Five for Five: Age

I heading towards the big 4-0 in a little over a year.  I know I should not be too worried.  Forty is the new thirty.  I have over a year to get over it.  I understand all of that.  Really, I do.

But I have a son who is going to start middle school in the fall.  I have a son who will begin Kindergarten in the fall.  I can't be young and have a middle school-er, can I?  I mean, do you remember what your parents and your friends' parents seemed like when you were twelve?  I'll say it for you: ANCIENT.

Somehow, the idea of a middle school aged kid and a Kindergartener shouldn't go together.  I mean, they are both monumental milestones.  Forty: a monumental milestone.  I am a little freaked out.  

Really. 

And I kind of feel sorry for my husband.  

Can you imagine what things are going to be like?  Mommy is turning forty and running from a midlife crisis in sensible (read: old lady) shoes while her baby is starting school for real and her oldest is going through pre-teen, emotional, pre-adolescent bullshit. 

Yeah.  Life will be grand.  Please note that this statement is oozing in sarcasm.

So I have done what any sensible woman would do (besides wonder how the hell I got to here).  I booked a cruise.

I know what many of you who have followed my blog for a while and remember last year's ill-planned cruise are thinking.  But I was smart this time.

I know no one in my household will be making a major religious sacrament.

I know that everyone will have testing in April. 

I know when the last day of school is in 2013 (no eye rolling, please.)

I made sure we leave two days AFTER the last day, making it virtually impossible to screw this up.

Except that we won't be celebrating my fortieth on the ship, because my big day is the day before.

Nor will we be celebrating my husband's fortieth (as he is quick to point out, I am eleven days older), because we get back before his big day.

And I'm okay with that.  I want to be in the comfort of my own home, frantically packing for five when it hits. 

I wonder if it will hurt.

I guess my biggest problem is that my mind cannot accept this.  I don't feel older than 25, at most. And maybe there is the crux of the issue.  In my head, I am 25.  My body says otherwise if I carry too many groceries at one time or I try to scoop my sleeping five year old to bed.  My body screams: NO!!  You are not 25.  You are there.  Where you thought you would never be.  You are arriving at middle age.  Shit.

It took me most of my life to finally be comfortable in my own skin.  I have a better clue of what I am doing now in most areas of my life.  I can live in my own head now; the noise has considerably gotten quieter.   I have finally found the courage to be the person I thought I could be.  I have challenged myself physically (6 half marathons in a year, yo!).  I have pushed myself to do the impossible (have you tried to keep three boys clean, groomed, fed and entertained while holding down a full time job?) and still manage to want to try new things (like assisted handstands in yoga or getting up each morning and doing it all again).

How can it be that the calendar says what it says?

I suppose that it is the amount of milestones that we will be celebrating in early June 2013 that has me grasping.  A son finishing his first year of middle school and inching towards 13.  A middle son ready to start his last year of elementary school.  A baby boy finishing his Kindergarten year.  Mom AND Dad reaching middle age.

Any of these, by themselves, are enough to have you reeling, even just a teensy bit.  If broken up into chewable pieces, you can savor each one separately, brace yourself for the next one.  But all of them simultaneously is a lot to get used to in a short amount of time.

This passage of time is relentless.  You don't get to just stop at your favorite part and linger for a while.  It goes by FAST and furious.  Good and bad.  All of it.  The photographs chronicle.  Looking back, it seems like 5 minutes ago.  And that's the cruelty.  There is no time to lament.  Enjoy it NOW.  Or it will seem so five minutes ago, but really be five years ago in the blink of an eye.

And, really, that's all age is.  Time.  Time your ticker has been ticking.  What you have done with the time you have been allotted.  What you have done with the body you were assigned.  What you are going to do to make up for the things you wish you had done differently. 

Age means that you know the difference.  You have the wisdom to discern, to change tactics, and make it okay.

In the end, the extra little lines that make their debut slowly on your face, you've earned.  I would rather have earned them smiling, laughing my ass off (if ONLY that were true!), and etch them deeper in my face by continuing to live on my terms.

I mean, 40 is 30 with ten years experience, right?

Five for Five: Words

From the day I strung my first sentence together, it seems as though I have never been at a loss for words.  It was the words of the countless books I read as a child that kept me from going mad within my desperate surroundings.  It was the enchanting tales of other children, stuck in situations far worse than my parents’ unhappy marriage, that allowed me to dream that everyone deserved some happiness in their lifetime.  Some got their happiness in steady drips throughout their lives; other got a jolt of it in the later half. 

As I got older, words- lots of words, kept my mind busy.  It helped drown out the vicious voice of my ever critical subconscious forever chastising me.  If my words made you laugh, your laughter soothed me.  If I made you laugh, I couldn't be all that bad.

I know that the ability to communicate is an incredible gift.  But in my life, there have been times when words have been inadequate, at best.  Walking down the aisle and seeing my smiling groom waiting for me.  Finding out I was pregnant.  Seeing a tiny blip that was my unborn child's heart.  Seeing my firstborn son for the first time.  Witnessing my father passing from this Earth.  Finding out I was pregnant a second time. Seeing my second son for the first time. Finding out I was pregnant a third time.  Seeing my precious last baby's face for the first time.  

The list is endless...

How can you put into words the emotions that threaten to pull you under, both in good and bad ways?  In that raging sea of emotions, words are like flotation devices; they help keep you above water, but they will not swim you to shore.

But what good are words if they are mindless sounds that escape bodies, with no real purpose?  What happens when there is no feeling, no meaning behind them?  What is the point?  Yet, I have been responsible for more noise pollution than I am comfortable to admit.  I am not proud of myself.

Perhaps it was having children, but I began to look forward to the brief instances when there was a bit of quiet in the house.  Granted, too much silence (is there such a thing if you are a parent?) would put me in panic mode.  Surely, anyone who has a child knows that too much quiet usually means a hurt child, a super-clogged, overflowing toilet, or an unauthorized masterpiece on pristine walls. 

Still, silence amongst adults was incredibly uncomfortable. 

And then, a gift.  I was assigned a single classroom to myself.  No teaching partner to share the space.  Planning time with no one in the room with me.  I was forced into quieting myself.  I learned to cope.  I used the time to acclimate myself to just being. 

It became a spiritual exercise, and one that would come in handy.  Observing.  Listening.  To listen to my own heart.  To trust myself with my own decisions.  To finally become comfortable within my own skin.

I had finally found the silent Ying to my loquacious Yang.

And, in that silence, I finally found my voice.

I found that words are powerful.  You don't forget the throb when someone's words cut through your soul like a knife, so I choose my words cautiously.

You don't forget the delight when someone makes mention of something you have done with no intention of recognition, so I make a point of reminding people of the good within them.

You don't forget the joy you feel when you hear "I love you" from those you hold dear, so I make sure I say those words as often as I can, while I can.

And in the meantime, I listen.

And the words will come, as they always do. 

Chat...

Our children busy, wrapped in imagination.

Breakfast dishes littering the kitchen table.

You and I, two coffee cups.

The aroma entices us to awaken;

a truth serum for the weary.

Long forgotten antidotes, reminders of events.

Our past, present and future whispered;

treasured on this rare, quiet morning.

My hopes spoken, worries finally revealed

to my faithful confidant, secret keeper.

Need to chat?  Find out more about Six Word Fridays by visiting Melissa's blog!

Lost and found...

Whenever I am seemingly, hopelessly lost,

You are there to find me.

You, inevitably, with a knowing smile;

rescue me; categorically lost; forever grateful;

in my own sea of imperfection.

You still are the shining beacon

that safely lights the way back.

Lost something and found something along the way?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays.

True to myself

Aways armed with my moral compass,

I stand here; in the moment.

True to myself, to my heart.

And that is all I need.

What rings true?  Visit Melissa's blog and find out more about Six Word Fridays.

Peace within...

The one thing we long for,

we must have to give freely.

It's forms: intricately designed and distinct.

It descends in moments of despair,

enveloping you, lifting you, sustaining you.

It permeates in moments of joy,

deepening the moment; strengthening faith, hope.

How often have prayed for it:

how quickly it has been granted.

It has been my armor, strength

in all that I have endured.

In the moments of quiet meditation

I pray that I can be

an instrument of peace to those

who look for strength, hope, sustenance;

and that the peace I find within

is always there, given freely, abundantly.

Have peace?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays.

Another move...

Another fall. Another phone call. Worry.

Another set of plans gone awry.

Another chance to do what's right.

Another mess to efficiently clean up.

A house to box up, sell.

Another move to a new place,

to start over at the end.

Dismantling and rearranging lives already lived

never gets any easier; less heartbreaking.

And yet, when given the options,

moving, starting over at the end

is better than hearing, "They're gone."

Because of love, the move's orchestrated,

the worries lessen a bit more.

Others care and monitor, feed, bathe.

And all that's left to do

is love until the last move.

What moves you? Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Words Fridays.

Unexpected Joy

Piles of boxes have surrounded me

All summer long, in many forms.

Ten long weeks. Five longer days...

Checklists miles long, endless errands run.

Time shrinking away as I prepare:

my mind, my home, my room;

for a new crop of brains, smiles.

The greatest unexpected joy this week:

mountains of empty boxes, abandoned outside

the gleaming neatness of my classroom.

Tasks accomplished, tools ready, tasks completed:

my mind, my home, my room;

awaiting my new students with joy,

with unexpected ease, speed and enthusiasm,

even after seventeen years of unpacking!

Unexpected insights, visitors?  Unexpected news, joy?  Share with us!  Visit Melissa and find out about Six Word Fridays!

Speak, be heard...

Speak your truth,

every single day.

Live your life,

heart in hand.

Love out loud,

while you can.

Silence harsh words.

Let your heart's

true voice speak

volumes of you.

Have something to say?  Dare to speak and be heard!  Visit Melissa to find out more about Six Word Fridays.

Kind of odd query...

What kind of person am I?

A person who accommodates others incessantly?

Or is an agonizing push over?

A person who is eternally optimistic?

Or one who masks her sadness?

A person who can overcome anything,

but feels so ridiculously overwhelmed lately?

Maybe I am a kind of challenge,

one who is, who can be...

A labyrinth of ideas, of potential,

full of flaws, motivated to change.

A person conflicted, but somehow fulfilled.

And is kind of at peace

with being at odds with myself.

In the end, aren't we all

kind of a juxtaposition of ideas?

Aren't we more beguiling that way?

Kind of confused?  What kind?  Are you kind?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Charmed...

At first glance, it may seem

that the life I lead today

is the one I've always lived.

The moments that caused many tears

are those that now gleam beautifully.

Those charms on my life's bracelet

are the ones I can talk about

and measure how far I've come

from those days of endless sadness.

Those charms on my bracelet gleam,

cleansed from ever being overlooked, disregarded.

My love, my boys, my family.

These exquisite charms; priceless, delicate, breath-taking,

always make me feel as though

this is the enchanted, wonderful life

I was always meant to live.

Charmed?  Want to share?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up and Six Word Fridays to find out how!

Right...or enlightened?

In the spectrum of wrong, right
lies the possibility, opportunity to enlighten.
Given the chance, would you rather
be wrong, be right or be

able see all that lies between,
unspoken?

Curious about Six Word Fridays?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up!

Well: I am getting there

For years, I lied to myself
believing that acting well enough was

surely as good as being well.

But acting is not good enough.

Now, being well is better; necessary.
Much like a well, I have
gone deep to find the good
that was always within me; unfulfilled.
That change has come about with

sacrifice, heartache; for me, for us.
When I am with you, love,
my heart is a bottomless well
of passion, of gratitude, of abandon.
Because of in spite of me,
with you, I'm better than well.
With you, I can be me; authentically.

Are you well?  Want to tell how?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and join in Six Words Fridays!

Refreshed

The calm of the hot water

Gently brings me back to life.

The gloriously scented shampoo lather

Cleanses my tresses, renews my spirit.

Soap bar in hand, steam gathering,

The day's worries, trials, washed away.

A body cleansed, a mind relieved.

Skin flush with warmth, face glowing.

The daily opportunity to begin again:

A refreshed, restored version of myself.

The reward after the liberating run,

The reprieve at the day's end.

Refreshed?  Tell us how!  Check out Melissa's Six Word Fridays at Making Things Up.

Gifted in ways still unknown, undiscovered

When words have their way with me:

Floating through my dreamy mind,

Coursing out of my frantic fingers,

Pounded on keyboard, appearing magically onscreen;

I am in awe of such a gift.

And hope that words from me;

Written, spoken, whispered in quiet prayer

Are always truthful to my heart,

Kind to those who need it,

Healing to broken hearts and souls,

Thought-provoking for those needing challenge.

But mostly, that they cause a

Smile to dance on your face.

Check out Making Things Up for more about Six Word Fridays!

Welcoming Fall with open arms...

Over the last couple of mornings, there has been a slight chill to the air as I hustle with my sons to get to work on time, or when my neighbor and I meet to go for our four mile runs at 4 am. Please don't misunderstand. Fall in South Florida does not really qualify as Fall anywhere else. For Floridians, any drop in humidity automatically signals Fall.

Last year, my husband took me to Boston in September. I had never been to Boston, and immediately fell in love with the city and the scenery. The leaves, the hustle and bustle, the buildings, the history. I could have stayed there forever.

This morning, as I walked out to the car, the sky was the crispest blue I had seen in a while. The lines of the trees stood in contrast; so sharp against that perfect sky. It reminded me of ten years ago, as I waited for the birth of my first born. As those beautifully sky-ed days became more frequent, they never lost their magic. Every fall, I think back to those days of endless anticipation and beautiful skies, and my heart is full.

Fall has forever been one of my most favorite seasons. Although we don't get much of a change in seasons down here, that lack of humidity and ensuing "chill" signal a time of harvest. A time of thanksgiving. Of gathering close to the ones you love, creating new memories; reliving old ones.

On the mornings that I run, I love looking out at the twilight sky as we get home. The beautiful colors of fall on the giant canvas of the sky. Everything is right in the world when you look at that beauty first thing in the morning, lungs full of fresh air, heart pumping new life within you.

Running towards base: Intentional Happiness for the week of October 1, 2010

As children, when playing freeze tag or hide and seek, there was always a free zone or home base. Once you reached and touched it, no harm could come to you. Unfortunately, as adults, we don't always have a tangible base to get to when things get tough.

Last night, my night crawler, Joshua, was up to his old tricks. Prior to the nasty cough from two weeks ago that settled into his chest, Joshua was sleeping through the night in his own bed. However, when he is feeling under the weather or has a bad dream, base is right there between Mommy and Daddy.

But he is going to be 3 1/2. When he comes into bed with us, none of us get a decent night sleep. My husband and I closely resemble zombies of the scariest kind: parents with severe sleep deprivation. It also does not help that my head, face and kidneys are his personal target practice for kicking. I am sporting some fierce bruises, people.

So last night, when he came around and my husband attempted to put him in bed with us, I lost it. I sent Daddy back with Joshua, to his room and bed. It did not go well.

For close to 45 minutes, Joshua wailed and approached the bedroom door, but did not come in. It quite literally broke my heart. Finally, he was howling. I got up, and found him. His tear stained face mumbled something about having to go potty. As he went, I stood, waiting, sleeping with my eyes open.

I tucked him in bed. I went back to bed and lay awake, trying to go back to sleep. And the thought of how we each need a base when things go bad came to mind. And how I took that away from him.

And yet, this morning, he awoke with a smile on his face, eyes bright with rest. His little arms pulled me close to him, fierce in his love for me.

As I looked at each of my sons this morning, I thought of how regardless of what messes life throws at us, this is my base. This is where I long to be, with whom I want to be with, when I need everything to be right.

My mother in law got a taste of that this past week. She had what could have been a MAJOR setback. She underwent emergency surgery and when she awoke later on that morning, she was surrounded by the men she loves the most: her husband and sons. The original four. The original base. And that did wonders for her recovery as she begins anew, working towards healing, gearing up for the fight.

And where she has been our base for a LONG time, it is nice to be that for her and my father in law. Because that's what families do. We are the touchstone, the roots, the wind that carries those who cannot.

As my sons grow older and my role changes as their mother, I imagine that they will always be what I most cherish, what brings me comfort when I am sad. I suppose that the image of them I call to mind will differ as they get older. But for now, those lanky legs and arms, wide eyes and smiles are the most welcoming base that I have ever known.

!!!-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...

A heart to heart...

The saying goes that the apple doesn't fall to far from the tree. In my case, my middle son not only looks like me, but apparently, suffers from the same "what-if's" that have afflicted his mother her entire life.

The older boys have been attending Vacation Bible School at the church where Joshua attends school throughout the year. This has been a long standing tradition each summer and it allows me a little alone time with Joshua while they are gone. Yesterday was the first day and it will continue for the remainder of the week. Although the theme is High Seas Expedition, it was not all smooth sailing today for Andrew.

It seems that amongst the many activities that the children participate in during the few hours they are there, singing and dancing is one of Andrew's least favorite. And apparently, it was enough to send him over the edge and to tears.

When I went to pick them up, Andrew's leader pulled me aside and told me he had gotten very upset, but couldn't really tell me why. I was concerned. Andrew is all about the drama at home, but he puts up a good front when he is away from home. I decided against talking to him right away, and opted to speak to him before he went to bed.

Of my three sons, Andrew is the most sentimental. He is very hard on himself and tries not to disappoint his father and I if he can help it. That is not to say that the desire to please his parents deters him from arguing with his brothers, but he is easily embarrassed if he thinks that he has not done his best at school or in extra-curricular activities.

Andrew is also incredibly self conscious. He likes to goof around, but he does not like to be the center of attention. Particularly if he thinks he is not good at something. And apparently, he doesn't think he is good at singing and dancing to a VBS song and dance DVD.

When I sat to talk with him, I told him the story of a little girl who always thought she was dumb, didn't think she could do anything right, and all too often, that worry about doing the wrong thing took the joy out of just about everything, along with her self esteem. I explained that even though this little girl wasn't necessarily dumb when dealing with math and science, her intense worry and dislike for those things MADE her perform poorly. Andrew listened intently with wide eyes. Then, the big reveal. That little girl was none other than Mommy.

"Mommy, you worried about stuff, too?" asked my little boy.

"I still worry, but not so much. I try to do the best I can, and it has to be enough. That is all that I can do," I replied.

He seemed to ponder this point for a moment. Then he asked, "But what if they laugh at me?"

"Then you have two options, sugar. You can either feel awful because someone is laughing, or you can join them. And I guarantee you that if you laugh, you will feel better," I said.

We talked a little more. It seemed as though my little boy was holding a lot inside. And I was grateful for the opportunity to let him unload all that worry.

He worries that he is not good at certain things. He worries what people think. I wonder how much worry is genetically linked. Because my heart broke listening to my little boy. Because I felt as though I was talking to a much younger version of myself. And I wondered if I can help him overcome this anxiety, before it consumes the best years of his life, like it did me.

After a few pointers of what to do when he got nervous, he smiled and snuggled as we talked about all the things he is good at. And how much I love him. And how proud his father and I are of him, simply because he is our son, and he never disappoints us.

My little boy beamed.

Today, as he walked into the church with his still small hand tightly enclosing my own, he seemed to walk with a renewed purpose. He seemed to be okay.

When I went to pick him up, he still hadn't danced and sung, but he seemed okay with it. He smiled when he said goodbye to his group and his teacher. No tears. No worries.

But I know better.

The self doubts will linger, but hopefully, not forever. He will find self solace in his own way, in his own time.

And I will be there.

To hold his hand, to offer support, to help him in any way I can.

Because I am helping my son grow some mighty strong roots that will hold him upright throughout his life.

And because I want him to spread his wings and soar as I never did when I was younger, but am so desperately trying to do now.

I know him.

He is my own apple from my tree.

365 days older...

Unlike most of the population under the age of 25, I am not entirely thrilled when my birthday rolls around. For me, the lack of enthusiasm does not stem from being a year older and all the physical changes another 365 days bring. It is more about taking stock of what has transpired throughout those 365 days. And sometimes, that can be disappointing. And in many years past, it seemed that way.

This year, the review was truly unexpected.

Birthdays are milestones. For children, it means getting a year closer to some seemingly unattainable goal. Whether it is starting school, finishing school, getting a driver's license, being of legal age or finally being able to have a drink, every passing year comes with celebration of another milestone reached. But as we get older, the milestones come in goals attained, whether personal or professional, that have little to do with the calendar and everything to do with effort, consistency and persistence. And every birthday that comes and goes without reaching a goal is one that reminds us of where we are falling short.

When I was very little, birthdays seemed like the most fabulous thing ever. A day all about you. Presents, cake, a new outfit, pictures taken to document the passage of time. As I grew older and understood the realities of the situations that surrounded me, the anniversary of my birth was something I shied away from, mostly because I did not want the attention, the hoopla. I wanted to blend into the background. And what had once been a big deal wasn't a big deal anymore.

And for as long as I remember, it has rained on my birthday. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot; but always, rain.

And then, I started dating my husband. And he is of the firm belief that EVERYBODY deserves a day that is all about them. And every year, for the last 19 birthdays, he has always made sure that it has been so. Whether it is dinner out at a special place, a quiet celebration at home or a short beach-y trip, he has made some sort of production.

Over me.

And all throughout these last 19 years, I have squirmed uncomfortably at the introductory notes of Happy Birthday.

And always carried an umbrella.

That is not to say that birthdays are not a big deal at our house. The rules that I have applied to myself do not apply to the boys, or anyone else, for that matter. Their days are extraordinary. The fanfare, the lead up, the culmination. I relish in planning and celebrating the lives that are so enmeshed in my own, the ones that truly make my days brighter, happier. Celebrating the people whom I so love.

Which leads me to today.

It is impossible to ignore a birthday when your children reach a certain age. They pull you out of your comfort zone, urge you to BE the person you want them to think you are. And when you are a teacher and your students catch wind of when your big day is, they go into detective mode.

Today was my birthday.

On a Monday.

During the last week of school.

I awoke next to the love of my life and in between us, the not-quite-as-small body of my youngest. My husband murmured a loving, "Happy birthday" and began the week. My older boys came in, sheepishly after they awoke to wish me a happy birthday. My youngest, with fire in his eyes, declared I needed "a froggie birthday cake for you's birthday, Momma."

The common dread of this day began to fade as quickly as raindrops on a hot roof.

This year, I was fortunate enough to be at school with my wonderful students, uplifted by their joy that I am here, I am their teacher, and that I am loved by them all.

This morning, last year's students called the media center, asked to speak to me, and serenaded me with a fabulous rendition of Happy Birthday. Not to be outmatched or out-sung, this year's group was in cahoots with my co-teacher, who staged a surprise party, complete with cake. My students wrote me the most beautiful letters any teacher could receive; ones that I will cherish for a lifetime.

Coworkers and electronic greetings buzzed around for the duration of the day. And I did not wince once.

The evening was rounded out by an invitation-only awards ceremony, where my sons were honored for their academic achievements. And again, I was surrounded by former, current and soon-to-be students, all full of happiness.

But more than all of that, what has made the biggest difference in today is a small change within myself that began a couple of years ago.

The small realization that we are given a certain amount of time on this Earth. We can choose to make it count, or count it down.

For a long time, I was counting down. Not in horrid, dark ways.

But in ways that made me sad. That kept me from the happiness that is mine for the taking.

And then one day, I woke up. Literally and figuratively.

And since then, I try my best to make the days count.

In my home. With my family. With my friends, old and new. With my students.

Within my heart.

I have let go of fear, challenged myself in ways I never dreamed possible, and in many occasions, put on my big girl panties and spoken up for what is right.

Because that's what it takes to make the days count.

So, although thirty seven is not exactly a landmark "age" birthday, it is extremely significant.

In many ways.

But, the one that struck me the hardest was that even though torrential rain was predicted for today, not a single drop fell.

Even though I had my umbrella.

How's that for breaking with tradition?