Zip Tie Muse for 2013 Reflection and 2014 Living

In a recent joust with one of those stupid little plastic zip tie strips used to attach the tag and cut your fingers if you pull it because you-can’t-find-the-scissors moments, I summed up my inner spirit as I shouted, “I WILL WIN BECAUSE I AM A FIGHTER,” as that damn little plastic torture device popped off the new shirt I wanted to don for the day. I cracked up almost to the point of tears as I realized that someone video taping my little rage against the plastic tag holder would have surely one a million on America’s Funniest Home Videos. After I caught my breath, I paused to realize I meant what I said, I am a fighter. 2013, I proved to you that I am a fighter. I was about to chastise myself for being a little too pop-culturey when I realized, I had been gathering little gems from pop culture to start making sense of the river of thoughts raging in my mind.

To Katy Perry - Yes, 2013, “I let you push me past the breaking point.” “You held me down, but I got up/Get ready ‘cause I had enough/I see it all, I see it now,” and since I am a fighter, I started roaring with words and actions and I’m just getting started. Not infallible, but roaring like a lion all the way. Don’t mistake my quiet for weakness, it’s stalking my prey.

From Katniss Everdeen (Suzanne Collins) - It is true that, “At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants,” to cause you harm, even if that person is you. “The hard thing is finding the courage to do it,” and in 2013, I did. There is still an inner war being waged daily, but I work to make my home District a place where encouraging words, strength and cleansing fire are the norm. A place where retreat is okay as long as it’s to recharge and not to wallow in defeat.

It’s a Wonderful Life - And finally, lessons from 1946 and an unlikely angel named Clarence Oddbody. “Strange isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?” Much of our lives are spent focused inwardly on what we are going through, what we want, don’t have or how circumstances differ from those we planned for ourselves. We look at our worn out furniture, broken relationships, empty wallets and forget to focus on how our smiles can lighten and brighten someone else’s day, how just the right words can inspire and spark and how leading by example can pave a way for those following you whether you know they are or not.

Many argue that pop culture has lead to the deterioration of society. Not seeing the best in people has done that on it’s own. If we can be enlightened by an altercation with a plastic zip tie, an outspoken pop princess, an archery master in a dystopian society and a fledgling angel fighting for his wings, we can be inspired and inspire those right in front, behind, and below us with encouragement from those above us.

Happy New Year. It’s a new chance, a new day and another opportunity to do you like only you can.

My Grown-Up Christmas Wish

I recently read something that touched deep down and planted solid roots. It, in a sense, stated that as you get older, the gifts you really want can not be bought; at least not with money. As I woke this Christmas Eve, feeling a rare sense (for me anyway) of calm and peace, this concept spoke to me and asked the desires of my heart to come forth. Truly, what I want are things that can not be bought.

Of course, the material, like a bottle of “Beautiful” to throw me into a sense of peace each time I take a whiff or something grand like my dream classic Jag would be nice. The quintessential peace on earth and goodwill toward every atom in the universe would be nice, too. But, what I really want, is to forgive myself for the expectation of perfection I have lived and died a a bit by each day since childhood.

Perfection to me has been ingrained as far as I can remember.  It’s origin so faint, that I don’t know when I wasn’t like this. Vivid memories of throwing away a 2nd grade art project because I didn’t think it was good enough, getting mad after a Casa del Prado dance performance because someone else messed up and “we” weren’t good enough, not being tall enough to model made me not good enough, not getting straight A’s because I wasn’t smart enough. After marrying and becoming a mother, the whole not good enough shifted to I’m not mother enough to: have children reading at age 2, not mother enough to have home cooked meals nightly, children that sit quietly instead of run like banshees (boy-child only), potty training didn’t happen fast enough and bedtime stories, homework checking, team momming and volunteering didn’t happen enough, therefore, I was still not good enough.

Having older kids means having to worry that I’m not good enough at checking online accounts, pushing for homework perfection in them, not good enough to have the money for private schools and club teams, not around emotionally or physically enough, you name it. And that’s external. My hair, my weight, lack friendships and social commitments on my calendar, the chores I haven’t done or books I haven’t read are thrown into the imperfection cauldron.

Exhaustion and depression set in with every review of that list and for that, this year, on this Christmas, I give myself the gift of letting it all go. Each experience, person, situation, though many have been the opposite of what the trying to be perfect me wanted, are let go. In Christianease I say, “Perfection, I rebuke you!”

My gift to the rest of you is the words I wish would have absorbed into my core so many years ago, “You are perfect the way you are. Your smile radiates the spirits of those around you. Your hugs hold up civilizations and your laughter stops tears and plants the seeds of smiles. You, my dear, don’t need to fight for a perfection that has been drawn from pieces of the masses, you are the perfect you as you are when you are just being. So this Christmas, just be, my dear.”

My words to you. Merry Christmas.

The Need for Diversity

I’ve had a trifecta of race related issues meet me in the eyes in the last week and feel the call to address the need for diversity...here, there, everywhere. Although I am speaking from an American perspective, diversity on the global level is something that can not be swept under the proverbial rug. Much like global warming; some saw it then, some are seeing the light now, some have yet to join the party, but all of us will suffer the consequences if the issue is not addressed and a solution actively pursued.

Act I - College admissions in and out of the United States offer some surprising details. “Our” public universities here in CA, particularly the UC schools, continue to outlaw the same Affirmative Action initially designed to help campuses resemble the population a bit better. It’s now touted as reverse discrimination, though when it was in full effect, my being 1 of 500 black students of 18,000 at UCSB in an era of Affirmative Action speaks otherwise. Our schools are, as an AVID Weekly article expresses, are “becoming a mutant version of the Hunger Games,” with parents and counselors pushing students into one more varsity sport, one more musical competition and one more AP class, no matter how stressed, overworked and exasperated a student might be. That same article addresses a cheaper, faster and more diverse education at European universities where we are considered exotic, international scholars. Hmmm, a valuing of diversity. I saw this same article just after seeing a documentary on black men at UCLA and that the majority of black men there are athletes that will only graduate in dismal numbers. Yet, most believe nothing is needed to help level the playing field of schools with predominantly black and/or low income students from schools offering fewer AP classes and coming from communities where parents can not afford private tutors to help with the rigor of the coursework of their counterparts.

Part 2 - My personal journey of transitioning from “strait is great,” relaxed hairstyles to something that can’t decide if it wants to be an afro, twists and any combination of the many textures my God planted on my head, leads me to the second part of my diversity trifecta. The fact that I have to wonder how I will be received and perceived at my place of employment that includes over 50 staff members, none of which are black, and 1300 students of mostly not black heritage, makes me wonder why white folks don't have to go through this; but, it’s ok for me. On inaugural natural hair day, I did what I always do and blaze my trail nervously with a fake-ish smile planted on my face to a variety of positive comments, and puzzled, but not disapproving stares, and into a classroom only to hear, from a child of the white male persuasion, “What happened to your hair?” As I choked down the rising bile and fought the tear that I dared to make an appearance, I steered the child to my white, female partner and asked her to deal with it. While she nailed him for never commenting on a woman’s “fill in the blank,” I don’t think she could really understand the depths of this comment. It’s not just about being a woman, I’m not just a woman; but I’m a black woman, black not being more important than woman, and vice versa. My choices in the situation are to a) Ignore which many would say do and tell me I’m overreacting and that it’s just a kid, or b) give this little guy and his classmates a Black Studies 101 mini-lesson on white male privilege in America and that this was an example of how he is raised in a society that tells him that not only is it ok to make value judgements on those who are different from him, but to verbalize them, or c) address the issue of the power of words and how you don’t know “where” the person is coming from and how what you say may affect them. Also, that I should be able to come to work, and as long as I look neat and professional, have the right to work in a place where I should be free of ridicule. Also, that he should consider how each of my days is spent being the only one like me in a group of over 1300 people: the only one in class, the only one in school. Walk a mile in my moccasins and tell me it’s not something you keep subconsciously, at best, and have to think twice about when going into a new environment...and this is in “liberal” SoCal. You can decide what I did.

Episode III - After stewing, brewing and re-evaluating these occurrences, I saw a Facebook post about the need to get rid of political correctness and the trifecta was complete. The beautifully decorated post was about how America has stopped having dialogue because everyone is afraid they will offend someone else. Really? When I live in a country where I am underrepresented in environments generally deemed desirable, when I have to read about yet another case of adults in black face, Klan rallies, Treyvon Martin's, reverse discrimination and walk through a sea of stares because my hair is bigger than yours, I am shouting to the mountaintops that THE NEED FOR DIVERSITY IS REAL!

I have often been the only one; always having to explain my hair, my family’s Christmas Eve Gumbo, that yes, black people get sunburned, love to hike and the go to the beach. Explain that not all black people got into UCSB in 1989 because they were, “Lucky because I was black, female and smart,” (yes someone said that was why I got in), but the truth is, I got into UCSB in spite of being black and female and yes, I'm hella smart!

The answer, I don’t have one. Will I stop explaining how my hair is straight one day and curly the next, no. Will I quit addressing and educating about issues regarding race, no. Will I stop being the representative black voice for many well meaning whites who expect me to have all the answers, no.

And finally, am I an angry black woman, or “mad” black woman as Tyler Perry has coined it, no. I’m just one heart, one voice, one soul and one spirit fighting for my kids and grandkids not to experience being “the only one,” at least during sometime in their lifetimes. Until then, I sport my diversity as loud and proud as I can...At least in my little corner of this floating marble.

Weight Loss...Broken Down and Building Up

People I haven’t seen in a bit continue to surprise me by commenting on my loss and keeping off of 25 or so pounds. It happened so gradually and organically for me that I am still thrown by the words, “skinny,” and “you lost a ton of weight,” being attributed to me as according to society, I’m still teetering on obese. I think the weight loss is not only fat, but a burden and worry loss as well.

My number one response to the, “How’d you do it?” question has been, “I stopped eating my stress.” The puzzled mixed with a bit of “aha” look I receive in response has told me I need to examine my ability to express the hodgepodge of puzzle pieces that have come together to drop this little bit of physical and metaphysical weight.

My Food Truths:

1. Eat only if you’re hungry - Not because it’s time, not because you’re stressed, not because it’s there. If you eat good stuff, your body will tell you when it’s time to eat and when it’s full.
   
   
2. Increase water intake (Keep a water bottle nearby - reusable, not those throw away and overwhelm the landfill kinds) Sometimes you’re not hungry, just dehydrated. Water will keep all gears running smoothly and fill you up.
   
   
3. Increase fruit/veggie intake - Our bodies know how to deal with this type of food. Our bodies do a happy dance when these types of foods enter.
   
   
4. Limit processed foods - Our bodies spend way too much time trying to figure out how to break down and eliminate the chemicals in our “modern” foods. Our bodies have changed very little since our hunter-gatherer days and is baffled by the crap we put in and that it has to find a way to get it out. A lot of it doesn’t leave.
   
   
5. Up the lean/unprocessed proteins - I am not a big meat eater, but have increased skinless chicken, nuts, Greek yogurt and cheese. It fills you up and lasts.
   
   
6. Do some food math - Don’t focus on counting calories, but eating food in good combinations. ex. fruit+protein=good. bread+fat=bad.
   
   
7. Don’t waste calories on nasty food - If it doesn't throw a party in your mouth, don’t eat it. Just because your kid left it on their plate, does not mean you have to eat it to keep it from going to waste. Don’t put as much on their plate next time. See rule #1!
   
   
8. If you really want it, have it - Deprivation is lame. Life is too short. Eat that damn cookie if you want it, just make sure it’s good. Ask yourself if the calories were worth it. If they were, have that treat again, another day so it stays special. If it didn't taste like heaven, pass next time and wait for something good. If you've been eating “good” food, a little will be enough.
   
   
9. Shrink your portions - Do not eat on that giant, but oh so gorgeous platter. I use a pasta bowl often or only allow my food to fill the inner circle at the bottom of my plate. If I’m still hungry, I get more. Most of the time, it’s enough.
   
   
10. Food is not your enemy, nor your friend - Detach from your emotional relationship with food. You need to fuel the car that is your body with food. Food can not determine any long term happiness or angst. That’s a job for an animate object, not a bunch of calories.

When I, “Stopped eating my stress,” I was able to come to terms with my food truths above. We all know the main food rule - calories in vs. calories spent, but for so many of us, the foggy glasses of emotion and stress interfere with the clear food picture. For me, it was stress. What’s eating you? Be Katy Perry and “Roar” that you've, “got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire,” and that damned bowl of ice cream is going to hear you roar to tell it to go to you know where, because you are better, stronger, brighter and a fighter. (I know that was a bit much, but it cracked me up so it stays!) Bon Apetit!

How Do I Do What I Do...This Wonder Woman’s Prayer

My titles: Wife, mother, daughter, teacher, volunteer...none of which I profess to be perfect at. I've lost track of the number of times people have said, “I don’t know how you do it!” It’s almost to the point that I have to fight an automatic eye-roll every time I hear it. Part of me wants to say, “As if I have a choice not to keep going,” or “Everyone’s life is not as charmed as yours.” While there’s some truth in both statements, my kindergarten self says, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” So, my automatic reply to those statements is to smile and say nothing.

None of those responses are the real truth; at least not the truth that matters. The real truth is that this wonder woman has a very special prayer I say every morning. It goes a little something like this:

Dear Lord,Good morning. Thank you for waking me up to see another day and for helping me survive yesterday. I know you expect much of those who you have given much too, so I ask that you use me for whatever it is you need me to do. Show me who needs a hand, a kind word, a hug. Use my mouth to speak words of encouragement, support or humor to help someone in need so they may continue on their journey. Give me energy to keep going and doing. Forgive me for being selfish and worrying about my “what’s next” and “what if’s.” Help me enrich the lives of all those you've entrusted into my care and show me how to help.Use me for your work.Amen.

So, am I some superhuman with a secret potion for energy? Do I never sleep or need or want? Do I “know” something others don't? No. But, I know I am not here for me, but for something greater and if I devote my energy to fulfilling that destiny, countless possibilities come to fruition. What if we all surrendered to giving? My daily prayer is this wonder woman’s answer. I challenge you to find yours.

Grateful for the not so Great Moments: A Reflection in a Season of Gratitude

Many people spend the month of November practicing an attitude of gratitude. We use the month recognized for family, thankful pilgrims and forgotten Native Americans to look at our own lives and the things we are most thankful for. For some, it’s family, friends or a fulfilling career and for others, a time to be thankful for a roof over their heads, a healthy body and a full belly on a regular basis.

This month, I, as well, have decided an attitude of gratitude is due, but in a very different way. I am grateful for the experiences of my past, even those I wasn't so appreciative of in the moment.

I was inspired in the midst of this week’s Halloween festivities at my school. As I encouraged the next contestant in my ASB’s Halloween catwalk to go down the “red carpet” with as much attitude as was abundant in his bad greaser wig, I flashed back to the fundraiser fashion show I chaired in college and the moment when I told the model to walk with a rebellious strut as Public Enemy’s, “Fight the Power” played. In that same moment, I went further back in time to my own inaugural turn on the catwalk as a 14 year old who had dreams of being the next Beverly Johnson, but was told I was never going to be tall enough and to give up. Not becoming a model made me believe I was a failure, not making gobs of money for charity after the hours of planning that went into the charity fashion show, made me think I was a failure; but as that kiddo strutted his stuff down the center of our school with a smile and as I watched the high-five he received from a friend afterward, I realized all was not for naught. My “failures” were there to teach me how to enrich the lives of others that day and in many days to come.

A few days later, my poor girl-child sends me a texted photo of hair gone bad. I immediately began problem solving, and in the midst of my conference, texted words of comfort, sent a potential solution and contacted a professional for advice. A few hours later, a squeal of delight and bear hug helped me remember my relaxers turned scab fests, bad haircuts and date night hair woes, were devastating at the time, but were actually not truly about me. They were situations that trained me to help others in the future. This time, my own child.

So, for that, I am grateful for the moments that taught me to be creative, think on my feet, and move forward even when I thought my world was over. I am grateful for the heartache of mourning, the loss of friendships, bad hair, fatigue and all the other situations that taught me I “could,” even though I shouldn't have been able to make it through. Because now, I can enrich the lives of others. I can smile the grin I couldn't in the midst of past situations and can help to rescue others.

I do not say that I am Wonder Woman, only that I want to be like my hero and save the world and look fabulous while doing it. And for that, I am grateful, this month and always. For better or worse, I am grateful that I can give.

Trying Desperately for the “Right” Perspective

I have heard many times, that perspective is everything. Focus on the positive, be grateful for what you do have, count your blessings, the grass isn’t always greener, see the glass as half full, blah, blah, blah. Easy to say when you don’t have to worry about how your bills are going to be paid, when you’ll get a break or when the day finally arrives when someone shows gratitude for you being on the planet. Easy for you to say when you don’t have piles of dishes and laundry, a lonely heart or angst over the next weeks professional and personal challenges. Easy for you to say when you lead the “charmed” life of TV shows and magazines. Yet, when you switch the lens, turn the compass, and zoom into a different latitude and longitude, you find someone else longing to be in your shoes and wishing your problems replaced theirs. Someone who longs to have a machine to wash the clothes they don’t own or even have a home to house the washer. While you look in envy at the cavernous, beautifully tiled and arched entryway of someone else, eyes are greenly looking to your unfinished floor and five bedrooms and would gladly trade the room in the home they share for your space, your family, your aging dogs.

So, what is the resolution to our tendency to compare and always put ourselves in the loser’s bracket? How do we quench thirst that only seems content with bashing someone else so you can have what they do? How do we train ourselves to quell the wandering eye and practice gratitude at home? How do we stop worrying about things that haven’t happened yet and how the resolution will be easier for someone with more money, prettier, thinner, who chose a better career or who married better? How do we focus on us, right now, being happy with our own cards, playing the game we were put in, knowing that there is truly enough happiness to go around?

The answer lies in “perspective.” It’s not a matter of refocusing the lens until you see someone in worse shape than you, but rather refocusing so you zoom in on your world and what’s right within it. Like the welcome you receive from your dogs when you return from a long day; like the new recipe you’ve attempted leaving you only a bite because your family devoured it and lay about with full, content bellies; like the crisp fall breeze on your skin serving in juxtaposition to the sun’s rays warming that same skin; like a refreshing drink of water after hiking a familiar, yet always beautiful trail. Perspective is seeing what’s good in your life at that moment for however long it lasts, until replaced by the next moment and more things to be grateful about. It’s the opposite of what we’re trained to do and because of that, the opposite of what is second nature.

My perspective and I are a work in progress on our way to a place where I can faithfully serve as Queen of my own castle once and for all to live happily ever after.

Lessons from 6th Grade Camp

Contentedly exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, trying to down a waterfall, hearing the silence of the night, I realize I’m in a different kind of heaven. One filled with woodpeckers, ants the size of beetles and changing autumn leaves. Crisp, dry air, squirrels, rabbits and wild turkeys.

A quiet evening after a day filled with the voices of excited children discovering and trying new parts of a world they never knew existed. Sliding down 15 foot dirt hills and laughing about the amount of it to travel home with us and holding a mountain lion pelt realizing your face and their paw are the same size.

A different kind of heaven where I see kids fighting back nerves and trying that new food, taking five more steps and leaping into the icy creek. And tonight, hiking by flashlight away from “civilization” to find a secret trail and recline on “Whale Rock” to see Venus, shooting stars and constellations.

A heaven I take for granted until my yearly pilgrimage to camp and my return to youth. Feeling the breath of the Kumeyaay, the welcoming of the blue jays and the chorus of crickets reminds me heaven is all around us. Taking chances, stepping away from comfort and getting dirty are what keep us young and let us truly see what life is about.

So get away, breathe deeply, be a kid, love the earth, and live. Thank you, Camp Cuyamaca, from my heart.

The Voice of Depression

It’s is killing me…

Literally.

Heart aching, wondering what I did that

I can’t 

Have the view of paradise,

The feeling of bills paid

With money left to enjoy

And breathe

And feel that all the hard work and sacrifice were worth it.

Abundant invitations, phone ringing, email full.

A plethora of friends helping through the far and few between rough patches

I thought there was enough good and happy

To go around.

Where’s mine?

What did I do wrong?

Will my children be cursed as well?

Why did I bring more into this world of hardship and hell.

Rule following gone wrong, again.

Why do I give until I bleed?

It’s like a drug giving an endorphin rush

A temporary high to replace the void

and hurt

and shame

and worry about what I’ve done to deserve to

struggle

wait

wonder if I can have a little of what

it seems like everyone has, but me.

What did I do wrong?

Where did I go wrong?

When is it going to end?

Because change is not

Making it’s face apparent.

If I could quit, I would.

Have faith, why?

That’s what got me here.

So give until I bleed, fine.

Maybe I’ll bleed out sooner and finally be done

Waiting for my turn,

Hoping things will change

Putting my best foot forward

Hanging on until tomorrow

Or even just until the next moment.

So back into the black hole

of emotional torture.

No one understands

No one can help

No one cares where it counts.

The mask goes back on.

“Each One Reach One, Each One Teach One" - A call to all teachers regarding "The Common Core"

Each One Teach One is an African-American Proverb that has taken a life of it’s own over the last few decades. The version I identify most with is, “Each one teach one, each one reach one.” As a teacher of kiddos with diverse backgrounds, life and learning styles working with a group of teachers with goals, ideologies and teaching styles just as diverse, I embrace this ideology head first as we march towards “The New” Common Core Standards.

While some on the far right side of the aisle have donned the Common Core to be the Death of American Education because open ended questions with a variety of right answers (read lifestyles, hairstyles and color-coding) and the end to one true and “right” way is truly the end, many of Common Core’s biggest cheerleaders say it will bring radical change to our educational system (as they believed for each of the previous changes). In truth, there are people like me, somewhere in the middle, who feel Common Core will bridge the gap between what we believe to be “good teaching” with what students are actually assessed on and expected to do in college and beyond. While some teachers wallow in a state of shock, others are open to potential change, while others, including myself, march forward with our own research, trials, observations and experiences with all that has been deemed, “Common Core.”

And here is where the proverb comes into play. As with anything in life, isn’t a challenge better faced together, rather than in our independent cubicles? Isn’t it better for those of us who are starting to “get it” work with those ranging from those who are open to those who are terrified? Shouldn't each one of us, teach one of us? Support one of us? Lead one of us? Human nature separates us into those who lead and follow with the best scenarios including a fluidity of those roles. As I spent 2+ hours of my Sunday morning reaching and teaching one new to the profession who is at a school filled with fear and infighting, I came to see the importance of each one of us reaching and touching each of us. Everyone must play a role in the adoption, execution and successful implementation of the Common Core. Let’s reach and teach...teachers! No fear, but faith in one another, in the process and in our students ability to rise, lead and learn. My hand is out...

Some of us are truly "Royal"

You know when you get a song in your head and a particular line replays like an old-school 78 skipping on the record player? Lorde’s sultry voice crooning, “And we’ll never be royals. It don’t run in our blood. That kind of luxe just ain’t for us.We crave a different kind of buzz,” has run a million times in my thoughts. It got me wondering why that line in particular was replaying. The concept of “Royals” has been a fantasy I’ve always welcomed. I knew my secret sense of inner superiority and intellect was because I had royal blood in my veins whether African, Egyptian, European or some insane, but not impossible combination of all three.

Standing in the middle of Walmart during my weekly grocery pilgrimage, belting “Royals” in my head, I realized the irony of the situation even though no one knew of this secret discovery but me.

Who and what I thought I would be was not to become what blends into the Walmart culture, but, I have found that I recognize workers I have been there so much. Each time I visit, I see hardworking employees on the hop, greeting me with a shared weary smile from one soul who’s trying to make it to another they recognize the same traits in. Though I don’t have tattoos on my neck or have to ride an automated wheelchair with the built-in basket, I have my own issues with peeling eczema, have lived paycheck to paycheck, dealt with unemployment, sick and dying family members, kids on my nerves and figuring out how I am going to “get by” one more week. I have been so exhausted I can barely put one foot in front of the other and have stood analyzing prices to ensure I won’t go over budget as the last few items move across the belt and are rung up at the register.

Oh, I’m no royal. Outwardly. But, like my fellow shoppers, I have a family I love, a job I need and am lucky enough to love, have aches and pains, uncertainty in my future and practice the art of creative cookery in the kitchen to stretch my budget.

And for that, we are royal. The “buzz” we “crave” is that feeling of knowing you made it when so many haven’t. That you made it when you shouldn’t have. So, even though, “Everybody's like: Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece, Jet planes, islands, tiger's on a gold leash. We don't care. We're aren't caught up in your love affair,” I do have a love affair. It is is one of feeding my family and living to tell about another day.

And for that, we are royal. I rock my invisible crown on the daily. I see those of you out there in yours as well, my fellow royals.

Lyrics courtesy of: LetsSingIt - Your favorite Music Community  http://artists.letssingit.com/lorde-lyrics-royals-w4wq4mg#ixzz2gzCFmjG4

Fall is like Being 40

I used to believe Spring and it’s promise of new beginnings, newly blooming scents and colors and a gentle warmth was my favorite time of year. Summer, with the extended daylight, endless beach days and nightly smell of charcoal reminding some deeply buried part of my DNA that a full belly awaits has also worn the crown of favorite seasons.

But now, Fall has taken position as favorite time of year. Crisp air with the promise of boot-wearing weather, silky soft long sleeves and hiking among the deciduous as they “decide” to allow leaves to change color and eventually fall has become what feels best to my soul.

Fall means cooler, calmer, back to routine days of school and football Sundays. Fall is coming home to smelling whatever’s been simmering in the crockpot all day. It’s welcoming the use of fireplaces over fire pits and eventually, giving thanks for an overflowing bounty of nourishment of the spirit as well as family and those we have placed in our lives as family.

Fall is like being 40. 40 is reacting to life's challenges with a cooler, calmer demeanor, knowing that the back to routine days will eventually become routine once again. 40 is having mastered or no longer being afraid to try that new recipe, hairstyle, friendship, or otherwise untested experience because you know yourself well enough to let your deciduous nature take over. 40 is knowing that truly living and giving thanks for the bounty in your life must occur because you’ve lived long enough to know those people, places and things won’t be there forever; their leaves will turn and fall off the tree at some point, too.

Fall, Autumn, Harvest Time, I welcome and embrace you in the way I have learned to welcome and embrace being of the forty-something kind. I welcome your comfort, abundance, wisdom, and change as I open my arms to those very same things in my life. God, Mother Nature, Gaia; I thank you.  

Mommy Wars 2.0

Those of us that have been blessed with children that we birthed, adopted, inherited or found on the corner, will be able to relate.

Remember when the kids were little? Maybe you still have little energizer bunny, diaper needing, scraped knee, band-aid requesting types. None-the-less, the elephant in the proverbial room or playground as it often was for me, revolved around that crazy, mostly unspoken competition among mothers. I’m not talking about the work-outside-of-the home vs. stay-at-home mom superweight fight,  I’m talking about the, “My kid can do xxx” so, “What’s wrong with you because your kid can’t,” type of bout. The kind that allowed the more insecure moms a place to gloat or hide over their child’s ability (or lack thereof) to successfully use the potty, tie shoes, or read Brown Bear, Brown Bear on their own even though everyone knew that little angel couldn't read it, but had been forced to hear it so many times they simply memorized it.

Now that I am the mother of two teens, one approaching college entrance age at rapid speed, I realize there is a Mommy Wars 2.0. This time it’s not about scoring a goal on the pee-wee field or knowing their times tables, it’s about GPA’s, Travel Teams, SAT Scores and AP classes. It’s about seeing someone you haven’t seen in almost a year telling you, quite loudly for maximum hearing within the unsolicited crowd, that their child is in line for Valedictorian, has 25 AP courses with a gazillion point 0 grade point average before even asking how you’ve been. Their point is not to share that their child is a happy, hard working, goal setting, good friend; but that their child, is indeed, smarter, more athletic, better at instruments, more industrious...read BETTER than yours.

Just like when the kids were little, I make a conscious effort not to smack the bragger, though I may do all sorts of wicked things to them in my mind behind the wicked smile plastered on my face. Let this be an official announcement: I refuse to play your game and am the first to admit my children are not “perfect!”

But...I will say, my children have a mother that prays I can help them be what they were put on this planet to do, not what I have groomed, paid for, dragged them to, set them up for a stroke at 20 or tiger mom’d them into.

As mom’s, no matter the method, we all want the best for our children and do what we think is right. What we MUST not do, is judge others who do it differently. My children have strengths recognized in the academic world, but also in the real world they will have to survive in without me one day. So...go brag somewhere else, because one day, I just might tell you the truth about yourself and that your children, no matter how perfect, will sever the cord one day and make it on their own. Have you equipped them for that?