Why I love being tall

Dear Autumn,

At five, I witnessed how my friends never called me cute because I was already four feet tall. Teachers and children don't define cute as the tallest girl in the classroom. In all childhood games with other little girls, I was never “the baby.” Babies got piggy-back rides and were carried. No one was interested in carrying me. In EVERY class pictures, I stood in the back row next to the teacher. You could never see my pretty skirt and shiny Mary-Jane shoes. By eleven, I was five foot six inches tall. I never wore a training bra and wore a starter-B cup bra. By thirteen, I was five foot ten inches tall.

Assumptions abound about tall people: Tall people don't know everything but almost everyone else thinks they do from the ages of 4-15. This assumption fades once everyone is in the throes of puberty and self-importance overrides all other beliefs. Hold on, my sweet-sweet girl, you are only eight, so there is plenty of time for people to assume all kinds of things about you. Don’t worry. I don’t care what other people think, so I am ready to defend you and crush their ignorance.

Sports: Everyone will think you should be brilliant at basketball. When I wasn’t the failure was monumental. I played for my freshman high school team. I scored once the entire season. The shortest girl on the team, Julie, scored all the time. She then went onto Varsity and I went to the stage. Fast. Everyone will assume you are fast because your legs are already 2 feet long. Luckily you are crazy fast, so enjoy that. Thank your dad. He is the coordinated one.

At 16, I stopped growing when I hit six feet tall. My figure measured at 38-28-36 and stupid people told me I was fat. People can be stupid and mean. Identify them early and release their toxicity in your life. I would pose nude now if I looked like that still.

Your best friend will most likely be really short. Mine was. Most of my friends are significantly shorter than me. It will be harder to find other Amazons like yourself. Cherish the friends that can feel secure around you. Those are the ones to keep for life.

I always get lost in crowds but I am easily found. All you have to do is look up and you’ll find me. You are a massacre when it comes to directional sense. I’ll buy you a smartphone with a GPS. But when you are in crowds, tell your friends to look up. They’ll see you before you locate them.

Never shrink or hunch yourself over. Never make yourself smaller in any way for anyone else in the world. No one should define you, limit you, or make you feel or act smaller than you are.

No one ever says I wish I was short, once they grow up. I make all my short friends tell you this for a reason. Listen to them. They love you like I do. Everyone is beautiful in their own package, Your package is TALL, hilarious, elegant, goofy and cute! Your face is shaped like a heart and your heart is kind and filled with love.

Questions and Feelings - a nightly ritual

In therapy yesterday, my daughter told her therapist how each night we have "Questions and Feelings" time together. She can ask me anything and I will answer honestly. The questions can range from:

Will I ever like fish? 

When will my breasts start to grow? 

Will they be big like yours? 

Why is melted cheese gross but I like grilled cheese? 

Will I be in a bad mood when I have my period? (Implying that I am when I have mine.) 

When I lie on my stomach, I can see my butt, can you?

There are three questions each night.

The "Feelings" part is a little trickier for me. Feelings to her equate to her take (see: critique) on what I did that day that to her was not appropriate. Or measured.  She couches the language in a way that shows me how I could have done better. Her therapist found her perception compelling. Oh goodie. My daughters' perception of her feelings is, in fact, a comment on my behaviors. Each night during, "Questions and Feelings," I brace for my nightly critique.

Last night, she begins, "Why do you curse?"

"Because it releases stress, for me, like a balloon popping, it's an instant feeling of release," I answer.

"Do you think there is a better way to release your stress?"

"I'm sure there is," I say.

"I get mad, and I don't curse."

"What do you do?" I ask.

"I scream," she says.

"Is that better or the same?"

"I'm not sure. Cursing is gross," she admits.

"Ok. I will not curse and you will not scream. Is that a fair deal?"

"Yes. Do you think we can do it?"

"If we do it together, I think we have a better shot," I say. "Now tell me a feeling you have about something I did right today."

"You love me. You do this right every day," and I crumble in a puddle of admiration for my eight-year-old daughter. I would rip the skin from my body if that meant she would always feel loved and happy forever.

The Square Root of ADHD is ME

My little baby-girl daughter who is 7 years old got her diagnosis: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) with anxiety. My 9 year old son puts his arms around my daughter and says, "I got you. We got this. I will take care of you forever. I promise."

His compassion fills the room. 

My husband I have known for months -- maybe even a year -- that my daughter has ADD. My son's therapist alerted us last summer and we informed the school in Sept 2014. They didn't listen. Girls manifest differently than boys. We explained this to anyone that would listen and they didn't. Now we know. This is not something I wanted or needed but it just IS. I would rather know and help her then not know and continue to let her feel frustrated. I never imagined that she was Hyperactive as well but my husband and I slowly began to suspect something new and exciting was developing this summer.  After both children exercise at the pool for over 4 hours a day they still NEEDED the extra 2 hours of swim time with me, from 4-6pm, to settle them properly for a smooth transition into nighttime. 

My daughter looks confused. Her brow is furrowed. 

"You are just fine, baby-girl. We are all here to help you and make you feel good" I say and reach for her hand. She stands up and looks at me. My words are not enough. I can tell by the way she is looking at me. She blames me. It's in her eyes. If there is a reason for something - anything - I own that answer and I have to make it understandable to her. That is what she expects. I can see clearly from her facial expression that I have not comforted her to her satisfaction.

"What did I do wrong?" she says and I see her eyes begin to fill with tears.

"Nothing" I say to her just above a whisper.  She looks at me. She takes my hand.

"You. Are. Not. Wrong." I say slowly and deliberately.  

"You did nothing wrong. Neither did I. We are not wrong. We think faster and about more things than other people. We are better -- enhanced. I was diagnosed at seven also" says my son.

He has a way of making her feel better when I cannot. 

"You did nothing wrong" I say again. I look at the doctor and he sits up straighter.

"I am diagnosing you with ADHD. That means we all believe that you think in a way that we can label as ADHD" says the doctor to my daughter.

"What is a diagnosis" asks my daughter. Her voice dripping with fear. Her eyes are big. Her anxiety palpable.

"It is a label. The diagnosis for the wall is that the color is yellow" explains the doctor.

"I understand that" she says in a small voice. I see her shrinking. We have crushed her. She won't feel good about this. I can feel it. We needed to know. She didn't deserve to feel so frustrated. I don't want her to waste years on insecurity like I did. I want her to know that she is amazing in so many ways and that the world doesn't need to validate that. She can know that for herself. She has to learn to own her awesomeness so she makes the right decisions.

"Mommy doesn't like labels. She says I am not a "tomboy" or "girlie girl" I am both. I am more. I am a funny artist that can dance and sing. I am an excellent swimmer who can speak French. I am smart and kind and super fun. I am really good at the hula-hoop. What is the label for that?" challenges my daughter.

"You. That's the label" says my son thoughtfully. I kiss him on the cheek and my daughter hugs him. My husband smiles.

"Asking a child to exist in a setting (social, classroom, hockey, dance class) and expect them to compete at the same level, as a non ADHD child, is like asking the child with ADHD to play dodge-ball blindfolded. The blindfolded child will never know where the ball is coming from but they are expected to react as if they are not blindfolded" says the doctor.

I never thought of it that way.

I sit there and look at my beauties. Smart, sweet, strong, funny, and healthy.  They are rarely quiet and still. Life around them is rarely calm.

The doctor continues to ask questions and everyone answers together. I want my daughter to be heard. There is no Oxygen in the room for her or me. My son directs the conversation. He answers questions like he is "the father" and not "the brother." I look to him and say "stop" silently. I say "stop" at least 10 times a day to him, always silently, as I do not to attract any unneeded attention to him or me. After the tenth "silent stop," I begin to question the dose of his medication. Is it high enough? Maybe he metabolizing his medication too quickly? Currently, his ADHD is FULL BLOWN and we are also experiencing a healthy dose of REBOUND. 

The room feels smaller. My daughter stands and says "I need to move." We walk into the hallway and follow the doctor inot another room. 

A few days later I was sitting in the Principal's office. School starts next week. My daughter is going into second grade. After discussing the diagnosis the Principal says, "at least she wants to please. That is great."

"I don't think that is necessary great. It makes everyone's lives easier but that is not her role in life" says her therapist. I love her BTW. She is a crusader for my daughter. I might have to leave my husband for her if she asks. 

"What I mean to say is, she wants to be part of the community and that will help her learn how to be a great part of the greater community. She is also a natural leader and likes to be in social control but she has to also learn the rules and what is expected of her" says the Principal.

"That is true." I say, "she has to learn when to please and when not to. She doesn't have to make everyone happy. I am more concerned that people make HER happy because she is already too kind to those who don't deserve or haven't earned it" I say. I look to her therapist and she nods in agreement.

Welcome to a new GIRL power!

Porn at the Pool

This week I began my work-out in my new size 16 bathing suit. After a few moments of jogging I started having issues. I side-stepped my way to the deep end so I could address my bathing suits' multiple malfunctions.

"My bathing suit is simultaneously rolling up and down." I say to my girlfriend.

She laughs, "How is that possible?"

How is that possible? It's called my belly. My suit is rolling up over my stomach until it stops at my breasts. Every jump under the water is way more fleshy than I want observed. My bottoms are rolling down from my waist, over my hips, and thankfully stop right above my cookie. I continue to jump but manage to maintain no cookie exposure. The suit looks great and feels great but it is a 2-piece nightmare. I guess these are 2-piece problems. I am a 1-piece lady overexposed in a 2-piece world. The other ladies with 2 pieces have flat bellies. That might be a crucial difference. 

"It's like a porn show under here!" I say and roll the suit down and up while simultaneously frog jumping in the water. I want to keep my heart rate up but I am preoccupied with not getting arrested for indecent exposure.  I begin the wide side to side steps and move my arms in small inner circles. I love this exercise and my new triceps are the benefit of this particular exercise. I look down and swear I am about to have a nip-slip at any moment. I move deeper and laugh at myself. Another woman turns and I see she is adjusting in the water. I think her whole left breast popped out. 

Good times! Good times!

Here is a picture a friend took of me last night at my children's swim meet. The squash is impressive but all I see are my awesome arms, thigh, and youthful neck.

Show me your fat

I never use the word FAT or SKINNY in my house. Those words are toxic. I believe that a person can be "FIT" or "working their way to becoming more FIT." I want my children to love themselves and their bodies. I want them to approach food in the right way -- as fuel to energize their bodies to get done what they want to. Food is not a reward. Not every meal has to be their favorite or an event. Food should taste good and be good for you. 

My son and daughter are watching me work-out daily. Our summer special "4-5pm" swim used to be me playing with the two of them in the pool - barreling my son as he spins in my arms lengthwise or chasing after them and calling them packages from foreign lands (usually Paris and New York.) Which is great exercise but it is clearly not enough. I would tone in the summer but now I am shrinking -- almost like a slowly deflating balloon from the top down. My arms are more muscular. There is more muscle under my lovely softness. The laps are a game-changer.  The laps come first, at least 4 days a week. They take 40-50 minutes to complete. 

At first I wrote Unfortunetely. Then I erased that. It is not unfortunate that it takes that long. It just does. I accept that about myself. I am only competing against myself.

After the laps are done I play with them even though I am zonked. I love to carry them in the pool (combined weight of them is is 150 lbs) and I pretend that I don't have a bad back.  Which I don't in the pool!)

They have both expressed their displeasure with me not giving them every moment of me that they want. That too is part of the process for all of us. Taking time for me has become essential to me and them. They will learn that a person has to love themselves so that can love others.  A person has to take the time to exercise so they can feel good the rest of the day.

The other day my daughter asks me, "Where are you fat? Where is your fat?" I took a breath and walked her into my bedroom. 

"Why do you want to know?" I ask. I want to see what she is going to say.  

"Because I want to understand" she says. I walk across the room and close my bedroom door.

"I saw a mommy at the pool that is bigger than you" she says.

"How did that make you feel?" I ask. Deadpan.

"Happy. I don't want you to die of being fat" she says.

Like a knife through the heart. I am really proud of her honesty and trust in me. 

"I won't let that happen" I say and give her a big hug.

She jumps on the bed and sits down.  

"Show me your fat" she says to me. Her little girl voice is filled with questions and openness. She is a little girl. Mine. 

"Ok" I say and take off all my clothes. 

I stand in-front of her and say, "if I can pinch the flesh than that is fat. Unless it is loose skin because there was fat there and now there isn't anymore." 

Warning: GRAPHIC content

I start at my feet and move quickly up my thighs. For the first time in a LONG TIME I can't pinch any significant fat or skin on my outer thighs.  The saddle-bags are gone and they took all the extra flesh with them. Almost miraculously. Even my inner thighs are in much better shape. But I found some fat and showed her.

I then happened upon my ass.

As a white girl with a FLAT white girl butt there has never been anything exciting about my "junk in the trunk." An ass-man would never look my way. Now a breast-man ... well that is an entirely different story. When I gain weight I get a second ass.  And not in a cute way. My second ass sits on top of first my ass. It starts about halfway up my first ass and acts like a fat shelf for my first ass. I went to pinch the second ass and to my surprise the SECOND ASS WASN'T THERE. 

I asked my daughter, "Can you pinch fat on my bum-bum for me?" 

"Nope Mama. Your bum-bum is FIT!" She says and she is totally engaged. She then lightly spanks my bum and giggles. I turn around to look at my ass and she squeals as I go in circles making everything silly.

"I love when we talk like this" she says. There it is. I WIN! This is why I do this. FOR her. I want her to never stop talking to me about what is important to her. She is tragically forgetful and disorganized. She is wickedly tall and this bothers her sometimes. She wants to be cute. She is 7. She is cute. But she doesn't believe it. By putting myself out there I hope to gain her openness and future trust.

Back to pinching FAT ... I ended my journey at my stomach and started pinching left, right, and center. 

"I see the fat on your stomach Mama. I understand now" she says.

I wait ... silently .. to see what she will say next. And here it comes

"It's a like a belt only in the front" she says. I wasn't expecting that.  She gets up and hugs me. She kisses my belly and says, "I love the Mama love."

"I love you" I say. 

"Will I get fat?" she asks in fear.

"Not if you eat smart and exercise" I say.

"If I eat and never exercise then I will get fat?" she asks.

"Yes." I answer quickly. I want to impose the idea that she has exercise her whole life.  People with ADHD have a proclivity to be over weight as adults with weaker endurance levels. If I teach her now the importance of exercise and why it makes you feel better inside she will continue this great habit her whole life. She will never struggle like I do now. My struggle is weight-loss, stress, and their ADHD.  When ADHD entered my home, I happened upon a change in me that will save my life. I can only parent through example. If I am not moving as well and showing them that it does make me feel better they won't believe it. They are contrary-by-nature.  My daughter and son will think differently about being fit and understand why it is important to have this balance. A balance I never had as a child.

Eventually she will see how she can manage her stress and anxiety with exercise.

"Thank you for not lying to me" she says.

"I will never lie to you. You can always believe me and come to me with every question that you can imagine" I say.

Here she is achieving and believing in herself and her abilities. 

ADHD is everyday

I went to the pool twice today in-between thunder claps for Aqua-Fit and laps. I needed to work-out and I couldn't. The work-out releases my stress. I used to use food. Bags of chips, cream cheese bagels, french fries, etc. Now I don't. Now I work out. I had a little hissy fit when I couldn't get in the pool. My son suggested that I work out on land. I can't yet. I need to weigh less to protect my knees. I recovered from this manageable tragedy on my return to pool when I knocked out 10 laps.

I do this because it makes me feel better. It manages my stress. I have stress. I am a New York Jew. Stress is my Oxygen. We all have stress. But stress will kill me if I don't get it in control. I do this for me. I do this to lose weight. I have 40 pounds to go and I will sit comfortably at 185 pounds. There I said it. I own it. Do the math if you need to.

The work-out also helps me to work out my mental stress. I am running my life to raise a self-aware and strong son and confident and independent daughter and nurture a marriage to a man I love.

My story is my own. It is:

1. Enhanced
2. Riddled
3. Defined
4. Shaped

by ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). Not my own but my children's. 

I have come to learn that having one child with ADHD is EASY to manage. It wasn't at first. It also isn't "always" easy but there is a certain balance that can be achieved when only one child thinks as fast as those with ADHD do. Or feels as passionately about something that has to happen RIGHT now or they may forget. 

The PANIC in their forgetfulness is real. 

I have heard the pleas.  I didn't get it because I don't have ADHD. But my children do. When only one child is persistently argumentative .. or consistently contrary ... that can be managed because the other sibling ISN'T. 

The cage-match in my head is constant.

I balance egos and emotional-wellness the way OTHER people blink. I do it all the time. I have to lift one up while making sure that the other one isn't pushed down. I can't be sarcastic. Have you any idea how hard it is to tell a New York Jew that she cannot be sarcastic? Sarcasm is in my BONE MARROW. But it is not healthy to speak in a way that doesn't demonstrate the proper social queues to children who don't necessarily have the ability to access those inherent queues.  Because they are NOT intrinsic to an ADHD mind. Let me tell you, I am not a patient person. I have learned how to grow patience like tentacles that I wrap my family in because that is MY JOB. I protect them. I make mistakes daily but most of my mistakes are new ones not old ones.

Swimming laps helps my mental cage-match.

ADHD is everyday.

My son was diagnosed about 2 years ago. We paraded him to the best Specialists in Montreal and took advantage of every program that was offered. Two years later and we are in a very different place. He has achieved and matured. He is more self aware than most grown men. But it never goes away, it can be managed, but not always successfully and never without substantial effort on his part.

My ordinary world (yes, Duran Duran is playing in the background) doesn't just have one child with ADHD. It has two. We are all working our way towards a diagnosis for my delicious little daughter. Her struggle is different than my sons. It is quieter and filled with a different kind of daily frustration.

Asking an ADHD mind to behave, think, and conform to non-ADHD standards is like asking my to fly. It's not happening.

I take this stress that lives inside me and work-out. I swim and silence myself and my mind. I breathe in and push my arms out in front of me. I breath out through my nose and see the bubbles under the water. I look at my fingernails (which I paint in bright pink or red) and push my arms back to my sides. I take another breath. I do this till I am exhausted. It happens around 24-26 laps. I am then relaxed.

The cage-match in my head is silent now. I hug my beautiful babies as they battle to be heard. They can have the Oxygen. I don't need it. I smile because I am too tired to be stressed.  I let their boisterous and passionate love roll all over me. I feel full and content. I see another mother and her two silent children sitting next to her quietly playing. For a moment I think that must be nice. Then I look at my children. My daughter is singing me a new song she made up and my son is hugging me. They love me and I cherish them. I can't imagine them being any other way.

Aqua-Fit Instructor

My lifeguard who leads Aqua-Fit wasn't there today. A male lifeguard subbed in. I wasn't feeling the kind of burn that I wanted to feel from his instruction. He was trying hard but I wanted to make sure those 30 minutes counted. Take a moment ... play that back. I wanted to feel the burn so I knew I was getting the right kind of exercise done. I spoke up in my regular Candace-like fashion and suggested moves that we have all done before. I essentially took over the class and this other lady added some great killer moves to the routine. 


I had this total out-body-experience where I saw myself leading the class. I saw myself excelling at something physically-related. I could tell everyone what to do. I am excellent at that. I can keep up in the water. 

I can totally keep up with everyone now.

I rode that high home and ate an awesome salad. I drank 2 glasses of water. I drank a cup of tea. I feel motivated. I know I will crank out another 5 hours of work and end the day swimming some laps. I will then be too tired to be stressed. I won't over-eat at night because I will be too tired to do so. I will fall asleep by 10:30pm easily and again be too tired to have my mind race. 

I will eat a yellow tomato from my garden with my dinner tonight. Nope. I just ate it. It was Amazing! The yellow tomatoes are sweeter than the red.  Just eating one makes me feel better. Smarter for making a better choice. My son chose that plant for our garden for me this summer. He knows I like tomatoes and the yellow color makes us all think of my mother. She loves the color yellow.
It was a great day. The small things made all the difference.