Seventeen years ago we had a snow storm.  I know this because I drove to the hospital in it to give birth to my first-born.  My husband had been out with his company pushing snow and came home around midnight.  I was eight days overdue and just a tad big and uncomfortable (and if you knew me then, you understand why this is sarcastically funny!)  Around 2:00 a.m. I felt a pop.  I can’t describe it, but I knew my water had broken.  I woke up my sleepy husband and as we left the house I remember standing at the front door staring back into the house thinking…this is it…this is where my life becomes “before kids” and “after kids”.  Nothing will be the same.  And it wasn’t.  Thank God. 

After 19 hours of labor, three hours of pushing, and a final attempt with the forceps, all 7 lbs 4 oz, 22 inches of Brandon Thomas Walters entered this world and more importantly, entered my life.

My sweet son.  I feel sorry for him sometimes because he has been somewhat of an experiment for me.  A combination of instinct and trial and error.  A multitude of mistakes by me as I navigate this thing called parenthood.  Sometimes I’m at the wheel in full control and other times I’m flying down a hill with no brakes and realize I don’t even have a steering wheel to guide me.  He stoically takes the brunt of my inexperience knowing he is only making things easier for his little sister as I learn from the mistakes I make with him.

First-born children are often described as being

• Reliable
• Conscientious
• Structured
• Cautious
• Perfectionists
• Highly motivated to achieve success
• Enjoy making others happy
• Leaders

These traits describe Brandon well.  Although he may be forgetful and unorganized at times, when it comes to the things that really matter…his responsibilities within our family, his love for his little sister, his commitment to his teammates, he is reliable and conscientious.  He has always been cautious, a deep thinker, seldom acting on impulse.  And he thrives on structure.  He has always liked to know “the plan”.  He likes things a certain way and doesn’t like to deviate from that.  He’s a homebody, feeling most himself in the comfort of our home.  Over the past couple of years, I’ve watched him grow into a leader on and off the basketball court and anyone who knows him, knows the joy he brings when he is part of your life.  He is kind, compassionate, sensitive, and loyal and he continues to make my heart melt just as he did as a baby and little boy.

When Brandon was about five, he was obsessed with trophies.  He wanted as many trophies as he could get his hands on.  He particularly fell in love with a big golf trophy my dad had won in a tournament and as most grandfathers would do, my dad gave it to him.  He displayed it proudly in his room and it was later joined by a t-ball trophy he received.  He loved his trophies.  Within the next year my dad died.  The grownups in the family decided to each choose a special memento to include in the casket with my dad when we buried him.  Each of us came up with something that represented a special moment between each of us and my dad.  On the day we were going to the family viewing and placing our articles in the casket, Brandon came into my bedroom with his t-ball trophy and asked if he could put it in Gdad’s casket.  He wanted to make him happy the way he had made him happy.

And that’s my Brandon…all summed up in one short paragraph.  So, happy birthday Brandon!  I hope you know how special you are EVERY day, but especially on this significant and meaningful day in all of our lives.  We love you and are very proud of you!

I remember bits and pieces of my elementary school days…I remember most of my teachers’ names, of course my friends from that time, and an occasional memory here and there.  However, 1978-79 stands out pretty clearly for me.  That was the year I was in fourth grade and I LOVED fourth grade.

We studied dinosaurs, we studied the Civil War and I even remember the project I did with my friend Andrea where we wrote letters from the front line of the battle back home to our pretend families.  I recall burning the edges of the paper so the letters would look old and worn.  I have committed to memory a heated game of kickball where I was standing on the foul line and Chuck (the best kicker in the class) kicked one right down the foul line and before I could even move, my face stopped the ball and was a red, swollen mess for the rest of the day!  It was also the year boys began to enter my life (although I was not ready for them!)  Someone in our class had a “kissing game”.  The game was just a girl and a boy and when you pushed the button, the heads spun and landed on the girl kissing the boy, the boy kissing the girl, both heads turned away or the boy and girl kissing each other.  It landed on the boy and girl kissing each other and some boys in the class teased that since a boy named Kurt liked me, it was he and I kissing each other.  I spent the rest of the day crying because I was so embarrassed.  It was also the year Pat, a boy from my class that lived in my neighborhood, came to my front door and brought me a rose.  My mother called me upstairs to accept it and made me say thank you and then I immediately retreated to my room, refusing to come out because I thought it meant I had to be his girlfriend and I didn’t want to be his girlfriend.  Although my mom explained to me I didn’t need to be anyone’s girlfriend, I was so traumatized I refused to go to school the next day, thereby crushing my dream of the perfect attendance award I had been working so hard towards.  Why in the world do I remember all of these things so distinctly?  Because of Mrs. Long…my fourth grade teacher.

I loved Mrs. Long and she loved me.  How did I know she loved me?  I just knew.  I knew by the way she never lost patience with me.  I knew by the way she spent time with me outside of school and the letters she sent home to my parents.  I knew by the way she gave me the important job of filling out her grade book because I had such good handwriting (probably illegal now!).  I knew by the way she listened to me and never made my problems seem silly or inconsequential.  I knew because she made me feel special.  And although she never said it, I just knew deep down inside I was her favorite.

I may not have been the typical kid that often writes about the difference a teacher made in their life.  I didn’t come from a low-income family or a broken home.  I wasn’t suffering with a family secret, bullied, or having trouble making friends.  I wasn’t struggling with my grades or a behavior problem.  In fact, I was the complete opposite.  I was a straight A student from a middle class, loving family with lots of friends.  But I was a kid, like every other kid.  Our differences didn’t matter; we all wanted the same thing.   We craved adult attention.  We longed to feel special.  We wanted someone to really like us, not pretend to like us or like us because they had to, but really like us.  We yearned for someone to truly care about all the things important to a ten year-old and Mrs. Long did all these things.   I would venture to guess that every single student in her class that year felt like her favorite.  That’s just the kind of teacher she was.

Wouldn’t it be huge if every child had a Mrs. Long in their life?  Wouldn’t it be even more amazing if YOU were the Mrs. Long in a young person’s life?  You don’t have to be a teacher to be a Mrs. Long, there are many other opportunities.  Maybe it’s a child in your neighborhood or a friend of your own child.  Maybe it’s the teenager in your Sunday school group or the young man you coach.  Maybe it’s the pre-teen in your Girl Scout troop or the child who stops in your store often.  Maybe it’s your niece or your grandson.  Or maybe you are a teacher and to you I say THANK YOU.  I see you emulating Mrs. Long every single day with many different students, each with a myriad of needs.  And you do this year after year.

I never got a chance to tell Mrs. Long what an impact she made on my life.  I don’t know where she is or where life has taken her in all these years.  Maybe someone reading this does and I would love to hear from you!  But in case I never get a chance to tell her, my humble way to honor her is to strive every day to walk in her footsteps and pass forward the most valuable gifts she gave me…her time, her attention, and her love.  I fall short on a daily basis, especially with my own kids, but if each of us was intentional in our commitment to be a “Mrs. Long”, what a wonderful, loving world it would be!

Who was your “Mrs. Long”?  How was your life impacted by the attention of a loving adult?  I’d love to hear your story!

I was out of town this weekend, and on my way home we stopped at a McDonalds.  I had already ordered and was standing close to the register waiting on my food.  The cashier was a young boy who looked about 16 years old.  He was working hard and doing his best in the lunch crowd chaos.  Another woman had been called up to retrieve her food.  As she got her food, she made a biting comment to the young boy.  I do not know what she said, but her tone of voice made me jerk around to see what was going on.  The boy handed her the food and she asked if he had included a napkin.  He had not.  She made another comment and he went to grab the napkin for her.  She then turned to the woman next in line to order and said, “What kind of retard forgets to put in a napkin with your meal!” The boy handed her the napkins and she commented, “You are awful.”  She then proceeded to walk away, appearing to be quite proud of herself.  The cashier seemed completely unfazed by her outburst and never even flinched.  The woman ordering then said, “Honey, don’t worry, you can’t please everyone.”

Two thoughts went through my mind at that moment.  The first was mean people suck.  The second was the reaction of the young boy.  Was his complete void of any reaction to her ugliness a sign that he had to put up with that kind of behavior quite often so he is just numb to it?  If so, how sad.

Before I continue, let me say what some of you are thinking.  I know there is much good in our world…much more good than bad on most days. I know the examples of kindness, thoughtfulness and compassion are in abundance, but today I’m just sick of the meanness.

I posted this quote from Buddha recently on my LimitlessLessons Facebook page...

Life is so very difficult.  It's difficult for all of us, but especially for young people.  They may not be trying to figure out how to make a house payment or raising kids or managing a home, but they are doing something so much more important...they are developing their identities.  They are growing their self esteem.  They are figuring out their place in this world.  They are deciding if they are good enough for their dreams.  They are trying to figure out if this is a nice world or a mean world and they are looking to us adults for guidance.  They are watching what we do.  They are paying attention to how we treat people and how we handle adversity.  They are looking to us to build them up and teach them how to handle mistakes...like not putting a napkin in a stupid bag of food.

I've been watching a lot of meanness go on among young people in our social media world and it breaks my heart.  Sadly, the meanness of adults on social media and even in the real world is even worse.  I'm appalled.  When did we become a society where no one is allowed to have a differing opinion...where political and religious preferences are more important than life-long friendships..where because we are behind a computer, we feel we have the right to say anything we wish, no matter how cruel or untrue.

I was reading an article recently about Kim Kardashian (she stars in a reality show) and the pressure she is feeling from the media and public regarding all her pregnancy weight.  What I found most interesting, was not the article itself, but the comments the public wrote at the end.  The cruelty, nastiness, and malice for which some people wrote about her and her weight was something I have never seen.  Most of you are saying who cares about Kim Kardashian or maybe you don't even know who she is.  Or you are saying she thrives on all the attention, positive or negative, because that's her only claim to fame.  You are saying she signed up for this by being on a reality show and being a celebrity...you have to take the good with the bad.

You know what I say...
No human being deserves to be treated with that kind of contempt...NO ONE.

I chose this example on purpose because, although most of us really don't know her or care about her pregnancy weight, our young people do.  They are reading this and not only seeing how cruel people can be, but young girls are taking in some potentially harmful ideas about pregnancy, gaining weight and the world's judgment of anyone who struggles with their weight or does not have the ideal size 2 body.  But, even worse are the articles I have read on politics, religion, or even sports!  The callousness of how we treat people who do not share our same beliefs or meet our expectations or even make a mistake is something some of us should take a harder look at.

I'm not perfect and I have certainly had mean moments in my life, but I hope to never be that woman in McDonalds.  To her I say...was the napkin really as important as a young boy's self respect?  Shame on you.

While at the beach last week, my friend and I were laying on my bed watching videos of her 8 year-old daughter.  These were videos her daughter made of herself doing everything from writing and singing songs (and very well may I add!) to discussing quite articulately her feelings on many topics.  We laughed and laughed.  It was obvious to me this sweet girl is creative, dramatic, introspective, smart, assertive, confident and clearly she thinks she is fabulous!  When we finished watching one, my friend sighed and said “It makes me sad this will all be gone in a few years.”  I sighed too.  She didn’t have to explain…I knew exactly what she meant.

Within the next few years, this sweet little girl may change.  She may believe being smart is not cool so she will pretend she is not.  She may believe being creative makes her different, so she will hide it.  She may believe assertiveness does not go over well with the boys so she will learn to become passive.  She may see the TV and the magazines and believe that all “pretty girls” come in one size…skinny.  There may come a day when she does not see herself as fabulous anymore, because she will be so focused on her flaws.  Her confidence may turn to doubt.  

I know I’m generalizing here, but I see this phenomenon every day…in my young students, in my own daughter, and even in myself.  In an article on babycenter.com, Chris Woolston says, “Girls usually start off life at full steam. They're the early talkers, the social butterflies, the A students. But somewhere between preschool and middle school, a confusing blend of new social pressures, greater expectations in the classroom, and mixed signals from society (“Do your best – but don’t draw too
much attention to yourself,” “You can be anything you want to be – but looking
pretty is your top priority”) can cause girls to fall behind academically or lose their spark.” Check out an issue of any magazine marketed to women out there and you will be stunned by the mixed signals we are sending our young girls.  Anita Gurian, PhD states in an article on aboutourkids.org that, “Starting in the preteen years, there is a shift in focus; for girls, their appearance and their changing bodies too often become an all-consuming passion and barometer of worth. For an overwhelming majority of girls, self-esteem becomes too closely tied to how they look and their physical attributes; girls feel they can't measure up to unrealistic society standards.”

After watching a couple more videos, my friend looked at me and said “What do I do?  How do I keep her thinking she is fabulous?” She was asking me not only as a counselor, but as a friend and as a mother of a 14 year-old girl.  I wish I had THE answer.  I don’t.  I struggle with this same question.  I do like this list from the Chris Woolston article of things you can do to build your daughter's confidence and resilience for the tricky years ahead:

1. Encourage assertiveness…Teach your daughter to express her needs to adults and stand her ground with her peers. If another child is being mean to her, encourage her to say "I don't like the way you're talking to me."

2. Be specific in your compliments…When you tell your daughter how smart she is, it means much more if you use concrete examples. Tell her "You have a really good memory" or "Boy, you sure know your dinosaurs."

3. Make your praise match reality…A third-grader will know that she's not a musical genius or the best artist on the planet, but she'll appreciate it if you notice her improvement from one month to the next.

4. Help her understand why she sometimes gets left out…Explain to your daughter that if she isn't invited to every birthday party or to join every jump-rope game (and she won't be), it's not meant to be an insult. Explain that when another child says "You can't be my friend," it probably has more to do with that child's bad mood than it does with your daughter.

5. Encourage competence…Don't be too quick to help your daughter with homework or chores. If she asks for help, ask her to try working through it for a couple more minutes on her own first.

6. Encourage her to play sports if she wants to…Girls have more sporty options than ever before. If she wants to do gymnastics or play football, give her a chance to get in the game and find out what she's capable of. Don't decide which sports are right for her – she can figure it out herself.

7. Don't make assumptions about her strengths and weaknesses…Just because your child is a girl doesn't mean she'll struggle with fractions – or that she'll ace reading tests. It also doesn't mean she won't want to go fishing or try out for Little League. Follow her cues to best nurture her strengths and work on improving her weaknesses.

8. Encourage a healthy body image…When she asks the inevitable "Am I pretty?" answer her with an enthusiastic yes. When you praise her appearance, try to highlight her actions, too: "You looked so graceful at gymnastics today" or "Your eyes really shone on the stage.”  It can also be helpful for older girls to hear that models in magazines don't look like real girls or women and that their photographs are altered to make them look thinner and more flawless than they actually are.

9. Prepare her for sexism…Even today, some people think that girls can't do some things that boys can. If you notice your daughter watching TV shows or movies where girls stay in the background while boys save the day, point it out and talk to her about how different things are in the real world.

10. Point out positive female role models…Take every opportunity, when you're watching the news or reading the paper, to show your daughter that women - senators, sportscasters, doctors, athletes – can do anything.  Reading books with strong female characters is one of the best ways to get the idea across without
lecturing. If you can't think of enough books like that, ask a librarian – they often have lists of books to choose from and can make recommendations.

Do you agree with his list? What would you add?  What’s worked for you?  Check out this video from The Dove Campaign for Real Beauty...

Throughout all the highs and lows of my marriage, one thing about my husband has stayed steadfast and true. He is a good father.  No, a great father.  The kind of father I only dreamed of my kids having one day.  And it’s been that way from the very beginning.

When I was pregnant with Brandon, I had a really awful delivery.  Some minor complications after the delivery left me in and out of consciousness for a bit.  Every time I would come to, I would panic…THE BABY!  And every time I opened my eyes, there was Todd rocking him, soothing him, feeding him, and loving him.  As we were getting ready to leave the hospital, I remember being in the shower worried about how in the world I was going to dress this tiny little thing without hurting him and prepare him for our trip home.  I came out of the bathroom and there was Brandon, all dressed and ready to go, lying on Todd’s chest.  From that moment on, I knew my kids would always be in the best of hands.

Todd took to parenting in a way I never did.  It was so natural to him.  You can’t teach that, it just is.  When I worried, he wondered.  When I stressed, he smiled.  What I saw as a huge responsibility, he saw as a huge adventure.  It’s still that way.  He always saw parenting, not as an equal obligation so much, but as an equal journey he was so blessed to be part of.  When Brandon was just a couple weeks old, I left him with Todd while I went out to run some errands.  I remember seeing a friend who stopped me and asked where the baby was.  I replied that he was home with Todd.  She looked genuinely shocked.  Her exact words were, “I can’t believe you’re letting Todd babysit him this soon.”  I was speechless. “He’s his dad, not his babysitter” I countered,” and he is more than capable.”  And he was. I was unable to breastfeed Brandon so Todd became an efficient bottle maker, making them in big batches so I didn’t have to do it.  Even though he was working, we had a system at night.  Anything the baby needed before 2:00 a.m. was my responsibility, anything after 2:00 a.m. was his. (We came up with this because I was a night person and he was a morning person!). While pregnant
with Catie, I was put on bed rest for 6 months.  Todd worked, cooked, kept the house as best he could, took care of two-year old Brandon, and took care of me every day
for those 6 months.  Once Catie came along, he never even flinched.  He was as comfortable with two as he was with one. He has a remarkable gift.

Todd is devoted to Brandon and Catie in a way that’s truly humbling.  He’s involved, but knows how to give them space.  He’s fun, but knows when to lay down the law.  He’s proud, but keeps things in perspective.  He’s their friend, but also their parent.  He cooks for them, he attends everything they participate in, he plays with them, and most importantly, he loves them unconditionally.  He’s patient, kind, loyal and generous. 
If they don’t now, my kids will soon realize what a special dad they have.

So thank you Todd.  Thank you for being more than I could ever ask for in a father to my children. Thank you for being all the things I’m not.  Thank you for allowing the kids to see the world from your perspective.  Thank you for always being ready for an adventure with them and helping them experience the fun side of life.  Thank you for providing for them and working so incredibly hard to give them the life I know you believe they deserve.  Thank you for always being so involved in their lives and making them feel like the most important thing in the world...because they are. But most of all, thank you for the peace of mind in knowing that should anything ever happen to me, they have and always will be in the best of hands. 

Happy Father's Day!  We love you!

Yesterday, we took Bella to the creek on some of Todd’s family land to play in the water.  We don’t take the time to do things like this with her very often, so she was extremely excited.  The hay on the land had not been cut so it was very high except for the path we were driving on.  As we drove, a deer popped up from the tall grass and started running.  Bella jumped out of the truck and started chasing the deer. We were following behind her and had lost sight of her briefly.  As we approached the creek, Todd slammed on the breaks because all of a sudden Bella was running straight for the truck and the deer was chasing her!  It was quite funny!  The look on Bella’s face said “Retreat!  Retreat!” 
 
I was reminded of several lessons in that moment.

Don’t pick on someone or something just because you can.  It could be you some day. Bella was all big and bad chasing that deer until the tables turned.  As she was cowering under my legs, I’m guessing she was thinking it wasn’t so fun to be on the receiving end of that little chase.  I tell my kids at school all the time that they don’t have to necessarily be friends, but if you don’t like someone, leave them alone.  There is no reason to pick on someone you perceive to be weaker than you just because you can.  You never know when you will be the one being “chased”.

There are times you must stand up for yourself.  That deer probably gets pretty tired of being chased.  Walking (or in this case running) away from trouble is always a good idea, but there are times you must stand up for yourself.  I was pretty proud of her for standing up to Bella.  Most people are cowards.  It’s easy to talk about someone, make hurtful comments, or make others feel inferior as long as you’re never called to the carpet on it.  Once confronted, even in a very nice way (which is what I recommend), the dynamics change dramatically.  Tony Gaskin said it best…“You
teach people how to treat you by what you allow, what you stop, and what you
reinforce.”  You set the bar for how you are treated…set it high.

Don’t mess with a mama and her baby.  When we stopped the truck and got out, the deer didn’t back down a bit.  She took a few steps forward with an expression that said “Bring it on!” Catie stayed in the truck and said, “She looks mad!”  She was mad! I imagine she had a baby somewhere close by and she would do anything to protect that baby.  She ended up giving us a few grunts and running off, but I know that feeling well…mess with me all you want, but don’t mess with my kids!  I’ve seen intelligent, calm, passive women change into the Incredible Hulk right before my eyes when it comes to defending their kids.  We just can’t help it.  Be sure not to stand up for your kids so often though, that you don’t teach them to stand up for themselves.  That’s
truly the most valuable gift you can give them.

All of our moments are connected.  In that moment at the creek, I was able to experience other great moments.  As I watched Bella play, I missed our old dog Samantha tremendously, and remembered such wonderful memories with her at that same creek.  I was taken back to high school thinking about how much time Todd and I
and our friends spent at these creeks, laughing, playing, and dreaming. And as I watched my long-legged, beautiful daughter play with Bella in the creek, I realized that she will connect this moment with one of her own somewhere down the road.  This is why each moment is so special.

Of course no family outings in my world end on such a peaceful note.  As we were shutting the gate and getting ready to pile back in the truck, Bella decided she wanted to salvage her pride on this deer chasing fiasco and chased a biker about a half a mile
down a curvy, country road while we screamed frantically for her (and the biker
screamed frantically as well)!  I kept hoping for the biker to turn the tables and start chasing her, but no such luck!  When she felt rightfully redeemed, she stopped, headed back for the truck with her head held high.  Obviously, we still have some work to do!

Many people ask what I do as an Elementary School Counselor.  They wonder what kinds of problems kids this age could possibly have.  Without going into detail, let me assure you, some of them are dealing with things you and I could never even imagine.  My first year completely blew me away.  I had no idea the issues I would end up hearing about on a day to day basis.  I was traumatized.  Sadly, after many years of doing this, these days I just feel numb.

One of the hardest problems for me to talk with kids about, is when a parent has made a conscious choice to remove themselves from the child’s life.  How do you explain to a 6, 8 or 10 year old why they haven’t seen or heard from mom/dad for years?  How do you assure them it’s not their fault?  How do you make them feel loved while not giving them false hope of reconciliation some day?  I still don’t have the answers.  I remember vividly the first child I tried to counsel through this.  It was my first year counseling and he was a first grader whose dad had left about a year prior.  Before he left, dad and son were very close.  Since his departure, son had not heard from dad…not even once.  It truly broke my heart.  There were no books to read to him…all I had in my library of resources were books about divorce where both parents were still involved.  I didn’t know what to do, how to help him, or how to comfort him.  I obviously spent a lot of time listening to him, but I ended up creating a “book” for him.  At the end of the book I attached a 12”x12” piece of really soft, fuzzy material.  (Let me note here that I see as many absent mothers as I do fathers, this book was just made specifically for that child.)

Unfortunately, I am seeing more and more of these types of children each year.  I’ve seen two just this week.  I recently pulled out a copy of the book I made for that first grader so many years ago to begin to use again.

Do You Ever Miss Me Dad?

Hi, my name is Sam,
And I am eight!
From the outside looking in,
My life looks pretty great!

I go to school,
I like to play,
I have lots of friends,
And most days are okay.

But worries I have,
And my troubles I want to share,
With kids like you,
Who would never, ever dare…

Tell anyone how you really feel,
How lonely and mad,
Scared, confused,
and just plain sad.

So, I am here to talk to you,
To be your trusted friend,
To share my very own story,
From the beginning to the end.

You see, my parents are not together,
Haven’t been for a year or so,
I live only with my mom,
As for my dad… I really don’t know.

He stopped coming around,
His calls eventually faded,
My birthday came and went,
And I felt really hated.

I didn’t understand!
Did I do something wrong?
If I had just been a better son…
If I had just tried harder all along.

I should have kept my room clean,
I should have taken care of the cat,
I should have tried to get along with my sister,
I should have found dad’s favorite hat.

I felt like I had to be the reason he left,
I felt guilty and ashamed,
I cried myself to sleep at night,
Accepting all the blame.

But then one day I realized
His leaving had nothing to do with me.
You see, sometimes grown-ups have problems
That you and I can’t see.

They can’t be the kind of parent
They really wish they were,
So they need some time away,
To learn, to grow, to be sure…

That when they do come back
They know how to show all the love they feel,
Because they really do love us,
And that love is very real.

But in the meantime,
Make sure you don’t lose sight,
Of all the other special people
Who love you with all their might.

There are aunts and mawmaws,
Teachers and pawpaws,
Coaches and brothers,
Friends and mothers.

There are so many that want
Nothing but the best for you,
So many that think you’re amazing
And so proud of all the things you do!

So, take this piece of fabric
And keep it close to your heart,
Not only as a symbol of your dad’s love,
But here’s the special part…

As a reminder that you’re not alone,
That your friend Sam knows how you feel,
That many people love you,
And your dad needs time to heal.

Start with this one piece of cloth
But ask others to add to your collection
And soon you will have a blanket made of love,
That is nothing but pure perfection!

And on those days
when you’re scared or sad,
jealous, confused,
or just plain mad,

Cuddle up with your love blanket,
hold on to it tight,
to remind yourself
how much you are loved by so many of us tonight!

Although it’s, by far, not my greatest piece of written work, it did give this child some comfort.  My only goal was to make him feel loved and hope he would not feel responsible for his dad’s crummy choice.  I wanted him to have something he could touch that symbolized the love that was all around him and reminded him of his dad’s love for him, not his leaving.

A child’s unconditional love for their parents at this age never ceases to amaze me.  It does not matter what the parent has done or how horribly they have treated the child, I have never met a child that does not still want the attention and love of their parent.  We brought them in this world, don't you think we owe them at least that?

The conversation went something like this…

Me:  My house is such a mess!

Friend:  You’ve been saying that every day since you built the house in 1994…clean it!

Me:  But I don’t want to!  I hate cleaning!

Friend:  So then don’t, but own it.  Accept the fact you’re not going to have a perfectly clean house, quit stressing about it and move on.  It’s not your thing.

Ok, my friend is right.  It’s not my thing and I have been complaining about it since 1994.  So today I’m going to own it, but I feel so alone!  And guilty…and judged…and embarrassed.  First, let me be clear in case my kids are reading this and dying of embarrassment. Our house is not disgusting (well most of the time) and I’m not like an episode of Hoarders, I’m just messy…always have been.  And I hate to clean…always have.  I tell people I was in the bathroom when God gave out the clean gene.  I was running out pulling my pants up yelling, “Wait!  I’m coming!”, but he had already finished. 

I go out of my way to try and catch someone else with a messy house.  I pop in unannounced hoping to find some shoes lying around, maybe a blanket on the floor…nothing.  I purposely go over after dinner wishing there might be some dishes in the sink or an unwiped counter…nothing.  I make excuses to walk by their bedroom just praying for an unmade bed…again nothing.  What is wrong with me?!?  I can hear some of you reading this now.  You’re saying, “Whatever.  Every time I come to your house it looks great.”  And you’re probably right…because I know you’re coming!  It’s the only time I really motivate to clean!  That’s why I entertain a lot, otherwise who knows what it would look like!

Obviously I’m capable of cleaning and I actually do a good job when I do it.  And I LOVE a clean house…makes me seriously so happy.  And the stress I feel when it’s a mess is crippling sometimes.  So why don’t I just clean it?  I don’t know.  I use the excuse I’m busy.  I work full time and most days after work I’m at a game or practice or running errands of some sort.  When I get home at 7:00 or 8:00, cleaning is the last thing I want to do.  But I know it’s an excuse.  I see other working moms as busy as I am AND still have a clean house.   Cleaning is just not a priority for me.  That’s the bottom line.

So here it is for the whole world to see…there’s a good chance my house might be a mess when you pop in.  But our house is a home.  You and your kids are welcome any time.  You don’t have to worry about scratching our hardwood floors, they are already scratched.  You don’t have to worry about spilling something on the carpet…it’s already stained.  I have paint on my jeep and kitchen table from high school paint parties.  I have scuffed up walls where the paint has come off in my kitchen from a wrestling match between a bunch of boys.  My lighting fixture hanging upstairs is broken from soccer balls being kicked back and forth.  I have dents in my garage door from hours of practicing volleyball serves.  My kitchen stool is broken from a friend laughing so hard she fell off it and it broke.  I can’t bring myself to fix it because seeing it still makes me laugh.  My coffee table legs look like half eaten corn on the cob from my “sweet” dog’s chewing problem and there are always cans of drinks all over the house from all the kids coming in and out of the house.  Even with the mess, my kids love to have friends over.  “It’s comfortable” they tell me.  “We don’t have to worry about stuff when we are here.”  And they don’t.  It’s important to my husband and I to have a house everyone feels comfortable coming to.  A house people want to hang out in and they don’t have to worry about breaking something or ruining something…it’s all just stuff and nothing so valuable it can’t be replaced.

But I still struggle.  I’m still extremely jealous of all of you with clean houses.  Even though my husband and kids are more than capable of cleaning (and they do), somewhere deep inside I still feel like it’s “my job” to keep a clean house and it’s a reflection of me when it’s not.  Even though my husband tells me not to worry about it, it’s just who we are, I still worry.  I still get embarrassed, I still feel like a failure.  Although I feel alone in this battle, statistics say I’m far from alone.  Workingmother.com conducted a survey and found that 68% of readers felt significantly or strongly guilty about their not-clean-enough homes.  They felt more guilt over that than spending enough time with their kids.  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  We live in a different time than our mothers did.  Life is busier and busier but our standards and expectations are becoming higher…we feel the pressure to do it all, and do it well.  I can’t keep up so I’m cutting myself some slack.   Come over and have a glass a wine with me, messy house or not.  I promise to have enough wine on hand you won’t even remember the mess!!

It’s Mother’s Day weekend and I am lucky to be surrounded by some incredible moms.  They are great role models and each possesses amazing strengths I strive to emulate on a daily basis.  I have a wonderful support group of women who understand how hard it can be to be a mom.  They listen to me, they love me and they treat my kids as their own.  Like I said, I’m lucky indeed.

What makes me most fortunate though, is to still have my own mom in my life.  I know many who are not as privileged and how much they will be missing their own moms this weekend.  Last year for Mother’s Day I wrote my mom a letter.  I want to share an excerpt of that letter as a tribute to her and to honor all moms out there who may not get the recognition they deserve.

“Things in our family have changed so much since Daddy died.  Todd made a comment one time that it was because the center “hub” in our wheel was broken which made the wheel not able to function like it should.  It left me thinking about the impact people have on our lives and sadly, we don’t always realize that impact until they are gone.

My memories of Dad are more vivid than my memories of you.  I think it’s not only because he is gone, but also because my memories of him are in his “extreme” moments.  My memories of you are the everyday ones.  You standing over the stove every single night cooking us dinner, drying the dishes at night while we talked, the matching outfits you used to make us and then as I got older, taking me school clothes shopping every year.  Getting ready for dances, decorating the house with you for Christmas, and birthday dinners you made so special.  Seeing you in the stands at everything I ever participated in, laying on your bed watching you get ready to go out, and the smell of your perfume.  Tuesday night bridge, hot chocolate after a cold day of sledding, and packing for vacations.  Spending hours going through your jewelry box, taking care of me when I was sick, and the security, stability and comfort you provided me that made me never want to be too far away from you.  I still consider your house my “home” and have been there many times, even when you didn’t know it, when I needed to go where I felt most safe.

Over the years I would call the house and if Dad answered, he would say hello, then immediately say “you want to talk to your mother?”  I would try to have a quick conversation with him, but he was right…I wanted to talk to my mom.  You have been there through many breakups and makeups, you helped me choose colleges, furnished and decorated apartments, bought the outfit for me to wear to my first job interview and went with me.  You planned my wedding and helped me set up my first home.  You were there every step of the way through my troubled pregnancies, the births of my beautiful children, and to hang out with me when they were young and I wasn’t sure what to do with them.  You provided for me in ways that were so profound, I never even though about them until I was older.  I never worried about what I was going to eat, if I had clean clothes, if the house was presentable to have friends over, if we had enough money, and never once did I doubt your love for me.

I often worry about what kind of legacy I’m leaving and what kind of impact I’ve made on the people around me.  My kids say I’m no fun and boring, but if being boring means I am giving my kids the stability, comfort, and security of my own childhood, then “boring” is my proudest legacy.  I learned it from the best.  And although Todd may be right about Dad being the “missing hub” in our wheel, the hub would serve no purpose without the many spokes attached to it.  You were all those spokes…mother, friend, wife, caregiver, fashion designer, cheerleader, researcher, banker, taxi cab driver, advocate, interior decorator, teacher, travel agent, maid, party planner, cook, nurse…and the list goes on and on.”

I love you mom!  And to all my mommy friends on this Mother’s Day weekend, I hope each of you know how much you are appreciated and valued, and the difference you make in the lives of others.  Not just in the lives of your own family, but in my life.  I watch you.  I look up to you.  I’m amazed by you.  I live by your example.  I’m in awe of you job you do every single day.  I’m humbled by the deep love and commitment you feel for your children and I’m honored to be held in your company.  And to my own kids…nothing makes me prouder than to be your mom.  So, Happy Mother’s Day!!  I hope the day is as special as you are and you are showered with all the gratitude you so rightfully deserve!

Have you ever gotten a wake-up call?  I got one the other morning…literally and figuratively. 

I was awoken by a phone call at 6:00 a.m. to let me know there was the possibility one of my children was in danger.  Wow.  Not what I was expecting.  Fortunately, it was a false alarm and it seems there was never any threat to the safety of my child, but for the several frightening hours we were unsure, one thing became crystal clear.  All the little things I had been complaining about…my dirty house, the loads of laundry, the lack of “me” time, my job, the crappy weather, the 10 lbs I can’t seem to lose…meant nothing to me.  The only thing that mattered was the safety and well being of the people I love.  This was a wake-up call.

I believe scary/sad/poignant events happen in life in order to jolt us back into reality of what’s really important.  These “wake up calls” immediately put things into perspective for us and shift our focus away from the insignificant and material things and directly on to what matters the most…people.  I value my relationships tremendously, and if you are in my life at all, you know this.  The older I get, the more this becomes true, but sometimes I just forget.  I get overwhelmed with life and start sweating the small stuff.  I lose my way a bit.  I start taking things for granted.  It takes these wake-up calls to get me back on track. 

It is human nature to take people for granted.  To expect they will always be in our life.  To think the way things are today will be the way they are forever.  We get comfortable, yet we don’t seem to notice how comfortable we’ve become with someone until we’ve lost them.  We get so used to having certain people around because they are so reliable, we don’t pay attention to how much they do for us and how much they care for us.  We think people just automatically know how we feel and therefore we don’t need to tell them.  Sadly, there are many times we treat the ones we love the most, the worst.  I am as guilty as anyone.  I don’t speak of my gratitude enough.  I don’t say enough I love yous.  I expect the people I love to be in my life forever.  Anything different, is unthinkable.

Things in our house have felt a little different since that wake-up call.  We all seem to be a little more patient with each other, a little kinder.  We seem to be staying in the same room a little longer, hugging a little tighter, and checking in a little more often.  I saw that protective mama bear come out in all of us that morning.  There was nothing we wouldn’t do to protect each other.  However, I wish it didn’t take a wake-up call to remind us what we mean to each other, to remember not to take each other for granted.  Wake-up calls are scary and sad.  So, maybe this can be your innocent, not-so-scary, not-so-sad wake-up call.  If you had one day to live, who would you call?  Who would you want to spend your last day with?  Go tell them.  Say I love you.  Make time for someone you’ve been too busy for.  Say the unspoken.  Hold on a little tighter.  Love a little deeper.  You never know what day might be your last together.