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?

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.