These two….

They are heart of my heart and soul of my soul. They are fantastic people. We laugh at the same things. We tell stories the same way (you know, the kind that NEVER end?!?!) We oh and ah over babies. We want to adopt nearly any puppy we come across, even the ones that DON’T need a home. And we believe, sometimes foolishly, in the overwhelming goodness of people.

I love them…and they’re me…so I get them which makes parenting that much more difficult. It’s so much easier to blur the line between friend and disciplinarian.

I know EXACTLY what it does to my son when I take away his music. It kills my heart as much as it does his own. I know that he will undoubtedly work to negotiate a deal. I love his spunk and thoughtfulness about convincing me to reconsider.

And yet, when there is reason for consequence, I shouldn’t bend. I find myself saying to him, “I hear you, and yet in this moment, I get to be the parent. Your arguments are valid; however, my convictions are stronger.” It’s hard, but it so necessary. I want for them to continue to be the good little people that they are as they grow. I want my son to learn at an early age that not everything is completely negotiable. It’s great to give it a try, but sometimes the answer is still no. Patience…they wear thin during consequence negotiations.

I also know EXACTLY how broken my daughter’s heart feels when Mom is upset with her. There are only a few more heart-wrenching things than knowing you’ve disappointed your Mom. It’s a shattered feeling that even at 30 years old, when I had to tell her my marriage was ending, I lived. And while I want to just hug her and tell her that it’s all ok, as her Mom I need her to understand her misstep. And I want her to learn at an early age that mistakes happen and you will disappoint people, but asking forgiveness and doing better will make you stronger in the long run.

So with both of my kids, the hugs always come…and the love is unconditional…without a doubt. I hate to make them sad but I want to be sure they learn about doing the right thing, caring about others, and asking, as well as giving, forgiveness. Sometimes, the hardest part of parenting is just that, finding the ability to know their sadness and help them learn from it rather than protecting them from it.

It is the very essential defining moment of parenting.

In my house, I’m the laundress and while I could blame all the others in my house for being lazy, the truth is I’m picky. I want loads sorted and I want things folded straight out of the dryer. Years ago, when I started doing laundry for others, I put a little piggy bank in the laundry room. Any money in any pockets was mine. For years this was not as glamorous as I make it sound, as my kids were really young and the only other clothes were mine. Even if my son had fifty cents in his pocket, it was probably my money he found around the house somewhere.

But now, my son is a teenager and I have a husband and the laundry money is just rolling in. The pig is full.

Exhibit A:

Isn’t he cute? My little laundry pig.

So today, I take him to the bank. I’m going to find out how much is in there…and pray it’s enough for a new pair of shoes.  Or, at the very least, a fancy cupcake. But that’s not all, anyone who can guess closest to how much is in the little piggy, will get a $10 gift card to iTunes or Starbucks, your choice.

So here’s one more photo for size comparison.

Exhibit B:

So what do you think? How much money is in the laundry pig?

I remember as a small girl that my mom would talk about knowing exactly where she was when John Kennedy was assassinated. I couldn’t understand that. It seemed like nothing in my life would ever happen that would make me remember for years the smallest moments of a day.

But, three times in my life, I can remember the deep breaths, the intense feelings of disbelief, the fear, the heartache, the lonely pit that grows inside of you.

I remember being glued to the news. I remember wanting to know more, so I could try to make sense of the senseless.

On that day, I was job shadowing at a power generation facility. I was working a 12 hour shift learning what it takes to run a coal fired furnace to make 750 MW of power. I started the day in awe of what was happening around me…and yet I had no idea what was coming. We left the morning stand up meeting and someone said a plane had flown in the World Trade Center. Then followed the general buzz of gossip around an office setting. As we were heading back to the control room, someone said, a second plane just hit the second tower. It was like being punched in the gut. This was real. This wasn’t an accident. Someone was attacking us. There was a TV in the control room, typically used to monitor electric power trading, etc. That day, it was focused on the news. We watched in disbelief as the towers fell. The silence was deafening, all you could hear in that room were the beeps of the monitoring equipment and the low volume of the reporter’s voice. Occasionally, you’d hear someone’s deep sigh. I would be surprised sometimes that it was my own.

And then the phone rang.

All power generating stations were on lock down. No body was to go in or out. We didn’t know how big this attack was to be and we weren’t taking any chances. At the sound of those words, the pit of loneliness inside me grew three times. All I wanted to do was go home and hug my son. I wanted to call my family and hear that they were okay. I needed to hear that the family we knew in NY was safe. But lock down meant all of those things would wait.

A long and draining  12 hours later, we were released to go home.

I remember where I was on that day 11 short years ago. I remember the feeling of community and support that happened in the days and weeks following the attacks. I long for those days. I wish our remembrances each year would involve pulling together again, flying flags in front of our homes, loving our neighbors despite their political affiliations, appreciating all of our service men and women both here and in foreign lands. If we could find a little more of the Pollyanna spirit that seemed to follow in the wake of the despair.

We were one.

It happened.

I remember.

For months, I’ve been thinking…what would I do, if money were no object?? Well, this weekend, it started to hit me. Just the very faint beginnings of an idea. It started out small, just a brief passing thought. But then, I thought it again…like as if I was planting it in the nutritious soil of my brain. Soon, it began to grow. Not only what, but who…then how…and maybe if that works then this is next. And before I knew it, it was a full thought taking much of my day. There’s a chance I’m on to something here. Not only a neat idea for now, but also, how do I transition this into the next big thing.  It’s energizing. It’s got my blood pumping again. I can’t wait to think about it more.

And while money still is an object…as the breadwinner of my family…I’ve begun to plan. And this plan, it means that when the house is paid off, I have options and growth potential and research ideas. Better yet, I finally have the beginnings of a business plan and a way of life I believe in.

I feel like the future just got a whole lot brighter.

And so it begins, the morning routine of trying to pry children out of their bed and get them excited for the upcoming school day. Maybe excited is a stretch…at the very least READY. But this year, as the alarm clock beckons and I realize how much earlier we have to leave the house to get everyone to their spot on time…I’m excited. My son, for the first time in his life, is prepared.

This year, the school is ready for him. His teachers have a plan. He is not alone and he knows it. He is the master of his own destiny and it’s FANTASTIC. Yes, he’s medicated. Yes, he has “special provisions”. But also, he has teachers who WANT him to be successful. He has teachers who respect his intelligence, are aware of his genius and understand his need for MORE.

Male teachers have always been a particularly difficult battle for him. At orientation, I asked him how he thought he would handle having TWO male teachers this year. His response, “I guess that depends on THEM.” I rolled my eyes, and started to fear that maybe we hadn’t come as far as we thought. But this year, he loves his male teachers…and more importantly…they love him.

So far…so good. Let’s all just hope that I am still this excited come Parent/Teacher Conferences.

My 9 year old was working on her chores this morning. She sent me this text.

I know, with unwavering certainty, she’s got my DNA.

I’m sure you who know me are aware tat my husband has been gone for 10 days now. It’s true I miss him. But today as I spoke with a much respected friend of mine he said something that made me think all day long. “Isn’t great to just know its ok and enjoy his love of this trip.”
It is.
For the first time in my life, I genuinely MISS having him around but don’t question or worry. I don’t have to prove that I’m just fine on my own. In fact, I barely ate the first week he was gone. It’s just me, wine is fine. Then I had a wonderful girls’ weekend at the beach. His concern for me was that I felt special on my birthday.
I did.
We have a relationship built on love and respect. Two weeks is a looooooong time. We’ve shared a lot of I miss yous. But at the end of this I will just love him being home. I will appreciate the smile on his face, the strength and warmth of his hugs, and, for the first time in a long time, the feeling of truly needing someone in the BEST possible way.

Plus, I won’t take for granted how gorgeous I think he is.

I love my birthday. I celebrate for an entire week. I love growing older, even if I don’t always like feeling it or looking it. This year my husband had the chance at a momentous trip with his dad and brothers. My kids were headed to a family reunion with their dad. So instead of feel sorry for myself, I planned a weekend trip with my best friend. A weekend of fun, relaxing, shopping, and what ever else came our way.

It’s been everything I could hope for.