Everyone should have a mom like mine...

There are many times that I ask myself, "How did my mom do it?"  I mean, really?  How on Earth did she manage to raise a child by herself, and at sixteen?

It is no surprise that my mom is young.  We are often confused for sisters.  She loves it.  I used to hate it.  Now I just chuckle at her reaction.  It never gets old.  Today I told her she'd never get the Carter's Grandparent's discount.  They'd never believe her.  Her response?  "I'll show them my phone case!"  I laughed...they'd just suspect they were her children.  Honestly.  No matter.  She loves the attention.  And has a way of making everyone around her at ease, comfortable, and laughing...at extreme volumes!

I was fortunate enough to spend the weekend with my mom.  My husband flew her in to relieve me of the parental responsibilities that have been mounting due to his unrelenting travel schedule.  (Although there is now a light at the end of the tunnel!!!!!)  I was grateful before she arrived, but that gratitude pales in comparison to what I feel now, as she's somewhere flying over Tennessee (I'm guessing).  And while I've enjoyed the respite of responsibilities, I enjoyed her company even more.  A long time ago I decided not to be sad when she left, but appreciative of the opportunities to visit with her.  She sometimes guilts me into crying: "You don't even love me...see, you're not even crying!"  Which is so far from the truth it's comical.  But I cannot get wrapped up in the sadness of not having my mom here. It's not worth it.  

My mom has an uncanny ability of swooping in and cleaning my house.  In the time it takes me to fold a load of laundry, she's folded three, unloaded and loaded the dishwasher, eliminated the clutter from the countertops, bleached the countertops, and completed a craft project with my children.  My husband came home the other night, looked at her, and asked, "How did you do it?"  It was comical, but honest. We cannot seem to find the time or energy to make something like that happen.  

But what she does with the house pales in comparison to what she does with my children.  She has a bond with my children that bridges time and geography.  She managed to get my uptight daughter to tie on a belly dancing skirt and "shake it"!  She brought an entire suitcase full of craft supplies.  She bought dinosaurs to make sure that Sophia knew that she was thinking of her.  She just watched the squirrels out the back window.  She took them on a nature scavenger hunt.  She just had fun.

I often ask myself the very same question that Jason asked in awe.  "How does she do it?"  And I think I finally figured it out.  She never asks.  She just does it.  While the control freak in me would initially say this is the worst idea ever, the exhausted mother in me relishes in this.  She doesn't ask what she can do to help, she just makes it happen.  There are papers everywhere on the counter?  She finds a basket to move them into.  There is an mostly empty drawer in the kitchen and a wooden spoon/spatula holder taking up valuable counter space?  She moves them, and rearranges things.  Dishes in the dishwasher?  She puts them away, without asking where they go.  Poop in a diaper?  She changes it!  (bonus points here!!!)  Laundry and cups might not make it to their exact location, but it doesn't matter.  The burden is removed.  I may spend days (or sometimes weeks) trying to get used to her new layout in the kitchen, but I don't care.  Can't find that coupon that I had for Gymboree?  She knows where it is...just make a phone call.  It's like a reminder of her visit every time I cannot find a travel mug lid.  And I love it.  Because I truly appreciate every small thing she does while she's here.  

If I can be half the mom to my daughters that my mom has been to me, I will have been successful.  I want to raise independent and opinionated daughters (even though I know it will be hard and I'll go gray and I will doubt this decision for several years between the ages of 12 and 22) and I want them to know how much I love them and treasure their head-strong personalities.  I want my daughters to know that when times get too challenging they can pick up the phone, cry for a few minutes then hang up laughing.  I want to impact the lives of my own children more than anyone else's.  I want to love them so fiercely that I disagree with them (respectfully) and point it out. I want to pack an entire suitcase full of my daughters' favorite foods to help them feel connected with "home" every time they open the pantry or refrigerator for weeks to come.   I want to make a scene at the mall when they are 31 because we are so thrilled to just be in each other's company.  I want to make my daughters' lives easier and remind them constantly that they are surrounded by unconditional love and support.  If I can do half of these things half as well as my mom does I will have been successful.  

I'm still learning from her every day; patience, acceptance, kindness, selflessness, and commitment.  She is the woman that I aspire to be.

I'm grateful for my visit with her, but the time between the girls' bedtime and my bedtime just isn't the same without my mom here!

Heading to the park!

Not exactly sure what to say about this...but a lot of laughter resulted!

:0)

A "Grammie and Me" craft

Star gazing

No better after school snack than ice cream with Grammie!

Seriously...?!

9/11 Reflection

As I was driving in to work today I was struck with a realization:

My students were not even born when the world changed.

They have no recollection of the fear and uncertainty that resulted.

Or the hope that empowered our nation.

They do no know what it's like to be glued to the television, hungry for any answer, shred of knowledge, or piece of information that might shed some light on an unimaginable tragedy.

They don't know what it's like to wait for a loved one at the gate in the airport.

They don't know a world without the terms jihad, al Qaeda, or Osama bin Laden.

And I was saddened.  They were born into a world that I never imagined.  But this devastation is their reality.  And then I asked myself, are they better off because of their ignorance?

I look around at my students, a canvas of different hues of brown; some darker than others, some lighter.  And it occurred to me that they do not see their differences.  The racial profiling that existed immediately after 9/11 gave way to a deeper need; our need as humans to connect and understand each other.  We strove to educate ourselves about the differences between extremist beliefs and traditional Muslim beliefs.  We took the time to learn differences between Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan.  We turned on the news and tuned into the world.  We vowed to teach our children love, acceptance, and understanding and to surround them with those who are different than our own families.  And instead of pointing out our differences in their most basic form, we taught our children how to ask questions that matter, learning from each other.

And the results stare me in the face each day.  There are still divides to cross; gender, socio-economic, educational, the list goes on, but the divide based on race is not as evident in my classroom of 11 year olds.  It is exceptionally smaller than the divide that stared me in the face six years ago.  The strides toward equality are in the hands of this younger generation.  We've set the tone.  We've shown them what it can look like.  We've started the ball rolling, and we've already started passing ownership to these young people with so much promise ahead of them.  We can learn a lot from the faces that look to us for guidance.

And I am filled with hope that some good can continue to come from something so tragic.