Felíz Cumpleaños, Dad!

My dearest father, from whom I have been given the heart that beats its music for you,

I was out having my morning coffee/smoke and was thinking about you this morning, and I realized with some regret that I have not used what some people call my gift of writing to compose words for you that are so important and long past due in needing to be said.

In the past, I have used my writing ability to vent, air frustrations, blast, surprise, hurt, and wound people, including you. But for all of my life and all of the little cards and things I've made for father's days or birthdays, I realized I have never tried to compose something that would be of value to me in passing on to you.

Now that I have grown older and I can no longer see the value of using my ability to air gripes, as well as cringing fiercely at my past for having done so, I'd rather tell you what you mean to me, what your presence in my life has done for me, how your passion and culture and influence on me has built my very identity, and how very much I appreciate it. It is the very essence of me--you.

No doubt you have wondered, in the days thus far in your own life, how someone you took in your arms and raised as your only daughter could surprise you in such monumental ways. Both in negative ways and positive ways. I feel like I have been responsible for a great deal more of the negative than the positive, but this time and for future times, I hope this to be a positive thing, because I am tired of being negative. As to the ways that have been negative, all I can say for myself is that I feel much sorrow over being a dumbass.

Fortunately for me, you were right about the stages I would come to in my life: the teens being that awkward and angsty life stage where there is a general contempt for all things ungratifying; the twenties being when you start to realize your parents aren't completely unreasonable but your are still fighting all of your ideals; and now in my newbie 30s being a shift in the tide of change where I can already sense that what I learned in my 20s, I can either throw away or apply it to my life.

I have been looking forward to my 30s and 40s because I heard that's where a person really, truly lives what they've learned. And for me, ever since Kyle was sick, when I was in my twenties, I felt like I had lived twice but suffered the frustration of not being taken seriously and being disrespected no matter what I did or how hard I tried to carry myself with grace and dignity.

But you have always treated me with respect and dignity. And you have taught me things I will never forget and which I pass onto my children. Even though I am unworthy of such love, it is because of your love that I am able to understand just a sliver of the kind of love God must have for each one of us. I am able to love my children in the same way. You have taught me how deeply children are to be loved because it emminated from you and underlined everything; so now it is the foundation that underlines my girls' lives.

I know that the boys have taken more opportunities than I have to tell you I love you and solidify the bond between each of you, and I know we have taken moments to do the same, but I don't think that, for the entirety of my adult life, I have taken the time to tell you just like this, in this way, in these words, in MY way what you are to me and what you mean to me.

You are my father, my reason for being alive. Without you, I would not be here. Without your presence in my life, I would not be who I am. I would not be made up of every good thing you have taught me and that I have learned.

It's true that any prick can have a baby, but it takes a real man to be a daddy. You are that daddy. So many people I know whose fathers were absent in their lives. They have to struggle with love, acceptance, even relationship compatibility. They have to struggle with self identity, self worth. If I ever struggled with those things, it was because of decisions I made or from living so damned far away, which created its own insecure monster at the time; not because of you. People with more family around have been more insecure than me because I realized being a Cazares means being a survivor. I was always able to draw strength from my deepest laid roots and remember that as crappy as it was to not have family around, I was able to quit feeling sorry for myself, lift my chin from the mess, and see that you were always there.

I also know that, maybe, as you read this, things I have said in the past will come back to contradict themselves and that, as recently as last year, have slapped you with my words and been wrong. There have been so many times I have wanted to say I'm sorry for, but the times when I have disrespected you are what bring me the most shame. There are specific moments in my life and in yours that I've wanted to speak for. For having been a brat, a red-headed step-child-like temperament, an insecure waffle trying to cover up my insecurities. For blaming my insecurities on you. For forgetting where I came from. For not talking to you more often over the years. For allowing myself to be influenced by everyone and everything all the time when that is NOT what you taught me to do.

I am a survivor.

Because of you.

You are a pillar of strength and resolve; it has taught me how to be strong and have resolve.

When I think of you, I am a stronger person. I forget my weaknesses and insecurities and remember where I came from.

When I think of you, I remember where I came from.

Our family and our blood line has been blessed with these strengths and I cannot forget them; but for you and me, on the eve of the anniversary of the day you were born, I celebrate another survivor being born and recall with profound richness all that you have taught me to be.

I will never forget this.

You are my role model, my hero, my teacher, and the very reason for my existence. You wisdom, your knowledge, your humility is awe-inspiring and I am humbled and excited that I am the one who gets to call you "Dad." I miss you. I wish we were closer. I think we have a reservoir of love between us that remains not fully tapped because of the distance, but I have confidence that it will not dry up. I love, you, Daddy, and I wish you a very happy birthday.

All my love,
Amy Maria

Resolutions. Yes, I actually have them. For the first time!!

I actually, really, for reals, have resolutions that I fully intend to stick by. Who woulda thunk it!?

What I am most excited about is that I feel they are realistic and that I can follow through with them; which has always been my excuse for never setting a single other one in my whole life. Like, ever.

Seriously. I don't even stay on track with Lent. That's considerably more important than the so-called social bandwagon of New Year's Resolutions.

It's a new year. What can I say. A new year in the new life that is my life now. I'm not exactly the same person I was before. At least I hope I'm not. I hope I took the good stuff, banished the crap from my soul, and took on more good stuff, shoving it deep in my cellular makeup.

Anyway.

I really thought about what was close to my heart. What did I really need/want to improve on? What was imperative that I get right this year, that I've not worked on so much in previous years? (Besides not making resolutions at the top of the year?)

One answer. My girls. More specifically, my family.

1. Play more video games with Celia

2. Be ready to have my hair and makeup played with lots more by Aurora, as well as be her guinea pig for manicures and nails

3. Spend less time on the computer in the evenings

4. Spend more time in private with God; some people call this meditating. Whatever. For me, it's the awesome dude who created us all.

I cannot stress how, at the age of 32, this has become more than just a duty. One has to understand that my entire adult life has known no other way but being a mom. It started out as a personal sacrifice laced with rightful duty--an emotional conviction deep within my core--and blossomed into a choice.

What? A choice? How can that be, right? Obviously it's not like I could (or would ever!) give them up and then, like, re-adopt them or something. It was the difference in the attitude I had toward parenting: surviving parenthood at eighteen versus engaging parenthood full-on.

And then, call it age, necessity, maturity, whatever you want, I really started to feel these waves of needing my family near me that stirred deep within me about a few years ago, when the pain of leaving my mom standing at the train station in Seattle left me surprisingly, gut-wrenchingly wracked.

Who knew I'd ever grow up out of my surprisingly cocky, surprisingly naive, suprisingly angsty 20s to really re-grow an attachment to my parents, my brothers, even now my cousins and aunties! It was like re-attaching an arm that I had ripped off myself.

Needless to say, for all that I whined about in the last 15 years, and even more specifically on this blog, I needed my family the most.

And I LOVE being in my 30s now. I kind of remembered that I was waiting to be here a long time. Yeah, sure, I've complained about feeling my life is half over and wondering what I've done with my life. But frick! I'm changing my mind. Yup. Just like that. Because I have realized the importance of focusing on the positive. I have realized this by being consumed with the negative for far too long. And I don't even know how. I'm going to say: it just happened.

(Gaaa!! I'm really digging this Collective Soul album tonight! Staring Down from their second self-titled album.)

I'm not only just tired of working so hard at trying to get the people who just don't get it to GET it, but I am tired of the effort of it all keeping its grip on me. Tired of people who don't have the time of day for me and even more tired of giving the time of day to people who don't have it for me. Truly fed up with people who don't like me. And I have crap to teach my girls, crap that I learned from all of this.

Like following your heart, for one.

And for two, following your gut.

With having basically ditched town and torched a lot of friendships, I'm pretty much at the top of the heap of detestable things, really, and so my biggest fear of being hated came true and my second biggest fear followed suit: having to take responsibility for my share of things going wrong long before that.

It can't get much more in my face than that! I'm up! I'm up! I smell the coffee, dammit!

I have turned into one of THEM moms!!

My kids got phones this Christmas.

I have been in serious, inner moral dilemma about this. I am probably about the last parent on earth to advocate kids having cell phones. I don't like the idea of them having them. I detest the idea of them in schools. I've seen the crap and output of what our voyeurism age can produce. I didn't have a cell phone until I was in my mid-twenties. (And guess, what? I survived!) I don't do bandwagons. I reject the reasoning all other parents have used. And worst of all, my own little cheapie one doesn't work.

Of all the things their father and I are able to agree on, we are in utter solidarity over this one.

But since the unfolding of the past 3 and a half months has produced mass confusion, missed volleyball or basketball games, miscommunication about schedules, and just an overall amplified level of stress, it dawned at me that maybe, just maybe, it's way more about the comfort level of the parents than I had, *sigh, originally thought.


I mean, what the? Societal norms have only dictated the "tiniest" (!) part of my life. You know, the part that's convenient when it's convenient? I make the tough parental decisions along with the co-counsel, their father, and we stick to our guns. And even though he and I are divorced, we lay down the law. We don't budge. My very significant other is as equally supportive and backs me up in our home. And I said, kids don't need cell phones.


But. Relent we did. And it wasn't an overnight change of mind. It had been coming over time and I had been discussing the issue with my ex. It just boiled down to them growing up, their social circles expanding, me seeing less of them, and them being so much smarter and more emotionally intelligent than everyone else. I mean, they ARE the single most intuitive and perceptive preteens I've ever known. I was at a perpetual stop-loss for why not. That and I had to do something to remedy the sinking of a feeling I got every time they were out of school and knowing they were going ahead with plans that were their own, quite probably not fully cleared with me ahead of time.


And I don't really think it will be so bad. There are going to be rules set into play. There are going to be consequences set for breaking the rules. But even with all of this understanding to come into play, I still can't believe my kids have cell phones. Just re-reading this makes me cringe.

Prince William And Kate Middleton

At the start of July, after picking up the girls at June’s end, visiting Vieux Montreal the same day and seeing the jazz festival being set up, characters on stilts, paintings on sidewalks, water fountains, charming town squares, sex shops (oh yes, quite the education for my girls who merely only saw the words over a business door and blushed—no, we did not go in! What kind of mother do you think I am?), novelty boutiques, and Chinatown, we left Marc in Saguenay for work and went to Levis to see the prince and his bride for their first of appearances in their Canada tour.

We waited a total of about 9 hours to see them, at least 5 of those unnecessary as we came WAY early in the morning to make sure we got a good spot and noticed that we could have come a lot later. Still, it was good to be safe, and finally after about eight or nine hours, they came into the barred-off circle of people, a crowd of probably four- to five-thousand people, and shook hands with as many people as their security team would let them, Prince William taking the far side, Kate Middleton coming around our side, who the girls wanted to see more.

I let two other little girls with flowers, whose mother I had been talking to for the afternoon, go in front of me to share the front-row space with my girls and all four of their faces were all over the newspapers the following day, and the television news. Marc had seen us all on the live coverage at work and had been super excited and jumping up and down.

Waiting outside the fort doors at Levis, QC. It was quiet for quite a while.

The girls were beside themselves when Kate finally made it around to them, and from what I could see, Ms. Middleton was very gracious. I really have to say it was nice to see someone exhibit a down-to-earthness that seems so easily lost on celebrities, at least from all the testimonies I’ve ever read about famous people who lose it or who are such jerks in person, and especially because up until that day, I really couldn’t see the relevance of the British royal family. However, I could definitely sense that she was just being a person who “happened” upon celebrity status, rather than being an altered ego of herself, like stars or celebrities or are driven by the sensationalism of their own career. And I am happy to admit that I can see that what Kate Middleton brings back to the royal family is something very akin to hope for future generations. With a rather classy, classic style, she is a new, refreshing kind of role model for young girls; and she seems to be as in awe of her status and reception as her fans are. What’s more is that it’s exciting, especially as a mother, to have such a wholesome thing to look up to. Yes, I can say I’m happy to be a convert, if only because it made me realize how cynical my attitudes have become.

August 19, 2010

I'm surprised it hurts so much. To be without my girls. I mean, I'm not surprised because a mother's true love is not without some foresight, wisdom, realization. I just mean that with the way I came into motherhood as a naive, young flit "coping" with it and then how I've changed my method and moral to choosing to be a mother, the pain of this just stings so much more than all of the sting I had anticipated.

I'm not as surprised to be missing their voices, their laughter, their hugs, the smell of their hair, the sandwich cuddles---I knew that I would. It's just that the reality becoming real stings more than I could have ever prepared for.

So how do I dare cry about this when the choice to leave the way I did was mine? Sure I took them with me for the first part--so they would never have the pain of seeing their mother leave, but what did that prove? It seems like it would almost be nothing at the current juncture.

But I tell you what. I'm holding onto something higher than myself to get us through this two-year period.

Wait for it!...

Well, now that I've got your attention, I'll tell you that this isn't going to be that interesting.

I was just thinking on my break at work the other day that this age in history has become so speed-obsessed and riddled with this demand-and-supply of need for instant gratification that it has actually precipitated this phrase, "wait for it!" as coined by Generation Me. Our current world has become so far removed from simpler times that education has become more about how to access information rather than retaining it, which is only logical being that there is SO much (too much) information out there, and we are having to adapt to those enormous chunks of information by concerning ourselves less with memorization than acquisition.

I've realized this through having two children in school, having a teacher for a husband, working with a wide range of ages, and being naturally analytical about the rising level of chaos in the world in general. I mean, children are awarded for being disrespectful, sneaky, and a whole host of other stupid reasons just because we are looking for something to feel good about. I guess. Or because these children are different or darker or wittier than we remembered being or seeing in school. Or whatever. But it's creating these swells of humans with egos the size of the Atlantic Ocean that have no business being that full of themselves and it shows, even on television and in movies. With great power (this increased working knowledge of things in the world/the elevated average state of mind) comes great responsibility (being able to handle knowledge with care and great fortitude) and there is a visible, trend-shifting, overall lack of being able to handle any of that knowledge. We, as a generation, have rarely accepted what we have been given with any fortitude, grace, appreciation, or humility.

I just can't handle it! Well, I can, but even considering that I'm from this same me-first generation, it drives me crazy on a number of levels. 1) I loathe change more than I realized (or the older I get--"things aren't the same as when I was in school" as put in my best crotchety old woman voice) and 2) the care and consideration that it takes to know something is falling by the wayside. But that's life. And for as prolific as the number of brats being produced (and reproduced), there are nearly as many heroes, inspiring people, and humanitarians of every kind in the world.

It's just that this phrase struck an amused chord with me. It just seemed so fitting that in a world where instant gratification and self-gratification are practically synonymous, that the lingo among young people would evolve and produce a phrase that actually, though rhetorically, instructed the impatient listener to just... wait for the climactic point in the story. Imagine being so impatient and so hurried that you had to be instructed to wait for an orgasm halfway through a romp...

#1: "Oh, baby!"

#2: "Myeah. Oh, baby!"

#1: "Oh OHH. Oooooh. Oh, oh, o--"

#2: "Nooo! Not yet"
"Waaaait for it..."

#1: "Too bad. I'm done."

And for the record, I know it's just a phrase. It just got me thinking. And I haven't blogged for a while.

Christmas rush

There is so much to do!! And with the blur of what is only best known as the Christmas concert/party season coming (and oh yes, it hath come upon us AGAIN) and one vehicle to shuttle four people, it is getting even crazier. What I don't understand is how the intention of keeping things simple this year ("...let's just pick what one thing WE want to do each...") has morphed into 'oh-for-the-love-of-god-I-don't-want-to-keep-this" overlap of not just activity/sport/group potpourri, but annual obligation.

Not that I'M complaining. The montage of holiday hodgepodge is a flurry of peopleness. Socializing. Laughing. Cross-grouping. Hanging out with people that you haven't seen in a while that just feels right and good. Helping out, volunteering, playing music--and lots of it! It's just who gets dragged through the dregs of that aspect, regardless of how much I thrive on (and yes, too, get worn out by) it.

The concert season alone keeps us hopping. Kyle alone has one junior high band concert, but also all the prep for that, including rehearsals and set up. It is of some significant blessing that he doesn't have the grade six classes this year to prepare for the elementary school concerts, otherwise, that would have put two more concerts on his plate. In the past, there were three additional concerts to the one junior high, before one of the three elementary/junior high schools shut its doors due to being condemned.

I, however, have those two concerts by ways and means of accompanying on piano, which puts us right back on the radar for them. Which means more driving, if not shuttling, around in the cold, northern winter temps and maneuvering on ice in dress shoes. The girls are older now, so it's not as problematic because they can sit and behave and/or are a part of the show.

Seattle cont...

So there we are, in the middle of and in the suburbs of Seattle, surrounded by the scenes of family, forest-come-ocean, urban life, the coziness and warmth of home and the excited buzz of the city; and it comes to me: I feel more relaxed and "at home" in those few days, in that house (well, mom's apartment), with these people, realizing that I belong in this family--my family, this is my family--than I have in all the years of living here.

This amazes me because up until this very last trip, I have always felt that home is here, where we are. And it is! Don't get me wrong. It is just simply felt more... like home there; EVEN though it's not where I grew up or the house I grew up in or anything even remotely resembling what I knew as a child. But it did. It felt more like home there than I thought could be possible. Perhaps it is because that's how family is supposed to make you feel and that being surrounded by the people I grew up with brought on a fondness that I don't experience here. Maybe it's that I've worked so hard to make that kind of home for my own children in a place that is so astonishingly foreign from my American upbringing that I've equally forgotten or disregarded how I have felt about missing my own family. Maybe it's just the comfort of family that does that.

The point is, it surprised me. I spent a lot of time wailing about my family in my early years, the family I came from--my "old" family--the one that had old dynamics and bad habits and cramped quarters and just all of those old growing pains that came from being so close yet so temperamental. Yet, just as momentary a realization as it is, it is a culmination of time, effort, space, trials, tribulations, even baggage that eventually comes a point where we all--ALL--can let that stuff go and respect each other for their own stories and still be the kids we were with the benefit of being adults. And we've come a long way.

I love my family. Every single one of them. And it doesn't matter what they do, what butthead thing happens between us, I will just always love them, always be proud of them because I know what good people they are, how deep their souls feel, and that our blood truly is thicker than water. And... it just doesn't matter. Unconditional love is unconditional love. It is love without conditions. I just haven't been filled with that kind of uber comforting, warm-fuzziness as I have going with my brothers and their families to the zoo and aquarium, sitting with my nieces and nephews in my mom's house, bonding with my stepdad since my girls were born. Which leaves me to wonder things about myself, my past, what will be, and what should be--even so much as to wonder what needs to be, what we are missing out on, and wondering if there's anything we could do to change the frequency of visits. I'm left to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it's time to go home.

Seattle Extravaganza!: A Crossroads...

Wow! What an... amazing, wait no... FILLED up trip that was! Twenty-nine hours on a train there and back, plus the nine-hour road trip between home and train station to encompass a full seven days in the Seattle city area... whoa. I'll never do it again.

Not like that anyway.

The girls left here, with me, the last Thursday of June to meet their grandma at the halfway point between here and there to spend a week kickin' their feet up, shedding the school year off their shoulders, and stepping into summer while visiting with Grandma and Grandpa down south. (I always had a Mama Yoya and a Grandma, so I had an automatic differentiation between the two grandmas. I don't know what that has to do with anything right now, other than it's a part of my childhood that I miss and has somehow been missed in my girls, though I take and make every opportunity I can to share this with them; AND somehow it has to do with which grandma they were visiting. Anyhoo....)....

After which we were supposed to 'swing down' that way, pick them up, and make our way past the border and subsequently board the train. Which we did, except it dawns on me far too late that my girls aren't going to see their own beds for close to a month.

But they are excited, and they will get to see both grandmas in less than a month of each other, and what do they care? They're on an adventure. So. We forge ahead the morning after meeting up with the girls, touch base at the hotel the evening before departure, grab some Taco John's (an old standby that stands firmly rooted in the history of our relationship in addition to being just an all-out awesome fast food joint), get the girls settled, and sneak out to the lounge after giddily realizing it was next door to our hotel room. A good, stiff Black Russian for me and a BudLime for my better half were exactly what the doctor ordered after a long day on the road. We contemplate our travel plans, enjoy each other's company, and relax.

The next morning, there is a chilly buzz about the air as we gather our things and leave the hotel. By the time we get to the train station, it is pouring rain outside and when it is time to board, a mousey, gray-haired, disgruntled little car attendant is standing between us in the rain and the shelter of the platform inside the car. We, being experienced travelers and all, feel confident that this is our car. It was a coach car and we bought tickets in coach and from having gone that way the year before, we knew with 91% accuracy that this was our car (or at least the next one down.)

But no, the mousey, gray-haired, disgruntled attendant gives his head a shake, grumbles something, and points to the front of the train. Having little choice but to follow, we take our packs like mules in the rain and trop towards the front of the train. We go almost the length of the train before another car attendant stops us, looks at our tickets and redirects us, quoting something like "past" or "after the dining car."

That seems strange. The berth cars are behind the dining car. We've no business going that far, but there's little choice left. We do an about-face and head directly back towards the dining car, past the willowy, gruff, old car attendant, the dining car, and people who are boarding long after we should have been in our seats. We look up. We're at the berths. There's no more train after that. Now we are soaked. Bags, pillows, coats, pant hems, shoes all soaked; and the rain will not let up. Kyle and I stop and look at each other. We confer quickly through clipped speech and hand gestures, a language that can only be acquired as a seasoned marriage does, ultimately nodding towards the mousey, gray-haired, disgruntled car attendant, knowing full-well we could have got on where we started. We could have got on where the poopoohead attendant was originally standing, in front of the yellow step stool, in front of our car. We could have only gotten mildly dampened. But we are not. We are wet and dripping and drenched to our ankles. We beeline for the original car instead of debating in the rain and, without a word from him, we get on the train, out of the rain.

But now there are no seats left, and my temper is rising behind me like the sun on a hot day while my brain grapples about to prioritize the situation. I'm quite sure the word "F***tard" was used out loud.

And we're soaked, still packed like mules, in a narrow aisle. I start throwing our bags up in various open spaces in the overhead luggage racks, mostly to get us out of the aisle, but very largely to unload my poor girls, who've made the same trek we have to and fro the entire length of the train.

We eyeball two open seats, separate from each other. I anchor down in one, poised upon quick agreement with Kyle to attack and save any further available seats; he takes the girls to the observatory/lounge car. Almost two hours go by before enough detraining passengers leave open seats. Two of them are together. I save those for the girls, excuse myself from the older gentleman I had struck a conversation with, and wobbily careen towards the lounge car to announce my find to my family, who've only had standing room.

Finally, we are in the same car.

The rest of the trip is smooth sailing. Er, training. We ride the rail all the way to and through East and West Glacier, making stops, feeling closer to Seattle, soaking up the landscape changes and scenes from the breath-taking national park. Rolling hills give way to magestic mountains, the view from the train window looking straight down into valleys below, forestry thick and lush. Finally, we roll into Puget Sound, right through downtown Seattle, the magic that only an old city with history conjures, and eventually come to a stop alongide the platform where we detrain and make a giddy, weary way to my stepdad, who is waiting with as much anticipation.

Our vacation is a blur. Nieces and nephews and siblings and cousins and Mom and stepdad all together, all taking turns making entrances back at Mom's place, hugging and laughing and cooing and awww-ing and oh dear god, the baby is so cute. Places to go, things to see, plans to see the zoo, the aquarium (which I've coincidentally seen a commercial for even as far here), a BBQ and friends of the siblings, the Space Needle, and tenderly raucous dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory (complete with all three brothers' families and the family of one of my youngest brother's friends.) There is time with my brothers and dinners at home and places to shop and salons to tan in and sites to see (Kyle went to see Jimi Hendrix' grave while we girls all splurged on a pedicure, dinner, and a movie.) And of course, Puget Sound, a sweeping backdrop to all life and things Seattle, where Grandpa Mike took the girls to see the docks and shore line, and Mount Rainier, a volcanic mountain visible only through clearing mist but always statedly regal.

(...to be continued...)

Mother hen to nest, calling all mama birds

I don't really have much to say. Rephrase: I'm not inspired about any one thing in particular tonight. I've noticed Facebook has failed to notify me that it would be sucking tonight, or last night, or for pretty much the last three nights in a row and I am rather disgruntled about it.

I had a girl talk with my littlest one tonight. She's feeling repressed and stomped on by her older sister and that kind of situation does NOT bode well with a little Leo. Not to use astrological comparisons or assign her to any kind of walled-in definition, there is definitely a roaring leader in her and a certain indignation about her when the antics of her very bold, opinionated, highly organized (both in schedule and in thought), and eclectic older sister inflict a very potential damage. (It would stand to reason that a Gemini could bear a child with contrasting traits, methinks. Hmmm...)

I mean, there is the sibling rivalry, in light and in seriousness, to consider. In this light, what is going on could be reduced to a mere, "oh, those kids" while laughing because it seems so trivial in comparison to our lives that involve bills, deadlines, schedules, entire weeks of rigid plans; and... because we can remember those childhood pains and wave our hands at those with a dismissive guffaw when matching those pains to the pains of adulthood.

But really, what makes them so different?

Without coddling my children, I can see how real this pain is. I remember being told things like "well, it'll get better" or "just wait until you're older" or any other such equivalent comment that essentially dismissed what I was feeling. At the very least, it made me feel like I was being silly for having kid feelings.

However, I've realized that I still have feelings in the same way I had feelings as a kid and it's because I've had to rearrange them a million times that I know what my girls are feeling is very real. Most importantly, those feelings don't go away without real validation and I don't ever want to be the reason my girls feel invalidated.

So, we talked. And even thought I knew pretty much what she was going to say, I listened anyway. Asked her questions that would walk her through her feelings and then rubbed her back until she fell asleep. I actually played Mama rather than The Problem Sorter/Solver Extraordinaire, which is what I usually do. I don't know why. I guess it's just one way of being dismissive, regardless of the intention being to help my girls avoid feeling hurt. In that way, it makes me no better than the ones who missed that mark with me (and there we could go off on another, completely different side track about sensitivity on both sides of the opinion.)

In either case, why are kids so mysterious to figure out? It wasn't that long ago that we were kids, that I was a kid. I think I'm less worried about "figuring them out" (as I do know my own children) than I am deeply contemplative of what's going on in their little, very real, very active minds. Because I am so analytical and introspective, I want to know the thoughts making rounds in their minds. I don't want to pass on my over-analytical-ness, either. I want them to be able to think critically, to have the ability to analyze a situation, but I don't want them to be me. I want them to be better than me, than what I have lived, of course. The wish of every parent.

I just see how fast they've grown and realize that they are half grown already! It'll only be another eight to ten years before they go off into the real world. Maybe I should look at it as 'before they JOIN us in the real world'---then I can look at it in the way that all the things I can share with them as adults that I couldn't before, but egads! We'll cross that bridge when we get there! Which, at this rate, will be when I blink my eyes...

The point is, I got to be a mom so early and I'm really thankful to the powers that be that someone saw me fit enough to handle these blessed, beautiful humans; I just hope that I didn't figure myself out too late, that trying to get a grip on my own trials hasn't wreaked havoc on the way they see life, and that they see life with the purity, passion, and vigor that I am wanting them to see, but most off all that they walk into a crazy, hell-in-handbasket world knowing who they are and not to compromise their morals for anything.

Over and out.