Considerations of a 5 year old

Last night at dinner, a profound thing happened. As a busy mother, these moments of deep reflection appear at the most random of times. When the noise of life quiets down, truths flow with relative ease. In this case, it was my sweet 5 year old Macey who instigated me to reflect heavily on life and parenting.

During a lull in the conversation, my Macey turned to me with a serious expression and said, "You know, Mandy from my class. Her mom is a teacher at my school. She is always there with Mandy every day after school." And then the look in her eyes, so soulful and mature for such a tiny human being. I answered her, "Yes, baby. I know." She looked at me with fortitude. "I mean, every day mom. She's there every day after school." I could see the lines of worry creasing her brow, so I probed her. "Yes. That's wonderful. Why are you telling me this?"

The awkward shift in her tiny body and her serious eyes revealed to me the real question that she was too uncomfortable to verbalize: Mom, why aren't you home every day after school with me?

No matter how much I asked her why she wanted to tell me this, she wouldn't say it. She wouldn't just come out and call into question why our situation isn't the same, a situation that she sometimes longs for. I could see through her the same little girl I once was who felt too guilty to say to my mom, "Why can't I have the same designer jeans that the other girls have? Why can't we go on vacations like my friends? Why can't we afford to send me to sleep away camp?" These were questions that plagued my mind as a child that I never would have said to my mother because I knew the pain she felt from sacrificing financial comfort to stay at home full time with her children. I knew that saying it out loud would have made my mom feel terribly guilty, so I kept those thoughts tightly guarded in my own mind and heart. But I never forgot them.

And that brought to the forefront of my mind the word that every parent lives with on a daily basis: sacrifice. We all have them and we all make them based on what we have decided is best for our families. And, it is not only us that makes these sacrifices but also our children. So mature and so all knowing even as babies.

Maybe it is the fear of poverty that pushes me to work as hard as I do. I will never forget my mom counting dollars at the grocery store every week, trying to stretch an already stretched budget just a little farther. I would never ask for something extra at the store because I knew my mom had to say no and it broke her heart. I'll never forget the look of worry in her eyes every spring when the tuition rates for the upcoming school year came out and how she would silently research alternative cheaper schools in case she just couldn't swing it the next year. I'll never forget how my mom push started her car when it was broken and she couldn't afford to fix us so she could drop us off at school. And, I'll never forget that look she got when a letter from school would come home about some amazing travel experience that was never an option for our family's budget. I bore the brunt of these stresses because I didn't want to make her feel any worse than she already did. The sacrifices my parents made for us were boundless and unconditional, but they were by no means easy to make.

But, the returns were also boundless. My mom never missed a single school event. She attended every single school party, field trip, and sporting event. With three busy children, this was no easy feat, but she made it happen. For every cent she stressed over she had the peace of mind that she would miss nothing in our lives. My dad's sacrifices were just as intense for he worked so much that, at times, he became a stranger in his own house as he spent more time at his office than he did in the home he struggled to pay for. His guilt was the polar opposite: he provided but at the cost of missing out on almost everything, especially in the early years. My parents were masters at balancing and teamwork, things I have learned are crucial for the survival of a family. This was a legacy that was left to me and one that has heavily impacted every decision I make as a parent.

While my daughter may wonder why I am not home with her every day after school, I know at some point she will recognize the valuable gifts she is being granted despite her sacrifices as a child with a working mother. I watch every day the incredible bond that my children have with their father, a father who serves the role of "stay at home mom" on the evenings that I am at my office until 10pm. Over the years as their dad has single-handedly managed cooking dinner, helping with homework, reading books, and getting everyone ready for bed, my son and daughters are seeing that both mom and dad can do everything as long as they work as a team. They are watching their parents balance the demands of raising three children and two full time jobs, something that is challenging and exhausting on a daily basis. I know that the things I miss out on are granting my husband the unique opportunity of experiencing things he never would have experienced if I was always home, and it is granting my children the opportunity to nurture strong, intimate, independent relationships with both of their parents.

I may not be able to shelter my children from the strains of life, but I can teach them that they have the power to make their own choices, to pick their battles. It may not be easy, but every sacrifice leads to an incredible gift that very possibly could have otherwise gone undiscovered.

After the girls went to bed, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I stopped doing everything that needed to be done, and I went and laid in bed with them. After I climbed into bed with my sweet Macey Rae and snuggled with her until she feel asleep, I knew that even though I can't be there every day after school everything will be alright.

That crazy little thing called parenthood

I admit it right now with my tail between my legs: I have been a terrible blogger this past year. I can list a bevy of excuses (I am running a business, I am mothering three children, I am being a wife, I am keeping my household in order), but the truth is I just haven't slowed myself down enough to write. I don't write for other people, I write for myself. Writing has always been a cathartic process for me, a way to pinpoint emotions that swirl like fog through my brain. Most of the times when I sit down to write (OK, EVERY time), it is because there is something cursing through my brain and heart that I just can't pinpoint. Something about writing opens up the floodgates to my soul and, before I know it, I am once again completely in sync with myself. Someone once asked me, "If you only write for yourself than why share it with others?" That's a good question. For me my writing is a means of sharing with those around me. I am not the only working mother in the world. I am not the only wife in the world. I am not the only business owner in the world. I am not the only person grappling with the myriad of questions and thoughts that bombard every day life. Maybe someone will read one of my pieces and feel not alone in this vast universe. And if none of that happens, well, that is perfectly fine with me too.

I am a good mother. I say this not to imply that I am the BEST or the ONLY or the EXCEPTION. I say this not to brag. I say this because it is the truth. I am a good mother because I am a work in progress. Because I am not perfect. Because just like everything else in my life, motherhood is a journey that I weather one step at a time, something that I take the time to constantly reevaluate. When I think of what a "good parent" is to me, I do not envision the scene of euphoric movie bliss where everyone says please and thank-you at all the right moments, where the house is always show ready with freshly cut flowers and a homemade pie cooling on the windowsill, where everyone is perfect and happy at every second of every day. Instead, I envision "good parents" surrounded by a sea of chaos but instead of letting this chaos suffocate them, they are working together with those around them and their children to make a stable life. They are working to instill the lessons that are most important to them, and they are working to always become better versions of themselves. Sometimes, just sometimes, this "good parent" who is writing this post puts a movie in the DVD player because she just needs 10 MINUTES of peace and quiet to shave her legs uninterrupted. This "good parent" sometimes says no to art projects because she just doesn't want to clean up paint and glitter from every surface of her house. And, this "good parent" often hides play-doh because she hates the way it smells and the hardened pieces it leaves in every crack and crevasse. I never said I was without flaws. In fact, I have many of them.

I am proud of the mother I am and the parents that Mark and I are. We work every day to give our kids the things that matter most to us: unconditional love and acceptance. Does this mean we don't punish them when they are wrong? No. Does this mean we don't point out to them mistakes they make? No. In order to grow you have to learn, and in order to learn you have to make mistakes. I'm sorry but that is just the harsh reality of life. I don't expect my kids to be perfect just like I don't expect myself to be. What I do expect is for them (and me) to evaluate those mistakes openly and without reserve. If I make a mistake and ignore it, what good does that do? I have heard parents say that they will never back down on something they have said. Never? Well, that seems awfully strict to me. I have apologized to all of my kids before, "Mommy is sorry that she didn't stop and listen better." "Mommy is sorry that she lost her temper and didn't calm down first." "Mommy is sorry that she forgot to send in your permission slip." I take accountability for the person I am, flaws and all, and I want nothing more than for my kids to do the same. Own it, fix it, learn from it. That is my motto.

Maybe it is wrong to say that I feel like my life is perfect, but I do. That doesn't mean that EVERY facet of my life is perfect. That's just insane. What that means is that the things that really matter are exactly how they should be. I am exactly how I should be in this moment. My husband is exactly how he should be in this moment. My marriage is exactly how it should be in this moment. My kids are exactly how they should be at this moment. This moment, well it is just a blip in our journey together through life. My life is perfect because I work hard to achieve what matters to me and, all the while, I keep a realistic view that perfect doesn't mean flawless it just means right.

I haven't always felt that my life is perfect. But, when something feels "off", I evaluate how to fix it. And most importantly, any time something has felt "off" I have not ignored it. I have not refused to see my own contribution to this "off-ness." Instead, I have grabbed that feeling as much as it hurts, I have pushed that bruise, to find the source. The only advice I can give to people who lack contentment is to figure out what you need to be content, and the first place you need to look is within. When I stopped trying to be flawless and embraced myself, contentment sailed into my life with relative ease.

At the end of the day, the shininess of my floors or the crispness of my shirt don't matter to me. I am perfectly perfect with dust balls lurking in my corners and a smear of syrup from the kids' waffles on the bottom of my shirt. That is my reality. That is my perfect. Take it or leave it.

I owe a lot of this perspective to being a mother because no matter what, I just can't control everything, and my kids have reminded me how to enjoy the beauty of living. They have reminded me to slow down. They have reminded me how much fun it can be to sit around and play with toys. They have reminded me that no problem is too small to not be taken seriously and no achievement it too small to not celebrate wildly. They have reminded me that being together and laughing is really all that matters. And, they have reminded me that, no matter what life throws at us, we will always be OK because we have each other.

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.