I was so nieve when I decided to become a mother.  While I knew some parts of our lives would drastically change (no more weeknight concerts and Red Sox games), I truly believed that my friends would not change.  No matter how many times Mike tried to tell me that we would be left behind, I wanted to believe that our child would be a welcome addition to my childless social circle.  When some of my closest friends did not come to meet Liam until over two weeks after we were home with him, my defenses turned up.

In hindsight, I can honestly say that the first six months after Liam was born were the hardest I’ve ever experienced.  When Liam was a month old, my mom got really sick.  We flew down to Florida to see her, knowing it was probably the last time we would see her.  Three weeks later, we drove to Maine for Mike’s grandmother’s funeral.  We returned home to find two feet of water in our basement due to the great 2010 floods.  Two months later, my mom passed away.  While all of this was happening, I was trying to keep a tiny human alive.  A tiny, crying, colicky, chronically ear infectioned human.

During all of this turmoil, I was home with Liam, lucky enough to have seven months home with him before returning to work.  The days were long and lonely.  Facebook didn’t help.  It reminded me of all the things my friends were doing without me, things I wasn’t included in or invited to.  They joined Weight Watchers together, walked local parks, went blueberry picking, out to dinner, and attended concerts.  The only reason I knew about these events was Facebook.  After months of crying to Mike every time I checked social media, I deleted Facebook.  It was freeing, but also further isolating.

Months went by.  Liam was much easier and mobile.  I joined a mom’s group, hoping to get Liam socialized.  As I walked into the playgroup building for the first time, I panicked, realizing I also needed to be social.  We continued to attend events.  Sometimes I was side-eyed for giving Liam non-organic snacks.  Other times, I was the one doing the side-eying.  I joked with Mike that making mom friends was like dating all over again.

Eventually, I made amazing mom friends!  They are the most important people I know.  We vent when needed and help each other out.  We text silly things and keep group chats going on messenger.  (Who else really understands your excitement about going to the bathroom or Target by yourself?) We plan time to get together a week in advance rather than on the fly, knowing time is precious.  We grill and hang out at each other’s house, hosting barbeques that start at 4:30 instead of 7:30.  For someone who spent the first two years of Liam’s life feeling incredibly lonely, mom friends are priceless.  I have my yoga crew, my local mom friends, a few older friends who later had kids.

My life has changed much more than just passing on weeknight events.  We consider sleeping in sleeping past 7:30.  We’re proud of ourselves if we can stay up until 10 on a Friday night, remembering when we would just be going out at 10 on a Friday night.

As I think about the people I assumed would be a part of my life now, I can say I am glad I was ditched.  While it was excruciating at the time, it forced me to venture out and make new friends.  I wouldn’t trade my friends for anything.  I don’t think there is any animosity among old friends.  Sometimes, we go years without seeing each other and we try to pretend we’re friends when we run into each other.  Too much time has gone by to pretend that we will ever again be great friends.  I’m thankful for friends who make me think, who challenge me in yoga and running, and who understand the importance of each other.

Four weeks ago, we made the difficult decision to put down our five and a half year old lab.  He had been fighting medical issues for nine months.  Every time we thought he was on the mend, a new ailment appeared.  Our amazing vets determined that Outtie had autoimmune issues.  He was taking seven pills daily to feel no more than “okay sometimes.”  His joints ached, making him unable to comfortably stand up and walk around until after his anti-inflammatory pills kicked in two or so hours after he took them.  Being the best, sweetest lab ever, Outtie tried to put on a happy face for us.  When he stopped eating and refused to take his medicine, even when covered in peanut butter, my husband and I knew that it was time.

 

Having both grown up with dogs, we know the pain that accompanies losing a family pet and the unfair reality that we never get enough time with our faithful companions. This is our second dog as a couple. We lost our first dog at the age of fourteen; he had a long and love-filled life.  Our then three-year-old son was sad but bounced back much quicker than his parents.  (In his defense, Jakey was pretty laid back and didn’t play much by the time Liam came around, reminding us of a thirteen-pound guinea pig.) Losing Outtie hit us in all the feels. We sobbed when we made the decision and broke the news to Liam. We sobbed together at the vet.  We sobbed on the way home and most of that evening.  We teared up and cried daily as we adapted to our new, dog free home.  Liam begged us for another dog to fill the void.  We are still too hurt to think about replacing our buddy.

 

 

Outtie was the dog we will use to compare any future dog.  He was loyal, friendly, and full of energy.  When he was well, he would chase a thrown toy until your arm tired.  He had a special place in his heart for each of us.  He and I went for long walks, hikes, and runs.  I talked to him the entire time, not caring how silly I looked to people passing by a grown woman having a full on conversation with her lab.  He followed me around the house while I did household chores, listening to me the entire time. For Liam, he taught the unwavering love of a dog. He played with Liam, listened to him practice reading, and played tug. As for my husband, it was clear that, while Outtie loved all of us, he was Mike’s dog.  I often joked that I would never love Mike the way Outtie did.  (Partially because I will never wait for Mike outside of the bathroom.)  A month after his loss, we still have tear-filled moments of grief. (I’m crying as I write this.)

 

 

Anyone who knows me knows of my love/hate relationship with Facebook.  I’ve deactivated on a few occasions.  As I get older, I’ve learned not to take Facebook personally and to use the Unfollow and Unfriend buttons as my mental health requires.  I use Facebook to post pictures of my son and our adventures.  I use it to keep a hilarious group message going with my yoga girls and to participate in a few running groups.  I make a conscious effort to keep my interactions there positive.  I did not post of my mother’s death on Facebook, choosing to call the people who needed to know and sending an email containing her funeral arrangements.  A few people contacted me after reading her obituary. in the paper.  Obviously, I didn’t post anything about losing Outtie.  It was too raw and painful.  I wasn’t ready to share my pain with 300 of my closest friends and acquaintances.  As the weeks go by, I find myself having to explain what happened to people.  We walked Outtie twice a day; we’ve had to explain to our neighbors why they haven’t seen us out and about.  When we have friends over, we have to explain what happened.  Each time, I tear up as I explain how hard it was to watch him suffer and that we know our difficult decision was for the best.  Every conversation includes a comment that they didn’t know and didn’t see it on Facebook.  I have to explain that publicly sharing grief just doesn’t feel right for me, not that there’s anything wrong with it.   When friends post about deaths of family members,  I’ve been thankful to be in the know, sending cards and stopping by wakes when local.

 

 

After sharing news of Outtie’s death three times this past week, we’ve wondered if it would have just been easier to post it on Facebook, “like” a bunch of condolence comments, and continue healing.  Would it have been easier for people to share a quick, “I’m sorry, how’re you holding up?” when we see them rather than having to explain where the dog is and trying not to cry.  As the weeks go by, we’ve donated his LL Bean bed, food, and supplies.  I sweep up less and less of his hair each time I sweep.  I teared up each time I dumped piles of fur in the trash.  Now, I get upset when there isn’t much fur.  As time goes by, I wonder if I should have relied on Facebook for more than updates about where the local food trucks will be parked throughout the week.  I wonder why I refuse to rely on social media as a place to share grief. Maybe there are still social interactions that I believe should be face to face.  However, this experience with losing our beloved family pet is making me think that sharing pain and loss on social media may become a new part of our healing process.

Getting my classroom ready for the new year is one of Liam’s favorite activities.  He loves coming to my school and helping me get ready for “my kids.”  Yesterday was our big setup.  Every year, I add to my classroom.  The couch is new this year. To say I love my classroom is an understatement.  Being blessed with a huge space, I am determined to fill it up and make up warm and inviting as well as conducive to learning.

This left Liam and me with one day to ourselves.  Friday is our annual trip to the Boston Museum of Science that we take after my husband gets out of work.  Today was our last day with just the two of us.  I must’ve asked him five times to decide what he wanted to do, expecting requests visit the beach, zoo, or other fun activity.  Instead, he asked to go to the library and finish up their summer reading program.

“What else do you want to do?”

“Uh, go to The Nook?  It’s my favorite morning place.”

“Anything else?”

“Can we ride our bikes to the beach?”

And there was our plan for his perfect last day with his mama.

And it was a perfect day.  We both earned our last prizes from the library’s summer reading program.  We walked through Main St and stopped at Liam’s favorite coffee shop.  I even bought him one of their shirts.  We rode our bikes to a little public access beach less than a mile from our house.  Seriously, how lucky are we to have a small, undiscovered beach so close to us?  We dug holes and played with hermit crabs and snails.  On the way home, we stopped at a convenience store to buy an ice cream sandwich, which we shared at a park across the street.

 

 

 

 

Often, I finish summer wondering if I’ve done enough with him.  Did we read enough?  Did I find enough ways to make him use his mind?  Did I play with him enough?  Did we visit enough playgrounds?  Did I surf on my phone too much? Did I use the reciprocal benefits of our Museum of Science membership enough? Days like today remind me that this is not what summer is about to Liam.  My kid is happy drinking juice and sharing a muffin with me at a coffee shop.  He is happiest when I get in our small, inflatable pool and splash with him.  I hope that Liam grows into an adult who is still happy with such simple pleasures.  I hope that he is happy going for walks and simply being with people he loves.  While I hope he remembers our bigger day trips and adventures, knowing that he seeks out simple times with me and my husband lets me know that we are doing something right.

 

When I was twelve, I had the most amazing English teacher.  He was funny.  He kept his college ID on the wall to remind us that he used to be young.  He got to know each of his students.  He incorporated independent reading and writer’s workshops into his grammar lessons.  And the grammar lessons!  He wrote a book titled Mr. Ecc’s Guide to Pretty Good Grammer.  The lessons in it included our names in the sentences!  He made seventh graders love grammar work! Because he knew I loved the Baby-Sitter’s Club and Sweet Valley Twins, he recommended the Little House books, which I would have otherwise overlooked.  When I entered his class, I knew that I wanted to be an English teacher when I grew up.  How lucky am to not only know at a young age what I wanted to do with my life, I actually made it happen?

I honestly love the being a teacher.  The fact that I spend my days reading and writing is better than anything I can imagine!  When my son was born, I also learned to love having time off with him.  It’s the best of both worlds; I get a rewarding career that I genuinely love and I get two months home with my son.

I can honestly say that this has been my favorite summer with Liam.  He and I have great conversations.  We joke, sing, and make up games on the fly.  We go for walks and engage in great talks.  He is so good at starting and maintaining conversations.  Traveling with him is so much easier than it was a few years ago.  When he asked to go to a local amusement park, I was able to put my phone, cash, and keys in my pockets and go.  We have gone on all sorts of adventures: a week at the beach house, camping trips, hikes, s’mores on the fire, visiting local landmarks.  As a reward for reading, the local library gave him a book of passes to local attractions.  Our goal is to use them all.  Here are a few of our favorite trips using library passes:

Audubon Society

The Breakers

Save the Bay Aquarium

The last week of summer is always bittersweet.  My first projects are planned.  The icebreakers and first-week activities are ready to go.  I am excited to go in this week and set up my classroom.  I love the idea of new beginnings and a new year!  It also means the end of lazy days in the backyard and adventures.  I keep reminding myself how lucky I am to have this time with Liam.

My plan for this week is to jam as many activities as possible.  I will spend a day at school setting up.  (Liam LOVES setting up my classroom with me!)  We haven’t made it to the Boston Museum of Science, so we will do that Friday with Mike.  I am excited for one last beach day, a few playground visits, and some end of summer adventures.  He and I are both excited to start the new year.