Surrender

At the end of the day,

after homework, dinner and baths;

the battle begins; a hopeless dance.

Be productive in relative peace, quiet?

Drop everything , grab the neglected book ?

Run to undo the days dietary mistakes?

Or succumb to the inviting softness

of the freshly made, warm bed...

In hopes of a productive tomorrow

when I can read or run;

not surrender too quickly or soundly

as the white sheets beckon me tonight.

Waving the white flag?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Words 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!

Making it count...

Making my list.

Checking it twice.

Good at making something?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays.

"I didn't do anything..."

When that phrase is the first thing you hear, and it is often accompanied by an increasing decibel-ed wail, nothing good can follow.

If you really think about it, they did do something. Actually, lots of some things.

Like make you a mom.

They make you wonder if you are losing your mind on a daily basis.

They challenge you to be the kind of person they already think you are.

They force you to challenge yourself, try new things, just to be an example that puts their money where their mouth is.

They provide you with ample opportunity to stretch your physical limitations on a daily basis, sometimes, even down to an hourly basis. You never knew how strong you were, how much endurance you had until you had a kid. Double that with each additional offspring borne by you.

They make you question every manufacturer, teacher, assignment, food, additive, vaccination, decision you have ever made or are going to make. They make you think twice before ingesting your favorite sanity food (or drink), wondering how it will affect your longevity/health and their well-being.

They make you reprioritize, whether you want to or not. You just can't do the stuff you want to, even when you want to, 'cause you've got them. Everything is colored with the responsibility of their existence; their well-being.

And even though there are days when you feel like you can go no further, that you would gladly walk out and never return, you are a better person because of them.

When those words are uttered in my house, they often bring me a tremor or two (or three) of fear.  But mostly, I am grateful.  Mostly.

So, keep thinking you didn't do anything.

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

And hopefully, one day, when you hear those words from your brawling kids, you will have to smile to yourself before putting your game face on, and know what makes my heart keeping beating happily.

Last...

Last to sit down to eat.

Last to lay down and sleep.

Last on the to-do list.

Because this too shall pass, unexpectedly.

They will grow, leave the nest.

And I will no longer be

the last one on the list.

So I will savor being last;

the last to tuck them in,

the last to kiss them goodnight.

The last to see them peacefully sleeping,

as I sneak one last glimpse.

Are you last?  Want to tell?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up for more on Six Word Fridays!

It's a wonderful life...

One of my favorite movies of all time is Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life, starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed. Poor George Bailey thinks that his life is a failure, but fails to realize how many lives he has touched with kindness and love. Regardless of how many times I watch it, I always am overwhelmed at the end of the movie when George Bailey's family receives so much love and support from the very people they committed their lives to helping.

In his darkest hour, George got what he needed, not what he wanted.

The same could be said for us this Christmas.

* * * * * * * * * *

Every year, our little family gets together, to share in the revelry of the season. We eat, we laugh, we exchange presents. And save for a few scheduled absentees, we are all together.

This year was the exception. Kind of. And in spite of all the anxiety and sadness that it would not be like it always is, it was exactly what we needed. And certainly not how we wanted it to be.

Make no mistake. In spite of all of it, it was a gift.

John's mom had surgery a few days before Christmas. After much deliberation, John and I decided to cancel our "normal" plans. It was hard to do, thinking that our "people" would be disappointed.

When our "regulars" for our Christmas Eve get together found out the reason we were cancelling (only the second time in fifteen years, folks), they offered words of love and hope. My sister stepped up to the plate and hosted the dinner for the immediate family.

On the 23rd, I made my traditional dinner, on a much smaller scale. Because I was feeding only one person. My beloved father in law. I didn't care what was going on. I did not want Dad to have hospital food on Christmas Eve. John made the drop off and visited with his mom for a while. He met me at home, after the boys and I attended Christmas Eve Mass, and we headed over to my sister's.

My sister had a lovely meal prepared. We shared a quiet evening with our "extended" family. We came home early.

Christmas morning brought three little boys to our bedside, excited about Santa's visit the night before. We saw our children open their presents with the same happiness they always have. We made plans to head out to see Mom and Dad at the hospital. And bring food to share with Dad. To have Christmas dinner, together. In spite of this year's events. But more importantly, because of this year's events.

The happiest memory I will have of this Christmas was the joy on Mom's face as she viewed a special message from the boys on my cell phone. Of seeing her face as the older boys got to hug her. Of how normal they were, in spite of the abnormality of this year.

Best of all, Mom's stay at the hospital was pretty short once she recovered from surgery. She came home. And we came back to their house to celebrate Christmas and New Year's with them and my brother and sister in law who traveled to share the holiday with us. Dear childhood friends of John, in town from Alabama, made the trek two hours north to see my mother in law on New Year's Eve.

There were several important lessons learned this year. Traditions, as beautiful as they are, are not truly necessary in order to have the "perfect" holiday. What is necessary is to have an open heart. To love deeply and truly. To accept the good that inevitably comes back to you when you are true to your own heart and to those you love.

Mom learned that lesson this year. Emotionally.  Gracefully. Beautifully.
I learned that lesson this year. Wholeheartedly. Gratefully. Blessedly.

As uncomfortable as I am with some kinds of change, I learned that change is good. Even in bad circumstances. Especially in bad circumstances. That even though change scares me, I was open to this total upheaval. Because at the end of the day, you want to be with those you love most in the world. And you want to make them happy.

This Christmas will surely stand out as the year that...

The year that Grandma was sick.

The year that we did things differently.

The year that we learned to let go of those things that hinder us. The year that we learned that Christmas is on the 25th of December, but it can really be celebrated any day, each day, with the same generosity of spirit.

                                                             * * * * * * * * * *

At the end of the movie, George is overcome with gratitude. Gratitude for his family and friends. Gratitude for the way he has lived his life; with honor and integrity. Gratitude for the multitude of blessings he was unable to recognize at one time, but now sees clearly.

This year, my greatest wish was to have my family together.

And I did.

Not in the loud, gargantuan way I have had them in the past.

But in small pieces.

To savor.

To enjoy.

And, most importantly, to recognize this blessing.

And to be grateful for it.

A prayer for mercy...

Dear Lord,

Today, I ask you to be merciful. I know that I have some bad karma coming to me for years of giving homework to countless students, invoking the same misery I am experiencing right now to hundreds of parents over the last sixteen years. I know I have it coming. Times three.

Tonight, as I am sitting here writing in order to distract myself from my middle child, I pray for either strength or a quick death. Frankly, I cannot take anymore of the whining and complaining or inability to find anything in the book bag that is remotely related to homework. If it is death, please, make it happen NOW. It has been slow and painful enough.

Lord, if in your infinite wisdom you enlighten modern science in the cloning of humans, can I please be first to have one? So I can send her to drop children at tennis at differing schedules? So that I can have another making a dinner that my children will inevitably hate? So that I can perhaps get a massage, or, at the very least, a decent haircut and color? Right now, I would settle for a decent night's sleep or a solo trip to the bathroom.

And while I have your attention, did the garage door really need to cease functioning today? I mean, it has been nearly 12 years since we got it, but did it have to go today? When the entire week is filled with mindless and meaningless things that MUST get done...and when I have trash that needs to go out and have no other way to get it out? Since it's already busted, can I, at the very least, get the earliest, most convenient appointment for repair, without paying an arm and a leg?

Please, dear God, I know that the events of the last few hours are minimal compared to the crosses some people have to bear. Please, let my love for my children overcome the frustration and the feeling of wanting to pull out my already thinning hair straight out of my head as I am carried away to the funny farm. Let me remember how much I love them and so wanted to be a mother. Let those thoughts carry me through the next 14 years of schooling that lay before us.

Thanks for your time. I know you are Almighty. I know that you have my back. Just send me a sign so that I know that I am already on the life raft on this turbulent sea of motherhood.

Amen.

Meet the parents...

A few nights ago was my school's Open House. For parents, it is the opportunity to meet your child's teacher, get informed about the year's goals and objectives, and get a peek at what your child does throughout the day.

For teachers, the day and night of Open House is an exercise in endurance and patience. And for me, Monday was an answered prayer for air conditioning. So once again, for the second day in a row, we headed over to our Media Center and hung out there, waiting for cooler days ahead.

That being said, we had about two hours to reconstruct the classroom and prepare for the meeting of the parents. And write letters, clean desks and take care of the fish tank that was orange, full of fish food the Boys Scouts had dumped into it a few days before.

Plus, I looked like a bum. I knew that I had a lot of cleaning up to do, so I wore crummy jeans and a polo shirt. My filthy hair, pulled back into a pony tail, I was a force to be reckoned with. And, I was about to make a first impression.

I met yet another Language Arts/Reading teacher who will be covering for my beloved co-teacher as she enjoys these last few weeks with her brand new, crawling baby girl.

Yes. On Open House Day.

At least I had the air conditioning going for me.

At the sound of the three o'clock bell, I ran out of school like a maniac, drove to pick up Joshua at school, came home, saw that my aunt had made it to my house okay, ordered pizza, left money for said pizza to feed the kids, jumped in the shower and managed to wash my tresses and shave my legs, put on one outfit, discarded it, put on a winner with coordinating accessories, did my hair, put on my face, kissed my kids goodbye as I barked orders and threats relating to homework and behavior. I made it on time for Andrew's Open House session, the one I stayed at for a total of 15 minutes before I had to head out to my room to prepare the laptop and projector. Thank goodness, John played the concerned, involved parent.

One of the things that I love about Open House is to find the faces of my students in those of their parents. It's almost like a game to me, to pick out the parents and match them to the kids. It is so interesting to see how much some kids look like one parent, or how certain features closely resemble their child's.

More importantly, it's a chance for parents to hear that no matter what, their kids are going to have a great year. That they are doing the best they can, and it is good. That they are not in this alone.

As a child, the thought of my teacher meeting my parents was terrifying. I was a good kid, a great student, but somehow, the thought of my two worlds meeting filled me with anxiety. As a teacher, it is a wondrous thing to be able to tell a parent that their child is doing well, that they are a joy to have in the classroom, that you are proud to be their teacher.

And so, for the sixteenth time in my career, I stood in front of anxious parents, made them laugh, made them think, made them smile.

After all that went on Monday, it was by far, the best part of my day.

A long day and weary body...

Not enough sleep, 4:30 am wake up time to walk close to 4 miles for training, fight horrendous traffic, students who don't want to work or are too afraid of making mistakes, parents who demand home work assignments but don't bother to make sure their "gifted" children actually complete it, a hubby who will be off on work related travels, tennis, offspring's' home work assignments and ensuing battles related to its completion.

Muscles ached, eyelids drooping, heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

Only one answer, really. Too tired to cry, although that would feel good. Too tired to write, even though words cannot replace the lost rest I can never seem to find. Longing for sleep.

And yet, I long for more days when the events don't always go as planned, but hold a certain kind of magic. In that you can overcome those things that should otherwise impede progress. That in spite of a long talking to, your students can still recognize a feeble attempt at a joke, and inevitable, surprise you with new knowledge, even if it's at the eleventh hour. For colleagues and their knowing smiles, for parents who do appreciate what you do, for your own children that confess their fears as you mention your own, their growing hand safely nestled in your own.

Looking forward to an extremely early bed time; a night's slumber that will restore and empower.

Wishing the same for you.

Holding on, letting go

Much of life is learning when to hold on, learning when to let go. For some of us, that lesson is especially hard, particularly when it comes to family. All too often, we end up holding on to the stuff we should be letting go, and letting go of the stuff that truly matters.

When it comes to parenting, it is much easier to hold on than to let go.

Joshua is coming into his own. No more potty accidents, he can wipe his own ass, and after a major back pack packing boot camp last night, he was able to pack up his nap items by himself. For the last few mornings, Joshua has been a fountain of love. Hugging, kissing, flashing those sweet eyes and chirping in his sweet toddler voice. The letting go has been a challenge, to say the least.

I am happy that he is becoming more self sufficient. But I am a little sad too.

Because my babies are growing up. And as they depend less on me, I find myself wondering how my role as a mother is changing. Don't misunderstand. As much as I loved that newborn stage, where they snuggled and nursed, it was EXHAUSTING. Three times over. And the stages that came after that were no easier. It was hard physical labor, constantly second guessing yourself, never knowing if what you were doing was right or wrong. Wondering when this tiny person would be able to tell you when they felt bad, what hurt, if what you are doing is helping at all.

Tough days. Rewards in gas induced smiles, outstretched, fat arms reaching for you. Sloppy kisses and cooing.

And life goes on. Sloppy kisses make way to grunts of recognition, excited tales of adventures at school. Hand holding at the grocery store parking lot. You take what you can get.

As your children get older, the challenges come in different forms, and you struggle with the decisions you make. Your brain knows the decision is a right one, your heart has a hard time believing it.

Just recently, John and I decided it would be good for Matthew to join a Tween Group at the church where Joshua goes to school. It meant a big deal to me that he try it because he would be able to reconnect with some preschool friends that attend different elementary schools. It meant that he would get to experience different experiences without us. And that was particularly hard for me. Because we have always done things together. Because I never had the opportunity as a child and always wished I had.

But more than that, I am able to see that my older son has a life apart from us. Not in a huge way yet. But it is starting to take shape. And as a parent, that is frightening. It means letting go of your child (to a certain extent) and hoping like hell that the lessons you have been teaching have sunken in, grown roots, been learned.

Yet, we still hold on. To mementos; tiny baby clothes, shaky, uneven happy faces and preschool watercolor masterpieces that help us remember and hold close the babies we once carried, fed, cuddled, and have left us to preschool, elementary school, Tween groups.

So much change. So little time. So many more to come.

For the record, Matthew had an awesome time. I think he really enjoyed doing something outside of the "circle" with kids his own age. I think it made him feel more "grown-up" to have different plans than those of his other brothers. Andrew really enjoyed being the "oldest" while Matthew was gone. He had a great time with Joshua, not having to battle for attention from him. Joshua loved having the attention of just one brother, versus the fight of two over him.

And John and I? We were a little lost, but thinking about the days when there were two instead of three. And then three. And how difficult it was, for a while. And how things seem to be calming down a bit. And how, in spite of all the ass wiping and group activities and new challenges, we miss those days of sweet baby smell and tiny fingers and toes.

And we reevaluate.

We adjust to the new role of parenting that requires less hard physical labor, but more attention to detail and wit.

You go from diaper bags to thinking about handing over a cell phone so that you can keep tabs (Hey, no judgment out there, ok? I am just THINKING about it!).

And the paradigm shifts yet again. You feel unsettled as you charter through new territory and learn to test out your sea legs. You muddle through and pray you are on the right course.

You hold on. And somehow, you never forget how it felt to want to be understood. You remember how it felt when you got to do things on your "own."

And when you see that same expression of surprise and confidence in your own child when you let go a little, you know that you are on the right track.

You let go.

Try it, you'll like it

In becoming a mother, you kind of have to put your money where your mouth is. You can't expect your kids to try new stuff if you rarely venture too far from coloring outside the lines.

In the almost ten years I became a mother, I have learned to swim, tried all kinds of food that would have never even been a choice, flown across the country, and lately, have pushed my physical limits. I have slowly, consistently and consciously put myself in situations my children know make me squirm to show them that trying something new is not a bad thing, but something that should be embraced.

Case in point: Zumba.

I know what you are thinking, how could a Cuban girl be fearful of fast paced music and dance moves.

'Cause this Cuban married an American. And because for all the Spanish blood in me, I got no real rhythm.

I can barely carry sheet music in a bag.

But I did it. I was in that class. I tried to keep up, and did okay.

For those not familiar, Zumba is fast paced aerobics class, set to fast Latin music, and were the instructors incorporate Latin dance moves. Key word here is FAST!

My neighbor and I stood in line, waiting for the class. When the doors finally opened, there was barely any room, but we managed to carve out a small piece of floor for ourselves. And the class began.

Of course, as in anything, there were people who really seemed to know what they were doing and were in total sync with the instructor. There were other people who could not keep up, and eventually, walked out of the class.

Somehow, though, I refused to walk out. It is funny, how your mind won't let you back down out of a situation. I did not want to walk out of that room a second before that class ended. And although I had some trouble keeping up, mainly because of the crowded dance floor and the fact that I was towards the back of the room, which is not the best place for a short person, I hung on. And I was glad I did.

But as I notice myself trying all kinds of new things, I am beginning to see my children venture out and try new stuff too.

Like salad. And I use that term loosely, since the actual salad only consists of lettuce and Caesar dressing.

And sticking to commitments that, I am sure, they would rather not think about, but seem to enjoy once they get going, like tennis.

All this to say that change is good.

Adventure is even better.

And doing it surrounded with like-minded people is ALWAYS more enjoyable.

Happiness is...

Momalom's Five for Ten: Happiness

When I close my eyes, and I think about happiness, there are many images that come to mind. Here; a sampling.

Being seventeen years old, and walking on the local boardwalk. The young man, holding me close, whispered softly, like a prayer, "I love you." It took my breath away, to know what his heart felt, to hear the words aloud that I had yet to say.

Being a twenty-two year old bride, walking down the aisle and seeing the same young man, our eyes meeting with such emotion, at knowing our day had come. That my happily ever after was about to begin.

As our lives have progressed, I can honestly say that I am happy. I look around inside our home, at the pictures on our walls that chronicle our moments, our lives, and I am constantly reminded that happiness, in many instances, is a conscious decision we make every day.

How many people walk around each day, thinking, "when such and such happens, I will be happy" and when the situation does materialize, it is then immediately replaced with another "such and such." The person wastes their life waiting for the moment happiness smacks them in the face.

All too often, I have heard parents say that they can't wait for their children to grow up, move out, and start their own lives. Will they truly be happy, knowing their children are away? Will that fix whatever is wrong? I am sure it will provide some degree of accomplishment, but I don't know that I will be completely overjoyed when the last chick leaves the nest.

I know I am not the parent of an adolescent, and perhaps, I am romanticizing parenthood a tad, but some of my happiest moments are in direct result of having my children with me. Finding out I was pregnant, the first ultrasound and hearing their heartbeats, the first glance of that newborn lovey over the surgical sheet, nursing hungry baby boys in the middle of the night, breathing in the scent of a newborn baby that is so intoxicating.

And after the newness of a brand new baby wears off, it is all the little things that they do and how they react to the whole new world that they are busy discovering, every single day. Who has not felt happy at the sight of a wobbly toddler, as they prance, relishing in their new, hard fought mobility? Who hasn't giggled at the antics of a young child who is just beginning to venture out with words and sentences?

Happiness for me is being a witness to my sons' growth and development. I have marveled at their curiosity, their wonder, their love for John and I, their love for each other, and our extended family. My heart melts when my sons tell me excitedly at the happenings at school, what they learned, what they are anticipating the most. As they grow older, I imagine that I will stand in amazement that they are grown adults, wonder where the time went, but never regret a moment.

My happiness is not measured in the amount of things I own, what car I drive, where I will go on vacation. My happiness is driven by making people laugh, at my crazy stories, at themselves, at life's lemons.

I am blessed. My children are healthy. I am married to a man I love and respect. I come home to a chaotic, messy home, filled with laughter and love.

My happiness is measured by the amount of people who make me smile on a daily basis. It is measured by how I choose to react to difficult challenges. It is measured by the difference I make in the lives of the children I teach.

Happiness has a ripple effect. The more of it you have, the more of it gets spread around. If you are happy, the people around you tend to be happy too. And the more people you are in contact with throughout the day, the more opportunities you have to share it with everyone else.

Please don't misunderstand and think I am just the happiest person put on Earth. I have had a lot of bad things happen to me, usually things that could not be ignored, changed or moved away from. There wasn't a whole lot of choices on what I could do.

But I do have the power, the opportunity, the responsibility; to myself, and my family, to detect every shred of happiness I can find, in any and all situations.

Because if you are given the choice, would you rather wallow in self pity and sadness, or try to walk a little lighter?

Because if all you get is what you have, can that really make you happy?

Because being happy has nothing to do with what you have.

It has EVERYTHING to do with choices you make, how you react, what you do.

And I will change what I can, accept what I cannot and CHOOSE to be happy.

Every day.

Every time.

Surrounded by those who make me the happiest.

No regrets.

Another round...

Today called for heavy artillery of adult beverages in my house. None were consumed, although they were much deserved. An extremely busy week, a most difficult day, and still, another two days until the week end.

My morning was not particularly hard. I was able to get dressed, get out of the house, and get the older two boys to school on time. I was scheduled to serve as a Science Fair judge at my old school, where I worked for ten years.

I left six years ago this fall. I remember that I struggled with the decision to leave for over a year. My children were getting older, I lived too far from the school and my husband had started working in his current job, that required huge amounts of travel at the time.

I struggled for many reasons. The main one is change. I traditionally have never done well with it. I will change my wardrobe a million times. I might change my hair and it's color without too much remorse. But the big things like a place of employment, not so much.

I completed my final internship at HES school in December 1994. There were no open positions there when I graduated, so I found a job at another school where I was miserable. It was the longest six months of my life.

I doubted whether or not I had made the right career decision. I wondered if I should go back to school and get a degree in something else. At the end of the year, my position was eliminated, and I went back to the principal at HES, trying to secure ANYTHING for the following year.

As luck would have it, I was hired in mid September of 1995, after the school year had started. I was fortunate enough to work steadily, although in temporary teaching assignments until the following school year. In 1996, I finally had my own classroom with 38 of the most energetic, and bright Kindergarten students ever.

At this school, I began as a young 21 year old undergraduate. I slowly emerged to married woman, Graduate student, mother of one, struggled through the loss of one parent, to mother of two boys. More than coworkers, these people became a sort of family. We mourned our losses, we celebrated new additions and life's greatest joys. It was hard to leave them and all that history behind.

But I did. As scary as it was to go and begin again in a new place, to form new friendships and professional relationships, I understood that this was something I needed to do for my family. Matthew was nearing preschool age. I wanted him to be able to attend a school that was close to home. I wanted to be closer to home as well, and not spend the bulk of my day behind the wheel, in traffic, gathering children and getting home.

The reaction on the last day of school in 2004 was hard. As people heard that I had transferred out, the questions swirled. The tears flowed. It was surely one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I still had my doubts, but at least, I knew that my sister and I would be working together, that my children, one day, would be able to attend this school with me. I forged ahead.

The first few days of that school year were hard. As the school year began, I was preparing in a new classroom in a different school. I often thought of my old school, my friends that I had left behind, my old students. But I made new friends. I reveled in the new challenges and procedures. I enjoyed my new students. I loved being closer to home and not fighting that traffic as much.

I still keep in touch with more than a few people. Several of those Class of 1996 Kindergarten group stay in touch with me through Facebook. They are now completing their Freshman year in college, which is just astounding to me.

But today, as I walked through the old halls at HES, I did not feel too nostalgic. The last few years have been rough for the staff. Administration is not what it should be. I was GLAD that I was gone. People seemed sad. They said with longing, "Be glad you left." And I was.

Because sometimes, you need another round to realize that even decisions made fearfully and with some doubt are the right ones.

Because I would have grown to hate my job.

Because, eventually, I would have equated those beautifully hearted co-workers with the confines of that building. And would have grown to dislike both.

Today, as I skipped out after judging Fourth Grade projects, I did not leave with the usual twinge of sadness for a simpler time.

I left with gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who had helped shape that shy 21 year old young teacher. Who had supported her, helped her hone her craft, and been a second family to her, and bade her goodbye six years ago.

Gratitude for having had the courage six years ago leave something that seemed safe, but would have surely killed the best part of me.

Gratitude for having forged ahead in a journey that made me mighty uncomfortable. But forced me to grow. To adapt. To change. And like it.

Another round of blessings that would have been forever undiscovered, had I not taken that simple step.

And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

You can't trade back...

This afternoon, my boys had their end of season pizza party for tennis. Since they were each three and a half years old, they have been playing with the same coach, in a kid league that they both seem to enjoy, although I am not raising any Andy Roddrick's over here.

Regardless, their coach is a wonderful teacher who instills a sense of dignity and sportsmanship amongst all her charges. In many cases, some of those kids really need a guiding hand.

Case in point: In our neck of the woods, a strange phenomenon, eerily reminiscent of Madonna (circa 1984) has come to pass. School-age children are obsessed with these silly shaped rubber band bracelets that are worn as Madonna wore her infamous bracelets, and of course are traded.

As a school teacher, you can imagine how distracting these bracelets are, and the potential for all sorts of mishaps when trader's regret occurs.

Last week, after our little Friday Happy Hour pediatrician's foray, I bought Andrew some of those bracelets, just because. He has been so good lately, cooperative, kind to his brothers; that as I watched him look at the packaging with longing, I could not resist getting it for him.

He agreed to share with Matthew, who agreed to share his toy as well. All is well in the world.

Not quite.

Today, an older boy quickly made a beeline to Andrew and finagled a trade. Andrew traded a baseball bat for a phoenix. I watched the whole transaction; unable to stop it, knowing what was going to happen.

When Andrew saw my face as I asked him what had happened, his eyes grew round and his mouth found its way into a tight, small frown, with a slightly trembling chin. He realized that he had not really wanted to trade, and now wanted to trade back. But the older boy would hear nothing of it.

"You can't trade back," the big lug called coldly, as he searched out his next victim.

My little boy put his head into his crossed arms, tears silently rolling down his face, trying to be strong, but unable to keep it together.

Although he had wanted to make the trade, now, he wanted to go back.

I thought back to how many times I had wanted to be older, wiser. And now that I was, I didn't always want it. In many ways, there are days when I could just put my head down too, and cry. Because sometimes the trade sucks.

I tried to comfort him. I do recall telling him that the kid was a punk, which brought a glimmer of a upturned corner of his mouth. But I also tried to make him understand. Sometimes, the trade may not be worth how we feel about it later.

I think of how many people I have seen reach great success in their careers, only because they seemed to have traded their personal lives for them. They go home to cold, silent houses, and the trade doesn't seem that great in those moments.

Or how many marriages fell apart because holding on to anger was more important than holding on to the love that brought them together. And then, suddenly, they had their anger. But their being "right" wasn't worth the feeling of losing someone who you really cared about.

I later saw Andrew grin his sideways grin as the coach called him up to receive his trophy (BTW, everyone gets a trophy, not my favorite thing, but hey, who am I to judge?). He seemed to have moved on from the disappointment.

But I hope that he learned the greater lesson here. Sometimes, what you have isn't worth trading for anything if you are already happy.

I know that I could have been good at some high paying, all consuming job.

But I traded.

I traded the opportunity to be "successful" in dollar signs and be happy doing something that I love.

I can be a mother and not constantly feel at odds with my life and my job (although some days, it does happen).

And though there might be days; when I am standing on the street, holding a sign to fight for my livelihood, that I want to "trade back."

But those moments are few and far between.

Because I come home to a noisy, messy, chaotic home.

A home full of children.

A home full of love.

And there is no one in their right mind who would want to trade that back...

(My version of) TGIF, Happy Hour!

The week has ended, thank goodness. Between a mountain of paperwork, papers to be graded, students drama, the field trip and my motherly responsibilities, I was really looking forward to this afternoon. This afternoon, when I would peel out of the teacher's parking lot, without a care in the world, if you don't count my three children, my spouse and the mountain of laundry that awaits.

But I have a confession to make. I was a bad mommy earlier this week.

In one of his many early morning rendezvous', Joshua awoke on Tuesday with crusty eyes. Only one explanation for this phenomenon: pink eye. Pink eye in schools is the modern day equivalent of the plague in the Middle Ages. No one wants a child that you even have a suspicion of pink eye. So, the drama started early that morning.

Me: I think Joshua has pink eye.

John: What are you talking about? He looks fine. (I think I detected recognition and a quick turn to denial.)

Me: I can't stay home. I have....(here is where I delineated all the things that would surely cause the school, if not the entire school district, to shut down for the day if I failed to show up.)

And this is where we proceeded to play the grown up version of Rocks, Paper, Scissors. I won. There were negotiations and compromises to be made. In the end, we had a plan. In the mean time, I had old eye drops.

I know many of you are wondering how I could diagnose and prescribe without an actual medical degree. If you have more than one child, you can skip to the next paragraph. You know what golden nugget of information I am going to pass on to the newbie's. If you don't, I will only tell you that the fear of going into a pediatrician's office is a magical thing. You will do just about anything not to have to go to the doctor's office, where, inevitably and without fail, you will pick something else up. That will cause yet ANOTHER visit, and so it goes. That is the real reason doctor's offices are always packed with miserable, sick children and even more miserable and broke parents.

I had been to the pediatrician's office on Saturday, for a well visit. My stomach trembled with fear. My husband scoffed at the idea that you could actually pick up something while you were there for a well visit. If you are keeping count: Mommy: 2, Daddy: 0.

So, yes. I had some drops from December. They were not expired. And I most surely opened up my son's eyes, and I put those drops in and marched my body to work. And for a couple of days, my medical band aid worked.

Until this morning.

Yesterday, Joshua had a runny nose when I picked him up from school. As my children seem to have inherited every unattractive trait that has been carried through in a recessive gene for centuries in my family, I naturally attributed this new malady to allergies.

This morning, in his nocturnal travels, Joshua came into our room, carrying his blanket and an accompanying cough. Again, no problem, I thought. He has post nasal drip. (Who needs an MD from Johns Hopkins, right?).

But the time of reckoning was at hand.

In all my years teaching and mothering, I have never seen a fit to the degree, magnitude or length that all of a sudden came upon my child. After assuring myself, and my husband, that there was nothing actually wrong with him, like a fever, I left for work.

And I prayed.

This afternoon, after a thorough ass-kicking, courtesy of long division with remainders, I got a call from school. Joshua apparently had coughed his way through naptime and was running a low grade fever. I felt slightly ashamed of myself, and didn't know whether to be happy or sad that the phone call had come at the end of the day.

I finally caved and called the pediatrician's office. It seemed that my TGIF Happy Hour was going to be spent in parental hell AKA the sick waiting room at the pediatrician's office. The ensuing phone call did little to quell my feelings of guilt.

How long has he had the symptoms?

You mean, the ones I passed off as pink eye or the ones that made the school call me today?

Fortunately, the doctor understood and seemed impressed with my mad diagnosing skills. He prescribed more potent drops (I hope they don't melt his eyeballs), antibiotics and a cough medicine with albuterol for the "slight" wheezing he could hear in Josh's lungs.

Way to go, Dr. Mom!

And for those of you who are not familiar with albuterol, it is the toddler version of crack. It makes kids super agitated. It is so potent, our local national pharmacy will not dispense it.

So yeah, not only did I have to go to the pediatrician's office, I now had to go to the corner family owned crack house, I mean pharmacy, to get the goods. Did I also mention that every imaginable waste of money toy is stocked right under the counter where you leave your prescription and wait for your stuff?

Good times. Know what the pharmacist's advice was as I was leaving with the cough medicine (and an overpriced junky toy for each child, Catholic guilt ups the score for the kids...)? "Don't give it to him right before bedtime. It might rile him up."

Thanks Dr. G! Daddy: 0, Mommy: 3, Kids: 1,000,000!

On the bright side, the kids were incredibly well behaved at the doctor's office AND the pharmacy. I also went to the local national pharmacy to leave off the other prescriptions (really, just because I had to get my stuff didn't mean I was going to leave everything AND get gauged!) and I even got to go to the fancy gourmet market without nary a fight between the children.

I know Joshua will be okay. He will bounce back just fine. The older boys will continue to be amazed that they scored overpriced pharmacy toys WITHOUT EVEN ASKING FOR THEM! Daddy will thank his lucky stars that he was spared the fate of the pediatrician's office on a late Friday afternoon.

And Mommy?

Mommy really wants to be looking at her second, EMPTY Cosmopolitan glass...

Not on this Friday night, though...

Adventures in orthodontics...

What do you get when two people with dental issues mate?

Braces, people.

I have a big mouth, but no space for all the God-given teeth I have. My husband, not so big-mouthed, but big-toothed...Our oldest son has shark teeth...and yes, apparently, that is a medical term.

I have been putting off taking Matthew for an orthodontic evaluation for many reasons. Mainly, because we had never picked dental insurance with an orthodontic option (because, what did we know that we'd have big-toothed, big mouth, no-space-in-the-big-mouth-for-the-big-teeth children? Reason #245,345 that parents aren't cool).

And because I was a little afraid of Matthew's reaction to the whole thing.

While Andrew and Joshua have had the lion's share of medical forays, Matthew has dodged every medical bullet, except for this. When I casually mentioned braces about a year ago, he flipped out.

He protested quite loudly. "But it will hurt, Mom!" (Yeah, no kidding buddy. You got some karma coming back at you for the FORTY hour labor your arrival inflicted...)

"Matthew, your teeth are growing in the wrong direction. Your tongue cannot sit comfortably in your mouth. I think that you will be much more comfortable once your mouth is the way it should be, " I said but left out "if you had parents with normal mouths."

After discussing back and forth, I told him I would spend the money that would go to his braces on a very nice trip with his father on the other side of the world. It was settled. The thought of his father and I having fun without him and his brothers was enough for him to make up his mind that this, indeed, was something that was necessary for him to take care of. That, and a few of his classmates now have metal mouths too, and survived, so it was totally cool.

We finally got the insurance straightened out, the referral in place, and so today was our appointment. He thought the initial "before" mug shots were a hoot. He loved getting the 360 degree x-rays, and mostly, he really liked the doctor.

Mom wasn't having as much fun, especially when taken into the little room where you discuss "payment options."

For a little bit, people, I felt like I was buying a car. "Do you feel comfortable with this number?" asked the financial lady.

Um, no, not so much. 'Cause this number is with the insurance, doesn't cover a possible Phase 2 of treatment and I still have two other kids who came from the same two people who created this person. Does this number include liposuction or a clone for Mom? 'Cause then, it would be a bargain!

You would be proud to know that I haggled the price down a little, but not too much. And Matthew was psyched when he had the spacers put in to prepare his mouth for what is coming in next week.

At some point, the financial shock will wear off from this mother and I will become accustomed to the new monthly payment for the next 15 months. And the novelty will wear off for this boy and he will become accustomed to the devices that will expand what needs expanding.

And neither of us will be entirely happy until the final "after" mug shots are taken, and the results are as beautiful as the boy who will have earned them.