Not what I thought...

As I make the boys' lunches for tomorrow I am struck by how magical (and a few other choice words) life truly is. I remember leaving the hospital without Jeramyah in my arms. I remember long days between feedings sitting in the Ronald McDonald room at the hospital crying, waiting, praying my sweet little boy would pull through and one day come home. The anxiousness of waiting to find out if his hearing/sight/mental health would be affected by him coming into the world too early. I can remember the hurt, frustration, anger, and sometimes jealousy I felt trying to get pregnant with Alexavier, just like it was yesterday. I remember the joy of that moment I found out I was pregnant, which was instantly followed by worry - would I have another child too early? Now I have a gorgeous boy who will start 2nd grade tomorrow. He is happy and oh so healthy. He says his hobbies are reading and writing comic books(!). He wears his sweet, innocent little heart on his sleeve. I also have a handsome little man that is starting Pre-K tomorrow. A little boy that still moves to his own clock and drum. One that doesn't want to marry me (unlike his brother) but will smother me in kisses and "I love you's." The boy that all too often reminds me he is mine with his "are you kidding me?" looks. 15 years ago I had absolutely no intentions of being the person I am today. My time was supposed to be spent going over closing statements, not phonics and art work from wee hands. Some days I yearn for the life I wanted. Then I imagine the activities they'll choose in HS. The degrees they'll get in college, if they'll marry, have kids, move far away...then I stop because by that point I'm hyperventilating. So today, when I'm sad, and barely making it through without crying, I get up and remind myself that life is a magical journey that takes us all over the place. Because of where mine is taking me I now get to experience their journey too, not just mine, and for that I'm grateful for the life I have and not the one I "lost."

The little things

Walked by these and got one of those deep, deep down happy feelings. Just seeing their little boots made me happy, then thinking of how dirty they got at school in them made me happy - I am lucky to have such a creative, nurturing, SAFE place for them to go while I work. It made me think of the person who gave the boots to them - I am blessed to have friends that are truly family. People in our lives that I know really would do whatever they could to help, protect, and encourage the boys and I. They made me look at the stained carpet - I am grateful for the roof over our heads in a safe neighborhood. The light shining through the door made me think of the hours spent out back laughing and bickering - I am humbled because although they've each had health problems they are healthy and capable. Their words remind me of how smart, curious, and funny their are. Their voices of how much they've grown and of how small and precious they still are. Thank you, little rain boots, for giving me some perspective on this rushed day.

Just us.

This is what I posted to good ole Facebook on Mother's day. Wanted to have easy access to it for future reference.... As I look at the pics being changed to my friends and their mothers I decide I want to change mine as well, to one from when I was little. After a little bit of digging (I'm lazy, okay?) I realize I don't have one. I'm sure my mama or my grandma or someone does, but I know there aren't many. My mama was the one behind the camera more times than not, as most moms are, but it's not just because "she's the mom." You see, as beautiful as my mama is, and always has been, she also has some body image issues (who among us doesn't?!). I have a pretty vivid memory of being in NM one fall when I was 9 or 10 and taking a picture with my grandma, my auntie, my mom, and I. I was sitting on my mom's knee and she said "lets sit up straight, it makes ya look thinner." She didn't mean this to me specifically, it's just the way she thought, and said it out loud. I like to think there once was a voice in her head that thought she was perfect, but after a few bad men, and society, the voice was quieted. I also like to think that after some time being away from all of that, and working on herself (from the inside out) her voice is getting louder. Here's what I know though: for all my mama's insecurities, she passed a voice on to me. One that tells me when I look into the mirror to stop being so hard on myself. One that tries to see the beauty in the unconventionally beautiful. One that YELLS at me to never let the boys hear me say I'm fat or ugly. One that wants them to think for themselves on what's beautiful and what isn't. One that never wants my children to judge their own self worth based on their size or weight. My mama gave me a voice that wants the self deprecating voices to end with me. So, for Mother's Day I'm giving a gift to my mama and my boys. A picture of us, just as they see me everyday; nappy noodles, traces of fatigue and yesterday's make up under my eyes, and whatever clothes I happened to throw on. They won't remember me dressed up for our yearly pictures, they will remember this mama. More importantly I WANT them to remember me this way. I want them to have pictures that reflect the childhood they really had. Boys, I hope one day you look at this picture with someone and you laugh and tell them "see where my nappy noodles came from?" Mama, I hope you look at this picture and know that because of you, I have a voice that demands I teach your grandsons to see life differently, to treat people better, and to love themselves no matter what. Thank you.