being a friend to someone who is lonely. Adding good can mean giving away a toy to someone who needs it more than you do. Adding good can mean baking cookies for a soldier or firefighter, or taking blankets and food to the homeless. Adding good can be drawing a beautiful picture for someone who isn’t feeling well, or cheering up someone who is sad with a sweet, funny note.
There are thousands of ways to add good to the bucket, and none of them is too small or insignificant. So when you feel scared or when someone tries to add hatred to the bucket, use your special strength and keep pouring more and more good in.
Every little drop of good matters. You matter. You are not helpless. You are the good this world so desperately needs.
Control can easily become obsession, and our obsession can tighten around us like a chain, preventing us from having range of motion—and emotion—to live a full life.
Similarly, I have a hard time letting go of negative emotions just because they are negative. Negativity itself isn’t motivation enough to get moving; I need something healthier to actually walk toward. Instead of just stifling the energy I give to my controlling tendencies, I have to channel those impulses and redirect that energy. I need to do something positive. I need to add good to the bucket.
As a parent, I’ve learned to make my plans in pencil, not Sharpie. Two Christmases ago was our first holiday season in a new house and I was eager to make some new memories with my family. My ex-husband was sleeping over, as has become a tradition on Christmas Eve, so that my older kids can have both their parents on Christmas morning. The tree was decorated, the presents were finally wrapped, and I had stayed up late, prepping both Nutella and cinnamon buns so all I’d have to do in the morning was take them out of the fridge and pop them in the oven. Just as I was finally ready to crawl into bed at 1:30 a.m., utterly exhausted yet completely excited for the following morning—a mix of feelings many moms I know associate with Christmas Eve—I heard my son Luka screaming in pain. I ran to his room and found him burning up with a fever and clutching the lower side of his stomach, just above his hip. I woke up his dad, who was in the guest room, and we rushed to the emergency room together. After a CAT scan, we were told he immediately needed surgery to remove his appendix.
So instead of spending Christmas morning surrounded by my whole family, eating homemade cinnamon buns in my pajamas in my new home, I found myself once again, just like the day Luka was born, in a hospital with my firstborn and his dad, being reminded of how little in this life I can actually control. I watched on FaceTime as Ari and Matea and Philip opened presents while my ex-husband and I sat in our teenager’s hospital room, eating vending machine food. My amazing son cracked jokes through his pain and we made plans to hold a memorial service for his appendix, which Luka had brilliantly named “Jimi Appendrix.” On the television set in the background, Forrest Gump sat on a bench telling a stranger, “My momma always said, ‘Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’” Yup, Forrest, I know exactly what you mean.
Twelve
Mind Your Own Motherhood
On the flight to meet Philip’s parents, Lou and Judy, for the first time, I informed Philip that sometime during our weeklong visit, I’d like to have a frank conversation with his mom about my relationship with her son. I was planning on waiting until we’d had a few days to get to know each other, and Philip agreed that waiting was a good idea.
But apparently, I’m not good at waiting (especially when it comes to waiting to talk). So on the same day we arrived, only a few hours after meeting Philip’s parents, we were out for dinner when I turned to Judy and said, “I want to talk to you about something important.”
Philip gave me his surprised “Really? Already?” look.
Philip is much more patient and rational than I