I am home. We are home.
I always feel a twinge of guilt as I write that, say that, think that. Home is Mexico, where I have built a family, a home, a career. Three things that I would never exchange because they are the fruit of sustained effort, loving sacrifice and are the source of so much of my joy. But, home. Home is also here. Home is walking on sidewalks that don't end (Sorry, Shel Silverstein). Home is stroller accessible everything. Home is customer service. Home is grandparents doing the morning parenting while I catch a few more minutes of sleep. Home is sisters, nephews, dear friends. Home is a church that fills my heart with so much joy.
Home is diversity. Beautiful diversity when during swimming lessons, with one glance around the pool deck, there are children and parents who are Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, African American, White, Mexican. Beautiful diversity where in one room at story time at the public library, people of all walks of life, from every corner of the planet, can come together for one reason. Our children.
In such beautiful diversity, something weighs heavily on my heart. These children, mine included, are so fortunate and so blessed- family, love, citizenship and literacy. Four incredible gifts that they could never get from Santa, or buy online, or even consider asking for. This does not hurt; it empowers me to empower them. What is deeply saddening is knowing the sickening number of children who do not know any of these four gifts. Children, who have suffered in ways that my children will hopefully never know and who, by God's grace and good luck, have found their way into our land. We have the gall to ask ourselves if these children should or should not be our responsibility by way of our government?
I understand and believe in the purpose and value of borders, visas, and much of the migratory mumbo jumbo. I do. For adults. For adults who are making a choice- be it for their families, for their careers, for the American dream, for money, or for fun.
They are children. They are children!
They are children who do not have bedtime routines. Who don't have anyone to fight with about which pajamas they will wear but instead fight hunger and violence. They are children who do not get a kiss and a hug from their mothers at night, in the morning, and several times throughout the day.
Children have to be our problem. Children have to be our responsibility. Children, and how we treat them, is what we can expect for our future. We must do better. This should not be a question.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Thursday, June 12, 2014
The Joys of Parenting
Can we skip the apologies for a year of absence? Cheers.
Let's talk about being a parent. It rocks, right? Joyful hearts, constant cuddles, loving looks between mother and offspring. That's what happens on a regular basis. It's never about being pooped on, puked on, anything bodily fluid related on. There are no screaming fits in the grocery store because the child cannot poke her fingers in the ground beef, neighborhood park because she can't jump on a piece of flimsy plastic covering a deep hole, living room because she can't where a too small tank top and too big jeans to school, etc. Am I right? If you're reading and you're saying, "Yes. You're right. I am the parent of angelic pieces of perfection," Stop reading now. Just stop. If you're reading and relating more with the second half of my description of parenthood, shall we continue?
I love being a mom. At least I keep telling myself that. I love my kids. Especially when we have conversations like this:
Ana: Why are you my mom?
Me: Because God thought I would be a good mama for you. Do you think he sent you to the right family?
Ana: No.
Me: Why not?
Ana: Because I want a mom that doesn't yell at me.
Ah, the warm fuzzies are exploding and showering rainbows of jelly beans and m&ms all over me right now.
Here's my general philosophy when it comes to parenting. If you spend a large portion of your parenting convinced that you're righteously effíng up your child, then you're probably doing a pretty good job. Once you start to think you're getting things right more than 32% of the time, start to worry.
Do I want my child to like me? Sure. That would be nice. Is it my priority? Not so much. My priority is that my child learns to be obedient, independent, respectful, and responsive.
And sometimes my priority is that she stops putting gel into her freshly washed hair without having to say it seventeen times and preferably slightly before I lose my mind. That is sometimes all I want. Pajamas are optional. Balanced nutrition that involves a quesadilla at every meal is just fine. Just, enough with the hair gel. Is that too much to ask?
Then we went and added another minion to the mix. This minion is easygoing and calm, loves everyone, and is easy to please- Just feed her all night long. I just keep telling myself that one day she will sleep. One day soon would be fantastic, but, whatever.
Lack of sleep, a newborn, and a four year old who thinks she's the mom can lead any person into the dark cave of "why did I do this willingly"-ness. Sometimes I go there, let myself have a good pity party for about 3-4 minutes and then come out. When I emerge, I most often find a newborn's gummy grin and sweet coos. I usually find a four year old repeating what she's heard so often, "Just calm down. Everybody loves you. Don't worry. Try to do better next time."
It would be pretty sweet if the pregnancy test came with a guarantee that parenting would be easy, it doesn't. Or at least, I haven't bought that test. Probably too expensive. Parenting is hard. Everyone does it differently. And, if you're a mom like me, you mostly look around you and gauge who's doing better and who's doing worse than you are. The problem with that is that you always end up being mediocre. Better than some, worse than some. Congratulations, dear child, you got an okay mom. She doesn't suck, and she's not fantastic. Deal with it.
Where am I going with this? I don't know. Give me a break. I haven't posted anything for a year and it's been longer than that since it was anything relevant. Let's just sum it up with this. Each mother that wants to be is the best mother. Do most of us need to look at our phones less and smile more? Probably. Will my child survive my yelling? Likely. Do most of us need to give ourselves a fighting chance by remembering the smiles and laughter and "I love yous" instead of the tantrums, snot-filled angry yells of "You're not my mommy any more." Highly likely.
Own your journey, mother. Our kids are hard, but they're ours. No one else gets to raise them. No one else gets to do our job. Some will try. Most will have opinions. But, not a one gets to be their mom. And sometimes, that's enough reason to go on.
Let's talk about being a parent. It rocks, right? Joyful hearts, constant cuddles, loving looks between mother and offspring. That's what happens on a regular basis. It's never about being pooped on, puked on, anything bodily fluid related on. There are no screaming fits in the grocery store because the child cannot poke her fingers in the ground beef, neighborhood park because she can't jump on a piece of flimsy plastic covering a deep hole, living room because she can't where a too small tank top and too big jeans to school, etc. Am I right? If you're reading and you're saying, "Yes. You're right. I am the parent of angelic pieces of perfection," Stop reading now. Just stop. If you're reading and relating more with the second half of my description of parenthood, shall we continue?
I love being a mom. At least I keep telling myself that. I love my kids. Especially when we have conversations like this:
Ana: Why are you my mom?
Me: Because God thought I would be a good mama for you. Do you think he sent you to the right family?
Ana: No.
Me: Why not?
Ana: Because I want a mom that doesn't yell at me.
Ah, the warm fuzzies are exploding and showering rainbows of jelly beans and m&ms all over me right now.
Here's my general philosophy when it comes to parenting. If you spend a large portion of your parenting convinced that you're righteously effíng up your child, then you're probably doing a pretty good job. Once you start to think you're getting things right more than 32% of the time, start to worry.
Do I want my child to like me? Sure. That would be nice. Is it my priority? Not so much. My priority is that my child learns to be obedient, independent, respectful, and responsive.
And sometimes my priority is that she stops putting gel into her freshly washed hair without having to say it seventeen times and preferably slightly before I lose my mind. That is sometimes all I want. Pajamas are optional. Balanced nutrition that involves a quesadilla at every meal is just fine. Just, enough with the hair gel. Is that too much to ask?
Then we went and added another minion to the mix. This minion is easygoing and calm, loves everyone, and is easy to please- Just feed her all night long. I just keep telling myself that one day she will sleep. One day soon would be fantastic, but, whatever.
Lack of sleep, a newborn, and a four year old who thinks she's the mom can lead any person into the dark cave of "why did I do this willingly"-ness. Sometimes I go there, let myself have a good pity party for about 3-4 minutes and then come out. When I emerge, I most often find a newborn's gummy grin and sweet coos. I usually find a four year old repeating what she's heard so often, "Just calm down. Everybody loves you. Don't worry. Try to do better next time."
It would be pretty sweet if the pregnancy test came with a guarantee that parenting would be easy, it doesn't. Or at least, I haven't bought that test. Probably too expensive. Parenting is hard. Everyone does it differently. And, if you're a mom like me, you mostly look around you and gauge who's doing better and who's doing worse than you are. The problem with that is that you always end up being mediocre. Better than some, worse than some. Congratulations, dear child, you got an okay mom. She doesn't suck, and she's not fantastic. Deal with it.
Where am I going with this? I don't know. Give me a break. I haven't posted anything for a year and it's been longer than that since it was anything relevant. Let's just sum it up with this. Each mother that wants to be is the best mother. Do most of us need to look at our phones less and smile more? Probably. Will my child survive my yelling? Likely. Do most of us need to give ourselves a fighting chance by remembering the smiles and laughter and "I love yous" instead of the tantrums, snot-filled angry yells of "You're not my mommy any more." Highly likely.
Own your journey, mother. Our kids are hard, but they're ours. No one else gets to raise them. No one else gets to do our job. Some will try. Most will have opinions. But, not a one gets to be their mom. And sometimes, that's enough reason to go on.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Puzzles are fun.
White puzzles are torture. Just like earthquake drills during the last weeks of school.
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