Reunited...and it feels so good.

At long sweet last, estamos de vacaciones. We are on vacation.

Every day for the last three days, I’ve napped with one of the kiddos, gone to either the beach or the pool (or both), been on a nice walk, fallen asleep right next to Miss P with her baby’s breath in my face, and had some ridiculously long snuggle time with both kiddos upon waking up—no hurry to have breakfast, no hurry to get out the door. One of the days I had Dunkin’ Donuts. One of the days I slept in (8:30!). One of the days we went to Barnes and Noble and had nothing but time to look around. I’ve only showered once. My hubby and I have even had some lengthy conversations. This is like a real slice of heaven on earth for me.

But my favoritest part about vacation so far has been reuniting with my sweet Joe.

Sometime around the beginning of the year, Jack and I decided that I would be the designated P putter-to-bedder, and he would do the nighttime routine with Joe. Up until then, we would each do a week with Joe, then a week with P (which included middle of the night feedings and wake-ups), Joe, then P. Since I was no longer nursing, there was nothing preventing Jack from getting up to do the middle of the night duties with P—and plus, Joe is at his sweetest and most tender during bedtime, and I didn’t want to miss that.

Well, Joe began to act up for me at bedtime (i.e., bedtime would carry on for forty minutes after prayers and kisses, with his many visits to our room just to make sure we were still there) and P turned in to Miss FussButt for Jack (i.e., grumped her way into sleep and then would wake up soon after he put her down). Though neither of us was keen on giving up bedtime with the other kiddo permanently, it did seem to make the most sense (and get our kiddos the most sleep) if Jack and Joe teamed up and if Miss P and I teamed up.

This little arrangement has left Miss P and I with some good quality time together, especially during the many evenings she wakes up just to say hello, play peek a boo, and refuse to go back to sleep. It’s also left me pretty much of a crab during the day—and, naturally, a less patient Mommy. Two and a half year old testing-his-limits and not listening well Joe + low on sleep Mommy=many contentious moments between the two of us. “Joseph Anthony, be gentle with your sister.” “Joseph, take the spatula out of your mouth.” “Joe, sit right on your chair and face forward.” All likely to be contested with either a flat-out “No!” or a non-response as he eeeeever soo slooowly works on repeating the exact same action that I’ve asked him to stop—he knows I am watching him out of the corner of my eye and he keeps on doing what he’s doing anyway, which just adds fuel to the fire. Boogers. It’s a lose-lose for us both. I praise him often, truly I do, and I always tell him that I love him—many times in a day—but his typical toddler tantrums on top of my little sleep are a recipe for, yup, disaster.

We both needed a break from the grind, and thankfully we’ve gotten it.

Who could say no to this face?

Saturday we woke up to bright sunshine and warmth in St. Pete Beach. Since Jack isn’t the biggest fan of hanging out in the sun and I love it, I lathered Joe and I up with some sunscreen while Joe packed up his bucket and beach gear and I packed up the backpack with plenty of liquids, and out we set for the beach. On our walk there, Joe asked, “Where we goin’, Mom?” (yes, he’s taken to calling us Mom and Dad a lot recently, also part of his recent two-going-on puberty stage) I told him we were going to the beach and he said, “Can we look for lizards on our way there?” “Of course,” I said. And I knew we were on the road to healing. 

A man on a serious mission: to the beach

The beach was a big old time. We dug in the sand, buried our toes, looked for shells, and watched sea gulls prance and dance on the shore. Joe led me by the hand to the rocks from which fishers cast their lines and asked a million questions: “Why are the rocks hot, Momma?” Why is this one rough?” “Is this one smooth?” “What are under the rocks, Mom?” I did my best to play teacher and give my little curious student answers. Then I asked him if he wanted to get in the ocean with me, to which he replied no. I knew he’d just need time to warm up to the idea so we went back to the sand and tinkered around some more. Finally, he dropped his shovel and walked up to the water, let the foam reach his toes, and scurried back to our towels. Then he went back to the water again, this time let the water cover his feet, and giggled the whole way back to our towels. I asked him if he wanted me to hold his hand and walk into the water. He said yes, and in doing so he made my heart burst. A simple little gesture, but it meant the world to me. He put all of his trust back in me—or, more likely, he never lost his trust in me, I just lost trust in myself as his mom. We walked into the water, hand in hand, and jumped around in the ocean. He thought it was hilarious that our feet kept sinking in the sand. And he thought it was the coolest that the water was so clear we could see little fishies swimming through our legs. There was no camera to capture our moment, so I took a mental snapshot instead, and added that feeling to the many that I wish I could bottle up and store in my closet for the days that are not so idyllic.

Oh, to capture his innocence. And curiousity! 

After our beach outing, it was time to put the kids down for a nap. It is one of my most favorite pastimes to nap with Joe on the weekends, but due to a pretty hectic recent weekend schedule, I’ve forfeited my naps with him to work. So naturally I jumped on the opportunity to snuggle with Joe and sleep. We both nodded off half-way in to our first book, and woke up three hours later. As he stirred awake, I asked, “How was your nap, buddy?” “Good,” he whispered. “I’m ready for a chocolate covered banana,” he said, referencing the Curious George book we fell asleep reading.

Later that night as we were heading out the door to dinner, Jack, P and Joe were waiting for me outside the front door. I overheard Jack say to Joe, “What do you think, should we leave without Mommy?” He was quick to defend me, “No, Daddy, no, we are NOT going to leave without Mommy!” My little man coming to my rescue, God love him. Another smile.

Since our first day, we’ve had our moments—warm and fuzzy ones, and also some less-than-stellar ones—but we are both learning. There are some moments when I am teacher, but most of the time I am student. Joe teaches me patience. Joe teaches me forgiveness. Joe teaches me unconditional love. All things I thought I knew, but never knew like I know them now. Thank you, my little man, for helping me find, de nuevo, my way.

As for Jack and P—they are reconnecting, too. She is all about her Daddy since being on vacation. She wants him to parade her around the pool. She wants to climb all over him on the floor. She wants him to feed her bottles. She wants to snuggle with him whenever she wakes up from a nap or for the day. Jack, like I am with Joe, is taking it all in, enjoying it while it lasts, and not asking any questions. It warms my heart to see those two back in the fold. One of my favorite scents in the whole wide world is Jack—he always smells so good, no matter how much he has been sweating or how long it’s been since his last shower (it’s not fair!)—but the one scent I love more than Jack is Jack on P or Joe. Daddy’s love and cuddles on my kids is the best, the kind of smell that I could fall asleep or wake up to any day.

Joe, acting like a flamingo while on my shoulders, and Mom, happy to oblige

Yesterday all four of us were down at the pool and we ran into a couple that we see here periodically. The last time we saw them was almost a year ago, when we were pregnant with P. They asked us if we were ready for our third. We gave our typical answer: maybe once we start getting some sleep! They have two children of their own who are now pre-teens, and thus gave a knowing nod and empathetic smile. Then the mother said, “I wish I had the chance to be a mother all over again, knowing what I know now: I’d complain less, and enjoy it more.” At that, she invited her 11 year old boy on her lap and gave him big hugs and kisses. He didn’t shy away. I looked at Joe in that moment, who was, of course, begging me to catch him for the hundredth time as he jumped in to the pool. “Again, Momma, again!”

“You got it, kiddo,” I said, very happy to oblige. 

Happy Mother's Day to Me!

Ha llegado la hora. The time has arrived.

Blogging has been on the horizon for quite some time. I love to write. Always have, hopefully always will. I’ve been told more than once in my life as a journalist, as a director of a study abroad program, as a daughter, as a mother, “Never underestimate the power of a good story.” I’ve always loved to tell stories with my words—and my favorite story to tell has often been my own. As an undergrad at OU, I faithfully kept a journal through break-ups, family drama, good times with friends, stints abroad, road trips, Palmerfests (!), Halloweens in Athens, you name it. As an M.A. student at IU, I moved from less journal writing to redacting epic e-mails during my summers abroad, my painful semesters of ready theory, transcribing data phonetically and memorizing studies that I may or may not ever even remember reading. Once out of school, my epic e-mails were published less and less. I began taking pictures more and more, as I relied on images to tell my story. I began to rely on music to chronicle life’s events, as I burned CD compilations to reflect my feelings and state of mind. But while a picture can paint a thousand words, a picture still needs a caption. It still needs words. And while music can take you to a place and time, it conjures up feeling that, yes, requires words to express. Words, words, words, it’s no wonder I am a linguist at heart.

So yes, I’ve always valued stories and words—now it’s just a matter of finding the time to write that’s the kicker. When I used to hear people say “I just can’t find the time to X, Y, Z,” I would always take mental note and say to myself (never out loud!), “No, you don’t make the time to X, Y, Z.”  Then Real Life (i.e., post- education life) took hold—I married a wonderful man, took a fulfilling (but taxing) job and gave birth to two pretty awesome kiddos. And suddenly I understood, related to, became the person who says ‘I just can’t find the time to X, Y, Z.” Who has time for X, Y, Z? If you do, don’t tell me. Or at least tell me gently, nicely, and after an appropriate amount (three glasses? a bottle?) of wine.   

What does all of this have to do with Mother’s Day? I’ll get there, bear with me.

Leg 2 of our ideal trip: St. Brieuc, France

Lately I’ve not been the best mother. Or best wife. Or best professional. Let’s just be honest, here: I haven’t been my best self. In late March, my husband and I came back from a remarkable trip to France and Germany. I was there for work, polishing up and maintaining important relationships abroad, and he tagged along. He had never been, and he loved it. I had been there, and I loved it even more in his presence. The food, the scenery, the people—the time together, talking, reconnecting. It was just what I needed professionally, which was what I expected. A beautiful, but unintended side effect, was that it was just what I needed personally, too. The hubster and I fell in love all over again, got to explore new territory together, got to reminisce about our last five married years together—and celebrate his 35^th birthday. The ideal trip. Then, we returned and all Hell broke loose. 

Soon after we got home, the kiddos both got sick, recovered, and got sick again. Work picked up for me as we headed into our busy season, and work went down the tubes for the hubby as the direction of his lab took an unexpected turn. It was a cycle a bit like this: get to work late because sick kiddos kept us up, cram as much in during the work day as possible, often forgetting to eat lunch until much too late, rush to get kids from daycare, do the normal night routine and get kids to bed, then get to work from home to catch up on what we couldn’t do during the day, stay up with the kids part of the night because they were sick, repeat cycle. The lines between work and home became blurred to the point that even though I was physically present with the kids at dinner, my mind was making to-do lists for work AND home so that I wouldn’t forget anything. Result: I was fulfilling all of my roles, but none of them well. I found myself checking my e-mail on my dumb phone (I refuse to call it a smart phone, because it’s making us dumb) while putting my baby girl to bed, talking to my hubby during our treasured twenty minutes alone but not really listening, ignoring the voice in my head that was telling me to take a bath instead of a shower to give myself some me time before I crashed and burned. Yuck. They were a few months that I don’t care to repeat again. All felt like it spiraled out of control and it left me feeling icky all over. We’re still coming out of that funk now—we’re over the hump, I can feel it, but still not fully out from under that cloud.

All the while I was asking myself how I used to handle stress before Real Life began. I needed not think too long to remember that I used to do two things to keep ME on track: 1) write and 2) exercise. When I asked myself really and truly how long it had been since I’d done either on any kind of regular basis, I felt myself not having to count in months, but rather in years. No wonder my head was a bunch of clouded thoughts running together and my life was following suit.

The solution became pretty clear: I needed some time to myself. And I’m talking more than 10 minutes in the shower, more than the 10 minute drive to work once every two weeks when I have my 8:00 meeting and my family can’t get out the door so I drive in on my own, more than the 10 minutes I spend cleaning up the downstairs to make it somewhat presentable the next morning (for you, you might ask? Good question.). I mean real time.

And that’s what this has to do with Mother’s Day, folks. All day yesterday, I was trying to figure out how I would want to spend my day. Just right before bed I figured it out, but couldn’t share it with my hubby as he was sound asleep on our son’s trundle bed. He was, after all, just as tired as I. So this morning, I woke up (at 8:15, I might add—my blessed husband let me sleep in after Miss P got up just once last night), and went downstairs to make my request.

I was greeted by Joe, who told me in his sweetest, most demure voice “Happy Mother’s Day, Momma.” As the smile across my face grew, the smile across his grew, too. He likes when I’m a happy, well-rested Momma, which made me feel even more confident in my choice for how to spend the first part of my day. I kissed Joe, kissed P, then told the hubby that I wanted to spend the first three hours of my day…by myself. I told him I’d be back before lunch. He looked at me, kind of confused, and said, “OK.” He gave me a bit of a hard time first (I would not expect anything less, and if you knew my hubby, you wouldn’t either), but when he saw I was serious, he stopped kiddin’ around and wished me well.

I knew right where to go—to the Bakehouse for some breakfast and time to spill my thoughts on paper. I chose this over having a nice workout because my body is just not ready for that yet, and neither is my head. And here I am, one and a half hours into my three hours, and I feel like a brand new person. Heck, I may even head home early. That’s the funny thing about getting what you need—once you get it, you don’t need as much of it as you thought you did.

So, Mommas out there—take some time today for you. I mean, really for you. Mothers are supposed to be selfless and love unconditionally—there is no question that we are, and that we do. But we are also human and can’t ignore our own needs. We can’t run on empty, and we can’t run well even on fumes. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I don’t have a day that I can proclaim my needs and how I want to address them—that’s the next challenge. But I do know that I’ve finally owned up to needing some time for me, and that’s the first step towards making it happen, right? Right?

Before signing off, some special thanks need to go out to some special people on this Mother’s Day.

Mom and I in Seville, Spain. Trip of a lifetime.

First, thanks to my mom. For what? For everything. Thanks for being an inspiration. For being a strong, working mom, independent and loving, who always made time for me and always knew—and still knows—just what I need. For reassuring me and supporting when I need it and for questioning me when I need it, too. I’ve always said it and I’ll say it again: if I can be half the mother you were to me to my kids, I will have succeeded. Thanks for being my constant, and my best friend. Thanks to you and for Dad to loving one another so much you decided to bring me into this world…you not only gave me the gift of life, you’ve been instrumental—no, the driving force—in helping me figure out just how to live it. I’m so glad God (and la Virgen del Pilar, of course!) gave us Pili so that I could be on the mother’s side of a love between a mother and a daughter. Being on the daughter’s side has been a joy; being on the mother’s side has been a miracle.

Thanks to my hubby. The fact that he honored my Mother’s Day request without question (and with a little bit of razzing) shows you how awesome he is. He is a modern daddy-o and hubby—often takes the night shift, is a great cook, is my equal and my greatest companion. I love him more than words can say, and would not want to be on this crazy rollercoaster ride with anyone but him, and he knows that. Thank you, handsome, for always loving me and for letting me shine when necessary and crumble when necessary, both in your arms. Thank you most of all for giving me the best gift and the best job I’ve ever had: being a Mom. I will not ever forget, and know you will not either, that our love is the reason for their being.

Jack in St. Pete Beach in 2008, the year we brought Joe back

Mamaw, with her great granddaughter, P

Thanks to my Mamaw (my Mommas’ Momma) for so many things—but the one that comes to mind today in particular is for how you signed the note you wrote to be before I went abroad for the first time: “To thine own self be true.” I’ve always tried to live out that motto—thank you, Mamaw, for giving me the courage to do so. And thanks for being so selfless to all of your kids and to us grandkids; your love knows no boundaries.

Thanks to Joe and to P: you are the lights of my life! You test me in ways I thought I could never be tested, and reward me with smiles and kisses, with gentle hugs and snuggles. The highlights of my day are seeing you first thing in the morning, putting you to bed at night, seeing the look on your face when we pick you up from daycare. Your daddy and I are lucky and blessed to have you.

Joe and P. My kids rock. 

Thanks to Kelly. A fantastic teacher, an amazing friend. Thanks for being the mirror that helps me to see me clearly. I only hope I can do the same for you.

Thanks to all of my family and friends who have lived life by my side, who have laughed with me (and not at me!) and who have helped me along el camino. You are the reason I’m able to find my way.