Security

It happened to me again this morning. The kids are all at Vacation Bible School, and the house is quiet. After doing my normal mom chores (cleaning, laundry), I decide to lay down and read. How often do I get the chance to read during the daylight hours? Never. So, I grab my tablet, dowload a book, and pick the most comfortable spot to lose myself in the story. After a few minutes I realized that I, once again, had positioned myself squarely in the middle of Mark's side of the bed. I have noticed this trend before and have often wondered....why is Mark's side of the bed the most comfortable place for me to relax? Why wouldn't I pick my own side of the bed where the right pillows are positioned in the right way? There is only one logical answer: I feel the most comfortable nestled in the spot my husband frequents the most. The spot that carries his faint scent. The spot that makes me feel like he is right there with me.

I'm sure this prickles the neck hairs of the feminist mindset. I am a strong woman. I am a successful woman. I am a woman who does not need a man to survive. I can trudge my way through this world dependent on only myself. I do not need a man to make me whole.

But, in reality, I do need Mark to make me whole. This isn't because I am weak. This isn't because he is a man. This is because Mark has a natural way of bringing out the very best version of me. In fact, I am strong enough to now realize that although I could make it through this world all on my own, I don't want to. The journey is sweeter when you have people who love you along for the ride.

I have always told Mark that of all the things I appreciate about him, I appreciate the most how he has given me the security to strive for the best. To not be afraid of the "what-ifs" that so often cloud my worried mind. The old stereotype mandates that men are rational and women are emotional. I don't know about other women out there but for me, although emotionally centered, my rational side sometimes worries me out of trying something great. My husband has taught me that there is only so much I can control. He has helped to nurture my faith in myself and allowed me to stretch to a place of understanding about who I am that I never thought was possible. And, along the way, he has been my biggest cheerleader. When I worried myself sick for months grappling with the decision to continue my career at the school or venture out and start my business, Mark was the one that finally asked me, "What do you feel in your guts?" With that simple, emotional, somewhat "feminine" logic, the right answer was so obvious that it almost blinded me. "But, what if I fail?" I asked him. His answer was as straightforward, honest, and unwavering as he is: "You won't."

To this day, 9 years into our relationship together as a couple and 33 years into our relationship as friends, Mark has never let me down. Not once. Have we had our share of fights, hell yes. But through it all I know that no matter what life throws at us, we will continue on our journey together laughing, crying, cursing, smiling, and loving.

When I take all of this into consideration, it really isn't that surprising that my comfortable spot is where Mark is. Next time he is out of town, I won't be surprised to wake up in the morning and find myself curled up on his pillows on his side of the bed (like I always am even though I start out on my side) because, even when he isn't right next to me, he is inside of me. He is continuing to weave himself into the very fabric of my being and making me stronger and richer by just being himself.

He's the best security blanket I've ever had because he will always be there not only offering me sanctuary but also pushing me to jump.

Flanked

I woke up this morning flanked on both sides by my little girls, who at 4 and 5, are not so little anymore. Macey, my baby, turned 4 years old yesterday. Birthdays are always bittersweet to me, like all milestones, because they are reminders that the time is passing so quickly. I am so proud of my children and the people they are growing into-happy, healthy, independent, kind people-but sad that they are rapidly approaching stages in their lives that will require less and less of me.

All parents know that overwhelming sense of euphoria when your baby first comes into the world. I expected this awe to decrease with each birth when, in fact, it almost became more intense. I have been blessed with three perfect children; three little miracles that are each their own individuals created from pieces of all of the people I love. While I see things in them that remind me of my family, they are all uniquely themselves. Hunter is an intense old soul with a gentleness that seems rare in many young boys. Maia is reserved with her emotions but fierce in her love for others. Macey is an affectionate and sentimental peacemaker. And, they are all simply amazing.

All parents also know that with children comes a loss of all privacy. Since giving birth to Hunter nine and a half years ago, I have yet to spend a shower, trip to the restroom, meal, or bed in my house without the interruption of a little person glut with random questions and observations that he or she is dying to share at just that moment. As odd as it may sound, this doesn't bother me at all. My children know that I am always there to listen to them even when they want to discuss complicated facts of nature while I am shaving my legs. I am glad that I have replicated the kind of home that I grew up in where conversations and questions flow freely and without reserve. It is my job to teach these little people everything that I know about the world no matter what time it is when their urge to talk surfaces.

I have also, in nine and a half years, not had a string of three unawakened nights of sleep in a row. Someone always needs something. Someone has always had a bad dream. Someone always just needs some middle of the night snuggles. As much as I may complain about this, I know that all too soon these moments will have passed. And, I will miss them. These rare and precious moments of babyhood have been unexpected times of peace and love that I never imagined would mean so much to me.

As much as I have tried to outlaw little sleeping buddies in my bed, I just can't. Even though my sleep isn't the most restful on these nights, I love when a random little foot makes its way up over my side when I am sleeping or when a random little hand reaches over to just touch my arm. These subconscious moments of pure love are just bliss.

Last night, Macey came into my room at 2 am. "Mom, I had a really bad dream. Can I snuggle with you?" In half sleep, I simply rolled over, lifted her into my bed, pulled the covers up, and went back to sleep. Three hours later it was Maia "Mom, I'm not feeling good. Can I sleep with you?" Once again, I just moved over, lifted her up, covered her with the blankets, and drifted back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, flanked on both sides by my precious girls, I didn't even mind the crick in my neck. The small area for sleep left for me may have been physically tiny, but it was emotionally boundless.

I know that pretty soon, I will no longer wake up with tiny fingers brushing my face. Although I will have slept better, I will miss these random moments of serenity amidst the chaos of life. As I now do with Hunter, who at almost ten is a rare figure at my bedside, I will no doubt end up once a week curled up besides one of them in their beds where instead it will be my big hand reaching over in the middle of the night to stroke their arms.

32

Today is my birthday. It has only just begun since it is just after midnight. Normally I brush my birthday off. After all, once you hit a certain age it just doesn't seem to carry the same weight does it? Tonight, as I was sitting in the quiet comfort of my home while everyone else was sleeping, I couldn't help but think about my life and how much has happened in 32 short years.

I wrote my immediate family (my mom, dad, sister, and brother) an e-mail a few weeks ago thanking them for their constant love and support. My journey has not always been the easiest to maneuver or watch, but I have reached a place of nirvana. I could not have done this without them. I spent the first two-thirds of my life filled with self-doubt. Was I smart enough? Pretty enough? Making the right choice? I struggled with low self-esteem, insecurities, anorexia, anxiety....you name it. I have made my share of mistakes and I am flawed. What I have come to realize during these 32 years is that I am OK with all of these things, and I have learned to embrace myself and love myself just as I am. Am I emotional? Yes. Over sensitive? Yes. Sometimes too quick to speak? Most definitely. But this is who I am, take it or leave it. I have chosen to take it.

I talk a lot about my family, my entire family. This is not just the people related to me by blood or marriage but anyone who has seen my inner craziness, who has listened to my rambling stories, who has seen me laugh until I cry, or who has heard me express worries. My support system has given me the foundation I have needed to grow from. For this I am eternally thankful.

I guess I have realized that following your heart is not a bad thing but ignoring it most certainly is. When I went to college and declared education as my major, so many people told me this was a mistake. "You are too smart to be a teacher" or "You will never be able to have a fruitful career" were statements that caused me to ignore my heart. I changed majors five times, insisting in my mind that everyone else had to be right for having doubts and that I was wrong. I ulimately decided to listen to my own heart and I am glad every day that I did. I have always loved working with people and studying learning. This passion has not only allowed me to work as a classroom teacher and mentor, touching the lives of others, but also to establish a successful private business. Could I be making more money elsewhere? Probably. Would I be as happy? Definitely not.

I no longer strive to be perfect. I am perfect. The most perfect version of myself, flaws and all. And you know what? That is just fine with me. I wake up in the mornings feeling grateful for my life, and I go to bed feeling blessed for the gifts I have given and received. If that doesn't make me a success I'm not sure what does.

I get upset when my students question themselves for not "being perfect" and plead with them to let this go. This doesn't mean we all shouldn't evaluate our mistakes and learn from them. I think this is crucial in order to reach a place of true happiness. What I don't support is beating yourself up for these mistakes. We all make mistakes. It is learning from them that really matters. I have learned the most from the missteps I have taken, and I would make every misstep again to get to where I am today. I never loved myself until I saw the love that my oldest child had for me in his eyes. He didn't care that I wasn't perfect because in his eyes I was. Perhaps we all need to look at ourselves through these glasses.

Life is too short to live in fear of falling. I am the mother who dances with her children in the kitchen and jumps on rafts with them in the pool. I am the wife who trusts her husband with all of herself and thinks he is God's gift put on this Earth just for her. I am the sister and daughter who supports her family and embraces them for all the gifts they offer to this world and speaks her mind effortlessly. I am the teacher who believes in her students, all of them with all of herself, even when they stumble. I am the friend who is there to answer the late night call or offer a listening ear. I do these things because this is what my heart tells me to do and I follow it. I am not blind to reality and logic, but I am connected with my soul and the souls of those I love.

Some people may have gotten there faster than me, but I have found peace despite all of the obstacles I have faced over the years. Adversity has reared its ugly head at me, but I have prevailed and risen above it to become the best version of myself possible. So, on this birthday of mine, I am going to sit back and appreciate myself for who I am, blemishes and all.

Mother

Being your mother
What does that mean?

It means I laugh when you laugh
and I cry when you cry

It means I worry about silly things,
like you hurting yourself when you ride your bike,
and I do silly things
like always give you a kiss right before I go to sleep

It means I give all that I have inside of me to you
so you always feel happy and loved
and I do this willingly because even when you make bad choices
I'm still so proud of the person you are

Being your mother means
that I have learned as much from you as you have learned from me
and that each day I am thankful for how you,
each one of you,
was necessary to make my heart complete

Being your mother means...
just being me

Lima beans

I find it interesting that lately I have had a lot of people tell me that they admire me for having "figured it all out." I guess it makes me wonder what the fascination is with having all of the answers? It is like I tell my students all the time: life is not about being perfect, it is about being the best version of yourself that you can be. If I was to constantly strive to be perfect, well that would lead to a consistent stream of disappointment.

What I have figured out in my 31 short years is that I don't need to figure it all out and have all of the right answers. In fact, some of the most important lessons I have learned in this life came as the result of some terribly poor decisions or mistakes. Sorry to let people down but, yep, I make mistakes too.

I am one of the least conceited people in the world, I actually struggle with being too humble and not appreciating my strengths enough, but I do know that I am a devoted wife and mother and a committed worker. I am proud at how much I learn in these areas because I am insistent on constantly evaluating the ways I handle things and how I can do them better. Does this mean I am perfect? Far from it. I stumble and fall just like everyone else, but what I don't do is stay down and wallow in my own self-pity. Instead I pick myself up, brush off the dirt, and figure out the best way to avoid falling in that same hole again. Sometimes I fall more than once, but that's OK. When I stop evaluating why I have fallen then I am in trouble.

I guess I'm kind of like the dynamic protagonist in a story. Antagonists may come and go but I will always rise above them. This is the commitment that I have made to my family, God, and myself.

I don't want my kids to be perfect. In fact, I relish in their missteps because they allow me to teach them how to overcome them. This is not to say that I enjoy watching my kids make mistakes (what mother doesn't want to protect her children from ever feeling pain?), but the reality is that they are going to make them, a lot of them, and that is OK. What I don't want is for them to act like victims and curse the world for their bad fortune. Instead, I want them to grab the universe by the horns, look it in the eyes, and say with confidence "I will overcome this obstacle and come out of the other side a better person." Life is like a giant obstacle course. Why is it that we find obstacle courses fun as children but not as adults? Maybe it is the need to be in control, or maybe it is the desire to predict everything that may come so we can avoid the negatives. I think I am just a realist because I know that, no matter how hard I try, bad things are going to happen. I do not live in a protective bubble void of all evil. If I can give my children this perspective and the tools they need to maneuver it, I know they will always be alright.

I definitely don't have everything figured out. I feel like every day brings with it a moment where my eyes have been opened to something new or different. Perhaps the trick is not being afraid to open your eyes and grasp the world, even the parts that are less than savory, but instead to accept life for how it is: full of moments and experiences that are often challenging. Don't these moments help us to appreciate the beauty even more?

After all, dessert is always sweeter after choking down a plate of lima beans.

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?