meet and greet with him.  I will celebrate his growth and all that will start for him in the fall.  His new school is Donna’s old school.  I will walk in that door and I will be ON.  I will smile and make chit chat with other moms and dads and compliment their kids and forget their names instantly.  I will be happy for my boy who will get to capitalize on his encyclopedic knowledge of dinosaurs and mammals.  I will feel the joy of his learning and growing.

But at the same time, I will be grieving.  I will look in the classroom that was Donna’s and remember what she wore on her first day of school.  I will think about how as we walked into the building the first time, she exclaimed, “Wow, it’s a skyscraper!”  I will remember the names of the children in her class and how they are in first and second grades now. 

This happiness and sadness, this darkness and light, that is the yin and yang of life.  It occurs for all of us, but somehow seems especially potent in mine.  As Donna grew in my belly, I cared and grieved for my Mom.  As Mary Tyler Son grew in my belly, I cared and feared for my daughter.  In the intense sadness and sorrow that followed Donna’s death, there was the joy and light that a ten month old Mary Tyler Son brought to us.  It seems that in my darkest moments there is always a light and in my brightest days there is always a shadow.  Yin and yang.

Cancer has brought much wisdom into my life.  Clarity.  I welcome the sadness of my grief just as I do the joy of my happiness.  There are chairs for both at my table.  Mary Tyler Son deserves no less of a mom than Donna had.  A wise Bosnian refugee hairdresser taught me that.  And trust me when I say that Bosnian refugees know something about life.  For me, the yin of my life is grief and loss and the yang of my life is joy and pleasure.  I am grateful for both, but more than that, I am grateful that I am not afraid of either. 

newborn Donna
Happy birthday, girl.  I miss you so. 

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50 Shades of Grey Dresses

My Mother-in-Law doesn’t like me to call her Grandma, understandably, as she is not my Grandma, but for the purposes of this post, the term Grandma is instrumental.  Trust me, Grandma.  (Word to the wise:  Never trust a person who says, “trust me,” as they will steer you wrong every damn time.)

We went shopping together yesterday, Grandma and I.  It was fun.  She took me to a shoe store called “Deals & Steals.”  What’s not to love about a shoe store with that name?  Unfortunately, the vast, vast majority of the deals were not things that I would wish to ever steal.  Turns out, there are regional differences in footwear.  I live in Chicago and will be the first to say that I have some style, but tend toward the basics.  Always have.  I’m practical like that.  But I am not western Massachusetts practical.

Like, I can’t bring myself to wear Teva sandals, Birkenstocks (with socks or without), or anything with a kokopelli on it.  I refuse to spend money only on shoes with rubber soles.  In western Massachusetts, rubber soles are the preferred sole.  Not only are they practical, but they are humane, for the vegans in the crowd.  The vegan crowd is big here.

It’s funny, around religious people I always feel like a heathen, and around the residents of western Massachusetts I feel like a heathen, too, but that looks different here.  A western Mass heathen is a gas guzzling, meat eating, leather wearing, plastic bag carrying nincompoop in high heels.  See? Impractical and inhumane.

But I digress.

So yesterday Grandma and I went shopping together — our second such venture in a week.  We had a grand time.  Truly.  It was fun, I think, for both of us.  Our tastes are different, but we both like to browse.  A win-win.  At the aforementioned Deal & Steals I was trying on a pair of Tevas, remarking on their comfort, bemoaning the sheer ugliness of them, wondering if there was a way to make them better somehow.

Well I look over and Grandma has the cutest pair of red sneakers on I’ve seen in a long while.  Super bright and cheerful sneakers with the elastic toggle laces that I have been looking for, but without the Nike logo.  There they were on her feet, looking all cute and stuff.  I tried on my size.  They were as cute on me as they were on her.  I had a crisis of confidence — what does it mean to wear the same shoes as Grandma? — but I bought them just the same.  Cute and cheap?  Easy choice.

We moved on to a gallery/boutique.  The kind of place where you can dress yourself, your walls, and your dinner table all at once.  I have a history with this place of loving the table decor and hating the clothing.  Too flowy.  Too therapist chic.  Too earnest.  Well Grandma found herself a grey knit dress and went to try it on.  Meh, I thought.  Actually, I didn’t think too much about it at all, as my little urban self was not too interested in therapist chic dresses.

Grandma came out of the dressing room and BAM.  She looked great.  The dress looked great.  No therapist chic here.  No earnest threads in this house.  Just clean, sharp, jersey perfection.  Grandma went glam; she was sexy and she knew it.

So she goes back into the dressing room, with a lilt in her step.  Grandma had that kind of sass you feel when you know you look good.  I meandered over to the rack of grey dresses I had disregarded.  I took a closer look. Bingo!  My size.  Could I?  Should I?  I did.  I carried that grey dress over to the dressing room and over the half wall sweetly asked Grandma, “Um, what do you think about me trying the dress on, too?”  I could feel her smile through the wall.

Well I tried it on.  Thank God for Spanx.  You ladies know just what I mean, don’t you?  Spank makes the impossible possible, the unattainable attainable.  I liked what I saw in the mirror.  Grandma and the sales lady did, too.  And now it was time for some more existential angst.  What does it mean to wear the same clothes as Grandma?  Could my husband tolerate a wife and mom who dressed the same way?  Is that weird?  Creepy? Wrong?  The answer in my head was ‘probably’ on all counts.

The truth is, I am getting older.  I am trending towards knit these days.  Now by no means does that equal me throwing in the fashion towel.  My philosophy is that I will never look as good as I do today — work what you have, ladies.  Enjoy it.  Revel in it.

And just as I am getting older, Grandma is enjoying a bit of a renaissance, I think.  She retired last year.  She redid her kitchen and bath this year.  Her hair is growing longer.  She volunteers every week, putting her talents to good use.  International adventures are being planned.  She is living the life and more power to her.

I think the dress and shoes are symbolic of me and Grandma meeting somewhere in the middle.  I am wrapping my head around aging and she is wrapping her head around living.  We haven’t always been this close and there was a time in the not too distant past that wearing the same clothes would have sent shivers up my back.  But not anymore.  We’re mellowing, the both of us.  And having some fun.  Existential angst be damned.

Dressing Like Grandma

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Guest Post: Discoveries of a New Dad

I am so very happy to introduce this blogger to you. Many thanks for Doyin Richards for sharing his work us.

Baby Over Head

I’ve been a father for 16 months, and it’s mind-boggling how much I’ve learned in such a short timeframe about life, my daughter, and myself. Here’s a Top Ten list that lays it all out from a new dad’s perspective.

Number 10: I’m a happily married man, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve learned that nothing serves as a better chick magnet than a halfway decent looking guy taking a baby out on a walk. Usually my wife and I are together when we take our daughter out, but on the rare occasions that it’s just me and the little one – it becomes quite a social experiment. Women from all walks of life will stop me and say “Awwww! She’s adorable!” or “You’re so cute for taking your daughter out on a walk!” or “Your wife is so lucky to have you!” My wife quips that nobody ever stops her when she takes the baby out. Memo to single men: Offer to borrow a friend’s baby and go to your local mall this weekend – you will return home with digits, trust me. My wife disagrees and says, “Those women probably never saw a black guy take care of a baby before and had no idea how to act. It’s similar to the way a child would react when seeing an exotic animal at the zoo. Get over yourself.” I’ve also learned that nobody is better at checking my ego than my half-Japanese, half-white wife – but I knew that after our first date. Did I mention that we’re happily married? Good…just checking.

Number 9: I’ve learned that having a daughter makes me say a lot of unmanly things. In the past 24 hours I’ve probably said the words, “pumpkin,” “snookums,” “honeybun,” and “love bug” more often than I’ve said them in my entire life before the baby. Not only do I say these things often, but I also say them in a voice that sounds like Pee-Wee Herman moments after getting kicked in the nuts by an NFL Punter. However, when I’m alone with my thoughts, I often fantasize about beating up crackheads, or eating uncooked meat, or wearing Wrangler jeans while playing catch with Brett Favre – or doing anything to feel like a real man again. Is that wrong?

Number 8: I’m kidding in the comment above, because I’ve learned that nothing makes me feel more like a real man than being an attentive and loving father to my daughter. Not a day passes where we don’t laugh together, dance together, and play together. It’s so interesting how such a small human being can bring out the best qualities in someone, because my baby does that for me every day.

Number 7: I’ve learned that babies are so much cooler than adults. They laugh when you do/say something funny, they’ll let you know instantly if you do/say something to piss them off, they aren’t afraid to show affection towards the people they love, they’re the most unintentionally funny people you’ll find (and that’s the best type of funny, if you ask me), they’ll stay up late to drink with you, and they’re comfortable enough to fart and poop around you. I don’t know about you, but it’s hard to find friends who have all of those qualities. You’ll never have to worry if they’re trying to backstab you, use you, or manipulate you (well, sometimes those l’il buggers can be quite manipulative, but you get my point). As adults we’re often preoccupied with impressing strangers and being cool – but babies couldn’t care less if you’re chubby, drive a beat up car, have morning breath, or tell corny jokes. In other words, even though we think we have a ton of faults, babies will remind us that we’re absolutely perfect just the way we are.

Number 6: I remember while at my first corporate job as a knuckleheaded 22-year old college graduate, an older lady (and by “older,” I mean mid-30s) in the cubicle next to me spent her first week back from maternity leave in tears. The whole time I heard her sobbing, I thought to myself that she must nuts. I arrogantly believed that the only time you should cry over your kids is if they’re dead, dying, or kidnapped. Wouldn’t she want to get away from her baby for a few hours and do some “real work” for Pete’s sake?? When we had a discussion a few weeks later, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Just wait until you have a baby. You’ll spend a lot of time in tears when you have to go back to work, trust me.” I chuckled and responded, “All due respect, but there’s no way that I’m going to cry over a kid. I’ll be happy to get back to work.” Fast forward 14 years later, and I was the “older” mid-30s guy heading back to work after paternity leave – and you guessed it – I was a sobbing mess of a man…for two weeks. Even though I hadn’t talked to this woman in years, I looked her up on Facebook and sent her a message that only said, “You were right about the baby thing.” She wrote back an hour later and said, “And I bet you cried for longer than a week, didn’t you?” Damn. To recap, I learned three things here:

  • I was a complete idiot when I was in my 20’s.
  • I’ll cry over my baby when she’s perfectly healthy, and for no other reason than I just miss the hell out of her whenever she’s not around me.
  • Mothers are always right. Always.

Number 5: Now that I have a baby, I’ve learned that there’s hardly any time or energy to partake in the ancillary activities that I used to enjoy. For example, in the past three weeks I’ve turned on my PlayStation as many times as I’ve turned on my wife. And for those of you keeping score at home, that number is zero.

Sleeping Child

Number 4: I’ve learned that whenever I worry that I’m not doing a good enough job as a father, it probably means I’m doing a damn good job.

Number 3: About six months ago, I made sure nobody was around and I took a quick swig of my wife’s breast milk that she left in the fridge. I learned that it tastes like sunshine and happiness topped with melted sugar.

Number 2:  As a sports loving, beer drinking man – I didn’t quite know what to expect when I found out that we were pregnant with a girl. Now that she’s here, I’ve learned that raising a daughter is unbelievably awesome. I had no clue that I’d have so much fun dressing my daughter up in Hello Kitty gear, doing her hair, watching Dora the Explorer, and playing Patty Cake together. (must…fight…urge…to…beat up…crackheads)

Number 1: I’ve learned that a different type of love exists. I love my wife to death, and I love my family and friends, but the love I have for my baby girl is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s what I call “LCL” (life-changing love). For example, LCL is what prevents me from succumbing to the cravings for a Burger King double cheeseburger because I’m afraid I could stroke out before she enters high school. LCL is what makes me not stress the small stuff – because at the end of the day, my daughter’s health, safety, and happiness are all that really matters. LCL is what has transformed me into a happier, kinder, and more selfless man than I ever was before. Words cannot describe how thankful I am for that.

In closing, I’m not sure what else I’ll learn as I dive deeper into parenthood; however, a lot of parents tell me, “Just wait. You’ll learn to love your daughter even more than you do now once she gets older.” I always say, “All due respect, but there’s no way that I can love my daughter any more than I do right now.”

Somewhere there’s a mother in a cubicle laughing…

 

Doyin Richards shares his unique and hilarious adventures as loving new dad on his blog on Twitter at @daddydoinwork, and Facebook.