Mother's Day

You may have noticed I did not say "Happy Mother's Day". Why? Well, Mother's Day has so many emotions for me.

Once upon a time, I celebrated Mother's Day with my mom and my grandmother. That was when I was little. Entering my adult years and there were a lot of changes in dynamics of my relationship with both. My grandmother had alzheimer's developing and was slowly starting to forget me. My mother and I, well, just grew apart. I guess that is putting it the nice way.

I was married at 19 years old. After one year of marriage, we decided to try for a baby. Well, that was a nice idea. Unfortunately I would be diagnosed with polycystic ovarian symdrome. A devastating diagnosis for someone so young that wanted to be a mom. Slowly I started the fertility testing process. As I was seeing doctor after doctor, specialist after specialist, my hopes of having a biological child was looking dimmer and dimmer.

All of my friends at this time were having children of their own. So many babies surrounding me. Then babies turned into toddlers and I was about out of hope.Mother's Day was more of a sting than a nice day to celebrate. Cashiers giving out flowers to all the "Mom's" on Mother's Day, and me trying everything in my power to not run out of the store bawling my eyes out.

Along came adoption and it would be the answer to all of my prayers. I would finally be a mom!! My first Mother's Day was rather exciting for me. I would finally have someone making me something with the word Mom on it and it would be actually MEANT for me! I think that was the last time I ever looked forward to Mother's Day.

Does this sound harsh? Probably. My original two, the twins, would later be diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) among a slew of other diagnoses. None of the things they were diagnosed with was ever their fault, rather it was done to them. It is difficult raising children that have RAD while reminding yourself daily that their behavior is the result of neglect or abuse from someone else.

Every year it would get harder and harder. Sabotage is a word that is used around just about every holiday in our household. Children with RAD tend to act out while at home, usually worse toward the mother. In public or at other family events, no one could understand our frustrations.

Mother's Day then became a day I didn't feel worthy of because my children had behaviors and outbursts at the house that rarely anyone saw. Other's would look at me and tell me that I'm being too strict, too difficult, or whatever other insult they could throw my way. And trying to explain any of the disorders they were diagnosed with to any of them was a waste of time.

Five years after I adopted, I was blessed with the birth of my first biological child. I had hopes that maybe Mother's Day would change for me by this. Alas, still sabotage, still being cut down, still being cold shouldered by family that should have embraced me and asked how they could help.

Fast forward two years and then came my second biological child. Maybe NOW I would feel something. Alienation still reigned! I had learned by this point to hold on tight to the friends that believed me, the friends that saw what I saw and be a listening ear for anyone else going through my pain.

I have actually in the last couple of years changed how I personally celebrate Mother's Day. Not having one at my side has truly been a hard pill to swallow, but then there never really was a close connection. The vision I had of what a mother should be is not what I was given. My grandmother and I were incredibly close and I so terribly wished she got to see my girls. Alas, that did not happen, and I had to move on.

So, I chose instead to celebrate the reasons I was able to be called Mom. I didn't need presents, although their dad took them shopping for "them" to pick out gifts. Most times I let THEM pick out where we were going to eat. I let them do what they wanted to on this day because if it wasn't for them, I would never have the title I proudly claim today.

This Mother's Day has been no different than the others. I was supposed to pick up my son from college on Saturday, but he called me and begged to stay one more night to hang out with some friends. I told him that was fine and I would be there bright and early Sunday morning because we had plans for lunch back home.

I got there later than I had originally planned, but still enough time to make it back and see the girls too. Unfortunately, my request was not fulfilled. I was mad. I was enraged. I was hurt. This is supposed to be a day to celebrate, and here again, sabotage. Instead of letting it ruin my day, I chose to leave him there to finish the task he was supposed to already have done, and I went shopping!

I have to remind myself still today that it is not him, it is what was done TO him and I cannot hold that against him. We finally got loaded up and started our journey home. He packed his phone and couldn't find it so it forced conversation between us. He was excited to tell me about his plans for next year, who he was excited to get back to see, and about some of the fun he hadn't already filled me in on.

Of course, he fell asleep...but was awoken to the sounds of me screaming at a driver in front of us going 30 mph in a storm (that was honestly not that horrible) and slowed down even more if a car passed her. We finally made it home. The looks on his sister's faces and the excitement in their voices erased every bad thought I had earlier in the day. Both of the girls ran to him and jumped in his arm and he greeted them with the biggest hugs ever.

Shortly after that, the arguments between them began where they left off last fall. For a day I totally despise, it turned out ok. I got to be with the reasons I am called mom, and they showed me how appreciative they were of their siblings by a single act of love. This may have possibly been the best sabotaged Mother's Day yet. I am SERIOUSLY not challenging next year to top this year...I can't even begin to think about that though. Memorial Day sabotage is right around the corner!

Speechless in a Blog

"What makes you think you can raise a black child?" "You ain't good enough to be their momma!" "Are you going to let them watch BET?"

Those are a few statements I heard once it was made public that I was adopting not one, but two black children. I started out attempting to become a parent by natural means, but that was not what was planned out for me. I became a mother for the first time after I welcomed my almost 4-year-old twins into my life by way of adoption. I have also been blessed with two children I have given life to myself. All four of them are mine. Equally.

I didn't care how I became a mother, I just wanted to be a mom. I didn't care what my children looked like, where they came from, how old they were...you name it, it didn't really matter to me. What mattered was that they were mine and I would take that responsibility seriously.

I can almost remember the exact second I was told I was going to be a mother. At that exact moment, I wanted to throw up. I could not believe it was finally my turn to raise children! No, I did not think I could do it perfectly. No mother does! Of course I was not good enough to be their mother, they deserved so much better that anyone could ever give them. Why? Because they were my kids and I would never be happy settling for second best! No, my kids have never watched BET, they were only 4-years old back then and they don't watch much television as it is.

I was woken up to a world I never realized existed when the kids came home. I thought I was raising two small human beings. Small human beings that would some day be big human beings that needed to contribute to the world. My sisters also had small human beings that they were raising from birth, biological children, that only knew of life with them. My task was a bit harder, my small humans had another life before me. One of those sisters also has two humans she adopted from other countries and took on the responsibility of raising them.

Now let's break this down into political statistics for you. My sisters and I are white. One sister is married to a Mexican-American, one is married to a Filipino-American. To describe our children is something that I am extremely proud of. Our family covers a lot of the continents. It is literally a rainbow of skin colors when they are all together. And the truly amazing thing, it doesn't matter to a single one of them.

My 9-year old had given me a confirmation on how I was trying to raise my kids. I was sitting in my kitchen one day and my daughter had been out playing with the neighbor kids. Now, sidebar to this, this particular neighbor has one adopted child and two biological children. Anyway, in runs my daughter questioning me "Mom, Tyrece told me you stolded him!" Instantly, I wanted to laugh, but I needed her to explain her outburst a little better. "Tyrece told me he didn't grow in your belly, you stolded him from someone else. Didn't he grow in your belly?"

Wow! It never dawned on me that I never told her their adoption story. But, why would I have told her? She came after them! AND, she didn't see a difference between her and them, or them and me, or anyone for that matter! In her world, anyone could come from anywhere! I was so proud of her at that moment. My youngest was 4-years old at the time, the same age as the twins when they came home. She didn't notice a difference either!

I truly believe with all my heart that racial division is taught in the home. I have never looked at any of my kids and thought of them as anything but that. They are not "my black children" and "my white children". They fight with each other, they laugh with each other, they love each other just like my sisters and I did growing up. My youngest two have never had a problem with making friends, and they blend in wherever we go. They make friends with any nationality, religion, or gender of children all the time. The only requirement I have for them to make friends is that they introduce them to me and remember their names.

Does this mean I have failed at raising black children? Does this mean I have failed at raising ANY of my children?

I would like to share with you a few more inspiring quips I have heard through the years. "What if your son dates/marries a white girl?" (Oh lord, I don't want any of those in the family!) "What if your (biological) daughter marries a black man?" (Again...I don't want any of those in the family!!!) "You are definitely going to Heaven for adopting those kids!" (Hey everyone!!! Free ticket to Heaven, just adopt some black kids!! Quick, tell everyone!!!) "You don't know how to do their hair!" (Heck, I can hardly do my own hair most days!!) "You can't teach them about their history!" (Well, I don't believe in living in the past. Let's make our own history!"

My kids currently attend a local school that has a majority enrollment of white students. The twins attended a school from preschool through 8th grade that had a large black enrollment. I would love to let my two youngest go there, and they might after the twins graduate. I love the diversity of the classrooms. Today I read an article about some kids at a local private school that had sent some "racial" pictures through Snap Chat. That school's enrollment is a majority of white students. I literally wanted to cry when I saw the pictures that were sent between these "friends". I pray my kids are not subjected to this kind of treatment while at school, and I have been reassured by them that they are not treated this way at school. I am also praying my two youngest NEVER fall into a trap of following other students in this kind of behavior.

I do not know what kind of discipline the school handed down to these students. I hope it is not just a slap on the wrist. I pray the home these kids are raised in are given a once over to see if the problem stems from inequality taught there. This kind of behavior should not be tolerated. I am difficult to offend, and I am at a loss of words about this. I cried for the student it was aimed at. I cried for their parents. I cried for the other students that may now feel pinpointed or targeted because of these actions.

Every parent has something they would fight for when it comes to their children. I have met mother's that fight for better options for fatal diseases, mother's that have fought for equal opportunities for their disabled children and mother's that have fought for their kids to be able to afford an extra-curricular activities. The words in the pictures could be viewed as hatred towards a particular race. Wouldn't this be considered a hate crime? If they were part of the LGBT community there would be no question they were targeted. Why would this be any different?

I beg of the administrators, put your kids as the target of those pictures. Would you tolerate this? Make the punishment be heard throughout the county. This should not be tolerated here or anywhere. Don't be the judge that slaps the kids on the wrist and sends them home to learn their lesson. The real world will never be that nice once they graduate. Make them prepared for the future, isn't that what school is for anyway?

Grieve, Just Grieve

How long do you have to know someone before it becomes acceptable to grieve them when they die? What is the appropriate amount of sadness you are allowed to feel? Who decides this crap anyway???

I have known people my entire life and when they pass, I have felt no strong emotion for them. Then there are a few who were in my life for less than an decade and I'm still not "over" the grieving process.

I have a family I have become friends with over the last three years. I met them when I moved to a new neighborhood. Actually, I met their son when I moved. Austin Barnett was the first neighbor I became acquainted with. He became a regular fixture around my house. It took me a few days to figure out where he lived though. He just seemed to appear now and then when I was unpacking, making dinner, getting home from work...whatever.

It never failed, I pulled into the driveway, there was Austin. Usually asking where my older two children were. I didn't know much about him at first, other than he was a very polite child that didn't appear to be much older than my younger two children. I was finally able to talk to Austin for a bit, my kids must have been busy at that moment. It was then I learned about his brain tumor he had. At that point it was past tense.

Now, one thing you must know about my house is that I love to be the house all the kids gather at. It is not a new occurrence to have more than my own children at any meal or in the van on the way to the store. I love that kids always felt familiar with me enough to just be kids and have fun in, on or around my house.

During the two years we lived across the street from Austin, I got to know his parents and sister. This family, they are a rare kind. The kindness that comes from each one, the laughs they like to share, the way they just welcome you into their lives...I am blessed to know each and every one of them. I have felt at home with them from the start.

Not too long after we moved in, Austin's brain tumor returned. I have known kids with cancer before, but none on such a level as this. They were stories in a paper I had read, donation bins at the local gas station with pictures of the kids smiling, or advertisements for charities asking for donations. 

This kid was in my living room, my backyard, my driveway. I now hated cancer more than I ever had in my entire life. This kid walked into my life and made sure that he left prints on my heart. This kid shares a birthday with my youngest child. I will always remember him.

Does the fact that I only knew him three plus years of his life lessen the amount of pain I have for this family? Does it mean I am only allowed to cry once and move on? Does it mean I cannot share his story because I wasn't there for the entire time?

I think if you would have asked him, he would tell you with a loud "FUCK NO!"

You see, Austin wanted his story told as many times as he could have it. He wanted to become a doctor to help other kids with cancer. He could blurt out his diagnosis just as fluently as any educated doctor could and he didn't mind telling you they don't have a cure yet either.

I grieve for this kid and his family.

How about a woman that has a miscarriage days after finding out she was pregnant? Does she only have a short time to grieve since she wasn't pregnant for very long? What about a student that loses a teacher? Are you allowed to grieve a coworker? There are a million different scenarios.

I recently read an article that talked about how Western Civilization has the grieving process all wrong. I fully agree.

Do not gauge how long you should grieve, IF you should grieve, or where you should grieve by watching the person next to you. Every one of us is different. I grieve by crying and then thinking of the most hilarious memory I have of the person I am grieving. Depending on how/why the person died, I can sometimes get mad. Sometimes all three at the same time.

If we stop putting timelines on grief we may find people that still need us. Just because it has been a year doesn't mean it is getting easier. My grandmother died in 2003. I miss her more today and catch myself crying when I think of all the things I wanted to talk to her about. I know it would be near impossible for her to still be here, she was born in 1912, I still long for her presence.

I am going to say that I believe the amount of grief a person has for another is in direct correlation to the impact they had on your life. I do not have a college degree, data to analyze on this point, or any other way to prove this, but it just makes sense. The type of grief you have is another story. Some of us cry, some act out, and some just remain quiet.

The point in all of this is simple, grieve...just grieve. Quit judging those who are grieving, just listen to them for a minute and you may help them through a tough point in their grieving process.

I am the Caregiver

There was a time when we were younger. Of course we all were. But I see so much more often now exactly how much time has passed.

Once we used to go out to dinner and have conversations that lasted hours. You were able to order your own food, read the menu with no difficulties, even walk in the front door without assistance. Now, with your vision failing, your muscles weak, your legs unable to carry your weight with ease, I help you with all of that.

I do not hold a medical degree in any field of study, but I know your medical conditions better than most. They give a diagnosis, I study. They have theories, I study. They do tests, I study. I told them of illnesses that you had before they came with a final answer.

I read every article, listen to every story, watch as many shows that talk about the illness as I can. You experience everything I read. You have no idea of some of the typical symptoms of the illness, nor do you realize you are following classic paths after a trauma.

I sit and watch you as you go day to day. Every task a struggle, every memory even more dear as you attempt to hold on to them. I remind you kindly of the ones you may have forgotten. Of course I do not let on that I have told you the same memory six times over the last month or so.

When you are not around, I set up certain things in their places so you do not get confused. I am relentlessly moving things off the floor and out of a direct path so you do not fall. I plan outings ahead of time, plotting in my head which ones you are the most familiar with as to not trigger any spells.

I go ahead of you sometimes or contact those we may encounter to let them know we are coming and what to expect. In public, you are the same person you always were. They do not see the struggles I do. To have any of those happen in public causes you embarrassment.

I kick myself sometimes when I get mad and yell at you. I tend to forget the person that was once viewed as a teammate has now taken the role of dependent. The conversations are much different now, more of short spurts of engagement in place of the hour long debates. I usually tend to agree or not differ too much from what you say in order to make things go smoother. 

Dreams I once had are viewed much different now. The diploma you earned would do me much more good now than it is for you. But, I cannot borrow that. Instead I get to be looked at as unfortunate that I did not go to college.

The knowledge I have in so many different things could have never been taught to me sitting in a classroom. They do not teach you how to look into a persons eyes and feel what it is they need most at that moment. They do not teach you how to read into body language with each new obstacle. They never could have taught me the strength I have that has gotten through each event, and in our own way overcome.

The person I have become while transforming into the Caregiver is so much braver, smarter and headstrong than I could have ever imagined. There doesn't seem to be too many problems that arise that I am not capable of tackling. The compassion I now feel for so many others has made my once jaded outlook on the future one that is full of opportunity to help and empower others.

Independent is one word that I never thought would come to mind when describing myself to others, but I know without a doubt I can do whatever crosses my path. There is no fear when going someplace for the first time, alone, with no idea what I may encounter.

Love has taken on a whole new meaning too. I know what it is to love someone. I know what it means to show someone you love them. The thing that I cannot remember is being in love. I know at some point in my life I was, or thought I was. But responsibilities and life have taken that away from me for now. There may be a time when that part of me comes back, but for now, I have duties to attend to. Lives depend on me. 

The luxury of being carefree is no longer in my repertoire. The story line is serious, the supporting cast is dwindling, only a few faithful followers left. I do appreciate the faithful, the patient, the like minded souls that are traveling the same journey. I have lost a few of those close to me that held my hand along the way. I feel them everyday, encouraging me. I reach for my phone to call and remember that there are no phones where they are. But I know what each would say if I could update them.

The one thing I have severely neglected is my vision. I received some great inspiration today as to how to get that vision back. My vision is very cloudy, blurry and obstructed. The interruptions on the goal have somehow taken over. But I will continue to press on.

Your Title Please

Have you ever thought of the title you carry with yourself? What titles have you been given and what ones have you chosen? Mother, sister, father, brother, Christian, atheist, straight, gay...the list goes on and on.

My father recently passed away. I didn't really know a lot about him, besides the stories my mother told me and the few times I had him in my life when I was older. His title most of my life was "my biological father". Mainly because I was so young when my parents divorced that I had always referred to my step-father as my "Dad".

I have learned so much about him since his passing that I would have loved to have been able to talk to him more and learn a bit more. But it has mainly been on the paperwork I have gone through that has brought me the most insight as to the titles he took through his life. Some he chose, some given.

For most of my life I always just felt "different". That was my title. I wasn't the blood offspring of my "dad" that I grew up with. I didn't look like his family. I honestly didn't even look like my maternal grandparents or their family either. Figuring out how I fit in was just always a normal reaction to just about any situation. I have family I call family that is no longer "legally" my family. Once my mom and step-dad divorced, it legally severed that tie. But many of those family members still call me family.

Some of my family that belongs to my biological side, don't know me or don't call me family. I don't put any ill feelings toward that, I wasn't around for most of their lives. I am very fond of the idea that I still have grandparents around though. Both of my fathers parent's are still here...91 and 87...and boy am I having fun getting to know them and spending time with them.

My life took on new titles when this happened. I have people that call me "granddaughter", "niece" and "cousin"...and I fit in. I look like them. I don't have to figure any part of that out. Those are all titles I have gladly taken on.

One of my favorite titles is "Mom". I have so much fun with this title. But with it came some others that I didn't choose; "fighter", "defender", "advocate", "victim". Other titles I have had or still have in my life are "sister", "aunt", "wife", "friend", "officer", "financial adviser", and a bunch of others that could fill a page. Now, some of those titles were chosen, some given without choice.

A title I have never had, "college graduate". Does that make any of my other titles less worthwhile? No, I have had a lot of life teaching to take up some of that slack. I learn so much better by experience than reading, but that doesn't mean I haven't wanted to take college courses. I have just never had the opportunity.

Now, back to my father's paperwork...I saw some papers he signed to take some titles. "Husband", "father", "ex-husband", "Marine", "tenant"...and then I saw a signature that brought me to instant tears. My father signed a paper to get help with his living situation and the line he signed gave him the title of "transient". Wow, with all of the other titles he had through life, to sign a line to claim that as his title, just knocked me down. Who starts off their life with the expectation to ever have to take that title? No one.

It has been a year since the first half of this was written. Boy how much you can learn in a year. I didn't post it, mainly because I wasn't done. I didn't know where to go with it. I wasn't sure what I was trying to get out of it. Well, I can tell you now.

Inspiration. That is a title I have now given my biological father. He has been an inspiration to me, and also to my sister. We were always different, not able to do the same as everyone else, somehow always expected to fail. We were never given the same support our other siblings did. We fought a lot for everything we have. But we were given inspiration from our father.

Inspiration for what? Well, my sister quit her job of 17ish years. I was talking to her on the phone one day and she said "I quit daycare." My reply was one of recognition of what she told me, but I didn't really grasp what she had told me. We hung up, and two hours later I called her back and said "You QUIT daycare???" What in the world was this woman going to do??? Well, she went to work for her best friend in the office and has since moved up to the back office and the central contact for most, if not all, of the traffic of business for them.

My sister had not worked for anyone, anywhere for almost 17 years. She could barely navigate her cellphone, let alone figure out all of the programs and apps that were out there to connect her phone to her computer. Now, it's like she has been doing it forever. What gave her that ability? It was the inspiration from our fathers death that gave her the little voice inside that said "Yes, you CAN do that!" And boy is she!!!

What inspiration has he given me? Well, who knew I could plan and arrange a funeral, for only $1000!! That is all it cost to give my father, the "transient", a proper funeral with military rites and all! He also gave me the inspiration to grow my business. I went from working 3-4 days a week, to now working almost 6 days and still having people wanting to use my services. I never thought in a million years that I could do that. 

Now, he didn't come to me in a dream and tell me this. I was getting little signs every day about how he thought of me daily and how he had always had faith in me to do something. The things I removed from his apartment slowly became things I would be in need of. A step stool for the girls and I to reach things, tools to complete jobs I had run across, a cart that came in INCREDIBLY handy when moving this past October.

In the year since his death, he has come to be a help to me in most every situation I have come across. And that is more than some of my family, who ARE still here, has done in the last four years!!

There is another title, family. What determines family? Blood, marriage, legal documentation? Family is a word that has little to no meaning to me in my life. I have a handful of best friends that mean more to me than some family do. Was that mean to say? Maybe a little. But it's during times of trials you find out who your true friends are. And apparently family too. Remember me saying I always felt "different"? Well, that still is the same, and I am still treated different. I do not know what it is to have a close relationship with my mother or father. And which father, well, either of them!

Who was there in times of trouble? Who shows up to lend a hand when I was too proud to ask for one? Who calls to wish me or my children Happy Birthday or a cheer of the current holiday? Who calls when there is no holiday or troubling event going on in my life? Two of my sisters have been there, but mostly it is my friends.

This title of "family" is taking on a new meaning in my house. My children are the first people I think of when I hear this word. My children will always have a relationship with their mother (and father, but again this is my blog) that comes first before anything. I will never leave my children to fight their battles alone. I will not be there to solve them, just support them in whatever way I can. I will also be their biggest fan. I will cheer the loudest (as I have been told I do already!), I will brag the hardest, I will smile the biggest, I will cry the hardest...whatever it takes to let them know what matters to them also matters to me!

I will never let my child go homeless or hungry. I will never let my child feel like they have no where to turn. They will always know that I will be there, no matter what! If I have to sleep on the floor, they will have a bed. If I have to give them my last $2 to buy them a meal, I will go broke. If they just need to scream and have someone listen, I will stay on the phone for hours until they feel better. It will be about them, not me.

Where did I get this idea of family? From my closest friends! Terry, Ginger, Holly, Jolane, Matt, Kathy, Christy, John, Dena, and Dave...those are the ones still here. I also learned it from some that have passed in just the last year or so...Russell, David and Vera.

My point in all of this, your titles are not permanent. They change sometimes daily. Embrace that change, look forward to your next title, but never let it determine your destiny.

A Letter To My Children

A letter to my children

To the most important people in my life,

I will start off by telling you that it has been the greatest accomplishment of my life to be called mother. No matter how you made your appearance in my life, you gave me the one title I longed for and I thank you for that.

Now, you may think it crazy that I thank you when if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this family. But, I want you to know I am forever indebted to you and that you owe me nothing.

I want to talk to you about love. I thought I knew what love was. I thought I was in love. I thought I loved people. Until each and every one of you entered my life, I now know that I was so wrong on love. Sure, people say they never knew love until they held their child in their arms, and I do believe I was introduced to love at that point.

But I was taught the true meaning of unconditional love for a person and I was not sure how I would make out with that test. See, a lot of parents say they would die for their children to make sure they were safe. But, would you also love that child if they did one of the most despicable acts known to man? Would you love that child if they had a drug addiction? Would you love them if they hurt another one of your children? Think about that long and hard.

I do. I love each and every one of you, no matter what. You can never take away my love. No one else can ever make me not love you. I will support and help you through every battle, even if it is against me. I took responsibility for your lives, I will be there.

Do you ever notice how I stare at you from time to time? I am not trying to be annoying, but I am making a mental picture of what you look like at that moment. I realize how many small memories we have made have slipped through the cracks and I am trying not to lose all of them. I know I have probably gone overboard on you from time to time, good and bad, and I will not apologize for that. I was not given a book of instructions on each one of you. We have been learning each other from the day we met.

I hope you have gotten from me over the years that I will always be there for you. It may not be in a physical presence, but I have made sure we have pictures of us together. I have made sure when you have gone through certain milestones or trials my voice is one you hear with words to comfort, teach and grow with. I would hope that one day when I am gone, you still hear my voice and smile at the thought of "I bet Mom would have said this...".

A few things I want to put into words for you is that I hope you learn to love and trust. These are lessons I had learned through the years, mostly through trials and failures. I would love to shield you from the times people will let you down, but I cannot. I would love to shield you from the hurt that I have gone through, I would love to not see scars on your heart. But I also know that to truly learn to love, some scars need to be present. Know that I will be there with the biggest hug you need when these hurts happen. I will not let you go through it alone.

I never want to hear the words, "Where were you?" when you speak to me about a time you went through something difficult. I want to hear "Thanks for being there, Mom". And I hope when you someday have children of your own you love them as deeply as I do you.

I want you to know that I have made so many mistakes in my life. I was never perfect and I hope I never made you think you had to be also. We are all human, we will not succeed in everything we do. But, if you take your mistakes and learn from them, that will forever be seen as a success in my eyes. I hope I have been that example to you. Always fight for what you think is right, always stand your ground, always say what you mean, never fear what others may think, never forget to share a smile daily, be kind, be generous, be love.

I pray daily that I will make you proud to call me Mom at any point of your life. I pray daily that when you grow older I am the first one you call in times of celebration or sadness. I want to share all of your memories with you. I will NEVER be too involved in my own life to not take a moment for you.

We have been through so many things so far, I have tried to shield you from evil and failed. I have tried to block bad things from coming your way, but I was not strong enough to stop them. I thank you for holding on with me as we make our way through this life. Please don't ever let go of me. I will never let you go.

I have each curve of your faces memorized. You probably have thought I was weird, but I loved to hold you and smell your hair. I can tell each one of you by that now. I have spent hours studying you. How you hold a pen, different ways you walk or run, the look of concentration on your faces. I have spent hours in tears over you and for you. I pray when you find someone to love you do the same for them, either your own children or the person you chose to go through life with.

I truly feel that a lot of the pain and hurt I have gone through is so I can be strong for you when you feel you cannot go another step. The extent my heart has been hurt, lied to and deceived is something I pray you never have to experience. But if you find yourself there, we will get through it.

Trust is not an easy thing to gain or keep. It is broken quickly and rebuilt over an extended amount of time. Hold tight to the trust others have in you, do not break it!

You will NOT fall in love like they do in the movies, songs or books. Life does not have a script. No one will ever fit exactly into the shoes you want them to, and that is ok. They will have flaws, as do you. What you learn is how to live with and work with those differences and still want to be with them at the end of the day. Don't walk away from a fight, finish your thoughts and get it in the open. Words kept inside can kill a relationship, but also can kill who you are. And that goes for your friends as well.

Always look at things from someone else's perception before you decide what is right and wrong. Always stop to appreciate blooms on flowers, bugs in the dirt, animals behaving like animals and the wind on a hot summer day.

Most of all I want you to know that my life was not complete until you came into it. Each one completed me in a different way. There is no other person alive that could ever complete me because you all fill my heart every second of every day, there are no holes or gaps.

I love each and every one of you for just being you. That is all I have ever wanted and will be forever proud of you. 

Was I Ready For This??

I remember being 11 years old, laying in my bed and looking up at the moon one night and wondering what my future held in store for me. Now, in those daydreams, I will admit, many intricate details were left out.

Let me explain, you dream of being a mother, of being pregnant, of holding this little bundle of joy that is the cutest little thing you could ever imagine...and then you finally get pregnant. Who was supposed to warn you of all of the things that were to come after the positive test? What To Expect When You're Expecting was pretty good, but there were things that were left out there also, probably for the gross factor.

I think there was a lot of things omitted from the book because some silly little editor thought it would be a good idea to let a few things surprise you. For instance, I have talked to many a woman that suffered from TGS. What IS TGS you ask? Trapped Gas Syndrome. Yes, folks, there is such a thing.

You see, as the baby gets bigger and squishes (because there is no nice word to accurately describe that) your intestines up, it becomes more difficult for the gas bubbles to move through your system. In turn, you get in bed and toss and turn a bit and BAM....here they come!!! Loud enough to wake you up in your own sleep!!! That is never a fun time!

Now, about the increased bathroom trips, those are not fun either. Sneezing has never been such a dreaded thing in my LIFE until I was pregnant. I felt one coming and I RAN for the bathroom, one time I even left a store as I was entering it because, well, you know.

And that isn't the only thing in life you get to enjoy. When you pictured yourself with your beautiful bundle of joy, did you ever imagine you would hear some of the loudest flatulence or see some of the craziest colors of feces in your wildest dreams from something so tiny? The first time Eleanor let one, I almost had to wipe myself!!

So, now you have your perfect bundle of everything you ever dreamed of and now you find yourself in the role of an accountant. Does what goes in match what comes out? Are you measuring and charting how many ounces are consumed against each diaper, and don't forget to add a separate column to track the poop. Yes, you need to know how many times or how often that little angel drops a doodie!!

I could not tell you how many times over the last 12 years of motherhood I have put a band aid on a boo-boo, pulled out loose teeth, rushed to the ER for x-rays, cleaned infected toe nails, caught vomit in my hands, shirt, pants or whatever was closest to me, sucked mucus out of noses, cleaned wax and other things out of ears, been peed on, pooped on, cleaned up restroom stalls after they "almost" made it, enemas, IV's, suppositories, rashes, ringworm, UTI's, collected urine samples and stool samples, bee stings, tummy aches, strange bruises, knocks to the head (not afflicted by me), cuts to areas we don't want to mention....and they STILL think I need to take a CNA course to know how to take care of a person???

Bodily fluids don't scare me!! Blood, schmlood!!! I will NOT say that I have seen it all, because I do NOT want to tempt fate. But what I want to know is, where is the book that prepares you for all of that? We read about the Prince and the Princess live happily ever after, or that the momma bear and poppa bear have so much fun with their family, why not put out a book that prepares you for the rest?

Oh, and let's not forget too that while you are dealing with all of these things from your cuddly little pookie bear your OWN body is doing some pretty strange things too. Your breasts are sore, leaking and dying to be left alone, I had two C-sections so my scars both time were sore and itchy and didn't like me doing too much, your feet swell to the size of Fred Flintstone, and let's just skip the part of losing the weight you gained.

Shoes no longer fit, your favorite pants will be shelved for a while, you find yourself becoming VERY comfortable in the maternity jeans because "it doesn't bother my scar" and other lies you tell yourself. Your hair falls out, skin changes, pedicures aren't kept up so well for a while, ponytails are your best friend and so are hoodies.

But, in the end, sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes you have the pleasure of putting four people together, who never would have met if it wasn't for you, and creating best friends for life. Ok, so the twins were always kind of stuck with each other...but, you know what I mean.