Now for my opinion of the halftime show

So apparently last night there was a ballgame going on that involved a halftime show. Immediately after the halftime show the social media blew up with people voicing their thoughts and opinions about the entertainment. If 5 decades have taught me anything it is that I have the option of thinking things through before I speak about it, so I decided to sleep on it and put my thoughts into perspective.

I first would like to say that this is strictly my opinion. I highly doubt that the NFL will base their decision on halftime shows in the near future based on what I have to say. I would also like to say that I personally pretty much in awe that JLo and Shakira can actually do the things that they did during their performances. In awe because if I attempted something like that I would be scheduling the first available appointment with my orthopedic doctor for yet another type of replacement – more than likely my hips. I am 53 years old and to be honest I struggle with being able to throw my leg up on the coffee table to zip my boots. They are both incredibly gorgeous, talented women with bodies that make some 20 year old women green with envy. They had more dance moves than a whole stage or Rockettes and Back Street Boys.

JLo has always seemed pretty classy to me. She dresses like a Vogue magazine cover and always looks beautiful no matter where she is. Even walking her dog with sweats and her hair in a messy bun she still makes the hearts of men flutter everywhere. My question is… with all that going for her, why was it necessary to incorporate half of an outfit and a pole in the middle of the stage to dance on?

Strong willed daughters like my youngest feel that she was merely expressing herself and that women should have the right to do that. Perhaps there is some truth in that, but was it really necessary? Did her provocative dancing in a barely clad costume while grabbing her crotch make her performance of her songs sound any better? Sure, she put on a show and danced off 3,525 calories…but at what cost? I mean to women like me and millions of others who struggle to find an outfit to look “nice” in, well it was disheartening that she felt like that was something that was necessary to do to look good.  

The way that she dresses, the way that she looks and the way that she maintains her figure are the things that are powerful tools at her fingertips to use to encourage women to take care of themselves and to strive to look like. Would I love to be able to wear anything in black leather that wouldn’t require a jar of Vaseline to put on and the Jaws of Life to take off?  Of course, but regardless of whether I could – it doesn’t mean that I should.

I don’t feel that the opinions of women who were disappointed in her choices last night should be condemned as jealousy or judgment. I do believe that those are opinions that either come from women who are modest, old fashioned or [dare I say without offending someone] Christian women who simply feel that seeing another woman who is a role model for so many and a mother of a daughter herself was in fact just simply that….a disappointment.

There were comments that this effected equality because it took women to a level of feeling like they needed to do something like dance from a pole to make someone look at them and think that they are sexy. Women and men commented things like “how can women expect be respected the same as a man when they act that way?”  Do I think that is a bit harsh? Or perhaps do I think maybe to the extreme? Yes, probably so. Why? Because I don’t think you can base the fact that I am not respected any longer in the workplace because Jennifer Lopez set a less than favorable example for women during a football game that millions were watching.

What category do I fall in? Am I modest? Christian? Old fashioned?  Well, I am a little of all of those combined. Am I jealous that she could hang upside down with a bodysuit on that absolutely had to have duct tape involved at some level? Absolutely not. Even if I could get away with doing that…well I wouldn’t. When I think of an idealistic woman I think of a woman who dresses with class and dignity whether it be in a dress and 4 inch heels or in a pair of jeans with a hoodie; I think of a woman who makes the conscious choice to glorify the beauty of all women by setting an example to follow.

Am I judging her for her costume choice? Well, judging is a strong word. I do think that if she wants to wear something that stands a good chance of a wardrobe slip up like Janet Jackson’s boob slip, perhaps it shouldn’t be on a stage with millions of people watching. I just think that modesty is a sexier attribute than putting on a costume that took less material than my 3 year old granddaughter’s sun dress I bought her.  Am I condemning her choice of dance moves?  Perhaps I just think that her ability to dance like she does period was enough to impress people.

What it all comes down to is that it’s not that I have the opinion that she should be banned from the female race. I do think though that with anything that can spark a debate like her performance did, that it is a prime example of just because you can do something, well it doesn’t mean you should. As women we have struggled for years to earn the mutual respect that men receive. We want to be respected by others and we want people to believe that there isn’t much that a man can do that a woman can’t. What makes us stand out though is that we have an opportunity daily to set examples for other women, daughters, nieces and granddaughters. We have the amazing ability to lift each other up in so many ways. When I see women in different environments than me, whether it be the red carpet of Hollywood or a banquet in my hometown to honor a woman for her achievements – I try to find something about them to inspire me to be the type of woman that aspires other women when they look at me.  Those are the things that we can do and should.

That moment I let numbers stop defining me

This weekend I read on Facebook where a young lady that I had met one day had passed away. She was young and had three children.  Of course following suit with human nature I was curious about her. I wondered how someone so young had passed and more importantly, I wondered about her children. I noticed that there were no pictures of her and her children and this made me sad. I don’t know what her circumstances were, she was a one-time acquaintance that I made and I didn’t know a lot about her other than upon meeting her I thought that she was a lovely person with a sweet spirit about her. The fact that there were no pictures of her and her children though weighed heavy on my heart.

Later on in the evening I saw where my son had posted this quote on the social media and tagged me in it. It said “One day, all your children will have is pictures of you. Make sure you’re in them. No matter what your hair looks like, your makeup, or your body, they won’t care about any of that, they’ll just want to see you.” He made sure to emphasize how I needed to pay attention to those words. I found so much irony in this given the fact that a few short hours before that I was feeling sad for the children that I thought had no pictures with their mother.

I started several years ago taking pictures of my children [to the point that they made fun of me for taking so many], and later on started doing the same thing with my grandchildren. I was always behind the camera and for good reason…or so I thought.  When my children were young I had no problem having pictures snapped of us together because I was, well….young, built nicely and without many of the flaws that Father Time would later present me with. I wasn’t a bit paranoid, and not because I was conceited, but because I felt comfortable with me. Over the course of time, a few surgeries and not taking into consideration that I needed to eat healthier and exercise, I became that person that preferred to stay behind the camera. My youngest daughter has asked on several occasions over the past years when we could do family photos and my response has always been “when I lose weight.”  I would promise myself that I would get into shape and that in the spring we would take our first family pictures. Spring became summer, summer became fall and fall became winter. Still no pictures.

As a society we are extremely critical of people’s sizes and appearances. She’s too skinny. He’s too large. She’s too pale. He’s got too many tattoos and she has too many piercings. The list could go on and on of the imperfections that we can find in people. Because I am guilty of that myself [and face it, deep down we all are], I am harder on myself than probably anyone else is. Because of my reflection in a mirror I believe that is who I am. I believe that my size defines me a person. That self-analysis of me creates the insecurities that make me so self-conscious. Those insecurities create boundaries for me that I am afraid of stepping over. I have allowed myself to become so paranoid over some extra pounds that until I saw what my son had posted last night I hadn’t realized what I was doing. I joke around that there is more of me to love. I make jokes about my backside being 3 axe handles and a butcher knife wide. I try to over compensate for how my body makes me feel by making sure that I try to balance it out with spending more than I should at the hair salon, the nail salon or shopping online for new clothes that will make me feel comfortable in the environment of beautiful women whose measurements are 36x24x36.

I’m really angry at myself that I have allowed myself to be defined by numbers. “Numbers” dictate whether your checkbook balances correctly. “Numbers” decided whether you get a ticket or a warning. “Numbers” decide how many people will fit in an elevator. “Numbers” matter in more categories and examples that we can list; but they shouldn’t define us. The fact that I can’t fit in a size 7 pair of jeans anymore, the fear of stepping on a scale in front of someone, the excuse that I use for not going to the beach on vacation – those are the things that we as a society have encompassed as being more important than the things that really matter.

Sometimes we need something to put things into perspective. We need to be reminded from time to time that we should not be defined by our appearance, our size or how we look in any aspect. We should be defined by what we have to offer and who we are as a person. I’m reaping the benefits of this lesson learned this weekend and today I scheduled our first family photo session. I want my children to have pictures of me with them. I want to show them that memories are more important than measurements and that my smile is more important than my size.

Therapeutic texting and a meme for everything

I have been abundantly blessed in life with friends. I have different types of friends, different groups of friends, work friends and friends that are like family. I have this one group though that formed through a random text message about a year ago that was sent in a spur of the moment creation of a group chat.

In this group there is me, my two daughters Jess & Kailee, Stephannie, Holly and then there’s Rob. The group consists of a Director, a dispatcher, a college student, an administrative assistant, an EMT (soon to be paramedic) and a police officer. As you can imagine this group has the answers to cover pretty much any subject that comes into question. We communicate every day. We gripe, we gossip and we giggle. We insult each other (of course with love). We keep up with whose kids are playing where and when during ball season. We share funny stories about each other, the kids or spouses.We laugh at Rob’s memes that he randomly throws in for no particular reason. We share parenting successes and failures, and we keep up with Kailee's Gecko. 
There may be days that a random topic escalates into 283 messages waiting for you when you pick up your phone and then there may be days that we just have a text here and there checking to make sure that everyone is accounted for and that everyone is having a good day.
In a world where life just gets too busy to get together and have dinner or have a game night to unwind we have found a way to communicate with each other, to vent and to laugh through text messages. We don't have to get dressed up to go out and sit for hours at a table at Chili's to enjoy each other's company or to even catch up with each other and the busy lives we live. We can each sit in our favorite chair at home, take a break at work/school or even all be doing different things and for a few minutes we can connect with each other.
There's no judging the mom whose kid peed on the sidewalk or whose kid colored the dining room wall with lipstick, there's no criticizing a bad grade on a final and there's not ridicule for the one having a slight nervous breakdown because there aren't enough hours in the day or enough money in the bank account. I think these are the reasons that I enjoy this cellular friendship the most. We all have this connection that enables us to relate or to sympathize with any of life's situations and yet not shun each other because it's not the way we might handle a situation.
In a world where everything has to be politically correct or there is a stigma attached if you have an opinion different than someone else, it's nice to have a diverse group of people with different beliefs and ideas about things. I mean heck we even allowed one democrat in the group chat (HA! Just joking). We might not agree with the fact that Kailee is adamant about the innocence of OJ; we might not go along with Rob's reasoning for not helping with the laundry; we might argue with conviction our thoughts on political happenings. However, we also have things that we are, as a whole, on the same page and we scratch our heads at the ones that don't agree with the same sentiments as all of us do. I promise you this though, no matter what the situation is one of use will have a meme for it!

Basically….we are a support group. We are support each other’s dreams, goals, ambitions and ideas. We make someone feel better when one in the group may be having a bad day. We encourage each other. We poke fun at each and we laugh at each other. Most of all, we pray for each other. It's a therapy that we don't have a deductible for and at the end of the day is probably much more therapeutic than an actual leather couch that one might lay on while telling a complete stranger all of the mental issues that one might have. If the truth be told we know our level of crazy and honestly we are okay with it.

Six to Carry You in the End

I think that everyone has someone in their life that inspires them. The inspiration may come in the form of aspiring to have a high paying job and living in a house that is entirely too big for someone to live in. It may be that the inspiration comes from an athlete who has worked his or her way to the top and has broken several records and won several awards. A person may find inspiration in the man or woman who has made changes in their appearance by dieting and working out.

Personally, I find inspiration in those that can rise above the things in life that would normally make a person angry or make them dislike someone. I find motivation to be a better person by observing those that display kindness when it would be so much easier to do the opposite. My dad was one of those people. Kindness was something that he always provided the perfect example of. He was one that turned the other cheek and then would shake your hand the next day or hug your neck as if nothing had happened. He always saw the good in people and that hat is so very hard to do sometimes! 

I remember when he was diagnosed with leukemia. I had a lot of heated conversations with God over that. I could not fathom WHY someone like my dad would receive such a punishment in the form of a terminal disease. He was a good person. I mean genuinely good. This man not only donated to St. Jude's, but every month he received a picture of a child he was sponsoring he would put it in his wallet and proudly show it to people to bring awareness to their situation. This was the man who gave more of his garden harvest away than what he kept. This was the man who picked up random strangers and helped them on their way.
I'll never forget that moment that he told me he had cancer. I sat there in shock for a minute and then my first response was - "Why you?"  His response?  "Why not me?" I said 'Dad, you are such a good person and you do so much good.' He then told me that everyone has good in them and sometimes we just don't look hard enough to find it. He told me that he wasn't more undeserving of this hand that had been dealt to him than anyone else would be.
To my dad his friends were like family and strangers were merely those that he just hadn't gotten a chance to get to know. He taught me more by his actions than by his words. He showed me forgiveness by refusing to fall victim to anger. He showed me Godly love by the way that he would never hesitate to open his wallet to help someone down on their luck. He showed me compassion for others when despite how he felt, he would still help someone who needed a helping hand. He didn't waste the last years of his life by sinking himself into feeling sorry for himself. He took each day and he loved fiercely and did more than just act the role of a kind soul - he displayed it in everything that he did.
My dad always had the best philosophical advice and never hesitated to give it to me, even when I felt I didn't need it. I remember talking to him one time about a friend that had betrayed me and hurt me. His words of wisdom didn't include telling me things like "it's okay Sis karma will get them". Instead he would tell me to forgive them and to be more careful who I trusted. He would then turn that incident into an opportunity to teach me how to be a better friend. He told me once that it didn't matter how many friends in life that I made, what mattered was would I have 6 true friends to carry me at the end? I have carried those words with me through life and thought of them often when I have been hurt, betrayed, let down and disillusioned by those that I thought were my friends. It didn't make me trust any less, but instead made me cherish those true friends even more.
After all, isn't life about those that we count on? Those that we love and feel loved by? It's about the good moments in life; the ones that make you smile. Somewhere along the way we have lost sight of that [or a least a huge majority of us have]. We have social media wars over politics, whether or not we believe in vaccinations, gun control and countless other topics of discussion that are simply not worth sacrificing friendships. We have become a group of people who puts more emphasis on proving a point than simply agreeing to disagree and respecting each other's thoughts.  We have allowed ourselves to become a generation of people who would rather wish karma on someone than to take a moment to pray for them. We have lost our way when it comes to neighborly love, mending fences and showing love and kindness.
I'm not sure what happened that we chartered off course and became a society that slowly has veered away from showing kindness to each other. I'm not sure why we find it so hard to find the good in someone. I don't even know why it's so hard to be a friend to someone who needs one. I am sure though that I wish there were more people like my dad who could share with us the secret to being a better friend, but most of all a better person. 

Helicopter Mom's last flight

When I was growing up my parents made the task of being a parent look so easy. It was pretty much as simple as they had their role as a parent and we had our roles as the kids. Those boundaries simply didn't cross over each other. Whether it was what time we went to bed, what we wore or what we ate for dinner - the decision was made for us and we didn't defy it or else you can only imagine what happened living in a "spare the rod, spoil the child" household.
Mom didn't get involved with our relationships unless we just wanted to talk to her about it. Dad didn't get involved unless 1) we were being mistreated 2) we had the audacity to break curfew or 3) he got a report in the neighborhood or through his friends that we were getting a bad reputation. He would on most occasions not hesitate to tell me "Sis, I think this one is a good one" or "Sis, that boy isn't worth beating with a stick". For the most part he was always right in the end. Regardless, there was a very defined line that we didn't cross over in respect for the other person's thoughts and feelings. He pretty much sat back and let me learn for myself.
When I became a parent I'm not sure what happened to cause me to stray from the path of example that he had laid before me when I was growing up. Fast forwarding ahead to the era of parenthood in my generation there were basically 3 types of parents: Parent A) Lived by the philosophy that making their child(ren) self dependent was the most important thing; Parent B) Those were the ones that were the "helicopter" parents that were involved in everything that their children did...regardless of whether the child wanted them to be involved or not; Parent C) Just pretty much threw their children out there and hoped for the best, but usually ended up with the worst because the children were left feeling like not even their parents cared about them.  I would most definitely classify myself as the "helicopter mom."  I thought that was the way to go. I thought that was the best way to send out my children into the world that would embrace them with open arms. I felt like I needed to be involved in every aspect of their lives. Why?? Well, being a single parent and having to work 2 and 3 jobs it didn't leave a lot of time for fun times with the kids. I missed a lot of bedtime stories, helping with homework and sitting in the living room under a makeshift fort watching a Disney movie. I managed to always be able to attend almost every ballgame because I had understanding bosses, but I missed a lot of the little things.
That's when I became a helicopter mom. I felt like being involved in what I could be involved in meant that I had to overcompensate for the things I missed out on. So at a fairly early time in their lives I dove in head first wanting to know every little thing that they were about what was going on in their lives. I wanted to know about boyfriends, girlfriends, who was so & so dating, what was the latest drama at school....you know what I mean - all the important things in a teenager's life. At that time it didn't seem like I was doing much damage play a dual role as a parent and as a friend. I looked at it as my kids having the best of both worlds; not just a mother, but a super cool mom who cared about what was going on with their friends, who made brownies for everyone and who stayed up late talking about their boyfriends or girlfriends.
I always took the role of being a mother seriously and felt strongly that God had entrusted me with them to not only love them, but to teach them, empower them and as an extra bonus "chill with them".
It wasn't until just recently that I realized that my good intentions of being an "involved" mom may have caused more harm than good. I felt like that if I wanted to be a part of everything in my kids lives then that would show them that I loved them even more than just providing a roof over their heads and food to eat. What I didn't realize that I was doing was embedding in their subconscious that I needed to approve of all of their choices and they had to involve me in their decision making to make me happy as well as themselves. For example the process of finding the one that their heart desired and them feeling the need to take into consideration how I would feel about it. WOW! I did not mean to do that!
Our children don't understand (until they have children of their own) what a mother's viewpoint entails when one of them comes home with a new girl or a new guy by their side. We (I say we, but it may just be me being a little overbearing) at a certain time in our children's lives look at more than things like - is he/she cute? Do they drive a nice car? Are they a star athlete? As a mother we look at things like - will they be good to my son/daughter? Do they go to church? What do they want to do with their lives? Do they want to be a doctor? A lawyer? A professional wrestler? A peace activist?  Do they plan to go to college or at they comfortable with asking 'how do you want your burger?' Being the overbearing "need to be a part of everything" mom has resulted in my children taking into consideration what my feelings are about who they bring to the next holiday dinner. I'm not sure how that happened, but I learned painfully just recently that I should not be a factor in that part of their lives. I guess that was lost in translation in one of the chapters in Parenting 101.
With the desire to be a good parent though should also come the willingness to learn along the way. At 51 years old and with all my children grown you would think that the lesson learning aspect of being a parent would be over. I found out however, that couldn't be further from the truth. I've become a professional helicopter mom over the years and trying to land this helicopter is a lot easier said than done. I have decided though that I have done the best I can the first 18 crucial years of their lives. I hope that along the way that I have helped make them good people. I hope that I have helped shape their minds to make good choices, but with their choices has to come my trust in what they choose.
With that said....what is it that a pilot says upon landing? "Helicopter mom requesting permission to land"...yes, I believe that seems appropriate.

Falling from grace...

This blog is quite different from those in the past. Normally I write about my children, my community or a topic that is either to entertain or to show my passion. This blog though is very personal. I’ve debated on writing it, but the purpose of a blog is to reach out to people and hope that when you do that you will say something that will touch someone in one way or another, whether it be in the form of laughter, in the form of tears or even perhaps help with some soul searching.

At 50 years old I don’t think that there is a time in my life that I can recall where there wasn’t a connection between me and God. I have strayed away a time or two, but always found my way back. I may not have prayed every day, but there has always been an open line of communication with Him.

Through many types of spiritual warfare I think that at some point your soul feels battered and shaken. With me there was a point where my spiritual relationship was very vulnerable and before I realized it there was a point of descending that began my fall from grace. It isn’t important what happened, where it happened or when exactly that it happened. What is important is that it did happen. Once something like this happens it feels as if the downward spiral that you are in becomes something that you can no longer control. It’s like a rollercoaster that once it is set in motion it won’t stop unless it’s a sudden forcible stop and in falling from grace, that forcible stop is when you hit bottom. When you are on this descent you begin to notice more those that sat back and watched you fall than you notice those that have tried to catch you or those that put out their hand to pull you back up. You look at those that keep you from making a decision to “come back” and you overlook those that set an example and give you a reason to return from your prodigal journey.

To describe how hard it becomes to talk to God when you are falling from His grace is like your breath has been taken away and your throat is closed. You want to yell for help; you want to communicate in any way, but you can’t. You can’t find the words, you can’t find the strength and it’s almost as if you can’t remember how to. I have this precious friend of mine, Marna, and when there is something in her life that merits prayer she will message me and she always says “I’m asking because I know you will”. There’s a certain level of accountability that she holds me to and because of that she reminds me of that relationship that I have with God…or that I used to have. She reminds me that I have an obligation in my relationship to God and that I need to talk to Him.

During this absence from His will I have found myself at different times questioning why things are happening. I have even had to audacity to think I can stiffen up and take the challenges head on and in a certain aspect actually defy the obstacles that God has thrown my way to remind me that I need to be ascending in His grace and not descending. It’s literally like I’m fighting this battle and with each hit I take emotionally, physically or mentally I am being drained and feel myself as battered and as tortured as my soul is.
I’m not sure how to find my way back to where I need to be. I’m not sure how to teach myself again to serve Him and I’m definitely not sure how to open lines of communication again. I do know though through many years of this journey with God that when I can’t speak, He hears my heart.

I’m still debating with myself as to whether I have been too open and whether this is something that I “need” to share. I am convincing myself to have the courage to hit the final button by reminding myself that I am not the only one who has stumbled and fallen. I wasn’t the first and I won’t be the last, but I can be an example to remind others that even though you feel completely alone – trust me...you aren’t.

I'm just sayin'... we deserve a cape

As a mother I have achieved many titles during this journey (some of them without a degree to hang on the wall). Over the course of motherhood I have become a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, a chauffeur, a coach [in several different sports] – (because I paid my $5 to sit in the stands for too many years not to have a certification in that), a nurse, a maid, a referee….the list could go on and on!

In the past few weeks I have [figuratively speaking] came in on two wheels attempting to save the day for one or all of my children. My 26 year married daughter with two children sends me a text the other night needing toilet paper, it’s important to include the fact that she lives 5 minutes down the road from me and 6 minutes from the Dollar Store; my son tells me the night before his senior research paper is due that he needs my help, only to find out that he has one paragraph written and my middle one sends me a text telling me that she needs help with homework that has to be turned in that night – mind you she is in Australia studying abroad and has been gone two months and I still can’t figure out when her nights are so I’m sitting at the kitchen table trying to help with a homework assignment going on halfway around the world.

At this point that I have come to the conclusion that as a mother we deserve a title that surpasses all others…we are superheroes! I mean the flowers, cards and gifts are nice tokens of appreciation, but what we really need is a cape...because well we deserve one and we need a shirt with a big fat M on it instead an S, because truthfully we have more powers than Superman!

Only as a mother can we accomplish the things that we do. I mean who else can squeeze a quarter out of a nickel? Who can be at 3 different ballgames in 3 different locations on the same day? Who can multi-task by cooking dinner, doing homework and laundry all at the same time? Who else could manage to grocery shop with tiny humans wanting everything from Cheetos to freezer pops? Who else can make sure that the lunch money is paid (or the lunches are packed), that the field trip permission slips are signed AND turned in on time or that there is proper attire and perfect hair for picture day? Who else can make the appointments and actually get the children to the pediatrician, the dentist, the dermatologist, the orthopedic doctor, the orthodontist and the ear, nose & throat doctor? Do you see where I am going with this? I mean I'm not saying the father isn't important....but....have you seen a man try to make sure an outfit matches, that the right meds go to the right kid and that there is something from all the food groups represented at dinner? I mean sure they could do it - BUT can they do it without having a minor meltdown deep down inside? Can they do all this without sneaking a Xanax out of the medicine cabinet when no one is looking?

Yes, my children are grown. The last one is about to leave the nest and unlike the job that I get a salary for that I will one day retire from...my days of being a mother and being needed are far from being over. You know what? That's perfectly fine with me. I'll take the stress, the long days, the sleepless nights, the constant worry until I know that they are all home safe, the delivering of toilet paper at 11:00 at night, the sudden rush to finish the paper that should already be done and the realization that homework is certainly not what it used to be (in America AND Australia).

When I think about all the things that being a mother requires; I think that one day a year is certainly not enough to celebrate us! I think we should have a week - National Hero with an apron week or something like that. Until then though, I will settle for the satisfaction of knowing that my children (whether they admit it or not) know that deep down they wouldn't be who they are without their mom and that their mere existence from day to day has been because I was there and will continue to be for whatever they may need at the moment.

Love, hugs and pizza for breakfast

When my children were babies I look back and I remember how hard I tried to be the "perfect mom". I made sure that the obvious needs were taken care of...that they were fed when they were hungry, they were taken to the doctor for every little thing when they didn't feel good, they were bathed and cleaned always and they were snuggled and loved. I even went the extra mile to make sure their clothes matched, that they were never taken out in public looking like they lived in a barn and I did the little extra things like making sure they had pictures taken at every milestone of their life. Now before you get carried away with thinking that I was a "mother of the year" kind of gal let me make it clear that they didn't always have a hot breakfast (although they did eat something), I didn't always give them my undivided attention and we didn't always say our bedtime prayers.
As my children grew older and went through the stages of toddler, preteen and puberty I still managed to make sure that they had the necessities that they required. As a single mom there wasn't a lot of spoiling, but on occasion when the checkbook would allow it they would get a little treat here and there. I have NEVER been one of those mothers that thought her child had to have a 'grocery toy'....you know one of those little prizes that a child has to have every. single. time. they. go. to. a. store. As they grew older and style began to matter they always had nice clothes (granted they did come from the clearance rack 90% of the time). By then the breakfast thing was a hit or miss kind of thing; it might come in the form of fresh baked cinnamon rolls or it might be a bowl of Fruit Loops, but they were at the age that they had became maintenance free and could fix their own if they needed to. They had their needs met and some of their wants granted, they had a bed to sleep in and a roof over their heads.
Now my children have all left the nest except for the youngest and he graduates this year. I'm pretty much at this point dragging my feet as a mother. I don't know if it's the depression of knowing that soon the nest will be empty and I'm striking in form of protest or if it's just that I am...well to be honest....wore out! At this point my son is lucky if I even remember to tell him to eat and when I do it's usually "hey there's a bottle of chocolate milk, but it has protein" or "how do you feel about leftover pizza?" has even crossed my lips a time or two I have to admit.
I know that I will always be a mother - it will just be in the form from now on of phone calls for advice, visits on weekends or me just missing them and inviting myself over. I find myself already wondering what will I do without ballgames, school functions, doctor appointments and having a child in the same house with me.
I think that all mothers (if we will be honest with ourselves) at different times just get tired of piles of laundry, trying to find what to fix for dinner, making sure everyone's needs are met while our needs get overlooked; and then we fantasize of the day that we can just lay on the couch watching Lifetime movies and eating cookies and actually getting to finish the movie!
This is going to be a huge adjustment for me. I've spent a big portion of my life trying to measure up to the most amazing mom ever title; sometimes I achieved that and sometimes I didn't. I know that I can't dwell on looking back and wishing I had done things differently, because the damage has either already been done or the opportunity to do better has passed. I can look back though and know that even if I failed at times, there are two things that I can be assured of when it comes to my parenting... my children never, ever felt unloved and whatever I did do as a mother, well I must have done something right because all three of those wonderful souls that God blessed me with have turned out to be some pretty amazing humans if I do say so myself.

From nesting to the empty nest

The other day my oldest daughter Jess sent me a text and asked me if it was too early in her pregnancy to be “nesting”. I hadn’t really thought about that phase of the pregnancy since my last child was born 17 years ago, and even at that time didn’t really think a lot about the whole “nesting” ideology. It was just a phase of the pregnancy I assumed that indicated it was time for the wee one to soon arrive.

This week I was putting the final touches on my son Eli’s senior page. While I was looking at the pictures of him as a little boy and then those of him now as a young man I started thinking about the fact that soon I won’t have any children at home. During that thought process of how quickly they have all grown up it came to mind the whole “empty nest” thing that I have heard parents talk about.

I’ve never really had to deal with those empty nest feelings because when Jessica, my oldest left home I looked at it as well I still have two more here. When my middle child Kailee moved into her own apartment as a college student, well there was still Eli at home. However, now that he will soon be graduating it has hit me like a ton of bricks that soon my living arrangements will change drastically. There will be no more sleepovers, no more kids raiding the fridge and the cabinets, no more setting my alarm clock to make sure someone is up for some kind of practice, tutoring or field trips. There will be no more staying up because I can’t sleep for all the giggling and laughing in the bedroom or sounds of a football hitting the wall.  

When you start to see your children leave home one by one you start on this journey of reflection, theories and sentimental thoughts. You wonder if you have done everything that was possible to raise your child the way that God trusted you to. You have flashbacks of memories and wonder if they are as precious in the minds of your children as they are in your own mind. You second guess yourself on occasion and punish yourself way more than what should probably be done. 

When you first bring your child home to the "nest" that you have prepared for them the last thought that you have on your mind is the day that he/she will leave that nest...that seems like a lifetime away. Ironically that day comes much sooner than what you think and when that day arrives you look back and it seems like literally a flash in time from the day you brought them home. 

I wish when I brought my children home for the first time that I realized then how important the nest was that I was creating for them. I would have taken more time to decorate the nest with memories, to pad it with more encouragement, to instill in the nest more faith and structure it with as many morals and ethics that I could. I know that I did my best to supply them with their needs of being taken care, being fed, nurtured and protected. I just hope that they realize when they spread their wings that it's okay to adventure out...well  because that's what all those years of making sure that their roots were strong were about - so they would know that their wings can spread as far as they want and they can always bring them home.

If I had any advice to give to a young mother today I would tell them this; nesting is much more than making sure there is a clean house for your child to come home to. Nesting is about the life that you create for them - providing for them and loving them - nesting is years of preparation for that day that will come when they leave the nest and make their way out into the world. All you can do at that point is pray that they take with them all that you have given to them while preparing them to leave one day.

As I prepare myself mentally and emotionally for the empty nest stage of my life I find myself wishing that I was back at that stage of nesting itself.  Life goes by quickly...too quickly....enjoy it from day one; savor every single second...whether it be the tantrums or the loveable moments; the tears or the smiles; the arguments or the get-along moments....they are all a part of it. Most of all those prepare the nest in a way that it will always be a place that they feel safe and happy when they need to come back to it.


 

What I was taught about love by a girl named Carly

When I write in my blog it’s usually….well no it’s always because I have been inspired either by someone or something that was said or done. This one is no different. The only difference with this one is having a hard time finding the words that are passionate enough to convey my feelings and thoughts on this topic. You see I have this dear friend of mine who has a daughter that she was blessed with through adoption and when Sally and her husband Josh received this bundle of joy she was named Carly. To bring you to the topic of this blog I need to tell you that months after this adoption it was discovered that Carly had Rett Syndrome. If you aren’t familiar with this syndrome please take the opportunity to bring awareness to this horrible disease:  http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/rett-syndrome

This little girl and the journey that she would be going on would soon be a journey that through the beauty of the social media we were all allowed the privilege of being there with her. Sally updates us quite often on all the progress that this amazing daughter of hers makes, but also we are updated sadly on the battles that she has to face.

It didn’t take long for me to see that God knew exactly what He was doing by placing this precious soul that He had created into the perfect home. I suddenly and quickly became a huge fan of not only Carly, but also of her mommy and daddy. Had Carly been placed into the arms of another couple I don’t know that she would’ve been loved and provided for like she has been with Sally and Josh. Her parents, as well as those close to her became vigilant crusaders to find a cure for what Carly was diagnosed with. My heart has been touched so many times through the updates and the stories about our precious Carly. My prayers since the day she was diagnosed have been faithful in asking God to be with her and to be with her parents. I find me asking myself often – could I be as strong as Sally as the mother that she is? I’m honestly not emphasizing enough how much I stand in awe of this incredible mother.

A few weeks ago Sally posted something that struck an inspiration in me for this blog. When I tried to sleep that night her words echoed in my mind and made my heart stir with emotion. She was talking about something positive in their lives involving Carly and she said “I know that we don’t have a life that people are jealous of but…” and then she went on to speak of her latest blessings with this beautiful daughter of hers. Those words….wow! It was a defining moment for me as not only a mother, but as an individual as well.

You see to me Sally couldn’t be more wrong. The love that encircles Carly, the faith that stands strong in their belief that one day she will be healed, the caring and compassionate moments that happen within the walls of their home, the celebrations of EVERY milestone – whether it small or huge…..these things are what give so many people a reason to in fact be jealous of the lives that they live. It creates a movement in your own heart that makes you want to have that same love in your own home with your own children. Yes, I have indeed been blessed with 3 relatively healthy and happy children, but there are days…oh Lord are there days….that we try each other, days that we argue and days that we don’t always show each other that we love each other. There are days that we don’t pray as hard for each other, days that we don’t celebrate small victories or applaud achievements. It made me think to myself that when God looks into our homes…Sally & Josh’s and into mine – does He see the same love? Does He see a mother in both houses that is thankful as she should be for what she has been given or does He see a mother in one house who has been given less struggles yet is less thankful or a mother in a house that struggles daily, but yet loves her child unconditionally and thanks God for her daily? Do I love my children any less? Of course not, but Sally taught me something that day that I will always remember… The love inside of a home is not defined by having everything that is perfect according to the eyes of those looking in from the outside….the love is defined by what your love projects from the inside looking out, and in the house where Carly lives there is an abundance of blessings shining from within those four walls and that my friend is something to be envious of and to strive for in your own home.

Thank you Sally and Josh for showing me what a home of love should consist of and for giving us the example of love through your precious Carly. No your home may not be perfect, but the love inside sure is.

No I'm not crazy - I'm menopausal

As a Christian I try to not ever question the good Lord on the things that happen in my life - the good or the bad. There are times though that I have to admit that I have questions that I can't help but wonder about.
 That is where I am right now. If I could stand before Him and ask Him something it would probably be…Menopause really?? Is it really necessary? I mean I know she ate the fruit. I get that. I know that the punishment for that has transcended through time to rest of us undeserving souls…(well, most of us are undeserving).  I can take the being reminded once a month that she messed up. I survived childbirth and the mere fact that I felt like a Buick was traveling though my pelvis. But good golly this menopause is about to take me down. 
If you have lived through menopause and survived to talk about it – you deserve something….a trophy, an embroidered Frog Tog towel or a tree in your local park named after you. If you haven't experienced it yet, please let me elaborate on what you are missing.
First of all you have no control over your moods. One moment you are a peace loving, all is right with the world - you love everyone. The next minute the least little thing - like someone breathing wrong results in you wanting to burn their house and kill their dog. You get no warning - it just happens, which makes those around you walk on eggshells in fear for their safety. My children have at some level of my insane moments searched the yellow pages for a priest who does in fact perform an exorcism.  
 Then there is the memory loss. I'm not talking about walking into a room and forgetting what you went in there for. I'm talking about being mid-sentence in a story and forgetting what you are talking about! It's not forgetting to brush your teeth - it's completely forgetting to brush your hair! Half the time I have to look down just to make sure I completely dressed myself before I leave the house. I walk around half the time like a woman who doesn't know if she has found a rope or lost a horse! I'm just thankful at this point that I don't have small children because to be perfectly honest they would be left behind somewhere.
 My breaking point though? The hot flashes....OH MY STARS the hot flashes, or as I commonly refer to them as "power surges." I don't know if  there is even an appropriate wording to describe these things! It's as if my body is about to spontaneously combust in 3.6 seconds. I'm perfectly fine, minding my own business, shopping for groceries in the middle of Wal-Mart and then BAM it hits, my body starts sweating in record time, my clothes begin to cling to me and voices start talking in my head...you know the ones that tell you to mow down the lady that is taking too long to find the watermelon that is the most ripe or the freshest loaf of bread. It's like I have an out of body experience that someone is going to have to call for "a cleanup on aisle 3" because of.  
The other day at the gym (I only included the location so you would think I can actually work out in this condition) I was talking to my girlfriends Felicia and Bettina. Felicia is right there with me - about to commit herself or commit a crime (whichever comes first) over this madness. Bettina, on the other hand sat there I think somewhat alarmed at what is going to happen to her one day. She just kept repeating "Oh I don't want any of this!" Felicia and I of course are relishing in the fact that by the time our friend's body is being attacked by this monster that we will either be in a place where we will require special attention 24/7; we will be the focus of a made for TV movie on the Lifetime channel OR we will become a real life superhero because of the special powers we received because of overcoming the menopausal monster. 
We were trying to adequately express just 'how bad' this womanly stage in our lives is. I think Felicia described it best when she said "It's like you are standing there and the portals of hell open up and the fire consumes your body at your feet and rapidly makes it's way to the top of your head and you just can't get naked enough!" Yeah...that is pretty accurate.
 I have been told there perhaps there is about 2 years ahead for me to go through this...two years of my children being scared of me....two years of my fiancé Patrick questioning whether he "really" wants to marry me....two years of potential innocent victims in the produce aisle at Wal-Mart facing the random chance of being strangled over them purchasing the last bunch of broccoli...two more years of sleepless nights waking up in the middle of a power surge that results in blankets hanging from the ceiling fan and the bedroom looking like an Iraqi war zone the next morning. Am I going to survive? I really don't know. Are the ones I love going to survive? Gosh I hope so! All I do know is that one day I will hopefully know why I had to go through something that makes a person who survived Naked and Afraid look like a wimp – but Heaven help those that are trying to survive it with me!

There's this special guy named Lukie...

When I was much younger I thought that the more friends that I had the more popular that I was. It was pretty cool being in high school and thinking that you had a huge group of friends. There were different personalities and that seemed to make things more fun.
The older that I have gotten though the more I have realized that the importance of friendship is not in the quantity of friends that you have, but rather in the quality of friends that you have. I have come to the realization that the actual amount of real friends that I have…well….I could probably fit all of them into a closet. There are those friends that you see out and about and usually catch up on each other’s lives in 15 minutes. There are those that randomly call of the blue just because they were thinking of you. There are those (unfortunately) that you hear from ONLY when they want something. You have those people that you have formed friendships with years ago that drift in and out of your life and with each encounter nothing has changed – you still have that same bond. Then you have that random special kind of friend that you meet, you never see each other a lot – but when you do they have this smile that lets you know that your friendship means something to them. I have been blessed in my life to have a few like that; one of those is named Lukie. No matter where I have seen him he has had this smile – this exceptionally special kind of smile that always made you glad that your paths crossed on that day. 
Sadly Lukie is very sick and I’m not sure what God’s plans are for him. When the prognosis came down and the word spread that he wasn’t doing well at all, well there were a lot of thoughts that crossed my mind. The one that occupies my head the most though is thinking about how I never told him what a special person that he is. Some would say that we are just acquaintances…we don’t hang out, never associated in public places like functions or restaurants, didn’t go to school together….we just met one day him doing his job and me doing mine. I remember when he left I thought “well that was a very nice man.” Through the years we have encountered each other when our work paths crossed, when we ran into each other’s family at the local Wal-Mart…you know things like that. The thing about Lukie that makes him different from a lot of people, myself included, is that every time you saw him no matter where it was, he had that famous smile.  No matter what life may or may not have been dealing him that smile was there. Even now in what would be a regular person's darkest hour he still smiles and even more importantly he says "I have had a great life and I'm ready to go". Wow! To know that you have lived a good life and that the end may be near he's smiling and positive. What an inspiration he is. 
I wish that I had taken the time out of my busy day the last time I saw him to just say how much I appreciated his smile and his constant kindness. This is what people mean when they say don't wait - tell people now how you feel. 
My dad always thought a lot of his friendships in life, but he always used to tell me "Sis it doesn't matter how many friends you have in life. Life can't be measured by that. What matters though is will you have enough friends to carry you in the end?" I have never forgotten that and it has helped me to realize that even if I can only count my true friends on my hands, at least there will be 6 in the end. 
Lukie is the person that when it comes time to leave this world, whether it be tomorrow or 10 years from now will have no problem gathering enough together to carry him in the end. That's just the kind of guy he is. 
Lukie thank you for making my life more beautiful just by the occasional blessing of seeing your smile and experiencing your kindness.    

It's about more than a reflection in the mirror

I am very quickly approaching the 50 year mark in my life. With that accomplishment coming around the corner you would normally (I think) start reflecting on where you thought you would be at this point and look back at where you have come from. At this time in my life though I never thought that I would put so much emphasis on a physical aspect in that way of thinking rather than in a professional, geographical or one based on experiences and lessons learned. 

I have never been a “Swimsuit cover of Sports Illustrated” type of girl; never was Tyra Banks model material – but was cute and sweet I like think and was built okay for me suppose. I never “hated” my body and never dreaded buying swimsuits or shorts. As I aged though [especially later in life] that started changing. I am no longer the size I was many moons ago and the middle age spread got off to a running start before the pistol was even fired.

I remember one night when I was working second shift dispatching we had ordered dinner and I was starving! I ordered something like two corndogs, fries and a milkshake. My boss at the time came in a saw my rather large display of food and said “one day that will catch up with you girlie.” I scoffed at the notion and laughed at her thinking that my [sort of] petite self would ever weigh more than I did.  Now here I am looking back at all the times I splurged at the local drive-in, pretty much committed gluttony anytime I was near a fast food restaurant and how many milkshakes I have drank over the years and looking at myself in the mirror saying to myself “well she was right!”

I pretty much quit shopping for me, because to be honest there is nothing more discouraging than not being able to fit in the same size that you wore that last time you went into a dressing room. Oh the dressing room…yeah that sure isn’t where I spend much time…those mirrors are my worst enemy. I’m leaving for the beach in a few days and I literally want to cry at the thoughts of facing myself in a reflective piece of glass! I know that it’s going to take a lot of self-motivation to even get myself in a store that has swimwear. I am already dreading in itself the thoughts of walking out on the beach and imagining how many snapchats will be sent to people with me being the subject of some sort of mockery.

It’s not that I want to look this way…the way that I imagine people think of me. In fact looking down at myself I don’t feel like I’m a prime candidate for Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers – it’s that darn mirror that paints a different picture. The time will come that hopefully I will get a grip on this challenge of losing weight, but until then I have tried to put a different perspective on what I am really about.

I have learned a valuable lesson though through this transformation from a size 4 to a size 14. I look at women who have the same issue with size as myself and I think differently than I used to. At one time I looked at those ladies and thought to myself “hmmm wonder if they have always been “big”? The same way that I used to think of myself when I looked in the dreaded mirror (or as I like to think of it – a creation by Satan himself). I now though try to have a different perception of not only myself, but those other women as well that are in the same boat as me. I think about the fact that I am the same person on the inside that I have always been. I still am loving. I still love to laugh and try to be funny. I still genuinely care about people and what they go through. I still would move mountains for the people I love….none of these things have changed about me. It’s only the outward appearance that has.  So now when I look at other women I wonder to myself what they feel – are their feelings about the whole “the outside vs the inside” debate the same as mine? I wonder if they have the same insecurities. I wonder if they feel inadequate in ways that are superficial. I wonder if when they look in the mirror if they see the person that I see when I look at myself…the person who wants to look great in a swimsuit, but if I don’t I’m still the same individual – just in a bigger proportion….for now.

The most important thing that I have to remember - and that I have to remind myself of - is that as much as I hate the darn mirror, I can’t allow it to make me feel bad about myself. I have to look at the mirror and realize that what I see in my reflection only describes me – it’s doesn’t define me.

It's never too late to make sister memories

I was 15 years old when my little sister was born. By the time she had become a toddler I was well on my way into adulthood and had moved out of my family home. I missed out on so much of her life when she was growing up and it wasn’t until lately that I really have thought about the importance of the things that I didn’t get to be a part of. We never had the closeness that other sisters have because there was so much of an age difference. We never got to play Barbie dolls or dress up; we never got to have secrets that we could have taunted our brothers with and we never got to lay in bed at night giggling and talking about boys. We didn’t get to help pick out each other’s prom dresses; I didn’t get to be the overprotective sister at high school; I didn’t get to be the one that she talked to about her broken heart when some jerk hurt her.

Years have passed since our childhood and basically all the memories we have are not having those important memories together. As we have gotten older though God has blessed us with the opportunity now to somewhat make up for all that lost time. It was like one day we started calling each other more often (other than when we just needed a favor or had a question). Our relationship began to grow into the relationship that I have always envied other sisters of having. We call each other to vent, to get advice or to just tell a funny story. Regardless of what the conversation is about, with each phone call we get closer.

Somewhere along the way from the transition of the little sister that I missed out on so much with - to the woman that I am now closer to than anyone, she has become one of the strongest women that I have ever known. Recently she has had her fair share of trials that have given her both the occasion to fight or to give up – and giving up has not been an option. I’ve learned something in this bonding process; that even though I wish more than anything that I could take some credit for her being the person that she is, she did it all herself. She has spread her wings without my help and oh my goodness does she soar! I look at this woman who was once a little curly haired brat that I didn’t appreciate and now I see a woman before me that grew up without me and yet did perfectly fine!

I find myself now [even with being the older sister] that she is teaching me as much as I can teach her. She shows me different ways to be a better mom, she encourages me when I feel like giving up and most importantly she is my best friend. She holds my wings up when I get tired or flying and in turn I am there to catch her if her wings give out. We balance each other out now and age is not even a factor.

As vital as I think that the things are that we have missed out on, I think that it has made our relationship more special and stronger now than I would have ever thought possible a few short years ago. We have this bond now that enables us to pretend to go back in time and be silly like little girls if we want or to be strong the women for each other that we have learned through tough spots to be.

Every now and then I sit in the floor and let her fix my hair, we have our secrets that we pinky swear not to share with anyone else and on occasion we even talk about boys (aka men). Although we don’t lay in the bed and giggle late at night I know without a doubt that no matter what time it is – we are there for each other. Even though looking back on these memories there won’t be the images of pig tails and acne – they are even more precious to me because we are growing together now and it’s never too late in life to grow up together.

The lessons of life you learn on a softball field

My youngest daughter has spent a majority of her life on the ball field. She has a passion for softball that is as powerful today as it was the first day she picked up a bat. I have seen her at her lowest of lows and I have seen her highest of highs on that field of red dirt, chalk and grass. I always understood that passion because I saw the love that she had for the game and I knew how much her heart was in it. What I didn’t see all those years on the ball field though was the life lessons that she was learning while playing the sport that she loved so dearly. It wasn’t until Kailee got into college that I saw what she had gained through playing softball. It’s as if every aspect of her life was affected by this game that she merely was playing because she just enjoyed it, not knowing what it was teaching her along the way.

My daughter was blessed with some amazing coaches and some remarkable fellow players throughout her years playing ball. Because of this sport she learned the significance of teamwork and working together for a positive end result; that taught her that she has a responsibility to contribute to her class groups, her lab partners or the shift she works with and that as long as there is equal input from everyone, then you can accomplish anything. It goes beyond the basic concept of “teamwork” though. This sport taught her so much more than that.

Kai was always harder on herself more so than even the coaches; especially when it came to batting. Sometimes she might hit a double or even a triple and a lot of times she was walked or even worse struck out. Each time though that she didn’t get the hit that she hoped for it just made her want it more when she stepped back up to the plate. Yes, if she didn’t get it then it was disappointing; but if she did make contact with her bat and the ball – it just made it feel even better. Batting taught her focus and it taught her the will to strive harder with each chance that she had at the plate. What that taught her has helped her with the challenges of tests and finals in college. With each of her tests that she takes obviously comes the risk of failing – which no matter how hard she has studied – she still has had that happen; but with each failure she has come up swinging and determined to do better on the next one. Just like batting, if you focus on what comes at you then you can meet it head on.

She always played the outfield and at first she was hesitant about believing that she could catch balls that were out of her reach. With each practice though she strived to be braver and eventually had no problem with diving for a ball…even if it meant a concussion or a trip to the ER later. Finding that courage to push herself has now resulted in her not being afraid to try new things, harder classes or challenges in her jobs. She realized through having the courage to go for it on a pop fly that it was worth it in the satisfaction of catching it and being a hero for a moment; it’s the same with believing in herself enough to take a chance and reach higher and farther for her goals in life.

I wish I had a nickel for every hour that we spent at the ball field; for every night that we left late and every next morning that we had to get up before sunrise. She never complained…not once. It was a sacrifice that she didn’t care to make because to her it was all worth it. Those sacrifices showed her that is what life is about – if you want what makes you happy, well you have to sacrifice to achieve that.

The practices that involved sweat, sore muscles and a lot of her time, the tournaments that consisted of hours & hours in the dugouts and on the field in 100° temperatures, playing back to back games with no time to eat and being exhausted – all those things were merely the foundation of her building the characteristics of perseverance and determination that would later produce the work ethics that she has formed.   

She finally came to realize through her two coaches that pushed her that it wasn’t necessarily about who believed in her, but yet her learning to believe in herself. That gave her more courage than anything to not let failure become the bigger option. It taught her that as long as you give it all you have, then that is what matters. Those things have given her the confidence in pursuing what it is that she wants to do; regardless of whether or not anyone else thinks that she can do it.

Softball taught her that just as in life, you get out of it what you put into it. If you give what you are doing your dedication and commitment; if you work with others for the ultimate outcome; if you have faith in yourself as much as those who teach you, then you can conquer whatever it is that you set your mind to.

I always knew that I wouldn’t trade the memories of those long days at the ball field for anything, but I am just now realizing how important the sport that she loved for the simple joy of playing it, was also one of the things that shaped her most as a person. To some it’s just a bat, a ball, a glove and coming together for the purpose of winning, but to me it’s much more than that – it’s creating a person who doesn’t let striking out from time to time define you; it’s about working with others for the greater cause; it’s manifesting the character that will take you as far in life as you want to go and helping to build the courage to dust the dirt off and get back up. It’s not just a game…it’s a life lesson.

 

A letter to a new mom

The other night we had went to eat at this quaint little restaurant that we like to go to. The tables are very close together and there isn’t a whole lot of room for seating. The waitress sat us at a table next to this young couple with a small baby and what appeared to be first time grandparents. The baby was restless, somewhat fussy and at times crying. I know that they must have thought it was bothering me because every time they looked my direction I was watching them. We finished our meal before them and as we left the mother and grandmother apologized several times for the child’s behavior. While I appreciated them being considerate enough to apologize, I reassured them that it was not necessary.

After we left and during the ride home I thought a lot about that new mother and thought that I wish I could go back and talk to her. There were so many things that I would say. So with that said here is me reaching out to her.

 Dear New Mom,

The other night I had the privilege of dining with you and your (obviously) first child. I sensed while we were together in the same place for a while that you were worried that your child was causing a scene or that he was making others uncomfortable. I recognized you as a mother in myself 25 years ago and as you saw me staring at you at times; well that was me asking myself where did all the time go? Wasn’t this just me yesterday? It was me thinking to myself “oh how I wish that was me again”! I was watching in both envy and regret. Envious that you have all these years ahead of you to share and create memories. Envious that your days of hide & seek, Play Dough and Disney movies have not even begun yet. Envious because you have no idea yet the joys and the laughter that lie ahead of you.

Regret? Yes, as good as a mother as I think I have been – there are so many things that I look back now on and wish that I could change. I think back to me being in your seat with a small child crying and thinking to myself “Oh my gosh I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what you need!” I wish I could go back to that time. I wish that I could have seen then the importance of not worrying about what others thought of me and my fussy baby. I wish that I had just savored the moment as just another part of childhood and I wish that I had taken more time to cuddle you and play with you than the time I used to stress and fret over it.

I have often heard and even said it several times myself, “If I could only go back and know then what I know now”.  If I could tell you anything I would tell you to cherish every moment…the laughter….the tears…all of it, because one day you will be sitting where I was. You will be watching another young mother and thinking the same thing I was. One of the hardest parts of being a parent is when you children grow up. As a single mom I look back over the years and I wish that there was a do-over button. I would spend more time coloring, more time reading to them, more time holding them while they slept and more time listening to their stories. You have so much ahead of you and I have so much behind me. You have years to get it right and I have memories that cannot be changed.

I know that now it doesn’t seem possible – but tomorrow that little child will become dependent and he or she won’t want you to hold them in your lap; the next day they will start school and in what seems like a few weeks they will go from walking into kindergarten by themselves to walking across the stage a graduate. So trust me you owe no apologies for a fussy child because that moment is fleeting and soon you will be wishing you had it back again. My children overnight went from pulling at my pant leg to walking through a room barely noticing my existence. They went from climbing up in my lap and falling asleep to these creatures that survive on junk food and a cell phone locked in their bedroom. It’s simply a part of them letting go while you still want to hold on.

Most of all – don’t be so hard yourself. I saw the look in your eyes when your wee one was upset. Don’t fret it. Just look at it as just a part of it. Trust me there are so many wonderful days and moments ahead of you and one day you will I promise look back and see how insignificant that moment was. Today is a chance to play instead of work, to color instead of clean and to laugh instead of worry. Don’t put off these things thinking you will make up for it on another day – because someday eventually becomes today and then you look back and wish you had more time - just like me - the mother that sat in the restaurant at the table next to you one night.

 

 

The art of giving advice should come with a degree

Advice comes in all shapes, forms and sizes I have realized through the years. As a child growing up I was blessed with parents that dished out advice every time I needed it and some times when I didn't want to hear it. My mother was more the "listen to your heart" kind of advice giver; you know the kind that wants to give you advice, but doesn't want you to get upset with her if it's the wrong thing that she told you to do. She was always one to listen and a lot of times let me find my own answers just by allowing me to say it out loud and it becoming obvious to me what it was that I needed to do just by hearing myself talk about it. My dad was quite the opposite. He told me exactly how it was and it didn't matter if it was what I "wanted" to hear or not, it was what he felt in his heart and soul that it was what I needed to hear. And if I got mad at him? I would get over it what his answer to that. Most of the time I listened to them - and when I didn't...well I always ended up wishing I had.
Growing up I never realized how much advice that one acquires through their lifetime. That realization didn't come to me until years into parenthood when I was the one dishing it out. It starts out when they are babies - telling them not to touch this because it will hurt them, don't put that in your mouth you'll choke to death, don't climb on that you'll bust your head; you know that kind of advice that you teach them early in life what they don't comprehend until it happens or until you convince them that they are gonna get hurt!
Then you move on up to the next stage - the school years. You tell them they have to study or they will never pass, you tell them to be kind to others, don't be a tattle tale and if you're a boy - don't hit girls -if you are a girl don't let a boy hit you (and if he does knock his lights out of course). You know just the basic kindergarten through 5th grade kind of stuff that will get them by hopefully and that they will be a likable friend and student because of it.
Then they get a little older and the some of the hardest advice that you dish out is the kind that they will carry with them hopefully the rest of their lives. You know- the kind of advice that makes an attempt at healing a broken heart. The hardest thing that a parent can see is their child hurting. A broken heart doesn't always come in the form of a boy or a girl telling them they want to break up. It comes in many different ways and the advice that you give them ranges on many different levels.
A hurting heart most certainly can be the end result of someone starting out a conversation with "It's not you - it's me" or "I think we just need to be friends." But, unfortunately though there are other things that make the heart feel like it is crumbling inside of you. The betrayal of someone you trust, losing a friend over something or perhaps the worst of all the loss of someone you love.
You like to think that just saying "I promise it will get better - it won't always hurt like this" kind of advice will fix it all....but it won't....it's never that easy. And the worst part of it is that as you try to heal their heart your own feels their pain and your own words echoing in your ears are not enough to stop the pain you feel seeing them hurt.
I feel like I have the compassion that my mother had; or I at least try to show that empathetic part of me. I try to channel my dad through me using his wisdom of philosophy. But there are times that I am presented with something I have never experienced and then I have to wing it. That's the scariest thing in the world knowing that my child; no matter how old they are; has come to me [in a metaphoric sense] with their hands open holding pieces of a broken heart and asking me to put it back together. What can you do?
It's simple - you remember that this person is your very own heart beating on the outside of your body and you feel that pain, your own heart suffers as theirs does and you get that gut wrenching feeling that the world is falling apart right in front of you; and then you tell them what you want them to believe more than anything...that this will pass, that they will smile again and that life as unfair as it seems right now will get better.
I don't think that however hard that you try that you will always have the right answer. But if in your pursuit to give just the right words you just remember that no matter how simple the advice needs to be or how complex your words of wisdom need to be - the important thing is not always in what you say, but in just being there.
I know that I cannot always hold my children's hands. I can't always make everything the way it should be and I can't always keep the bad from happening. But I can always be there...if for nothing else but to let them know that I always will be.

Being a single mom...not the easiest job in the world

If someone were to ask me what definition would I give for a "single mom" I don't know that I could accurately give one and justify the true meaning of what one is. Although I have the role of being a single mom, I through my own experiences still couldn't do it justice in my description
I have been a single mom for almost 10 years now and altogether a total of about 16 years. I have learned more valuable lessons than I could even count. Most I remember and some I unfortunately have to learn over and over again.
As the lone leader of my householder over the years I have acquired more badges than a veteran boy scout. I have been the mom, the dad, the good guy, the bad guy, the officer, the jury, the judge, the lawyer, the defendant, the doctor, the nurse, the teacher and oh yes even the student...just to name a few.
I've made some really good calls during my run in this position and messed up big also. I've worn the hat as a mom when I needed to be a dad and vice-versa. I've given lectures and advice when I should of listened. Hopefully the good that I have done will outweigh the bad though and when my children look back on my job as their leader that I will get high grades.
Unfortunately though a lot of what being a single mother is about; well my kids have never seen. Those times that I stayed awake long after they went to sleep looking over homework and correcting mistakes, putting the finishing touches on school projects, getting stains out of a favorite shirt before they see it and panic or ironing clothes for school pictures. I suspect that they caught on over the years of most of my late night parenting missions that come with the role of motherhood; but I wonder if they have ever picked up on the things that I try so hard to hide. The nights that I have laid in bed behind a closed bedroom door tossing and turning trying to sleep while I'm trying to budget out how we are going to make ends meet until the next payday. The times that I have snapped at them and they thought I was just in a bad mood - when in actuality I was trying to figure out which Peter to rob to pay Paul. I wonder if they know how many times I had a little extra cash and planned on stopping for breakfast for a change and handed it over without hesitation when they needed money for something that they either needed or wanted at school. Or if they have a clue how many times I had a little extra in my checking account and contemplated all the way to checkout about buying the new shirt that I had put in my buggy and how by the time I got to the register I had talked myself out of it and went back for something for one of them that I thought they might like to have. I hope that they don't, but I wonder if they do know how many times the little things that I scraped and saved for to do for them went unnoticed.
As long as I have been in this boat by myself for the most part, I have always known that I was a good mom. Maybe not always great, but good most definitely. I have loved my children with every ounce of my being; even when at times they weren't very lovable. Although I know I have made mistakes and failed A LOT when it has come to raising these blessings from God - I've never once questioned my capability of being their mom. Until recently anyway. These past couple weeks I've really been overwhelmed with stresses and worries. I've found myself in a position of wondering if I can make it one more day with this load that I carry. There have been things that my kids have had to go without, things that as a parent I'm obligated to provide. I've cried what seems like a thousand tears over the past several days because I've let the temporary things completely take over the things that I know I should be focusing on. I felt like I was not only a failure, but that I have let my children down and that breaks my heart.
I've prayed A LOT and tried to pull myself out of the pity party that I seemed to have plopped right down in the middle of with a bowl of chips in my lap and a diet coke in my hand settling down for the long stay.
But like every other aspect of this life I know that this is a test and I will hopefully pass it without any permanent damage. And with the end result I will still be able to do what I have tried to do and that is show my daughters the independence that they shouldn't be afraid to have and the courage to stand up for that independence; and to show my son the strength that a woman possesses and what she is can accomplish. Hopefully I will forever have their love, but I also hope that I have their respect as well.
I don't have a single regret for any sacrifice that I have made and I certainly don't think it makes me wonder woman because of these things.
I don't say these things or use these examples to gain some empathy, to have sympathy from anyone or to brag on myself. I am no more of a hero than any of the other single mothers out there. I say these things out loud because I wonder sometimes if people really REALLY know what being a single mom is all about.

Making memories and remembering that you did

I had always thought that the older that you get the less hectic that life gets and the more time you have to relax. Gosh was I ever wrong! It seems like it is the exact opposite in fact. This past year it has almost been as if I was meeting myself coming and going because there was so much going on with just life in general.
I feel like at times that I am divided into to so many roles that I have to play that eventually everyone gets cheated one way or another out of their allotted time. Back before Christmas it was really weighing heavy on my mind how fast the year had gone by and how it was really just a blur to me. I thought about so many of the significant things that had happened over the last [almost] 365 days and some of the most major changes that had occurred in my children's lives. My oldest fell in love and moved out the first part of the year; my middle graduated high school, started college and completed her first semester over a course of 6 months time, and my son who is my youngest got his first job and his learner's permit within 3 months time.
As I thought about all these things occurring in their lives, it was almost as I slammed on the brakes on my car and was suddenly jolted into the reality of the fact of my children not being little anymore. I then began assessing and reassessing my role as a mother and wondered if I had "done enough" for them over the years. Oh I know they were cared for. They were fed. They had a roof over their heads. They were nursed back to health when they were sick. And although they may not have had everything they wanted....well I tried to make sure they had everything they needed. I wondered then, as I have since they were little, if they would remember all those things. Will they remember the basics in life that I provided for them? Well...I'm sure they will. It's ridiculous to think that they won't remember warm beds to sleep in, cooking for them (certainly not as much as I should have), taking care of them, etc. You get the picture - right?
What bothered me though about them growing up so fast was the question even more so....did I give them memories? Have I given them something to carry on with their children? Have I given them good times of laughter, fun and special times in the midst of all my working 2 & 3 jobs and spending too many late night hours figuring on budgets, check books and bills?
All of this sudden rush of nostalgia just overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to turn back time and have a do-over! I felt suddenly as if no matter how many awards I could get for being a hard worker, no matter how many pats on the back I could receive for being a dedicated employee, how many bills I paid off....none of that was important. All I could think about was what have I cheated my children out of and is it too late?? I felt like I was being visited by the ghost of Christmas past and this was my own "Ebenezer Scrooge confrontation with what's really important". I struggled for days and sleepless nights beating myself up with guilt. I felt like the "mother of the year" award that I had so desperately strived for had no chance of ever sitting on my mantle.
It really seemed to put a damper on the holidays, but then one night it was as if God felt like I had punished myself enough for my shortcomings as a parent and I received this text from my oldest daughter Jess. She had sent me a picture of their Christmas tree in her new home and down below it she said "remember when you would always put "When The Grinch Stole Christmas" on while we decorated the tree? Well I've started that tradition with my little family." I stood there with tears in my eyes and was speechless. It was exactly what I needed to hear.
The holidays were so crazy this year and all my normal rules and procedures for Christmas were completely out of whack. I had wrapped my presents at my mom's house and had to bring them down on Christmas Eve. It was late and Kai & Eli were still up. I asked them to help me carry the gifts in. They did and so I went ahead and put them under the tree. There was no reason I thought to wait until they went to bed; they are after all 15 & 18. But as I spread them under the tree they both just sat there and they had the strangest looks on their faces. Kai speaks up and says "this is the first time you have ever put the presents under the tree in front of us" Eli finished it off with "yeah you always let us just wake up surprised."
Well....while that was heartbreaking as a mother that I felt like I had shattered a tradition - I also felt like it was another sign from God that maybe perhaps I was being too hard on myself. Maybe just maybe I have given them memories to reflect back on and to repeat with their own children. And while they have obviously outgrown their belief in the big guy dressed in red & white, they have not outgrown the things that made that special time just that...special. I can only hope that the memories that I have created for them or made with them are more than just at Christmas time and I'm certain that they are; but to be honest I think that was a special gift for me and Christmas was just the right setting for it to be given to me...the reassurance that I have been there to give them memories and that maybe I didn't mess up [too bad].
Lesson learned...they are never to old to stop making memories and from now on the presents go under the tree while visions of sugar plums dance in their heads and not a moment before!