Dear Eva,

Dear Eva,

You are my sunshine.  My only sunshine.  You make me happy when skies are gray.  You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.  Please don't take my sunshine away.

This has been our song since the day you were born.  It runs through my mind every single time I look into your eyes.  When you spent the first nine months of your life screaming your head off.  When you scored your first soccer goal.  When you became an amazingly proficient reader.  When you work hard on getting over the bumps in your road.  When you smile.  Oh, love, you have the most amazing smile.  It absolutely lights up the skies. 

Yesterday, you turned eight years old.  I cannot believe you've only been in my life for that long.  I feel like your soul and mine have been linked forever.  Truthfully, you have become my soul.  You are completely honest and honorable.  You are thoughtful and kind.  You are smart and strong.  And, you are beautiful in every way.  You have been thrown some curveballs and you have managed each with grace and a gentle spirit.  I cannot imagine the strength you use on a daily basis.

Of course, you are still just a kid!  You are an amazing soccer player and are really starting to find your way on the basketball court too.  You are faster and stronger than any other little girl I know.  My chest wants to explode with pride every time you don one of your jerseys.  From the day you were born, your favorite place has always been outside.  So, it makes perfect sense that you have become such an athlete.  You love writing and art too.  And, while I don't think you'll be named Picasso at any point, your stories always make me smile.

Eva, you are the most amazing kid.  I could not be more proud of you, though I take no credit for who you are.  There's no way I could've guided you to the near-perfection you have found.  The only person who could've accomplished that is you.

You will always be my only sunshine - making me happy though skies are gray.

Always,

Mama

I am

I am many things, but none of them are determined by anyone but myself.

I am a fighter.  Not in the sense of black eyes and bruises (though it could come to that if pushed), but I will fight for what I believe is right.  I will fight for those who can't defend themselves.  And, I will fight you over the middle piece of cake.

I am a teacher.  I have taught each of my children to chew with their mouths closed and to think with their minds open.  Now if I could just get them to fold their clothes properly.

More often, I am a student.  Learning to be a stronger person and a better parent is a class I will never complete.

I am a bitch.  This requires no further explanation than just spending a few minutes with me...particularly when dealing with morons and bad drivers.

I am a mother.  To my three daughters, but also to anyone else who may need a little guidance or a helping hand.  Just don't expect me to change any more diapers.

I am a protector.  This is probably my strongest identity.  I am fiercely protective of everyone I care about.  Fiercely.

I am a listener.  Talking is not really my strong suit, but I hear everything you say.  Keep that in mind the next time you open your mouth about me.

I am a lover.  I love deeply and passionately.  Once I love, it is very difficult to turn it off.  Once I turn it off, I throw away the knob and you will never feel the warmth of my heart again.

I am a mother.  I say this again because it is who I most often have to be.

I am a supporter.  I love nothing more than to hold someone up when they need a little extra strength.  My shoulders are open to anyone who needs to stand upon them.

I am a maid.  Not my favorite identity, but one I have to exercise more often than I would like to.

I am a cook.  Somewhere between a short-order cook and a chef de cuisine is where I lay my apron.

I am a chauffeur.  Soccer practice, school (times three), dance class, choir practice, basketball practice, orthodontist appointments, blah blah blah.

I am a cheerleader.  No bullhorns or pom poms needed.

I am a challenger.  Don't test me without expecting a fight.  I will challenge everything that isn't set in stone... and I will even question that if there is a chisel handy.

I am a friend.  While I don't have many, the ones I do have can count on me to hide a body, lighten a mood, or drink them under the table.

I am a woman.  Soft skin and hard stares.  Strong will and weak heart.  Quiet anger and loud devotion. 

And, I am a mother.  Morning, noon & night.

I determine who and what I am.  I am not defined by anyone or anything.  Love me or leave me alone, but stop trying to change me into who you want me to be.  I fit no other molds and no one can fit into mine.  And aren't we all really grateful for that?!

Valentine's Day

Before my brother was in his accident, I had started doing some little special somethings for the girls to celebrate Valentine's Day.  And, while it came to a quick end when life got in the way, the girls enjoyed the little treats I snuck into their lunchboxes.

 Eva's valentines took much longer than anticipated, but she really loved the results.  We hope her friends did too.

 Last year, Maya had a valentine where it looked like she was handing out a sucker.  This year, thanks to Pinterest, everyone had one of those it seemed.  So, we modified slightly...

 Also new this year, I made a mystery dinner for the girls.

 They were each handed a menu with thirteen items to choose from.  Each choice was disguised by a coded word or phrase.  I served them four courses and they each got to choose three items for each course.

 Course #1:

 Course #2

 Course #3

 Course #4

 Not the healthiest dinner I've ever served, but one night won't kill us!  Also, this was A LOT of work; but, the girls had a GREAT time trying to figure out what was coming next.

Finally, for fourteen days, we each wrote a secret note to each other explaining what we loved about that person.  After dinner, we sat down together and read them out loud.  This was my favorite part because we each HAD to say something nice about each other.  It was interesting to see what was written down. 

I hope everyone had a good "heart" day.  While mine was certainly tainted, I tried my hardest to make it special for the girls.  I can't wait for their uncle to open his eyes and see the valentines we have set at his bedside!

Teachers

I want to say, in advance, that I feel sorry for you.  And, the "you" I mean is anyone who doesn't have a kid in Eva's second grade class.  Well, really anyone who hasn't had a kid in any of Eva's classes since Kindergarten.

I had some good teachers when I was growing up.  I even had two AMAZING teachers.  One was my math teacher in 7th grade...she believed in me in a way no one had before.  The other was my creative writing teacher when I was a senior in high school.  She changed my life in more ways than almost anyone else ever has.  There were some bad teachers also, of course... the ones who were obviously there because the position of "Troll under bridge" was already taken.  But, now that I'm grown, I can see that they were already living their punishment for being bad teachers... they were teachers.

Now, as a mother, I am what one would affectionately call a "helicopter mom".  I don't like to let anyone borrow my car, so I certainly didn't relish the idea of sharing my kid with a complete stranger seven hours a day, seven days a week, eight months a year.  Unfortunately, the idea of keeping my child at home twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, twelve months a year, for eighteen years didn't appeal to me either. 

Wait...and you want me to teach them too?!  Look, I can teach them to brush their teeth and chew with their mouths closed, but geometry and the theory of relativity is better left to the professionals!

So, I reluctantly sent them off to school at the first moment I was legally required to do so.  And, for the most part, it has been a major blessing.  (For them as well as for me.)  My girls have been shared with some amazing women who have cared for them almost as well as I do.  As a matter of fact, with the exception of Sofia's 2nd and 3rd grade (when she was bullied and left unprotected by her teachers), ALL of their teachers have been really good.

However, Eva has been truly blessed.  In Kindergarten she was taught by a woman who could be a professional grandma.  Truly, she could rent herself out as the doting old lady who smells like cookies.  She is that special.  We loved her.  Then, in first grade, when Eva's issues started to really present themselves, she was placed in a class with a woman who spent the extra moment Eva needed to feel settled.  She was patient and kind with a kid who needed to feel a little extra love in her day.  And, it certainly helped me when I spent all day worrying about whether or not Eva would ever feel safe anywhere.

But, this year, Eva (and her mama) hit the jackpot.  Eva's second grade teacher is an angel.  I want to rummage in her desk drawers just to see which one she hides her halo in.  This teacher believes in Eva, and Eva knows it.  This teacher puts up with Eva's mama, and Eva's mama is so grateful.  This teacher makes Eva feel safe, cared for, believed in, strong, beautiful & smart.  In other words, this teacher sees Eva for all that she really is.  I don't have to worry about Eva being ignored or left out in this class.  As a kid who used to make not a single sound in school, I was most worried that she would be overlooked because she was so "easy".  In a class with too many kids, I was concerned that the unruly kids would get all of the attention.  I don't have to spend all day thinking about whether she is shaking in nervousness or cringing in fear.  I can drop her off in the morning and feel nothing but relief that she is heading into a room with a woman who cares for my girl almost like one of her own kids.  Words cannot express what that means to me.

I went to Sofia & Eva's parent-teacher conferences yesterday.  Sofia's teacher likes her a lot.  She says Sofia is a good student, and the report card supports that sentiment.  I never worried about teachers liking Sofia, she is a ready-made teachers pet.  However, my meeting with Eva's teacher was the highlight of my day.  I am able to talk to her about things that I don't feel comfortable telling anyone else.  I don't worry that she'll hold that information against Eva in any way.  I know that, whatever I tell her, Eva's teacher will love her all the same.  She sees things in my girl that I never thought anyone else would.  She can read Eva's eyes, and I am so thankful for it.

So, for anyone who doesn't have teachers who see your kid's soul:  I feel so badly for you.  It makes all the difference.  Especially to a helicopter mama who could easily make a teacher's life unpleasant for making one of her kids feel "less than".  And, from the bottom of my cold heart, I thank all teachers that make the special kids feel a little more special.  The mothers of those kids couldn't be more grateful that you found a drawer to hide your halo in.

"Tween" a mental institution and the morgue

I don't remember "tween" being a word twenty years ago.  One day you were a kid, and the next you were a teenager.  I imagine not all kids were as perfect as I was, but I don't recall there being a term for the age between innocence and hysteria.  The next thing you know, there will be a medication for kids to ease their way into the tragically rough existence of teenagers.

Until then, I am thankful for the adult medication that is dulling the edges of tween angst.  I am talking of course about earplugs, vodka & locked doors.

My Sofia has apparently fallen victim to the tween epidemic.  In case your household isn't as lucky as mine, here are some of the warning signs to look for:

They must stomp everywhere they go.

Their eyes are in a constant rolling motion.

They develop cataracts, which makes it impossible to see that other parents do, indeed, inflict their children with chores too.

Their shoulders are in a perpetual slump.

They are prone to moments of insanity whereby they actually believe they can challenge you on everything.

When they lose these challenges, they immediately call foul and revert to toddler temper tantrums.

Nothing you do is good enough.

Their lives are harder than you could ever imagine.

In other words, they could win an Academy Award for Best Actor/Actress in a Dramedy series.

I spend most moments with my eldest child vascillating between three things

exasperation

uncontrollable laughter

the kind of anger where you need at least 400 feet, a concrete barrier, and a squad of riot police between the two of you

Now, I expected drama.  I expected battles.  I even expected to want to rip my hair out.  I just didn't expect it so soon.  I was caught completely off-guard by her sudden immersion into the craziness that is growing girls.

I love Sofia.  I adore Sofia.  She was/is/always will be my first real love.  But, if she doesn't knock it off, I'm going to have to choose which direction I'm heading.

The mental institution or the morgue?