Grow...

June 2009: Daddy and the boys in Naples, Florida

Almost twelve years (yikes!) into motherhood,

I am growing in this role.

I no longer quiver when faced

with a bleeding (or vomiting) child.

I no longer tremble when challenged

by hungry, filthy, bored , warring boys

that seem to gain monstrous strength

with each and every passing  second.

No.  I have grown in mothering

just as my boys flourish with

each passing milestone,  every grown inch,

each hard won, exhausting, monumental,  accomplishment.

I stand in wide mouthed awe,

amazed that, in spite of myself,

their growth leaves me behind, small;

but oh, so very much beloved!

And someday, rather soon, I suppose,

they will tower over me: souvenir

of time's passage; my own growth.

Growing into this?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays!

Spring...

Break. Alone. Away.

Food. Wine. Snow.

Got a spring in your step?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Bargain Hunting...

I was a broke college student.

I practiced snagging a good bargain.

As a mother of three boys,

and a still broke, underpaid, schoolteacher

bargains are a method of survival,

thoroughly perfected and strategically planned maneuvers.

Sometimes, the thrill of the hunt,

makes the catch all the sweeter.

And it makes your walk through

this life just a bit more fashionable,

especially when clearance is 30% off,

and free shipping of the prize.

My beautiful, waterproof boots arrived this week to greet me on a depressing Monday afternoon.  Online, on clearance, 30% off AND free shipping.  No crowds and on the cheap?  Yes, life is very good!

More than you bargained for?  Check out Melissa's blog and learn about Six Word Fridays!

I Triple Dog Dare you

Dare to dream of a life

that leaves you inspired, loved, fulfilled.

Dare to live your one life

so others are inspired, loved, fulfilled.

Everyone knows that Triple Dog Dares

may leave you flustered, frozen, stuck.

But the tradeoffs? Stories, laughs, bragging-rights!

What a daring way to live!

In a daring mood?  Triple Dog Dare you to check out Melissa at Making Things Up and learn more about Six Word Fridays!

Joy: Summer Edition

Sunny days are almost here again.

No schedule to keep us hostage.

No shoes, no watch, no worries.

Just add water, sun , three boys.

Joy is just around the corner.

What brings you joy?  Want to share?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up for more on Six Word Fridays!

'Cause I can...

On Sunday, I was a Princess. A Princess who awoke at 3:00 am, donned her hot pink, glittery headband, a pink tutu, and a killer pair of compression sleeves.

On Sunday, I participated in my second half marathon, ever. Just a month shy of my first.

If I was excited about the first one, I was more than a little nervous about this one. I was worried I would oversleep like I had for the few runs we had done in the last two weeks. I fretted over the weather. I worried about the lack of training because of my neighbor's injury after the marathon last month. I wondered how my husband would handle the three kids without me and venture in the Spectator sections with countless other husbands and children at Epcot.

I worried for nothing.

My neighbor and I did not oversleep. We made it to the buses in plenty of time. I met up with Liz, from ...but then I had kids, who also happens to be my son's teacher. I cannot tell you how happy I was to see at least two familiar faces in that multitude of estrogen.

The day was warm. The weather was perfect. My husband fared well, as he is now a seasoned expert at maneuvering large crowds with small children. My lack of training was a non-issue, since I virtually made my same time in spite of posing with Disney characters and NUMEROUS potty breaks... (I won't even tell you how un-Princess like it was to go potty in a portable toilet with a tutu...)

And I had a marvelous time. For a little while, I was Princess Maria. I was living the fairy tale I wish I would have had the courage to attempt to live 15 years ago. Or even ten years ago. But I am definitely living it now.

There was no overwhelming urge to vomit when I crossed the finish line this time. As I looked around at the cheering crowd, knowing that my guys were somewhere out there in that sea of people, I was filled with awe that I had come this far. That I was still standing. That I was still running.

This time, when I crossed the finish line, there was pride. There was joy. There were tears.

And yes, I ran in that tutu for 13.1 miles. And I felt every bit a princess. Even if it was for one day.

Summing it up...

Surely, the greatest joy of motherhood,

And the one that I can't ever

seem to get quite enough of.

Whenever I hear my boys laugh,

I'm reminded I needed to hear

that music that makes life complete.

And often wonder how they know

That's exactly what I was thinking...

Want to find out what Six Word Fridays are all about? Melissa at Making Things Up sums it up!

!!!-Intentional Happiness for the week of July 16, 2010

After a whirlwind of cleaning up and organizing, I am as done as I can be. Every major closet is organized, months of bill statements have finally been organized, kitchen is in tip top shape, even the garage is cleaned up and organized. That is some serious !!!

But bigger than that is what the organizing and purging has done for my soul. For the last couple of years, my summers have been consumed by the needs of others, leaving little time for my own needs, let alone wants.

Three summers ago, I had a newborn. Although we did some traveling with our newly expanded family of three, caring for three small kids left me drained of any energy to tackle things such as closets and unfiled bills. I was barely surviving.

Two summers ago, my sister had a newborn. And was pregnant. So we tackled everything that needed tackling, together, with four kids.

Last summer, my mother's failing health forced whatever plans I had to the back burner. My sister now had two babies, 13 months apart. Together, with our now five children, we put my mother's affairs in order, and set on unchartered territory: caring for an elderly parent with a degenerative condition.

This summer, I reclaimed my freedom. In the midst of all that cleaning and organizing, I seemed to remember and find my way back to who I used to be and who I am trying to become.

And so this week, the French celebrated Bastille Day, commemorating the beginning of the French Revolution that eventually dismantled the Monarchy.

Twenty one years ago, on Bastille Day, a sixteen year old Cuban girl FINALLY got her driver's license. And with it, she opened a whole new world for herself. Major !!!

And now, twenty one years later, I am learning to fly by the seat of my pants, charter into new territories and relearn how to have fun. Case in point, a day trip to Sanibel Island to see my husband's aunt and uncle from Atlanta and their grown children and young grandchildren. Totally spur of the moment, total !!! to see the next generation of cousins play and have fun! Plus beach time is always worthy of !!!

Continued success with the potty training!!! A clean AC condensation line thanks to my wonderful main man!!! A sisters only movie night to see Eclipse!!! No children with us at the movie theater and swooning over Jacob's abs; double !!!

That being said, sometimes the greatest !!! comes from standing outside our comfort zone, confronting our fears and looking them dead in the eye and realizing that they hold no longer hold power over you.

Sometimes, those lessons take a very long time to be learned and understood. But once they are learned, they are your license to happiness...

(Somewhat) Finished...for now...and pictures to boot!

After a week of extreme remodeling, I am somewhat done. I have cleaned out three rooms, three respective closets full of the junk of eleven years and three children. I have had painting and a honey-do list completed with the help of a trustworthy handyman, and I have reorganized and decorated.

The only room that is completely finished is Matthew's, my oldest son. It is funny that he is back in the room that he started in almost ten years ago, bunnies not included. He wanted a more sophisticated look, I guess, along with dark green walls. Um, no to green walls, yes to no more bunnies...You be the judge regarding sophistication...

BEFORE:

AFTER:

And on a budget, not counting that I paid for the paint job. Considering what I was covering up, I think it was well worth every penny not to have done it myself.

The younger boys' room is still a work in progress. I am a stickler for keeping things as fair as possible. I had a hard time trying to find something Andrew, middle son, would like, so I kept what they had. Pretty boring, but until I can find something affordable and that we both (actually, all three of us, because Joshua needs to have some kind of say in it, no?) can live with, it will stay this plain. Still, an improvement from having bunk beds which are all kinds of wicked to have to change sheets for a 5' 1" vertically challenged person like me. Don't even get me started on what it's like to clean vomit from the top bunk, using only that little, narrow ladder. Is it pathetic that I am looking forward to changing sheets on these beds?

AFTER:

But the crown jewel is the playroom/boy cave. Andrew, in the negotiations, got to pick what was going in that room since he would still have to share a room with Joshua. There are still some old (as in fifteen year old, they are NEVER going to boot up again) carcasses computers that need to be shucked and miscellaneous slides, old 8mm movies from my childhood (fear not, these have been converted to the 21st century) that need to be stored. Here is what we came up with.

AFTER:

Next up, Mommy and Daddy's closet and the evil fashion disasters that lurk there; disasters that Stacy and Clinton from What Not To Wear would surely crucify me for and the dreaded garage.

But truly, what happiness to see my boys' faces upon their arrival home from their weeklong visit to Grandma and Granddaddy's. To hear their remarks on the items in their rooms, how I had recycled some stuff that we already had, how everything was arranged for them and their enjoyment.

And EXTREME happiness that the bulk trash is coming on Friday, people...and I am going to get my money's worth this month!

You lift me up...

Last night, I went out with my sister and two former co-workers who are just about the best friends anyone could ask for. We had been planning this much needed escape from reality for weeks, as we are all busy with families, friends, work and other commitments.

We had decided that we would watch Sex and the City 2. We decided that we would have dinner. We had decided that we would put some effort into our appearance for our outing. J researched options, and we finally settled on our local CineBistro, where you pick your seats in the theatre, select from a wide variety of appetizers, entrees and desserts. And an extensive drink menu.

Just getting ready was an uplifting experience. Getting to dress up, put on girly makeup and accessorize was fun and put me in the mood for a great time. I drove over to my sister's and for the first time in two years, the place was quiet. No little girls running around, yelling, screaming or crying. We waited for our friends and caught up without children interrupting. It was weird, but wonderful.

When our friends joined us, we were on our way. We had enough time to catch up, boost our morale, share our worries and joys. And I wondered, why is it that we don't do this more often?

I truly enjoyed the atmosphere, the dinner, the movie. Especially the movie. Because we can all relate. We all have girlfriends that carry us through our scariest moments, share the journey we are on, provide us encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share our happiness with.

Especially poignant for me was the scene when Charlotte and Miranda have a heart to heart as Samantha readies herself for her date and Carrie is out. For any of us mothers, we know how hard it is to admit to ourselves that motherhood is not at all what we envisioned when we were planning a nursery. And regardless of what your station in life is, how well off you are economically, none of us know what we are doing.

For the longest time, I have seen several posts from some of my favorite bloggers trying to increase their support system. While I always thought that I had a huge village, it seems as though it has been shrinking, or perhaps, it was never as big as I thought it was.

But in the last few months I have put myself out there. I have asked for help, I have opened up, tried not to be so anxious in social settings. I have pushed my own boundaries and have begun to test limits, physically and emotionally. It has been scary at times.

And I feel better for it.

It is hard to do when you grew up isolated, alone and without many opportunities (or parental encouragement) as a child to make new friends. Add to that the need to feel safe and not venture out too much out of the boundaries, and you can see where I can get a teensy bit anxious in some social settings.

In reality, we all want acceptance of some sort. We need it from our parents, our spouses, our friends. We think nothing of encouraging our children, yet, when we are confronted with the same opportunities, we shy away from them, make excuses of how busy we really are, of why we can't.

But for the first time in a long time, I have said yes when it would be easier to say no. I have begun to solidify acquaintances in hopes of creating lasting friendships. And in saying yes, I have begun to eradicate my anxieties and self doubts. I am slowly becoming the me I want to be.

Last night, with my friends, and in watching the movie, my belief in people needing others was reaffirmed. Humans are social creatures. We can live alone, but our best memories are embedded deeply within our souls when we share experiences with those who love us and whom we love.

And no matter who you are, a fictional character or a stay at home mom, far from family, we are all uplifted by each other's company.

We all need validation, even if it's over drinks.

Especially when you get to dress up and have your dinner brought to you...

Taking it off...

It seems that my mind is just as tired as my body.

As I sit in front of the computer monitor, the screen remains blank.

It mirrors what is currently playing in my mind...nothing.

It is a weekend designated for remembering our fallen soldiers.

They will never have the opportunity to be with their families in this lifetime, to enjoy their company, their laughter.

But I do.

So I will do just that.

I will be back on Tuesday. Hopefully with a mind filled with words. A body that has rested.

And a heart filled with sun-warmed memories...

Happy Memorial Day Weekend, everyone!

Life in the cry lane...

It has been a hectic few days, alas, the reason behind my lack of daily posts. Every day, I would longingly look at the computer, as it sat abandoned in the family room, awaiting our joyful reunion.

The weekend's festivities took a nose-dive when Joshua decided that he was going to be up half the night on Friday into Saturday. I had an early appointment for Andrew, so needless to say, I spent Saturday walking around like a zombie. I canceled our dinner plans with friends, mainly because I did not think I could stay awake long enough to make the 8 p.m. dinner reservations. However, even when you go to sleep at 10 p.m., you can never really catch up with sleep once you have been robbed.

Sunday was pretty much more of the same, but add rain to boot. John and I had purchased the Bon Jovi tickets as a birthday present for my sister. We had been looking forward to the concert for MONTHS...and here was the day of, I had babysitting AND a new outfit, and all I wanted was to crawl under the covers and wake up refreshed, renewed and 5 years younger...I know, delusional. I was still dragging my arse, so tired that I wanted to cry.

My mood improved slightly with a purchase of fabulous clogs and once I saw my sister and I dressed up and ready to go, I felt better. Nice Italian dinner at our favorite place, a bottle of wine shared with my favorite two people in the world (besides my children, and only when I have had a decent night's sleep) and a pre-concert beer in the parking lot of the arena (mostly because I REFUSED to spend $8 on a beer at the concert) and, voila, I was seventeen again, with 20 years experience. The concert was magnificent, the crowd was largely suburban mothers who had gotten gussied up and were ready to relive their youth, albeit if only for a few hours. Sound familiar?

What surprised me was the magnitude of my tiredness the next morning. Apparently, even if you are young at heart, your body need not follow in suit. Every bone in my body ached. My throat was incapable of make any sound resembling words. Did I mention I am sleep deprived?

But, as they say, there is no rest for the weary. I had a wake to attend on Monday night. I heard some incredibly awful news regarding the twin daughter of some very good friends. And I was so tired, I could literally hang my head and cry.

Their little girl, who is just a few months shy of her third birthday, just had a brain tumor removed. They are hopeful that chemotherapy will work, if it is indeed malignant. News like that puts everything into perspective. It makes you hold your children a little longer and tighter. It tests your resistance as a parent. Are you a sprinter, or a marathon runner? If you are so inclined, please keep them all in your prayers...

Today, in my endless coming and goings, I went to pick up the boys at Church, where they receive religious education in the Catholic faith. This is when Joshua decides, on a weekly basis, to lose it. And I don't mean quietly or with dignity. I mean, full-fledged, three year old temper tantrum, with stomping of the feet, the constant changing of decibels and pitch in the screams and the indecision of "I want it/I don't want it." Of course, he is not deterred by all the other parents that are also waiting for their children to be dismissed. This, apparently fuels him, as he wants to make sure his audience gets the best he can give. I so wanted to be in the comfort of my own home, or, at the very least, join my youngest son in the screaming and stomping. I think it would have made me feel better.

You see, no one tells you that having children makes you want to cry, in good times and in bad. In the good times, the tears are joyful ones. They come from knowing that perhaps, you are not messing up your child too much; they are tears of pride, of happiness.

When things go wrong: you have a particularly frustrating parenting day, you have overreacted and unintentionally hurt your child's feelings, you hear devastating news that you are powerless against. It is those times that the tears are the hardest to bear, because they seem to mock you. Mock your inability to hold it together, your inability to protect your child from the awful things that seem to lurk and surprise at the most inopportune times.

So, what do you do? We cannot spend the rest of our adult lives in tears. It is not practical and it certainly does not improve your chances for a smooth complexion in your later years. All you can do is take the leap of faith and hope like hell there is some kind of cushion when you hit the ground running.

We mothers are not perfect. I make no apologies for the fact that from the day I decided I wanted to become a mother, I have stumbled, fallen, learned and surprised myself and others in my capacity to make light of the things I can, and tackle the bigger problems with as much grace as I can muster.

I don't dare judge others. I do not know the circumstances that account for their reality. All I can offer another mother is a shoulder to cry on, an funny story to make her laugh, or, at the very least; the name and number of a pediatric specialist.

No, ladies, I am not meant to spend my life in the cry lane, although looking at the pictures from the weekend, I certainly have enough reason to cry. The diet begins in earnest on Sunday, as well as a renewed effort to get my chunky arse back to the gym. I may not be crying now, but I will be soon if I don't do something about the arms and the area where my waist used to sit....

Subliminal messages

This afternoon, I was on a mission. As unbelievable as the following will sound, I actually have TWO adults-only evenings planned for this weekend. One is dinner with a group of friends tomorrow night. The other is the Bon Jovi concert on Sunday night with my husband and sister. I know. I am living on the edge.

Thinking of Kristen at Motherese and her quest to purge her closet and find her style, I had my marching orders. Although I know my style (somewhere among Gap, Banana Republic, The Limited and Ann Taylor, with a few funky, kind of trendy gems), I hardly ever go shopping anymore. I find it frustrating, expensive and hard to find similar aforementioned styles at knock off prices, because I have three kids, you know? And they are usually shopping with me, which is decidedly not fun; for them or for me.

However, I have not a thing to wear. I have tons of stuff, but nothing that is appropriate for a nice evening out and a good, old-fashioned rock concert. So, after work and picking up Joshua, I headed out to the mall with a $40 budget for both evenings combined and three children to boot. I decided to hit Forever 21, a definitely trendy store for young women.

How do I know this?

Because there is no way to maneuver two walking children and a stroller and a big ass handbag (with all kinds of survival mode stuff) through the dang store. I know. I've tried. Several, several, several times. I must be a glutton for punishment.

It must be mentioned that Forever 21 means just that. There is no one in there over the age of twenty five. Except for me. And my three boys, whose ages combined do not equal 21, but are decidedly not the fashion accessory or shopping companion of any twenty one year old. And my sister. With her two girls in the double stroller. Definitely not twenty one.

The place is buzzing with girls ('cause that's what they are). It is Friday night.

These people have hot dates to dress up for.

I have a hot date with the washer and dryer when I get home. After I feed and bathe and/or supervise bath time. I know. You are just breathless with excitement.

But I digress. I start trying to look around the store. I can't get through the mob. There is no stroller courtesy. People don't look down to see that there are children that are going to be trampled on or get stuck on clothing racks. There is no room to move.

But I stay the course, and try to find something appropriate for the occasion, my age, and the ongoing problem areas formally known as my breasts and where my waist used to be. Did I also mention I have a $40 budget and three hungry children who are starting to snarl at one another because they haven't eaten in hours?

I find success at the clearance rack, where these cheap, poorly made clothes are further marked down to ridiculous prices (maybe they seem cheaper to me, because I actually earn my money, instead of asking my mom for the money, like the rest of this particular demographic does). I found a cute shirt for $8.99. Further scrounging produced a tank top for $3.50 and a pretty blouse for tomorrow night for $17. I decided to splurge and purchase a very pretty, funky necklace that I could use for both for $9. So I spent $42 but have some pretty blouses that will survive the trend or barely survive laundering past the fourth wash, whichever comes first.

What was fascinating to me was visiting the Ann Taylor Loft across the way. Wide, spacious aisles gleamed for me as I easily walked between racks, laden with ridiculously expensive clothing (maybe they seem expensive, because I actually earn my money, instead of using my rich husband's credit card, like the rest of this particular demographic does. Oh wait, I don't have a rich husband). I am met with stroller etiquette. I encounter courteous sales people who will offer totally biased opinions so that I purchase the stuff that is not in the clearance racks.

If I partake of the buying experience offered there, there is no question that I will leave with a very age appropriate outfit, and that I will be in deep debt when it is all over. Needless to say, I glided right back out through their very neat, courteous, adequately spaced aisles and right on out the door.

Subliminal messages in both establishments, don' t you think?

Cheap, trendy will cost you in headaches and replacements of the garments themselves: trying to get in and out of the store, your ego taking a pretty good beating surrounded by children who are barely old enough to drive, let alone vote, trying to find something age appropriate and the realization that not only are you not Forever 21 (even though you may feel it in your heart), but you are so far in age from 21, that you are nearer to doubling it.

Or the alternative: classic and elegant, a store catered to more adult tastes, albeit expensive tastes, no age issues, mainly because you are on the younger end of the spectrum of that particular demographic, perfect fit and clothing made of lasting quality. All that, plus wide gleaming aisles for double strollers...and hefty price tags, even on clearance.

I think I am still somewhere in between. No longer a girl, not yet a (middle aged) woman. Kind of a tween, if you will. Couldn't we have a combination of Forever 21 and Ann Taylor, a love child, if you will? Where you could find age appropriate, cute clothing that would accommodate the areas formally known as my breasts and where my waist used to be? Where you are greeted with wide aisles that would accommodate my stroller and two walking children? And have helpful salespeople that would tell you that your arse is too big for those pants? Is it too much to ask?

The bright side? My older boys did not laugh hysterically when I asked them what I thought about the shirts. My sister and I ( and the five kids) got to go shopping for a whole 45 minutes before the Witching Hour. And the whole experience today did not drive me to drink and sob over my lost youth, but I did partake of a milkshake.

Because I could afford it. How's that for a subliminal message?

***I promise to post pictures of said get-up's by Monday, if I don't deem myself looking too ridiculous.

Letter to the 21 year old version of myself...

Dear Maria,

I know that you think you've got it all figured out. Things are coming up roses, as they should. Your crappy childhood and adolescence have earned you the right to be happy. But, before you get so blindsided by happily ever after, there are some things you need to know, that will help transition you into adulthood, 'cause you have no idea how it's going to go down.

1. This is the best you are ever going to look. You will spend the entirety of your wedding and reception tugging on the too loose wedding gown that you swear you love right now. The moment John slips the wedding band on your finger and it sits there for a month, your weight will balloon instantly and you won't really recover any dignity until after you have your second child and you are thirty. Hope you have enjoyed the good metabolism while you had it.

P.S. You really need to do something about the eyebrows NOW. Thick and wide only looks good on Brooke Shields, in the early nineties. We will not discuss the upper lip right now. It needs to GO. NOW. Seriously, you are not fooling anyone with the bleach. Seriously. You look great and it will be a while until you look better.

2. You think you are tired now. You are not. I know, the projects and finals at school are kicking your butt. You work on your internship, go to class and then work a part time job after that. But you are not as tired as you think you are. Have some fun! You have no idea how much free time you have RIGHT NOW. And you will not have that kind of time again until your third child starts college (I hope!) Go out. Go dancing. Pick up a photography class (trust me, this will come in handy with all the kids you are going to have), pursue other interests besides reading (although that's good, too). Call some girlfriends and take a trip somewhere. Live a little recklessly. Have some good stories to tell. You're going to need them. Don't worry about the money so much. When you finally have some money to enjoy, you will be too tied down to responsibilities that can't wait.

3. Have an even smaller wedding than you are planning and go away to some great place for your honeymoon. I know that Disney World sounds very romantic right now, but trust me, you are going to wish you had spent more money on feeding your soul instead of the thirty people you stopped hanging around with once you fed them at your reception. Think big: Europe, the Mediterranean, Mexico, the big American cities like Chicago or New York. Again, forget about being fiscally responsible. When you have the money to do it, you won't be able to. And if you do, (because you will) you will be too worried about the kids.

4. Don't worry so much about the stuff you can't change. You are aging yourself unnecessarily. You are stressing yourself out to the point it will take a very long time to recover. This is a particularly hard lesson for you to learn, so don't be too hard on yourself. You are good at fixing things, but you cannot fix everything. Get over it. There is someone to take care of it, and He also created the world in six days. And He even took the seventh day off.

There will be lots you won't be able to fix. Broken relationships, broken people, sickness, death and thousands of other things. Lighten up.

The only one you can fix is yourself. So do it when you think you need it. The only thing that you can change about a situation is how you react to it. Food for thought.

5. Your hair needs work. Stop being stingy, get yourself a decent hairdresser and some good shampoo and conditioner. Embrace your waves, but tame them. You will be okay. Trust me when I say that the worst is over. I mean, really, what was worse than your sophomore school picture?

6. WEAR YOUR SUNSCREEN! You are WHITE. YOU DO NOT TAN! You will have huge chunks of precancerous stuff taken out of your back and arms. It will not be fun. Plus, the sun makes you older faster. Don't help out Mother Nature. That bitch needs to back the hell off for a while.

7. Don't react too negatively to people who decide to have plastic surgery. Did I mention Mother Nature and her high jinks? Plus, after nine months of hell and three cesarean sections, all you will want Santa to leave you under the tree (besides silent toys with no small pieces for your children) is a tummy tuck, breast lift and liposuction...No need for me to explain this in detail right now. You will understand at once, when you see yourself after having your first son. It's too bad that this epiphany comes right after childbirth and during post partum depression. You will be okay. Don't cry too hard, remember it will bring more wrinkles...

8. If you are thinking of masking the waist problem, just buy a bigger size. Don't even think about Spanx or any of its ugly Cuban cousins: the fajas. I truly believe that sadistic people design these inefficient torture devices that only push your fat to some other nameless place. Plus, if you ever ignore this advice and decide to wear one, don't even think about going to the bathroom. If you can roll it down, it will NOT come back up. Trust me.

9. Stop reading Calvin and Hobbes. You know how you always say that you want a kid just like Calvin. Well, you get Calvin AND Hobbes in the deal. I can't figure out how Joshua fits in, but it will come to me.

10. Pick your battles with your husband. You knew what you were getting into. Think back to all those times you thought the things that piss you off now were endearing. Because you thought they were. Gravity will continue to function, so either bend over and pick up the dirty clothes or leave them there. Arguing is not a magic wand. Ignoring is.

Please don't be frightened. You will have the life you always dreamed of. You are happy. You are married to your best friend and your children are all the blessings (and headaches) you thought that they would be.

These are just merely suggestions that you should have put into play YEARS ago. They would have saved a ton of headaches and you would not have been so anxious all the time.

Enjoy your twenties and early thirties. It goes by way faster than you think.

Maria

I want a cookie for breakfast and life's other absurdities...

Have you ever wanted to get away so bad, that you would do it, even if your inner voice kept screaming at the top of its lungs not to?

I did, and I ignored the sane part of me.

We had planned to get away early on Saturday to John's parents house, as they live part way to where we were staying for a few nights.

Early did not happen for several reasons. John's work technology crapped out. Packing for five people. Laundry issues...'nough said.

John's parents, God bless them, had offered to watch the kids so that we could catch dinner and a movie. Caught a yummy dinner; movie, not so much. Who decides that people want to watch some of the crap that gets made, anyway?

The next morning, after a visit from the Sleep Chaser (Joshua), we got another late start, by choice. The kids have such a magnificent time with their grandparents. I want to be as patient, loving, giving and wise as them, but I guess that is your reward for your children surviving your parenting. When we left, we hit bad weather.

I know all places on Earth experience bad weather. But in Florida, as you are heading towards the promise of sunny, warm beaches, bad weather translates into "Oh, crap!"

Oh, crap, we just booked two nights. Oh crap, we have three kids that are stir crazy in the car. Oh crap, I can't see while I am driving. It was raining on and off while we drove, with dark skies looming overhead. But when we drove up to the hotel, God unleashed. Torrential rain, lightening, thunder, the whole kit and caboodle. Thanks, Big Guy!

We decided against unloading the car and the children and opted instead to getting dinner first. Great idea, right? Except that the weather really wasn't conducive to getting out of the car. And it was COLD. Did I mention that I had not (in my extensive, mad, packing skills) packed anything heavier than a t-shirt for the kids or myself?

And dinner, well, let's just say that Sleep Chaser, I mean, Joshua, really didn't think his mother needed nourishment. I mean, I know I could stand to lose a few pounds, but did he really have to hold back my arm as I tried to eat? And Andrew decided that nothing would be lovelier than spilling his pink lemonade on himself.

Then came getting everything out of the car. John and I have a pretty solid system: get the luggage cart, put everything in it, and take it up with the kids in tow. John had already checked in, been in our room. No problem. We get up to the eighth floor, try the key, SEVERAL times, nothing. He goes back downstairs, I stay with the kids. The problem was that this particular hotel has no interior hallways; the wind and rain are whipping us pretty good, and I am praying that the kids don't get sick right before we have to go back to school.

Finally, John comes back. Informs me that we are in the wrong room. They gave him the wrong room number and key, but hey, he just has to get our complimentary breakfast passes and then, we get to go back downstairs. Take a different elevator and go out to a different exterior hallway. YIPPEE! I feel relaxed already.

Finally, we get everyone bathed and in bed; Joshua is insulted that he will be bunking in his pack and play for the duration of our stay. I get a warm shower, catch up on my rabid magazine addiction and settle in for the night, yearning for some sleep...that never comes.

The next morning, Sleep Chaser is back. Weather is as bleak as it was the night before. Weatherman says sometime around 3 p.m. we might get some sunshine. Can't wait. Decide to go do some sightseeing, in the car, in the rain, to make the time pass. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Eventually, the sun did peek out. The boys had a tremendous time running on the shore, building a dam, shoveling and frolicking. And somehow, the warm (but not quite warm enough, by Floridians' standards) seemed to melt the crap that seemed to have followed us.

Last night, as I gazed out onto the dark beach, the full moon danced on the water. It was a glorious sight, and I understood why Mr. Sleep Chaser was in full force.

This morning, after a full night's sleep, and the day of our return home, the sun was shining. The beach was warm.

Absurd. You drive three hours to get some rest and relaxation. You get neither. A little sunshine and warmth would be nice, though.

This morning, Joshua was walking around demanding a cookie for breakfast.

Absurd.  Because you don't eat cookies for breakfast, but I gave him a chocolate donut instead.

After we finished packing all of our stuff and loaded up the car, we went on final walk on the beach. I got to hold my hubby's hand, which is a treat. Our children ran in front of us; children of the sun, and then walked together, chatting, happy.

And there is nothing absurd about that. It makes everything else worthwhile.

Mom meets Diary of a Wimpy Kid

As a kid, I loved to read.

Not much has changed in the last thirty plus years.

Last Sunday, I took the two older boys to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I know, not much of a cinematic challenge, but my boys LOVED those books. My oldest wanted to reserve a copy of the latest book in the series, The Last Straw, last summer. He wanted to be sure he would be one of the first people to have a copy, hot off the press. Although my children own each book in the series and I have several copies in my classroom, I have not actually sat and read the book.

I read it aloud, in Spanish to my class, but somehow, it lost so much in translation, and in the read aloud.

The movie was genuine. It depicts the painful awkwardness of Greg, a typical middle child, as he embarks on his first year of middle school. It captures the reality of the social atmosphere of middle school to perfection.

And while some of the antics are ridiculously funny, the movie offered a poignant view of what it is like for the middle son to find his way in a family, in a school, in society.

And even though the movie was entertaining, it helped me gain some insight on what it is like for boys growing up. How much their self esteem hangs on the acceptance of others. How much undercover nurturing they need so that they don't end up with the wrong crowd because they are worried about their social standings. Because they need to feel acceptance at home, within their family, so that they can spread their wings and soar.

It has been a mighty long time since I was a student in middle school. Yet watching that movie on Sunday, I felt compassion for these children...Growing up is hard work.

And if growing up is hard work, BEING a grown up is no picnic either.

So, I decided to do the most UN-grown up thing I could think of: I decided to read Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I know, what a rebel.

But sometimes, you need to remember where you have been so that you know where you are going.

And really, in many ways, mothers slightly resemble middle school kids, don't we?

We really don't know what we are doing. We are trying to fit in, with our kids, with other mothers. We want to be liked by the other moms, we want to be respected by our kids. Most of the time, we roll out of bed, pull a brush through our hair, brush our teeth, and get the day rolling.

We are finding our voice, our place in this great big world.

We are discovering who we are, what are strengths are.

We know we are not perfect. We are trying things out, finding our way.

So, as I frantically try to finish laundry and pack for all of us, for a couple of days at the beach, I will make sure I pack that book.

'Cause this mom is totally okay with being seen with a wimpy kid. Whether he is the author of a diary or not.

The first day of spring...

I guess Mother Nature FINALLY got the memo. The weather today was picture perfect...Blue skies, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature a balmy 74 degrees, the sun shining overhead. Perfect day for a birthday party in the park. Today was my niece's birthday celebration.

If you know me at all, you know I don't do children's birthday parties. I have celebrated enough birthday parties for my two older sons that I just don't do it anymore. I will go to other people's children's birthday parties, but I don't plan any myself.

There are a myriad of reasons that could keep me writing for days, but I will be concise.

1. The money is better spent on a trip that everyone can enjoy. Yes, I realize that there are many of you that would argue that a child will treasure the memories of a delightful birthday party that have set his or her parents back more than a couple hundreds of dollars. But really, for the money you spend on feeding and entertaining other people's children, YOU and your family could enjoy visiting a new place and have a shared treasured memory. Or you could be miserable. But at least you don't have to pick up after the guests.

2. Thank you notes. It's not that I am being ungrateful. But thank you note writing just stinks. How many times can you write basically the same things and STILL sound genuine? For the record, Cubans don't write thank you notes. We tell you thank you when we receive the gift, and that's it. I remember after my husband and I got married and I sent thank you notes to my relatives, they inundated my mother with phone calls wondering what these peculiar little cards were. However, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. And the Romans write thank you notes.

3. People rarely RSVP when they are supposed to. Another thing Cubans don't do is RSVP. And they like to bring additional party goers to your affair. So it is a wee bit difficult to gauge how much food and beverage necessary to have on hand, because you never really know how many people will show up.

4. You have to entertain other people's children. When you have a party of three children in your own immediate family, of differing ages, it is hard enough to figure out what you are going to do with them. Add another 15 to 20 kids, and you are really up the creek. Over the years, we have done all kinds of activities: pumpkin carving, a treasure hunt, cupcake decorating. But it still requires adult supervision. And most parents don't want to have to watch their children at birthday parties.

5. All the parents walk around with the same blank, dejected looks when they are subjected to children's birthday parties. The only thing that helps is adult beverages with a high alcohol content. Which isn't really appropriate to consume in front of other people's children, but really, how else are you going to tolerate having all those extra kids?

I know, I sound very cynical, and perhaps, that is true. Maybe it has to do with having three kids, or being a school teacher for so many years. I don't know. But there is something about birthday parties that brings out the worst in the birthday child and his or her parents.

We all start out with good intentions. We want a happy day and an easy party. What usually ends up happening is the exact opposite. We end up snapping at our spouses because they cannot read our minds regarding what we want or need and are physically unable to verbalize. The birthday child has been at the park for at least an hour setting up before the party and has either missed a nap or been woken up early, or worse, both. By the time guests arrive and pictures are to be taken, you are no longer the parent of sweet little Johnny. Your child closely resembles Damian.

I finally got smart when my oldest turned three and went to Disney World instead of the birthday party hoopla. It's not to say that it went super smooth, but there were no RSVP's to worry about, no food planning other than what we wanted to have for dinner, and there were no thank you notes to have to scrawl out after a day in the sun.

My niece's party went as smooth as to be expected. The weather was beautiful, especially after the horrible weather we have had over the last couple of months. The guests arrived late (another Cuban gift) so we had plenty of time to get everything ready, even though we were running behind schedule.

After seeing some of the younger children in attendance, I will take my Whine, Jab and Poke and Not Me any day of the week and twice on Sunday without complaint. My boys had the time of their lives on some rented double bikes that look like cars and I expect them to crash for the night at any moment.

But most of all, we were able to bask not only in the warmth of Spring's first delightful sun, but in the love that only friends and family can offer your beloved child. What a glorious way to begin Spring!

Would you like Whine with that?

At my house, whine is something that it served up on a daily basis, and there is no need to wait until Happy Hour, because it never comes...

My children are never without Whine. Whine appears at daybreak, with complaints of waking up too early, of not having anything good to eat for breakfast (code for: why can't we eat a pound of bacon and chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup and whipped cream?), of having to share the bathroom sink, of not finding the water bottle...

Miraculously, Whine disappears at school. Regardless of what is expected of them or assigned for class work, there are no complaints. Why is that the minute we start walking to the car, Whine picks up like a paused movie. It is usually accompanied by its constant companions, Jab and Poke. Jab and Poke are not allowed on the school property, so they hang out in the car all day plotting new games to play while I am driving in congested traffic.

Jab and Poke have taken up a permanent residence in our home. They are constantly on the prowl, and it is nearly impossible to determine who came first, Whine or Jab and Poke. They especially like to come and play at quiet places, like the doctor's office, restaurants and any time I am on the phone on serious grown up business, like fighting with the insurance company.

It used to be that Andrew was the resident interpreter for Whine. Being the middle child, I am sure that it is his God-given right to complain about every blessed thing. Joshua is now very fluent in Whine as well. I know, he is so young, but Andrew has taught him well.

But you know what? I. CAN'T. STAND. IT. ANYMORE. It's all the time, without rhyme or reason, and frankly, Whine needs to move the hell out and find another family in the Exchange Program for Parenting Hell.

Matthew is the keeper of Jab and Poke. These three have become fast friends and are not afraid to prey on Andrew, who will immediately resort to invoking Whine at increasingly higher decibels, depending on how present Jab and Poke are at that particular moment.

Then, the Ghost of Not-Me (of Family Circus cartoon strip fame) claims all responsibility. Wherever Whine and Jab and Poke appear, Not Me is sure to follow. Not Me likes to switch sides fairly often, which makes it incredibly difficult to corner Whine, Jab and Poke. Not Me is by far the worst of The Fab Four, as I like to think of them, and truly needs to move on as well.

Now, I understand that my children are finding their voices. That Whine, Jab, Poke and Not Me appear where they feel safe and secure (although, really, if they knew the visceral reaction I have to The Fab Four they would not come around anymore!) and I should feel as though I am doing something right, because my children invite The Fab Four to come hang out at the house.

But I have a pretty good hunch that the psychologist and behavioral specialists who wrote those theories didn't have these troublemakers as permanent residents in their own homes. And I really am beginning to think that these four have been responsible for many a mother just going off the deep end and ending up in a padded room, quietly whispering to herself for the rest of her life.

So, I guess I have to lay some ground rules here. I can be glad that my home is such an inviting place that The Fab Four have decided to stick around for a while. I guess that it is to be expected, given the amount of testosterone that exudes from my home.

But The Fab Four need to settle down. I can accept that they are going to squat for a while, but they gotta play by my rules. They can only come out to play when we are home, and they need to stay away from the dinner table, no exceptions. When I am doing official grown up stuff, they need to keep a lid on it. NO INTERACTIONS IN THE CAR WHATSOEVER. Just a couple of rules to keep things on the up and up.

But I guess that what really has me so upset is the reality that these four are really here to stay for a while. They had made sporadic appearances for the last couple of years, but nothing really permanent. And now, here they are, a fixture that is truly an eyesore. And a headache.

And another thing. Didn't their mothers teach them any manners? Don't they know that you always bring the hostess a bottle of wine as a gift? Maybe then, after a glass or two of a nice Merlot, The Fab Four and I can become friendly, you think?

In for quite a ride...

Our parish had their annual Carnival this weekend. As always, there is a ton of preparation that goes into putting something of that magnitude together. But the result is always the same; the opportunity for members of our church and community to forget about their troubles for a while, and just let loose and have some fun.

My husband and I have several strategies to navigate this annual affair. First, we lie to our children that we are actually going to go. We secretly buy ride passes and hide them in my work bag, because honestly, nobody (not even me) looks in that bag while we are at home. Then, when behavior becomes an issue, those passes become a bargaining ticket (AKA: Bribery) to help facilitate acceptable behavior.

We also have determined the best time of the day to go to the carnival. After several years of trial and error, we have discovered that the beginning of the carnival session on the second or last day is usually best. We feed the bottomless pits that we call our children and head out to the rides. The lines are shorter. The place is full of other weary parents who have also used ride passes as a "reward" for acceptable behavior, and their kids have called their bluff. Some of these parents walk around for the duration of their time there with an easily recognizable look that can pass as tolerant and permissive, but they are really screaming on the inside.

That was not the route I wanted to go today.

We got there early. We feed them, and we plotted. What rides are we going on? What shall we ride on first?

My oldest son, by nature, is somewhat cautious. He has a hard to letting go, he takes himself way too seriously at the ripe old age of nine. And for the longest time, he was TERRIFIED of anything that wasn't a tame little train.

And my son inherited this cautiousness and terror from me. Because for too long in my life, I have been terrified of letting loose, of letting go, of having pure fun. The tide has turned with me, albeit a little late, but changed nonetheless. Because life is too short. Because my kids are watching. Because I have worried and been afraid enough to last me a lifetime.

So, together, these two former 'fraidy cats let loose. We rode the swings, we rode the merry go round, we rode on the fun slide, we rode this contraption that looked like hang gliders, we rode the Ferris wheel, the same Ferris wheel that would send him wailing.

Not today. He was vibrant. And Andrew; he watched his older brother, he watched his mother. He was fueled by our courage, got on his sea legs and joined us on the Ferris Wheel. He let go of some of his fear too.

And not a minute too soon. In two days, Matthew will sit for the State Mandated Exams. Andrew will follow with a National Standardized Test the following week. Mommy will watch her two oldest sons take an inevitable step towards academic testing...not that I can agree with it, but it is what is required. I will watch and pray over my students as they test as well.

But I will be thinking of how I enjoyed the ride today on that Hang Glider contraption. How I surprised myself, my husband and my sons. And how I kept my eyes open, the whole time, feeling like a bird among the clouds, my son's hand in my own, flying...