Stages

No one told me about this stage in life.  The one where your heart kind of swells with pride, practically explodes with love, and then also breaks slowly all at the same time.  No one talks about that. The stage when your children start moving from the “Mom, hug me! Hold me!” Stage, to the “I need my space.”

When I first got pregnant, I heard all about the morning sickness possibilities.  I was given advice about making sure to walk a lot and the right things to eat and foods to avoid.  So I prepared and I planned. Finally the moment comes and I am given this absolutely perfect baby in my arms.  My life before that moment was completely forgotten. Nothing else mattered looking into those eyes.

The advice follows me with the birth of my babes.   A longer list of do’s and don'ts. With every stage of the younger years, terrible two’s, potty training, starting school, I heard advice.  Everyone had opinions, and in a way it made me feel better because it helped navigate my uncharted ocean. I could always see land, so I was grounded even when the seas got rocky.  No one told me though, about the letting go bit. No one told me about what to do when my kids start growing up and maybe don’t need me quite as much as they used to. No one warned me about that mix of emotions.  The hurt for myself, excitement for them and pride in them. Maybe because it’s different for everyone. Or maybe because it’s truly hard to explain all the emotion or give advice for this stage. You just have to experience it.  

The closing of the school year, floods our facebook pages with graduation caps and gowns.  Faces of proud mommas and daddy’s, and hope in the eyes of their children. Little ones moving from the pond of elementary school diving into a new place with much bigger fish.  Lots of firsts come with the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. As a parent, it’s blessing to be a part of every stage. It’s been an even bigger blessing to have a team of people stand by you when any amount of words or advice doesn’t really help.

As my son enters high school next year, and my daughter middle school, I feel a mixture of emotions.  These are uncharted waters. I no longer truly control the direction of the boat. I now have two co-captains with opinions and dreams, and they to want to sail their own boat.  They have their own path to explore and conquer. I will be okay to sail beside them. Maybe even sometimes behind them. I have no other choice. They know I will be there when they need me, just like I know I have people to pick me up when I’m struggling, or a friendly ear for listening.  The sea is too big to handle alone after all.

~Esmeralda

My Grown up Christmas List

Dear Santa,

I have been good this year.  Well, for sure at least decent.  I remembered to make my bed a few times as soon as I got up in the morning.  I didn’t have many meltdowns over spilled food in the car, and I rarely said anything too harsh when people cut me off on my way to work. All in all I really tried hard this year to be a good person, so I figured I could ask for a few things.  A short little list.  Here is what I would like:

1. Grace.  There are times when I am extremely hard on myself.  I beat myself up about all the things I am not doing and should be doing.  I give myself a hard time for the cookie I ate when I know very well I should have had an apple or some other fruit instead.  When my son gives attitude, as all pre-teens do, I blame myself. (Although quite frankly I thought I was safe from this phenomenon for a few years because boys didn’t suffer from the terrible teen mood swings.  I was wrong.)  I wonder what I am doing wrong, and worry because I don’t know what I am doing most of the time.  I just ask for a sprinkle of grace.  A reminder that I am doing the best I can, and I will continue to do the best I can.

2. Acceptance.  I am what I am.  I am not going to get any younger.  No matter what I do, or what creams I buy.  It doesn’t matter at what angle I hold my phone, as I attempt to take a picture because a wrinkle still pops up here and there to remind me that time does not stand still.  But do I really want it to?  What a gift to wake up every day, and live!  Actually live the moments we are given.  My beautiful grandma is in her 90's.  She takes her vitamins, watches what she eats, and walks every day.  Not out of vanity, but because it makes her feel good.  When she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkle, and it is one of the most beautiful faces I know.  

3. Freedom of guilt.  I have to remember that it is ok to take a moment or two for myself.  It doesn’t make me a bad mom to get a pedicure on my own, or take a run in silence.  Kids are very intuitive and know when momma is stressed and about to lose it.  The quiet before the storm they call it.  In order for me to be the best mom, best person I can be, I need to make ME a priority as well.

4. Wisdom.  One day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time.  From the minute I wake up, I am bombarded by choices.  Should I get up at the first alarm I have set, or the third which is 15 minutes later?  The famous, what am I going to wear?  Most days I have nothing to wear as I stare at my closet bursting with things.  And once I decide on something, what accessories do I pick?  All these thoughts before I even step a foot into my fuzzy slippers.  Those are simple decision, that although could cause some stress, ultimately no real damage comes from deciding to wear a t-shirt as opposed to a dress.  There are choices however, that do leave a mark.  Choices that do leave bigger consequences.

5. FInally, if it’s not too much trouble, I would really like a new journal.  I know I already have a stack of them cascading out of a plastic box in my office, but I figured I would ask. A lovely leather one with crisp blank pages, unlined.  There are so many out there, I didn’t want you to get confused.

My kids and I left some cookies out for you.  One had a little bite out of it, as I wanted to make sure it was just the right amount of soft and crisp.  Didn’t want you to have to eat subpar Christmas cookies. (See?  I told you!  All nice, not naughty.)

Thank you, and Merry Christmas!

Sincerely,

Esmeralda Lara

Not Such a Failure After All

The pain in my throat made it very difficult to swallow as I tried my hardest not to cry.  We were on our way home and the ambiance in the car was cheerful and lighthearted to everyone but me.  We had a lot of fun things going on during the weekend, and it was Friday, which meant that the mood was relaxed.  I knew it was going to happen.  The dam could only hold so much against the pressure that was coming at it, and I put on my sunglasses to mask the eruption that was about to happen.  Had we been outside it wouldn’t have mattered.  The rain coming down could have camouflaged the tears that were now streaming down my face. 

            How could it be?  Another failure.  Another check on my long list of insecurities and inadequacies.  I knew that I would be great at this new position because it involved something I cared so passionately about.  Was I wrong?  That was the question that circled around in my head after the call that left me wondering, what is wrong with me.  Why am I not good enough?  When am I ever going to catch a break?

            The harsh rain only added to my frustration, as the traffic now became worse.  All I wanted to do was get home, cover myself with a blanket and hide.  Another wave of tears made its way to the corners of my eyes, but were stopped before the downpour.  I felt a warm, gentle touch on my arm.  I looked over at my son who was watching me with a concerned look on his face.  I hadn’t realized that the sunglasses could only hide so much of my disappointment, and he was witnessing something other than the strong momma I liked to portray in front of them.

            “Mom, are you okay?” he said genuinely worried.

            “Yes, I am fine,” I said in a convincing voice. 

He kept looking at me, and then said, “Mom, God has a plan for everything. It’s going to be okay.”

            My little man had no clue about what was going on.  He only saw that his mom was upset about something, and used the words I have used so many times with him.

            Sometimes things don’t always work out.  I know this.  I’m a teacher and a mother.  Unpredictability is kind of part of the job description for both.  But I had taken the “failure” and turned it into an attack against myself.  I saw it as a problem, and made a list of things that were wrong with me, instead of trusting that God has a plan, like I had prayed just that very morning.    Life isn’t always going to give us what we want, and it’s essential to me that my kids know how important it is to keep moving forward after a setback.  Hearing those words come out of my son’s mouth made me feel like not quite so much a failure, and even though the sun didn’t shine much the rest of the weekend, it didn’t rain on us at all.

~Esmeralda

            

The ABCs of Me by Carolyn

I loved Andrea's post so much that I am shamelessly copying it! In fact, both of us can thank our co-writer Susan, for showing us the very cool book, Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by one of my favorite authors, Amy Krouse Rosenthal. It's one of those books that you look at and think, "Why didn't I think of writing a book like this?" The author has simply written a snippet about her life for each letter of the alphabet, but the result is quite entertaining. What a deal!

So here is a beginning for my personal encyclopedia:

A is for Angry Resting Face.

From the Urban Dictionary: Angry Resting Face (ARF) - Term used to describe the angry-looking facial expression that one instinctively makes when s/he is resting, zoned out, or not actively engaged in a conversation. Someone with an angry resting face may be unfairly perceived as cold or aloof. An effective remedy for an ARF is to learn to "smile with your eyes." 

A colleague taught us about this a few years ago. I was extremely relieved to hear that it was a real thing, because I have been accused all my life of being angry, or grouchy, or sad, or worse, when I am not. That is just the way my face is. I have tried to develop an HRF (Happy Resting Face), but it just does not work. We who suffer with ARF deserve your pity, not your scorn.  :)

B is for baby. Maybe I should have saved this for "G", as in grandbaby, but I wanted to get it in here as soon as possible. People always tell you that there is nothing like being a grandparent. This is true. The joy of snuggling with your own little hunk of love, knowing you do not have to get up in the middle of the night with the little bugger is complete and utter bliss.

C is for CeCe. One of the most important decisions of your life is what you want to be called by your grandchildren. It is of supreme importance. You should start worrying about it as soon as possible. I have been weighing my options for quite some time, hoping I would eventually need to have something ready. I'm happy to report I now have the need for a grandmother name (see entry under "B is for baby" or "J is for Jude"). I have contemplated Grammy C and CeCe and various other options, but ultimately I know it will be up to my first-born grandchild to choose my name. I just hope he doesn't decide to call me MeMaw or MooMoo or something equally horrid!




D is for dogs. If you are a faithful reader of our blog, you may know that I have dogs. Three of them, in fact. What was I thinking? But that is a different story (see Life Lesson #7 from July 15, 2014). Here is what I like about having dogs: they love me, they do not talk back, they (typically) do not generate dirty laundry or dirty dishes, they love to cuddle, they let me pick what to watch on TV, and they are occasionally very entertaining. What I do not like about having dogs: they chew up EVERYTHING within reach, they track mud and various other unidentified debris into the house, they like to dig in trash cans and pull out all the contents thereof, they jump up on me in a frenzy of overwhelming affection, and they do not understand the concept of sleeping late on weekends. As with everything else in life, you take the bad with the good. They are part of my life.


E is for elementary school. I am a teacher. I briefly dabbled in middle school and high school earlier in my career, but my heart belongs in elementary school. I remember having a conversation about that a few years ago with my long-time friend who taught middle school. I said one of the reasons I much preferred working in an elementary school was that I got hugs from the kids there. Totally shocked and disgusted, she said, "And you LIKE that?" Yes, I do. Research tells us that hugs make you happier, healthier, and more relaxed. Who wouldn't like that? I work with wonderful, giving colleagues and have the privilege of touching young lives. It just doesn't get any better than that.

F is for food. I really, really like food. That is all.

G is for grandmother. Yes, I am one now, but that is not what I want to talk about here. My father's mother was called Mawgaw, which is my sister's fault (see entry under "C is for CeCe"), My sister was the first-born grandchild and apparently couldn't say "Grandma" correctly. I feel sure I would have done a better job of it if I had been the one in charge of naming the family matriarch. Be that as it may, Mawgaw was an incredible woman. She was love personified. She hugged and kissed and generally loved on us every possible moment. She didn't cook fancy dishes, but the food she made was absolutely wonderful! Hot yeast rolls, juicy and tender pot roast, sweet, flaky blackberry cobbler . . . every bite was full of love. She was tough as nails - she worked every day alongside my grandfather on their cattle ranch, planted and tended and harvested a  huge truck garden every year, canned and preserved the produce, managed the roadside fruit/pecan stand, cooked three meals a day, and ran the house as well. But she was also tender-hearted and felt the pain of everyone around her. I remember one time when I had hurt myself as a child (which happened regularly), she was pouring out sympathy on me, hugging and kissing, and lamenting my wound as grandmothers are supposed to do. My mother said, "Sarah, quit being nice to her; it just makes her cry harder!" Mawgaw was also generous to a fault and always assumed the best of everyone. She was an amazing woman. I miss her every day. I hope I can be as good a grandmother to my grandchildren as she was to me.

G is also for geocaching. This is a pastime I discovered a while back. It consists of using GPS coordinates to search for and (hopefully) locate "caches" hidden by other geocachers. Very fun. Unfortunately, I don't get to do it very often - lately, my only involvement in geocaching has been talking other people into trying it! I hope to get back to it soon - the excitement of recording my geocaching name and date-of-find on the list inside a cache is calling to me.

H is for hospital. I was born in Lampasas, Texas, in the Rollins-Brook Hospital. At that time, the hospital had 13 rooms. It was, strangely enough, a source of pride to me for many years that I was born in such a teeny-tiny facility. Sadly, the hospital was enlarged greatly several years ago. I was, and still am, bummed about that.

I is for . . . you guessed it, Ireland. I am homesick for a place I have never lived. I'm not sure how that is possible, but 'tis true. The moment I set foot on Irish soil, I knew it would become a part of who I am.
                “There’s music in the Irish names—
                 Kilkenny . . . Tipperary . . .
                 There’s beauty in the countryside,
                 From Cork to Londonderry,
                 And whoever makes his earthly home
                 Close to the Irish sod
                 Has found a bit of Heaven
                 And walks hand in hand with God.”


J is for Jude. Yes, I managed to work my grandson in here again.
But really, how can I resist those toes?



J is also for Jessica, who married my older son, became my daughter-in-law and daughter-in-my-heart, and co-produced my grandchild. What a deal!







K is for Kenneth. K is for Kyle. Just want to say to expectant parents out there - don't give your children names that begin with the same letter. Didn't you hate it when your mother called you the wrong name, so you swore you would never do that to YOUR children? You probably will, and giving them names that begin with the same letter increases that probability approximately 68%! This will irritate your children greatly. Need I say that I love both of them with my whole heart? They have been, and continue to be, the joy of my life and my greatest accomplishment.

L is for libraries. You probably already know I am a book lover and voracious reader. Could there be anything more captivating and comforting than a whole room full of books? I could cheerfully pass hour after hour snuggled in a comfy chair with a good book or two or three. After all, there is "no furniture so charming as books" (Rev. Sydney Smith, 1808-1895).

M is for mother. I lost my mother when I was 26; she was only 50. She was my dear friend, my trustworthy confidant and wise advisor, a dependable haven of love and security and tenderness when I was sad or confused or troubled. She has been gone twenty-nine years now: I have been without her loving presence in my life for longer than I had it. I still feel the void.

N is for nose. A very prosaic entry, I know, but nonetheless important to me. I do not know where I got my nose. It is not my father's nose, my mother's nose, nor is it like any of their parents' or siblings' noses. It is a confounding mystery. It appears that God stuck it on willy-nilly, without regard for family resemblance. If I had been given the choice, it is not the nose I would have picked, but there it is anyway, smack-dab in the middle of my face.

O is for Oregon. About three summers ago, my sister and I went on a trip to the Pacific Northwest with our father. It is an area of the country we knew he would like to visit, as he greatly enjoys the beauties of nature. Oregon is, of course, jam-packed with evergreen trees. Tourists flock there in droves to see them. The trees are awe-inspiring, indeed, soaring up into the sky, towering over everything. However, too much of a good thing is apparently too much. After a couple of days of driving along the winding country roads surrounded by the sturdy trunks and lush, green branches of those lovely giants, Dad complained, "I wish these trees weren't here. They are blocking the view." Oh my.

P is for poetry. One of the joys of my life in recent years has been "teaching" poetry to kids. A few years ago Susan, my co-coach, and I decided to delve into teaching poetry in a way that would preserve its joy. We have had a lot of fun with it ever since. This past school year I had the pleasure of introducing Jennifer's second graders to poetry - they caught my enthusiasm for it so thoroughly that they begged me never to stop bringing them new poems!



Q is for Queen Bee. My sister and I have often observed to each other that we were apparently born as worker bees, rather than queen bees. You know, those women that sit on the couch and look glamorous while the rest of us skitter around cooking, cleaning, and generally taking care of all the grunt work. Sometimes I wish I had been born a queen bee instead of a worker bee, but I guess it's a little late for that.  Buzz, buzz.

R is for redheads. That's something else I wish I had been born as. (Poor grammar, but you get the idea.) My father and his mother were both redheads before they went gray. I have always wished for red hair. When that clearly was not going to happen for me, I wished that one of my children would have red hair. That didn't come true either. Maybe Jude's hair will turn red . . .

S is for sister. I only have one, but I am so glad she is the one I have! I would not always have been able to say that truthfully. Candace was not very nice to me when we were growing up, as is the way of older siblings. If you ever meet her, be sure to ask her about the time she closed me up in the attic!

S is also for shoes. All of us have a weakness - mine is shoes. After all, shoe love is true love!

T is for Texas. Born and raised. And don't you forget it.

U is for university.  Anyone who knows me probably also knows that I love Texas A&M University. Proud Aggie,  class of '79. 
I know, that was a long time ago.  

V is for vagabond. I think I would like to be one. At least for a little while. But I also know it is important to me to have a home to come back to.

W is for widow. I am one. Never wanted to be (at least not seriously). Never imagined I would be. I occasionally griped at my husband for not spending enough time with me. He would reply, "We have forever to spend together, precious." Forever was not long enough. Give your spouse a hug and kiss every day and treasure your time together.

X is for an "unknown quantity". Lots of people think they have me figured out. They don't. Can any of us really know anyone else? 

Y is for yen and yang. Balance is best. I'm still trying to find it.

Z is for zzzzzzs. I love sleep. I have always loved sleep. My mother used to joke that I was born just in time to take a nap before lunch! 

Parenting Grown Ups

By: Susan 

My third child just left for college.  Now I have three children that are technically, and for all practical purposes, adults.  And in my experience, parenting adult children does not get any easier.  I find myself looking for as much guidance as when I had newborn babies and didn’t know what to do with them.  I lay awake at night and think about their lives, their happiness and their choices.  This is way worse than been kept awake by toddlers who wanted to watch Toy Story in the middle night of the night.  One book I read was called Walking on Eggshells, and I have to say that is a very apt description of parenting adults.  The main advice from that book was: “Shut you mouth and keep the door open.”  It is easier said than done, especially the shutting your mouth part.  As much as I try,  I can’t seem to be able to restrain myself from wanting to know that they are safe and happy at all times.  So I call and text often, asking:   “where are you?” “Did you make it home alright?” and “Are you ok?”  (My son wrote a song about that one, warning me not to ask if he was ok.)  Technology has been a great help.  I have all four of them on the Find My Friend App (with their permission, of course) and now can tell whether they have made it home all right.  When they travel, Kayak is my friend.  I can track their flights and even help them find their gates better than the airline personnel.  Last December, both my older son and daughter were traveling separately to other countries.  There were delayed flights and lost luggage and I was using my iPad, my phone and my computer to track everything.  My brother made fun of me and my “command center”.  I try not to say things that they probably already know and have thought about.  But often doubt creeps in:  What if they don’t know they shouldn’t leave the dryer running when they leave the house, or that they need to click that button to pay their tuition with financial aid before the deadline. 

What helps keep me in line is that I am myself the adult child of my mother.  I know that she is trying her hardest to adjust to being the mother of two adult children.  She has been trying for over 30 years!  Which makes me think that maybe it is the way it is.  I know that when my mother calls me to recommend a solution to a problem, a remedy for an illness or a warning to prevent a catastrophe, she is doing it out of love and concern and not because she thinks I am incompetent.  I hope my children know that too. 

The other piece of adult parenting advice I heard was at the recent parent orientation I attended at the University of Texas.  Dr. David Laude, the Dean of Student Affairs, after sharing his own personal story, told us to “be there when it matters.”  I know for sure that my mother was there when it mattered most to me, which was after the birth of every one of my four children.  I lived out of the country and each time I was about to deliver a baby, she would come and stay at least a month with us and do what no one else could.

I have always respected my children’s intelligence and wisdom, even when they were small children.  So I don’t worry about them because I think they can’t take care of themselves; I worry because there is so much uncertainty in this world.  I hope that I can be there for them when it matters.  There is no question that the door will always be open for them.  I cannot, however, make any promises about keeping my mouth shut.

Enough

 She exhales it like the rest of us exhale carbon dioxide.  She breathes it out to the world.  Offering it through her smiles, her kind words, her sweet gestures.  It's so natural for her this thing called love.  She sees the best in people, and only chooses to believe the sun shines even when she can't feel it on her carmel colored face. The day she was born and they handed her to me, I cried. One tiny tear, for the precious gift I knew I held tightly in my arms.  When she opened her emerald eyes in my direction, my breath caught, and I prayed.  I said a prayer of thanksgiving, but also one of guidance.  I was going to need God's help, I knew, to raise this tiny princess.  7 years later, I pray harder for my tender-hearted beauty.  

One day this past year, she was unusally quiet on the drive home.  Very out of character for my chatty daughter, especailly after a full day of first grade.  I noticed her gripping something very tightly in her hand, but I decided to wait it out and give her a chance to talk to me when she was ready.  Sure enough before we got home she began to open up.  What I heard broke my heart for my little girl.  She explained that she had no one to sit with at lunch because her best friends were mad at her.  Her little heart had developed a crush on a very sweet little boy, and they had become very good friends.  Problem was her friends wanted her to sit with them at lunch and play with them at recess, but so did this little boy.  She didn't know what to do, she told me through tears, and both parties ended up mad at her.  What she held so dearly in her hand was a letter to this little boy who was special to her, asking him to please not be mad at her. Apologizing over and over again throughout the letter. It took every ounce of energy to not let my past experiences affect what I said to my vulnerable daugther.  So I took a moment, and prayed. 

We talked about how she had done nothing wrong and did not need to apologize.  We discussed that being in the middle of a situation like this wasn't easy and it wasn't fun, but it also wasn't going to be the last time it would happen.  She understood that it was okay to be her, and any decision she made would be okay because she cared about all of her friends. The next day she came home, like herself.  Chatty, happy, and relaxed.  She talked with her friends, including the little boy, and shared how she had felt.  They communicated better than some adults based on her version of events, and decided to all sit together and play together.  No separation needed.  Joy ruled our car ride home again.  Crisis averted.  First of many I am sure.  

Yes, I still pray for my daughter.  And I will continue to pray for her.  I pray that the world doesn't harden her heart.  I pray that she always sees the good in people even when its buried deep down inside them and it's

hard to notice.  Mostly I pray that she will know her worth and how valuable she is.  That she doesn't have to apologize for being who she is or what she feels.  I pray that she will love regardless of what anyone else says or does.  Because she is so special.  So loved.  And so valuable.

-Esmer