Tis the season....

I always find that the holiday season is a very contemplative time for me. Maybe it is the abundance of events that makes me remember how fortunate I am to be surrounded by the family that I have. I know that not everyone is as lucky as I am, and I always take time over the holiday season to stop and be truly thankful for what I have.

Of course saying I am thankful for my family brings up an entirely different question: what defines a "family"? In these times with so many blended families, it has long been accepted that your family can include people who are not your blood, but for me it reaches much further than that. I have co-workers, acquaintances, friends, and family. Some people span through many of those categories; others only one. It was actually during Mass this past weekend during a quiet moment of prayer that I thought about the people that make up my family and realized that blood actually has very little to do with it. The people that my heart classifies as family are those that I trust not only my heart and soul with, but also with the protection and care of my children and their well being. If I trust someone completely enough to know all of me and guard my children....well then, they are family.

It is interesting because I used to be much more guarded with myself. In part this was due to immaturity and needing to seek approval from others to feel redeemed, but it was also due in part to my own insecurities. If you can't see enough of your own value to love yourself then how are you ever going to believe that other people can love you too? When I say "you" I don't mean the controlled and censored version that if often displayed to strangers, but the "you" that has flaws, tells raunchy jokes, is hideously sensitive, and sometimes, just sometimes, farts in her sleep. There is nothing quite as rewarding as letting the real you out there to people and learning just how many people value you, blemishes and all.

None of this means that I am just like everyone in my "family." In fact, we are nothing like Stepford but actually all very unique and dynamic individuals. I have to admit that I have been known to express to my husband that the way some of the people around me do things is "weird" to me. One day he calmly pointed out to me that if they seem weird to me then I certainly seem weird to them. This may seem like such a non-impressive statement to some people but it was hugely impactful to me. I realized that he was 100% right. Since then, instead of being tempted to judge something that I perceive to be "weird," I instead focus on the values found in doing it this new and different way. Through doing this I have learned so much about the family around me that I love and also how "weird" some of the things I do must seem to them.

Differences are beautiful.

I remember when I was little thinking that my mom was surely lying when she claimed that she really did not want or need any presents for Christmas. I always felt a twinge of guilt when she would only have a few "lame" homemade gifts to open from us kids while we had mounds of presents to tear through. It wasn't until I had my own family that I realized how superficial gifts actually are. That doesn't mean that I don't love giving and receiving gifts, but rather that I don't need a physical gift to realize that I already have more than I could have ever dreamt for. Getting a handmade ornament from my kids? Well, that's just icing on the cake.

Tis the season to be grateful.

Sometimes you just have to use your good china

I think that all responsible parents, no matter how much money they make, constantly worry about how much money they have. For me this comes from years of stretching every single penny to pay the bills. After putting myself through college and supporting myself and Hunter single-handedly after my divorce, having extra money in the bank has become an addiction of sorts.

I can remember so distinctly being poor in college. Now I'm not just using the word "poor" for dramatic effect; I was POOR. I was the kind of poor that caused me to take actual money to the grocery store and grapple with how to make $23.46 buy enough food to last me two entire weeks. I was the kind of poor that caused me great angst when it started approaching time to do laundry because using all those quarters to wash clothes REALLY hurt. And buying gas to drive the two hours home to see my family...well that was not always an option.

The worry I felt in those days didn't even come close to the gut-wrenching fear I felt when I left my ex-husband and knew that 100% of the responsibility to care for my infant son fell on me. I knew the second I walked out that door that I was the only parent who gave a damn about giving Hunter the best life possible. Talk about a sobering reality, especially when it hit me at only 23 years of age.

I tell these stories to explain a bit of the path that led me to today. Did I worry myself sick? Yes. Did I scream into my pillow at night after my baby had gone to sleep? Yes. Did I cry in the shower because I felt utterly alone and exhausted? Yes. But...I kept going. Every day I put one foot in front of the other and forged my path. The day I decided to have a child was the day I committed to giving all of myself to someone else, and that was something I took very seriously. Not only did I want my son to be happy, but I wanted him to have the best life possible. It wasn't easy working at home from the time Hunter went to bed until 3am and then getting up with him at 6:30 but I did it, and it got me to where I am today.

Feeling the pang of not having enough money to pay the bills is something that never leaves you. I think that is why I struggle to spend money on "non-essential" things. It feels frivolous....almost reckless, to be honest. I think I feel like I am protecting my children from the frustration I felt for so many years by doing this. It may sound silly to some people but it is my reality.

Recently I have made a commitment to try to enjoy a little "reckless" spending. Mark and I work hard, very hard, and provide our children with a good life. We live in a beautiful home, drive new cars, send our children to the schools of our choice, and pay the bills without stress. I have to constantly remind myself that it is OK to sometimes just spend money on something fun. I have to coach myself that this is not selfish or reckless but normal and important.

On Sunday when the opportunity to buy tickets to the Ray's game presented itself, I didn't hesitate. Is this $100 something I could put into the savings account? Sure. I do that all the time. But this time instead I decided, "to Hell with it." That $100could sit in my savings account and be long forgotten or it could give my husband and I a date night memory that will stay with us forever. I chose the memory.

It's kind of like fine china. I always think it is so odd when people have beautiful china that lives behind a glass pane protecting it from breaking. I always think it is such a waste. What is the point in having beautiful things if you are afraid to enjoy them? I guess it seems to me that breaking one plate is worth it if it gives you the opportunity to enjoy the things you love.

Sometimes you just have to buy tickets. Sometimes you just have to use your good china. Enjoying life, well, that's why we're here isn't it?

Thank you for my birthday

I know that I talk quite a bit about my children on this blog, but in all reality I am the quintessential wife and mom....my husband and kids are my life. Of course I have outside passions and interests that constitute things that belong to "just me", but those things pale in comparison in importance to the people I am eternally connected with.

Maia celebrated her 4th birthday this week. I look at her and feel in awe of how quickly she has turned into a little girl. Long gone are her days of babyhood. Those have been replaced by all things girly--glitter, pink, princesses, jewelry, make-up--as her cherished toys of infancy have disappeared into the bottom of her toy bin. While I have saved a few treasured things that remind me so much of her as a baby, most of these things have been given away to children in need. As much as my instincts try to force me to hoard the "things" that remind me of her so much, eventually logic takes over and allows me to let go of the "things" which don't matter nearly as much as the memories they are attached to.

On the day of her birthday, Maia and I had a grande celebration. She decided that she wanted four cakes because she was turning four. When I asked her if that meant I got 32 cakes on my birthday she simply laughed and replied, "That's ridiculous, Mom!" I took the day off from work and spent the day appreciating all things Maia; we baked and decorated four cakes with princess candles and sprinkles, played "dollies", watched a princess movie, and swam in the pool. We had our family over to celebrate with dinner and dessert. It was the perfect birthday. Without the fanfare of a large party (something we debated having), we could truly celebrate what was actually important: Maia.

After the madness died down when the sugar had passed through her system, I snuggled with her in her bed and held her so tight. I could still feel her little baby body pressed against mine during those 3am feedings. She is a girl who shares her emotions sparingly so when she does...she makes her point clearly. As I held my sweet girl and cherished HER she so sweetly turned to me, gave me a hug and kiss, and said, "Mommy. Thank you so much for my birthday."

I couldn't help but think, "Thank me for your birthday? No....thank YOU." At four years old she is still too little to be involved in and understand this sentiment so I kept it to myself. But as I laid in bed and tried to unwind I couldn't help but repeatedly thank God for Maia. The world and my life are truly brighter and better places with her in them.

So Maia, one day when you are old enough to read this, thank YOU for your birthday. You are one in a million and I cherish every moment that I am with you. You make every day a better day. I love you Maia-llama-ding-dong!

Spit-up and Sippy Cups

It is hard during the madness of life to stop and realize how blessed we are for all the little things in our lives. I have often thought that it is the "big" things that matter, whether thinking about compatibility with my spouse or the beauty of having my children, but I realized this weekend that it is the little things that are the most precious jewels.

There is no doubt that I know my husband better than anyone else on this Earth does and that he, in reverse, is more in tune with me than any other human being. This is due largely in part to the small everyday actions and words that only I get to see. When the walls of inhibition come down, truth shines as bright as the sun, and I happily bask in all of its glory.

This epiphany hit me on Saturday when I was, of all times, loading dishes. This is far from the romanticized version of when self reflection must occur but is the reality of every busy wife and mother out there. There is no designated time for inner dialogue to occur but, instead, it is grabbed every second possible. As I was loading sippy cup number 37 into the dishwasher and cursing under my breath about the ridiculous amount of plastic valves (moms, you know what I'm talking about) that I constantly have to pull off and put on these cups, I suddenly felt like my breath was knocked out of me when I came to understand that one day I will miss this in my house. I realized that one day all too soon my children will be grown enough to be independent. While I want more than anything for them to reach this stage and be happy and successful, there is a part of me that will yearn for their babyhood and youth. I can already feel it coming. Right now I am the center of their universes but, pretty soon, I will be eclipsed by their friends and personal interests. It will no longer be awesome to hang out with mom and go swimming but instead an activity done to quiet the guilt of growing out of needing mom.

I remember when I was little how I would always say yes when my mom asked me if I wanted to go to the store with her. Many times I didn't want to go at all but worried that it would hurt my mom's feelings if I said no. In hindsight I realize that she was most likely offering so as to not hurt my feelings even though it would have been easier to go alone while I was agreeing to go so as to not hurt her feelings. I guess that is symbolic of true love in its most raw form; sacrificing to instill joy in the ones you love.

While I am over the stage in my life where I am growing and nursing babies, there is a part of me that looks back with nostalgia on a phase already completed. Never again will I feel the joys of a baby's first kicks while developing. Never again will I cheer with joy for the first steps. Never again will I shed tears for the first boo-boo. I find that as Macey reaches her milestones I am so conflicted. The mom side of me is so proud of her while the Kim side of me weeps because I know that it is MY last time experiencing that ritual.

When my children are grown and gone it is their idiosyncracies that I will miss the most. The big, obvious things about them-their love for other people, their sense of humors, their smiles- will stay with me. It is their sippy cups and spit-up that I will miss the most.

The Broken Road

I spent so much of the earlier part of my life not believing in fate. It seemed like a concept too contrived, created by Hollywood producers to sell movies by winning over audiences of overly hopeful romantics. To be honest, I struggled with my faith for the majority of my life. I think that all people struggle with their faith to a certain extent. There is some inherent part of human nature that fills us with the burning desire to be in control. To willingly offer this control up to some higher power, well that's just a notion that I think is difficult for a lot of human beings to grasp.

What I have realized is that while I may have control over my day to day decisions, there is no doubt that a path has been laid out for me. I don't think that God's plan is so strong that we can't alter it temporarily, but it has been proven to me in my life that I ultimately end up exactly where I am supposed to be. This is a conversation I have weekly with my seniors as we discuss their dreams...the next phases of their lives. I have been watching these amazing young people grappling so much with knowing what the right choice is. It is hard for me to explain to them that the right choice is the one they ultimately will make, that THAT choice is exactly the one they were destined to make all along.

I think this is why I have genuinely never felt nervous during a job interview. I have always embraced that I will end up where I am meant to be, that if I don't get a job it is because it wasn't what I was supposed to be doing in the long run. At some point the epiphany struck me like a ton of bricks; while I stubbornly resisted giving up my control to something greater it was happening right under my nose the entire time.

There is no doubt that God brought my husband into my life for a reason. Did I realize as a young girl watching her older neighbor that he was actually my soulmate? No. Not at all. The thought never really entered my mind. Yet at the same time there was always something about him that brought me magnetically to him. There is little doubt in my mind that someone somewhere all along knew that we would eventually figure it out. Even though I'd like to think we came together all on our own, my heart knows that this simply isn't true.

This is a notion that Mark would discuss with me repeatedly when I was going through the series of miscarriages I suffered. It was heartbreaking to feel that there was nothing I could do to prevent them from happening. I can remember so clearly him telling me in the calming way that only he could, that the baby I had lost had been lost for a reason. I never fully understood that until Maia and Macey were both born. If I hadn't lost the five babies before Maia, then I wouldn't have been blessed with my two girls. Despite the pain and suffering I went through, I would experience them all over again to have the priviledge of being their mom. God knew the children that were meant to come into my life, and I am grateful.

It sounds so cliche to say that everything happens for a reason but, quite plainly, it really does.

My path so far has been far from easy. Despite the success and peace that I have now found, getting to this place was far from glamorous. It reminds me of that country song, "God Blessed the Broken Road" which seems to encompass what I feel in my heart so clearly. The road that leads us to where we end up is most definitely going to be filled with pot holes and unpleasant surprises, but where it leads us makes that treacherous journey so worth it. For me it is not so much "in the journey" but the pot of gold that awaits me at the end.

Orchids bloom

There is something so powerful about sharing your honest thoughts and emotions with other people. In recent weeks as I have started this blog and opened my soul to people around me, I have constantly wondered where this power is rooted. I think that it lies more in the raw truths of my observations than the choice of words I use to express them. When I write I don't think about how things SHOULD sound, I think about how they sound in my head or during conversation. Perhaps it is this element to my writing that makes it relatable to other people, although I really don't know.

The first poem I wrote was in the days following my grandmother's death. I was only eight years old at the time and grappling with how to process the sea of emotions swimming inside of my heart and head. Even though her death was as obvious as the fact that the sky is blue, it felt almost taboo to share my grief out loud with everyone else. In the immediate wake of a death there is a thick air clouding around everyone involved; it is this thick air that still leaves me as an adult feeling that I lack the right words to say to those involved. I know that my eight year old self felt this gray area, this purgatory of emotions, and responded by putting my thoughts on paper. I wasn't trying to be deep and thoughtful. I was just trying to purge my body of the emotions that were gnawing at my stomach. The poem, too personal to share, talks about the orchid blooming in our yard and how it signified that my grandmother was near. I still feel my grandmother's presence when my orchids bloom and it brings me a sense of peace that even though I may not see her, she is still here.

There is something vulnerable about opening yourself up to other people in your most raw form, but it is the connection that people feel with this rawness that brings the power to your words. At least, that is what I believe. I don't write for other people; I write for myself. It is an outlet for all of the things-stories, memories, beliefs, random thoughts-that are in my head to take a tangible form. Even though I may be vulnerable in this sharing I never feel vulnerable. Instead I feel empowered by the freedom that exposing my insides gives me.

The invisible mom

I read an article once about a woman who called herself the "Invisible Mom", and it really left an impression on me. Although I would love for my children to offer me unsolicited appreciation for the voluminous number of tasks I do for them each day (is this not any mother's utopia?), I really feel much more effective as an invisible mom. My goal in motherhood is to instill in my children good values and morals, to teach them how to be happy and productive members of society. There's an old saying that parents should aim for their children to "live in fear" of them, but I've decided that this is not utlimately what I want as a mother. I want my children to make the right choices just because they feel right, not because they are afraid of mom's wrath. When I silently observe my children being good people I know that this is because their hearts are enveloped by the arms of their invisible mom.

I have struggled in recent weeks with my demanding work load and questioning whether or not my children will still receive enough from their invisible "invisible" mom when I work a 14 hour work day. Life is ultimately about balance, but I think there is something valuable in my children being able to watch me throw my passion into something other than them. I do not say this in criticism of the many stay-at-home moms out there (talk about a never-ending and often unappreciated job), but more as a revelation about my own character. For years I struggled with the fact that I like to work and questioning if this made me less of a mother. I know the women in my mother's generation who grew up in the quintessential 50s households are bracing their hearts right now, but it is the truth. I love my children and my family; they are primary in every decision I make throughout the day. That doesn't change that I enjoy having an element of my life that I can claim as just my own. In a household where I rarely get to eat my own dinner or use the restroom uninterrupted, having my very own space all to myself...well that is just another blessing on my list! I hope that as adults my children will know that as much as my heart ached for them when I couldn't be with them every hour of their little lives, my heart also swells with pride for being able to give them a supportive foundation to leap from. We all make sacrifices in this life, it is just a matter of making the most constructive sacrifices for your family.

I know that I live the American dream and, every day, I am thankful for the opportunity to blossom into the kind of human being and mother that I have always longed to be, invisible as that may make me.

Walnut Birches

The amazing thing about working with children and young adults is that they have so many great stories and lessons to share. The constant exchange of information that passes between me and my students is one of my favorite things about my line of work.

For many years I worked with middle school students; people always told me I was crazy when I would tell them this. There is something about middle school aged children that is so raw and vulnerable. I often found that the ones that gave me minor trouble were just desperate for someone to reach out, listen, and understand. In a classroom setting you do all that you can but it is, no doubt, a daunting task trying to reach each of your students equally. I will always have fond memories of my years teaching middle school exclusively and some of the amazing young people I have watched grow into successful young adults.

I love that I now work will all ages of students. Whether they are 6 or 16, I learn so much from each of my students. I grow as an educator each minute I spend with a student. Although I hope to pass valuable information along to them, they certainly open my eyes on a regular basis to a myriad of lessons sitting right in front of me. I love the fresh perspective of a young, energetic, and determined student as much as I love to pick up a student who has temporarily fallen. I wear the joys and pains of my students more than they probably realize. I am quick to celebrate their accomplishments and always there when they need a shoulder to lean on. I even get nervous when I know they are struggling through a big test, a side effect of tutoring that still makes my husband laugh with pride. Although each of my students touch me deeply, there are always certain ones who dig trenches in my heart a little deeper than the rest.

I have always believed in the concept of "kindred spirits", two people who seem to share a common element in their souls. My first kindred spirit was my grandmother Kathy. It felt like a cruel joke to have her ripped away from me so early on in my life, being only eight at the time of her death, but I still feel her inside of me every day. Even though it has been 23 years since I have heard the sound of her voice, I can always feel her when I close my eyes. I will never forget sitting on her lap and eating Cracklin' Oat Bran during episodes of David Letterman ("He is SOOO handsome Kimberly!") while the rest of the househeld fell under the quiet of sleep. These moments may seem like odd legacies, but they are true gems inside of my soul.

Of course I have met other kindred spirits throughout the years. One is my husband, others are best friends, and others are students. There is nothing like the smooth click of a kindred spirit relationship; growing comfortable and dropping boundaries flow so effortlessly. It is like a cool breath of fresh air on a crisp morning only it is my heart that is saying, "Wow, this is beautiful."

I dedicate this piece to all kindred spirits out there, especially my sweet Walnut Birches, and to all of the people in my life who have given my soul gentle hugs over the years.

The first chapter of the book I am writing for my children

As I reflect back on the last year of my life, it is hard to put into perspective how far I have come. One year ago today I celebrated the birth of my third child, Macey Rae. To say that having Macey has been life changing is an understatement. I can still remember with vivid detail the moment that I saw two blue lines on the pregnancy test…it was a shock like almost no other. I had a hard time adapting to a surprise pregnancy, especially after only having Maia six months earlier. I went through the gamut of emotions; fear and elation, disappointment and excitement, worry and confidence. The worst of them all was the guilt: guilt over feeling upset, guilt over Maia having to share with a newer, younger baby so quickly, guilt over feeling guilty. I had come a long way from the scared woman who was first afraid she would never have children, after waiting over two years for Hunter to be conceived, and then the woman afraid she would only have one child, after living through five gut wrenches miscarriages. When I think back on how much I ached for these children, there is no question that God works in mysterious ways.

There really is no way to explain the pain and grief of a miscarriage; even the loss of an unintended pregnancy shakes you to the core and makes you aware of the fragility of life. My first miscarriage occurred only six months into my relationship with Mark. Not only was I not ready to have another baby, but I had just been through a divorce and was far from feeling prepared to get remarried. Ironically enough, it was the day after I moved in with Mark that the miscarriage began. I can still remember how I was standing in line at Publix to order a sub when I felt the gush. There was no question in my mind what was happening; I drove to the doctor’s office in the haze of a grief induced high. It felt like an out of body experience when they drew my blood, ran tests, and confirmed what I already knew…what had once been the beating heart of my beautiful child now lay dormant as his or her soul made the long journey to heaven.

It was during the night of that first miscarriage that I truly fell in love with Mark. I had always loved Mark as my dear friend, but it was that night that my heart realized that he was the soul mate I had long been searching for. Without even saying anything, he knew exactly how to calm me and comfort me. In that silence filled with our shared pain, my heart could hear the screams of our two souls colliding, and I knew that we would be together forever.

Although there were four more miscarriages and none of them were quite as cathartic as the first, each one of them was instrumental is proving to me that children, healthy and happy children, are truly miraculous blessings. When I had my fifth miscarriage, three days after Christmas and six weeks after Mark and I got married, I accepted with a sense of peace that Hunter was going to be my only child. Maybe it was the peace I found in that moment that allowed my body to hang on to Maia’s little beating heart. I lived in fear for the first four months of my pregnancy that I would feel that all too familiar gush. It was hard to enjoy Maia’s pregnancy….until I first felt her little kicks and pushes. I had just accepted that everything was going to be fine when the blood tests came back with the frightening results that indicated Maia may have Down’s Syndrome. The following two weeks were the longest of my life as we waited for our amniocentesis. It was during that procedure that the doctor commented on us having a “healthy little ballerina.” A daughter! A healthy, beautiful daughter. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

But…fifteen months after Maia’s birth I got more. Beautiful Macey Rae arrived, almost three weeks early, with a head of dark hair and a face that reminded me of my own. Even today as we celebrate her first year of life, I can’t help but look around my house, so filled with love, laughter, and joy, and remember the days when I thought I would be childless. Nowadays, I never question God’s will, for this life I live is truly a blessing.

Don't cry over spilled soup

Over the weekend we had a party. We have such an amazing network of friends who are all just as busy as we are. Getting everyone together is a rarity, so Mark and I decided to have an open house. This allowed everybody to make it over despite hectic schedules and a gaggle of young children.

To be honest, it kind of felt like a wedding. There were so many people to spend time with that the time passed so quickly. I loved watching all of our children playing together and getting to know each other. When Mark and I started dating Hunter was the only kid in the group. It has been awesome watching the births of so many children and the creation of many more happy families over the last 7 years.

Of all of the nice things that people said to us over the course of the day and evening, the one that stuck with me the most came from someone I have only known a short period of time. She told me that my home is very comfortable. Coming from a woman who has never been in my home before and came with two small children, this was the ultimate compliment. I could care less if someone thinks my house is beautiful or fashionable; all that really matters is that people feel at home. For me, having people feel that our home is always open and welcoming is the reciprocity I want for the hard work and sacrifices we make as a family. If people are judging me based on the amount of dirty clothes in my laundry basket than they're not the type of people whose opinions I care about anyway.

Mark and I have always agreed from day one that living in a home where our children, family, and friends feel they can always come for love and support is the ultimate goal. We've all been in a house (c'mon...you know the one) where you are constantly terrified that you are going to spill your drink or your children are going to break some precious item. It is really quite uncomfortable. Although I value the things in my home, I value the PEOPLE in my home more. If someone spills a glass of red wine on a throw rug, so what? I'm certain that throw rug didn't have feelings, but the person who had the accident surely does. Mark and I are very good at handling "catastrophes" with stride and humor.

I can't help but recall the infamous "soup incident" that occured when I was pregnant with Macey. Blame it on pregnancy cravings and an extremely overactive appetite, but one day I decided to make homemade soup. Now my eyes were much bigger than my stomach, which was huge at that point, and I made a vat of bean soup large enough to feed my entire neighborhood. Deciding that it needed to cure, I figured putting in the fridge overnight would do the trick. The large stock pot almost fit when I turned its lid upside down, so I just shoved it in the bottom and thought about it no longer.

Later that night I heard my husband quietly expressing words of confusion in the kitchen. Low and behold he wasn't quite sure why he couldn't pull the meat drawer out so he just pulled a little harder. It instantly hit me what was about to occur. I tried to stop him in a very movie like moment where my "NOOOOO" was just a second too late and a bit too quiet. Before I knew it he had pulled the drawer open successfully and pulled the entire stockpot of soup out everywhere. Our eyes locked for a few seconds as we took the scene in; more than 3 gallons of soup was oozing it's way in and under the fridge and all over the floor. In a moment like this you would expect someone to get mad, for someone to loose their cool. But Mark and I....we just laughed. Not a chuckle but full belly laughs at a scene too comical to dream up. And then, just like the partners we are, we each started grabbing towels and cleaning up.

I think it is this mentality more than anything that makes people feel at home in our house. Things happen that are beyond our control, a lot, so why loose energy over them? Life is too short to waste precious time yelling at someone or "crying over spilled milk" as the old expression goes. What will be will be, it is how you handle it that really matters. I have learned that finding the humor in tough situations before I pull up my boot straps and just dive in works the most efficiently, and simultaneously teaches my children that no one is perfect and it is OK to make mistakes.

After all, it really would be silly to cry over spilled soup.

Braiding Hair

I recently had a conversation with a coworker about the importance of feeling valued at your place of employment. It is so true that true contentment at work comes from feeling appreciated for your hard work but for me it is also knowing that I am making a difference. When Hunter was a baby I had a job that left me feeling dissatisfied. While at work I constantly pined to be with him and felt guilty for spending time away. In recent years I have experienced the exact opposite. I find that I truly look forward to my time at work. Of course we all have days where we wish we could be free of the responsibilities that come with a job (hence the desire to one day retire), but overall I look forward to the time I can spend with my students.

There is nothing as gratifying as working with students individually and helping them to see their own value. Since in my field I typically work with students who are struggling to succeed or are finding success to be stressful and cumbersome, I get to help them discover their own academic self worth. I have never worked with a "stupid" student. I have never worked with a student who is unable to learn and find success. What I constantly find is that I work with students who either do not understand themselves or have experienced so much failure that they have lost all hope. I feel so much pride in helping them debunk these myths. Every person has a set of unique and valuable skills. Every person is a genius in his/her own regard. It is finding those areas that is often the challenge.

Above all else, I make a difference in the lives of my students. I am not a tutor or teacher; I am a mentor. I nurture the emotional needs of my students just as much as I supplement their knowledge. I know that some of my students will remember me in their old age, and this is all of the reassurance that I need to feel content.

I currently work with a young student who has had a very difficult start to her life. Although she is in the process of being adopted by an amazing woman, her early years were nothing short of horrific. In a short period of time, I have grown to love this student as if she is a part of my family. Despite the raw deal she was initially dealt, she has such a strong spirit and desire to be happy. I have always allowed her to freedom to share stories with me when she feels she needs to. Some of them have been hard to hear and painful to push away when I try to fall asleep. But I have continued to love her and nurture her and show her how smart and amazing she genuinely is.

About a month ago while she was up at the board doing math problems I started to braid her hair. She is beautiful with long, wavy hair that would make any model envious, but it is always wild and untamed. At first she froze; I asked her if I was bothering her, but she quickly relaxed and told me she was fine. I finished her braid and couldn't help but gush over how beautiful she looked. The smile on her face was priceless. When we were done she proudly showed her new hair style to her mom.

The following week, her mom motioned me to stay behind as the student bounded to my office. She told me that she couldn't believe that I had been allowed to braid her hair. Apparently she hadn't let anyone touch her hair, an unfortunate consequence of demons from her past. Not even her mom had been allowed to brush or style it in their months living together and learning about one another. To say I felt honored was an understatement.

At the end of our session my student pulled out new hair bands and a bow and excitedly told me they were for me to use when I braided her hair. She had even gotten all dressed up for the occasion.

The hair braiding has now become a ritual. At the end of each session I take 5 minutes to style her hair. Although it seems like such a small thing on the surface I know that it is symbolic of something so much deeper for her and her path to true happiness. Knowing that I have been instrumental in that, even in just a tiny fraction, is all the pay I need.

God's random acts of kindness

I have found that the moments I feel the most pride in my children come so unexpectedly. It is almost like God throws me "random acts of kindness" on days when I need them the most. Don't get me wrong; I always feel proud of my children. As cliche as it sounds, they are truly my greatest accomplishments and the reasons I strive so hard to be the best person possible. On top of that they are happy, kind-hearted, unique little beings with different sets of strengths and weaknesses. I love how each day I learn more about them and the people they are growing into. I especially love those random moments that make me stop my frantic pace, take a deep breath, and appreciate these little people in my world.

Yesterday when I was cleaning outside Maia came to find me. She proudly explained to me that Macey needed to go potty so she helped her. Not only did she move her sister's potty chair into my bathroom, but she also undressed her, helped her climb up, and was keeping her company. For as crazy as she is, Maia is a nurturer. She always has been. I'll never forget her as a baby carrying around her own babies and caring for them. She is a natural mother, and I can't wait to one day watch her with her own children.

Hunter is a giver-always has been and always will be. My son is the type of friend who always wants everyone else to have what they want. Over the years I have struggled watching him give away things that he loves to other people. I have to fight my urge to stop him. He is not being taken advantage of because he is doing these things because they make him feel good. I have little doubt that my son will one day be the man that offers a home cooked meal to a struggling family or donates half of his salary to some charity. The purity of his heart and his absolute faith in the goodness of other people make me admire him immeasurably.

Macey is in love with animals. While Maia will carry around baby dolls, Macey loves her cows, pigs, and sheep. This morning in the shower I watched her painstakingly bathing and playing with a little rabbit. Her sole purpose in the game was the give that rabbit the best bath possible. I often have to stop her from feeding the dogs her food, "But they're HUNGRY Mommy!" all the while not wanting to damper her spirit and passion. She is an avid reader for a two year old. She takes her books to sleep with her and insists on having them with her everywhere. I hope to one day read the novel that is swirling around in her head.

Although the big things are also important, I truly find my love deepens for my family the most when I quietly observe things they are doing. I will never forget seeing my son let all of his friends go first, patiently waiting for him turn, or my daughter gently feeding her baby, or my other daughter taking a moment to stop and snuggle with the dog. I find so much peace in watching how naturally they love and care for each other and the people in our lives.

La Familia

The thing about Mark's family...they are such amazing people. When I married my husband I had no idea how much more than him I was actually getting. Along with him came a network of people so committed to one another that helping is second nature and love flows abundantly. Take tonight, for example, when we went to a family birthday party. Despite there being so many incredible, dynamic people, there is an air of peace and love. Family gatherings epitomize a classic oxymoron: peaceful chaos. I feel...thankful. I feel...in awe of the constant network of support and acceptance. When Mark and I decided to make the sacrifice to sell our old home during the market crash and move into our new neighborhood, it was a calculated decision to provide our children the opportunity to grow up in this network. To wave at a cousin and uncle out for a bike ride, to wave at a grandmother on her way home from work...it is just the most awesome experience ever. I feel true success for providing my children with such a phenomenal base to jump from. La Familia. :)