Where I am…Making Wishes 11 Years Later

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I haven’t written much lately. A busy life seems to always get in the way. But on this day, every year, I am compelled to write. This is the day where I cry many tears and make many wishes. This is the day that, 11 years ago, I lost my mom. I wish that she knew my kids. I wish that she had been able to see them doing the things that they love.
I wish that she saw Samantha on stage. She loved going to the theatre, but she also knew that none of us could sing and would never survive up there. She would be tickled to see her granddaughter who actually has a good voice and is so passionate about her craft.
I wish that she watched Brady on the basketball court. She would love to see him play the same game that my brother and I played as kids. And I know that he would find her in the stands and smile at her (like he does for me) after he makes a good play.
I wish that she could hear Colton listing off geographical facts that most adults don’t know. His quest for knowledge and imagination would delight her.
I wish that she could give me advice. There are days where I feel lost in this parenting job. And she is the person that I need to hear from.
I wish that she could see my brother. He is with the perfect girl and leads the life that she had always wanted for him. And because she grew up with a cat that she adored, she would have loved the fact that he adopted a cat that he worships.
I wish that people who met me after she died knew the person that I was before. I was the happiest, most optimistic person. I knew that I was one of the luckiest people alive because I had hit the jackpot in the mom department. I was funnier, more opinionated, more complete. I miss the person that I was.
I wish that my dad wasn’t alone. He will never get over losing the love of his life. And he hasn’t shown any interest in finding anyone else because, “No one can make me laugh like your mom could.”
I wish that I didn’t have to shop alone. The two of us would shop for hours and always find the greatest deals and have the best time.
I wish that she was attending a milestone birthday party for her little sister in a couple of weeks. There were three girls in her family and when my aunts are together, it always seems like something is missing. Something is missing.
I wish that she could be there for her friends. Some of them have been through hard times in the last 11 years and she would want to give them a hug or a laugh when they need one.
I wish I had my mom. After 11 years, I now know that the daily ache I feel without her will never go away. I will never be okay with that and I will never stop wishing that she was here.





Santa Photo 2016

What do you do the year after you get the perfect Santa photo?

To be honest, part of the excitement was gone. All three kids would sit on Santa’s lap and smile. And there would be no tears.

The last year had been a momentous one in our Santa world. Last April, Samantha had looked through the pictures on my phone and seen a photo of me stuffing Easter baskets. As she inquired and I quickly grabbed my phone, it all became clear to her. Through tears she said, “There’s no Easter bunny? And there’s no Santa or the tooth fairy either, right?” I had envisioned a different scenario of how the magic would be over for my fairy tale-loving child. But she was almost 10 and I needed to tell her the truth. So, we are now down one Santa believer.  As a result, it could have been that Samantha boycotted the photo this year. But gratefully, my oldest loves an opportunity to dress up and take a photo. Plus, she had promised me that she would keep the Santa magic alive for her two little brothers.

Then there was Brady. Despite my best efforts, and probably because I constantly have my camera at the ready, this kid hates taking a photo. Consequently, he pretty much looks like he’s in pain when the camera is pointed his way. You can almost see one eye looking longingly toward a basketball and counting down the seconds until he can be dribbling it.

Finally, there’s our youngest one. While it’s true that he will now sit on Santa’s lap without screaming or running away, he is still the wildcard of the house. You never know what this one is going to say. His mind is going in twenty different directions at once and you’re never sure what’s going to come out of his mouth. With Santa, he could be extremely polite, ask for a Minecraft Lego set and sit on the jolly man’s lap. OR he could start asking detailed questions about the exact path that Santa and his sleigh will take on Christmas Eve and how it was possible for Santa to get from China to the United States when he knows that it takes 14 hours to fly from San Diego to Beijing. And a response of “magic” would not be enough for our curious little man.

So, with some new unknowns, I vowed to get the Santa picture taken. After I finally found a free hour to get to the mall, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Cute, clean outfits? Check. Positive, happy attitudes? Check. Nice conversations with Santa? Check. No crying? Maybe everyone wasn’t on board with the perfect Santa photo…

Happy New Year to our wonderful family and friends! And may 2017 be a little unpredictable with some magic thrown in.


Where I Am…At a Loss for Words


This past week has left me at a loss for words. And I’m never at a loss for words.

The week started with an unthinkable tragedy. My good friend from our time up near Stanford suffered the worst thing that can happen to a parent. Her precious boy took his final breath. He had been suffering from a rare form of cancer for almost two years. There had been a “miraculous” nine months where the cancer was no longer detectable and their wonderful family got to live normally (or as normally as possible) and have hope for the future. But then last June, the cancer came back. And the family has been in a treacherous state of limbo ever since. Then last Sunday afternoon, they lost him.

When I read the news, I let out a loud gasp. The kids were right next to me and they asked me what had happened. I looked at each of their eager faces and couldn’t find the words to tell them that the sweet, innocent child of one of my dear friends had died. The baby that she used to have in a front carrier (while Colton was in a stroller) during our weekly hikes would no longer be with his family where he belonged. That none of it made sense, but it still happened.

Then the election took place. Whatever your political stance on things, we can all agree that this has been an ugly election with inexcusable name calling and intolerance. And my kids saw the election coverage and they saw the news. And the next day at school, many of their classmates talked about what had happened and said awful things about both candidates. And then the questions started. And I tried to answer them. And again, I couldn’t find the words.

Then this morning, I learned that some arsonists had inexcusably burnt up Brady’s baseball field. The one that he had played on just eight hours before someone decided to set fire to it. The field where he and his teammates had just celebrated the end of a great season where they had all become better baseball players in preparation for the upcoming spring baseball season. Now, how would that season happen without a field? How am I going to explain this to Brady? What will I say when he undoubtedly asks me, “Why would someone do that Mommy?”

After I heard the news about the baseball field, I started to cry. I actually hadn’t cried yet this week, so when the tears finally came, they came fast and hard which I wouldn’t have expected from this piece of news. But the events of the week had finally taken hold of me, and the tears didn’t stop for a while.

I always say that parenting isn’t for the weak. And this last week has left me weak. I feel like I’m letting my kids down because I can’t find the right words.  It’s a fact that life’s not fair all of the time. And it’s okay for them to know that. But this week has been an avalanche of these lessons and I want to say the right thing to help them get through it. I want to say the right thing to help me get through it. And I’m failing because I just can’t find the words.

Where I Am…Being Unable to Fix Everything


When I was a little girl, my dad had a metal magician statue that sat on his dresser. One day he told me that this magician represented who he wishes that he could be in the lives of my brother and me. He wished that he could always magically fix things in our lives. In a lot of ways, he could. He could bandage up a skinned knee. He could help us write that tough paper. He could teach us to throw a baseball. But there were also the things that he couldn’t control. And, as he explained it, these were the things that tore him up and broke his heart. As a parent now, I understand.

Last spring, Samantha found out that her theatre company was doing the play Shrek. She immediately watched the Broadway show and fell in love with the role of Young Fiona. She learned her song, practiced it repeatedly and prepared for the audition. When she got the part, she started crying. Musical theatre is Samantha’s passion. But there’s also frequent rejection in that passion. Samantha had had her heart set on a certain part many times, and that part had always gone to someone else. This time, she got the part.

Our summer was filled with Shrek preparation. Samantha rehearsed three nights a week and all day on Saturdays and she was excited to be a part of what was going to be an amazing production. We had family and friends coming to town just to see her perform. Even Colton was getting in on the act as a telegrammer who would be performing a couple of Shrek-inspired songs before the show and intermission.

The week before the show (tech week) finally came. Tech week can be a brutal time where the actors have to stay at the theatre until late in the night. That Thursday morning before opening night, Samantha woke up and tearfully told me, “I’m not feeling well.” As she started to cough and sneeze, I realized that she could be in trouble.

She made it through the first two shows relatively unscathed, but by the beginning of her third show, her cough was in full effect and her voice was in trouble. With her big scene fast approaching, she and I sat outside the theatre trying everything to help her voice. Hot tea, honey, cough medicine, hot water and lemon, we tried it all. Every time she would try something new, she would attempt to sing her song and she couldn’t get through it. She would either start coughing or her voice would fail her. But as they say, the show must go on. We walked over to the castle that would be wheeled out so that she could sing her song. I was trying to say the right things, but the reality was that she would not be able to give her best performance, the one that she had been working so hard for. Before she was wheeled on to the stage, I quickly said, “Sweetie, are you going to be okay?” And she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “No.”

As expected, her performance wasn’t her best, but it was obvious that she was sick and the audience and her cast were extremely supportive. But her performance wasn’t the hard part for me. I hated the fact that my daughter had a problem, she needed my help and I couldn’t fix things. That helpless feeling of seeing her distraught face as she went on to the stage haunted me for days and I hated the fact that I had let her down.

I’ve been thinking about this fact for the last few weeks. This won’t be the last time that my kids will be in a situation that I can’t make better. There will be a day when Brady won’t make the team. Samantha will get her heart broken. Colton won’t get the teacher/professor that he has his heart set on. I won’t be able to fix those things and it will be good learning experiences for them to get through everything, deal with it, and come out stronger on the other end.

And even though the smart, realistic side of me knows this, I still wish that I could be that magician on my dad’s dresser.


Where I Am…June 6, 2016

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I was woken this morning by a debilitating headache. As my head throbbed, I got out of bed, took two Tylenol and waited for the medicine to start working. As I lay there, I tried to figure out what had caused the pain. I went through a number of possibilities, but none of them seemed to make sense.

A short time later, Brady woke up and said, “It’s June 6th, right Mommy?” And there it was. Yes, today is June 6, 2016.

Ten years ago today, my world changed forever.

Ten years ago today, I learned that bad things definitely happen to good people.

Ten years ago today, my dad and brother showed up at my front door unannounced and their faces told me the worst news that I’d ever heard.

Ten years ago today, my mom died and took a huge piece of me with her.

I wish that I could say that it has gotten easier. It hasn’t, and in fact, it has gotten harder in many ways. But I’ve gotten used to the fact that I don’t have a mom. And I hate that.

I often ask myself: How would life be different now if she were still here?

My dad would laugh more. And he wouldn’t say, “Damn, I miss her” a few times a week. He would have someone to tell his funny/long-winded opinions to. And he would hear, “Come on Ward. You’re talking the fool,” on a very regular basis.

My aunts wouldn’t feel her absence when they are together. They wouldn’t miss her opinions and her funny takes on all situations. They wouldn’t grab the phone to call her and then have to just put it down again.

My brother wouldn’t miss the person that he not only looked like, but acted like too. He wouldn’t have to merely tell his wife about his mom, since he met Michelle just one month after my mom died.  He would get to talk to the person who adored him, but also always called him out.

And I wouldn’t feel incomplete. I wouldn’t have to imagine what kind of grandmother she would have been. I wouldn’t walk through Mother’s Day in a haze just counting down the minutes until the day is over. I wouldn’t have a huge hole in my heart.

When my mom got really sick, I had a hysterical conversation with Rox who had been a best friend to my mom and like a big sister to me for many years. Through distraught tears, I asked, “Who is going to replace her?” And Rox very wisely said, “No one. There is no one that could ever replace your mom in your life.” And she was right. There is no one that will tell me the honest truth at all times. There is no one who will always say the perfect thing when I need to hear it most. There is no one who can give me advice on how she made parenting look so easy when it can often be so hard. There is no one who loves and adores me with a passion that I could feel every day of my life. There is no one like a mom. But for me, I was crazy lucky for 30 years, because there was truly no one like my mom.

Ten years ago, I lost the best mother there ever was. I lost my ability to always look on the bright side. I lost my best friend. I lost my compass. Ten years ago, I lost my mom. And I am still lost without her.

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Where I Am…Taking the Annual Santa Photo

It’s that time again. Another holiday season, another Santa picture.

In years’ past, the struggle has been real. I have been striving/hoping/wishing for the “perfect Santa picture” for 10 years now. It’s a pretty simple concept. Three Dorfman kids. Three cute, clean holiday outfits. Three smiles. Should be pretty simple, right? Nope. There has never been a photo that follows these guidelines since Samantha was a 6-month-old baby who didn’t know how to be scared of anything, including a large jolly man with a beard. Since then, there have been screams, tears and general unhappiness in all of our photos with Santa.

But apparently, I am a glutton for punishment, because I take the kids back to see Santa every year. In the past, I have always given the photo verdict at the end of this recount. But this year, I will tell you right now. This year, someone cried.

Leading up to our trip to the mall, everything seemed like it was on track and that there would be no tears this year.

Even though Samantha is 9 ½ and could have been “too old” for this year’s photo, that was not the case. She helped pick out everyone’s outfits and was enthusiastic about the picture. She even helped prepare Colton. She constantly asked him if he was going to smile and did a practice run where she pretended to be Santa Claus and had him sit on her lap and smile.

Brady seemed happy about the picture too. He liked his new bow tie and couldn’t wait to ask Santa for an elaborate marble track that he had been eyeing for months.

And then there was the wild card, the youngest. He really went back and forth about how he was going to be with Santa. One day it was, “I don’t want to see Santa this year. I’m definitely going to cry.” Then it was, “I’m excited to see Santa.” And when he wrote his Santa letter, he specifically told him that he wasn’t going to cry when he saw him.

Finally, it was time. Everyone dressed with no complaint and we headed to the mall. Samantha kept saying, “This is our year boys. I can feel it. We are going to get mommy that perfect Santa photo.” We arrived, waited in line and all three kids walked over to the jolly guy. And that’s when the crying started.

As I watched my three big kids talk to Santa, sit on his lap with confidence and smile straight at the camera, the tears started flowing. I looked at Dave and said, “I can’t believe that I’m crying.” All of the years of the “imperfect Santa photo” were flashing through my mind and I realized that I love those photos. They each represent a moment in time and my kids will never go back to being those little kids who couldn’t be coaxed to smile for the big guy, no matter what I did.

The “perfect Santa photo” is now in my hand and even though it is beautiful, the end of an era has come too. So this year, instead of lamenting on the sad state of my Santa photo, I am holding on to each moment that I have with my little ones. Happy holidays and I hope that you have imperfectly perfect moments with your families this year too.

Santa Photo 2015

Where I Am…Dangerously Walking My Kids to School


Dear Driver that almost hit my children and me this morning,

My kids and I walk to school every morning. We do this for a wide variety of reasons. It’s good exercise, environmentally friendly and a good way to connect with my kids before the school day. I also do it to avoid the crazy drivers and difficult parking situation that driving my kids to school can cause. But lately, I’ve started to rethink my walking ways after we’ve almost been hit on three different occasions in three weeks’ time.

This morning it was by you, speedy driver of a Chevy Volt. Our walking signal had changed to the “walking man” and we had entered the crosswalk. I was showing my kids that they should always make eye contact with any driver waiting to make a right turn because even though we had the right of way, these cars sometimes go and we don’t want to get hit. As we took a couple more steps, you sped right in front of us cutting us off and bringing me to tears. I only have two hands and three children. On this occasion, I had hold of my two youngest and thankfully, my oldest was right behind me. If she had been in front of me, you would have hit her.

When we made it to school, I was stopped by a gentleman who lives in our neighborhood. He told me that he had seen what happened this morning and followed your car to the school to inform you that you had almost hit us and terrified our family. I was grateful for his actions, but it almost made it worse to know that I hadn’t sensationalized the situation since someone else had been affected by seeing it.

Look, I get it. Mornings are hectic.  There is so much that goes into getting a kid to school on time or getting to work. And once on the road, it’s easy to become ultra-focused on doing what it takes to get where you need to be. But you are driving near an elementary school where there are young kids present. And that extra minute that you saved by speeding right in front of us in the crosswalk could have resulted in a tragic accident that could likely affect both of us forever.

I really don’t want to stop walking to school every day. It’s truly one of the highlights of my day and great for my kids too. So, please just obey the laws of the road and be cautious when you drive near the school in the morning. Being a couple of minutes late for school or work is fixable. Hitting my children or me may not be.


A scared and angry mom