Tag: #Relationships

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Coincidence or kismet…

Jen Sinclair

Some writers have rituals they do to get their creative juices flowing. Some light a candle or brew special tea. I don’t have a ritual unless consuming copious amounts of coffee and water qualifies. But I’ve surrounded my office with mementos from people, trips and experiences, favorite books, inspirational quotes, and lots of post-its (bless those sticky pads).

But my favorite thing is a picture of 9-year-old me and my Nana.

She died when I was 13, and I still remember her voice and the way she smelled. (Ben Gay and talcum powder do make a memorable combo.) I spent a lot of time with her as a kid. She loved to shop and taught me how to pick through a clearance rack like a boss. She was short in size, but mighty in spirit. She was tough, unafraid of anyone or anything. But she was the softest person to lean into. She gave the best hugs.

I thought of all of this today more than usual because it’s her birthday. And since my memory stinks, I combed through the New Jersey archives to find out how old she would have been. And while I accomplished that, it was the date she died that gave me pause: September 24, 1989.

Friends, I abstractly chose September 24, 2024, to launch my very first book—35 years to the day she died. I picked that date because I needed to give myself a deadline and finally publish the book. It was random.

Or perhaps it wasn’t.

I’m a big believer that things happen when and how they should.

So as I contemplate this picture of my Nana tucking me close, her arms wrapped around me with love, I can’t help but smile. Because this morning, I was reminded that she’s still doing it. And she always will.

Happy 113th Birthday, Nana. Thanks for always taking care of me. I love you and I miss you. Until we meet again.

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Father’s Day is hard

Jen Sinclair

I dread Father’s Day. Not because I don’t like showering my amazing husband with love and attention and gifts (although I am by far the inferior gift-giver in our relationship). Celebrating him is the easy part. It’s the other father stuff that creeps in and makes it suck.

My father died seven years ago, but our relationship ended long before that. It had become a difficult one, marked by a final shouting match many years before his death in which I went low and he went lower. We hadn’t talked in a very long time due to those big emotions that often rule in relationships like ours, namely pride and anger. Pride kept him from accepting any apology I attempted, because how dare I say that thing to him. Anger came to my rescue because how could I not say it after what he said.

It wasn’t until I was sitting by his hospice bed, the bubbling of his breath the only indication that there was still life in him, that I realized all that anger was grief in disguise. The years I spent resenting him because he let me down. The time I wasted wondering what I ever did to make him not love me. The memories I swallowed because I didn’t understand why there weren’t more. I finally understood what they all meant. My father gave me what he could. He simply wasn’t capable of being what I wanted or needed or deserved. And while it wasn’t my fault, or maybe even his, it was the truth.

So in the hours before his rattling breath stopped, I put down some of that heavy baggage, took his hand, and told him I understood. In those moments alone with him, I turned away from anger and leaned into gratitude. I thanked him for being my dad and for giving me so many gifts:

My brothers and sisters who are some of my best friends;

My mom whose unconditional love more than made up for the absence of his; and

My life.

The tender bruise etched in my heart will always burst with fresh pain whenever I wonder what it might have been like if things were different and if he was different. But the lessons I learned from him, both the good and especially the bad, have helped make me the person and the parent I am today.

So thanks, Dad, for always having quarters so I could play Pacman. Thanks for taking me to get my driver’s license and teaching me about baseball, football, over-medium eggs, and French toast. And thanks for giving me life. Happy Father’s Day.

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The Santa picture that broke me

Jen Sinclair

We’ve all seen those silly Santa pictures and chuckled. I did, too, except I was also relieved that none of my kids behaved that way on Santa’s lap. Getting the perfect picture meant a lot to me. So much so that I would literally break a sweat making sure everyone looked as perfect as possible.

And then my youngest kid totally threw all of my planning out the window.

A month before his second birthday, I sat him on Santa’s lap, and, well … he absolutely was not having it. At all. Not even a little. And after about thirty seconds of absolute embarrassment and horror, something inside my tightly wound body snapped. It broke me. And it made me so much better.

I no longer put a whole lot of stock into catching my kids at their worst. It meant more to me that each picture captured who they were at that particular moment in their lives. My daughter’s kindergarten picture day came exactly three days after she launched herself from the swingset and scraped her chin all to hell. My oldest’s third-grade picture day happened right after his dad shaved his head down to the scalp. My youngest has blessed us with some of the most memorable pictures purely by being his emotive self.

Insider gave me the chance to talk about how that Santa picture broke me and made me better. I now have a deeper appreciation for those snaps that capture authenticity rather than obsessing over the appearance of perfection.

Did you have a moment like this in your parenting journey? I would love to hear about it if you do.

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The Ghost of Boyfriends Past

Jen Sinclair

We all have relationships that we would LOVE to go back and erase. Stop our former selves from ever even looking in the direction of that person to save us from a whole lotta heartache, stress, frustration and pain.

And then there are those former loves who never actually leave our hearts. All sorts of things conjure those memories–a song, a mutual friend, a favorite sports team. Those are the relationships we might like a chance to do over. Most of the time, though, we don’t get that opportunity, so we continue to pine away for what might have been.

However, I did get a second chance to reconnect and try out a past relationship in a more mature headspace. And Insider gave me chance to spill the beans on that time I ghosted a guy in high school and went on to marry him 17 years later. Shout-out to my husband for being so cool with the fact that I’m sharing some of his pain with the world. What guy wouldn’t want to be outed for listening to Exposé when he was 16? I wonder if this is why he stopped making eye contact with our neighbors?

Your turn: Do you have a long-lost love that you still think about? Even if you’re in a good space, do you sometimes wonder if only things had been different? Or have you ghosted someone who absolutely deserved it for one reason or another. Drop me a line and fill me in on the good and the bad of your ghosts of past relationships.

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We’re Not Blended …

Jen Sinclair

My husband and I came into this marriage with a whole lot of battle scars and fresh divorce decrees under our belts. While we muddled through to find our footing, we dragged our combined five kids along. What could possibly go wrong? We loved each other and our kids. And isn’t that all it takes to succeed at this blended-family thing?

Nope. As it turns out we were wrong. So.Very.Wrong.

Scary Mommy gave me the chance to pull back the curtain on parenting in a more scrambled than blended situation.

Have you been successful at blending your family? Or is yours a little more scrambled and scattered like mine? Maybe you vacillate between the two. Whatever it is, I would love to hear about it. Drop me a line and let me know whether you’re killing the step-parenting gig or it’s killing you.