I very often complain there aren't enough hours in the day to get things done. There are always loads of laundry left undone, shopping lists not quite complete, chores, chores and more chores that I can't never get to.
I used to think it was simply the way things were. After all, I work full time outside my home, I have three kids, and well, taking care of everyone and everything takes time. Now I think I'm just one of those people who actually enjoy the "busyness" of life. Apparently I actually "enjoy" running around like a nut, trying to figure out how to tend to everyone, and everything, and making sure everyone is taking care of.
My epiphany came shortly after I signed up to coach my daughter's soccer team. Yes, you read that right. Here I was, complaining that I have no time to get it all done, and still, I sign up for yet one more thing. Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Don't get me wrong. I don't regret volunteering to coach. Soccer is my favorite sport, my daughter loves to play, and well, I want to do my part so our league continues to grow and she has a chance to develop her skills.
I already juggle many balls in one day. My day starts early in the morning, when I start my "lunch assembly line" and get everyone's lunch boxes ready for the day. Then it's time to get clothes laid out for everyone, get everyone up, get breakfast on the table; and finally get ready for work. I spent the next 8 hrs working, and from time to time, thinking of what I can cook for dinner that night. As soon as I get home, it's time to get dinner going, to hear how everyone's day went (usually all of them speaking at once); check homework, etc, etc. You get the idea.
Did I mention I also teach Sunday school?
I know, it sounds like I'm complaining, doesn't it? In reality, I am happy having so many balls up in the air. I love all the roles I have on a daily basis. And even though things can get crazy (and believe me, they do); truth is, I want to be as involved as possible in my children's life.
I may not be home every day when they come home from school, but they are lucky enough to have their father there instead. And I'm lucky to have a husband who shares the load with me.
I hope one day they'll remember their soccer years, when mom was their coach and how much fun they had. How mom participated in all their church activities, and even helped out. How, even though mom worked in an office and not at home; they spent quality time with her when she was home.
So you see, it is a blessing to be able to do so much for my kids; not a burden. Even when I'm exhausted and wondering where I'll get the strength to get up the next morning; all it takes is one look into their eyes to see it is all worth it.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Transitions
A new school year has begun, and many changes have come with it.
My daughter is now in second grade. It's hard to believe how much she has grown, how much she has learned, and how fast time has gone by. Not too long ago, she was just a toddler, and school seemed so far away. She has mature so much, she has a radiant personality, and is very secured in herself. I'm proud of her.
My boys are now starting school, in 3 yr old kindergarten. It wasn't that long ago I brought this tiny kids home, and now they are little men. They are out to discover the world, and conquer it. They are a team, definitely two peas in a pod, and I enjoy watching them interact with each other. They are each other's ying yang.
My niece Stephanie has graduated high school and it's getting ready to start her freshman year at MS State. I was there the day she was born, it's hard to believe she is now a young woman.
New beginnings are always hard because they mark the end of an era. But it is also nice to see how far I've grown as a person since the days I became an aunt, and later a mother.
My daughter is now in second grade. It's hard to believe how much she has grown, how much she has learned, and how fast time has gone by. Not too long ago, she was just a toddler, and school seemed so far away. She has mature so much, she has a radiant personality, and is very secured in herself. I'm proud of her.
My boys are now starting school, in 3 yr old kindergarten. It wasn't that long ago I brought this tiny kids home, and now they are little men. They are out to discover the world, and conquer it. They are a team, definitely two peas in a pod, and I enjoy watching them interact with each other. They are each other's ying yang.
My niece Stephanie has graduated high school and it's getting ready to start her freshman year at MS State. I was there the day she was born, it's hard to believe she is now a young woman.
New beginnings are always hard because they mark the end of an era. But it is also nice to see how far I've grown as a person since the days I became an aunt, and later a mother.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Historic Photos of Mississippi- A book review
One would think there is not much to say about a book filled with pictures. At first glance, there are just pictures bound together, with captions that detail where and when the photos were taken.
But whoever said a picture is worth a thousand words was right. That's the case with this book "Historic Photos of Mississippi"
I am relatively new to the state and to its history, even though I've spent the last 18 years here. There is so much to this place, to its history, that I've yet to uncover, and for the first time I've gotten a glance of the way things used to be before I arrived here.
The book is filled with photographs and its divided in four sections: "The Civil War and Survival", "The Joy of the Golden Age", "Depression Years and Singing the Blues", "War in Europe and Struggles at Home". The captions for the photos are written by Anne B. McKee.
Each section tells part of the story of the Magnolia State in pictures. You will not find lengthy discussions about each pictures but in reality they are not needed. Each photo in this book speaks for itself.
In the Civil War section you will find pictures of the battlefields, of towns and homes destroyed during the war, pictures from the period following the war that show the growth in cities like Jackson and Meridian; you may even recognize some of these buildings as they still stand today.
The following section shows the Mississippi of the early 1900, when the state was prospering. You will find photos of historical buildings like the Old Capitol Museum, a class photo from Sykes Chapel School (an early African American school), of people at work, and steam wheelers in the Mississippi river.
The flood of 1927 in the Mississippi Delta, the times of the Great Depression, the Civil Right era are all documented in this book.
I wish the book had included pictures from the last 3 decades of the 20th century, as the last pictures included were from the dawn of the 1970s.
Still it is a good book. Perfect for someone who loves the state of Mississippi, and wants to reminiscence about the good ol' days.
But whoever said a picture is worth a thousand words was right. That's the case with this book "Historic Photos of Mississippi"
I am relatively new to the state and to its history, even though I've spent the last 18 years here. There is so much to this place, to its history, that I've yet to uncover, and for the first time I've gotten a glance of the way things used to be before I arrived here.
The book is filled with photographs and its divided in four sections: "The Civil War and Survival", "The Joy of the Golden Age", "Depression Years and Singing the Blues", "War in Europe and Struggles at Home". The captions for the photos are written by Anne B. McKee.
Each section tells part of the story of the Magnolia State in pictures. You will not find lengthy discussions about each pictures but in reality they are not needed. Each photo in this book speaks for itself.
In the Civil War section you will find pictures of the battlefields, of towns and homes destroyed during the war, pictures from the period following the war that show the growth in cities like Jackson and Meridian; you may even recognize some of these buildings as they still stand today.
The following section shows the Mississippi of the early 1900, when the state was prospering. You will find photos of historical buildings like the Old Capitol Museum, a class photo from Sykes Chapel School (an early African American school), of people at work, and steam wheelers in the Mississippi river.
The flood of 1927 in the Mississippi Delta, the times of the Great Depression, the Civil Right era are all documented in this book.
I wish the book had included pictures from the last 3 decades of the 20th century, as the last pictures included were from the dawn of the 1970s.
Still it is a good book. Perfect for someone who loves the state of Mississippi, and wants to reminiscence about the good ol' days.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Early Saturday morning
A few weeks ago, I decided I would volunteer for the Renaissance Half Marathon. I wasn't sure what job I wanted to do, but I figured I'd come and support my sister and her husband as they ran this race. I managed to recruit one of my sisters, my niece, her boyfriend, and a friend to come and be part of the water crew at Mile 8.
Saturday came very early for us, since we had to report to our stations by 5:15 and we live 1 hr away from the race. As I was getting ready that morning, I kept wondering if I had lost my mind. Why on earth would anyone get up so early to go and hand out water to people who are even crazier than me?
We arrived at our station in the Bridgewater subdivision. Wow. Those houses are enormous, big enough to fit the entire Duggar family! We picked up our jaws from the ground, and started to set up. Coffee hadn't started working yet, some people were trying to be the "boss" and well, no one was getting paid so we didn't exactly appreciate the attitude. Finally we started to see runners coming up.
Our station was Mile 8 of 13.1. The front of the pack fit the stereotypical picture of a runner: fit, faster than a speeding bullet, and "in the zone". Most didn't want any water, others wanted us to throw water at them to cool them off. They went by us rather quickly, we were all in awe to see them disappear as quickly as they approach our table, like a bunch of gazelles. Some of them you could hardly hear breathing.
Then the middle of the pack started to show up, the real people, people like you and me who enjoy running and don't care if they ever win a medal. They are just loving it.
Some of them thanked us for being there, for cheering them on, for getting up so early to help out. I saw several people I knew, some from work, others whom I had trained with for the Chicago marathon.
The back of the pack were mostly walkers, but boy, can they walk! They smiled, they were just happy to be there, and didn't seem bothered by the fact they still had 5 miles to go before they could claim their medals. They were happy to be doing it.
I have to say the volunteers at our station were awesome. We never discussed it but when the first runners showed up, we started to cheer for them, as they came up the hill to our water stop. And we didn't stop until the very last person passed our water stop. We cheered them on in unison, which was very cool, because up until that morning, most of us had never met.
As I was there, watching, serving, I realized why I got up so early that day: I have been in their shoes. I know how important it is to hear a stranger call your name, cheer you on, tell you they believe you can do it. Saturday, I was one of those strangers for a lot of people. By the time they came to our stop, they had gone 8 miles and still had 5 more to go. That's where their minds would start to take over their bodies, and they'll have to pull the strength out of somewhere to finish.
For some, this was their first 13.1 miles. They had never done it before, and probably weren't sure if they could finish it. I wanted to offer some support, to let them know that finishing 8 miles was a big accomplishment and they could complete the rest.
A lady told us we were the best water stop so far, because we were cheering everyone on. She thanked us for that. That felt pretty good, I have to admit.
When we finished, we went back to the finish line to find my sister and her husband. Along the way, we passed some of the runners in their last mile towards their goal. One of them said "Oh, there you are again" and smiled. We cheered them on as we passed them and told them the finish line was close.
It was a great experience. Having been in the shoes of a runner before, I know how good it feels to have complete strangers line up the streets and cheer you on as you battle to conquer your goal. You may think it's not important if you are there or not, but runners notice the expectators and the volunteers, and they are thankful for you.
So next time there is race in town, like the MS Blues Marathon, consider coming out and cheering. You may be surprised how good it feels to know you made someone's day.
Saturday came very early for us, since we had to report to our stations by 5:15 and we live 1 hr away from the race. As I was getting ready that morning, I kept wondering if I had lost my mind. Why on earth would anyone get up so early to go and hand out water to people who are even crazier than me?
We arrived at our station in the Bridgewater subdivision. Wow. Those houses are enormous, big enough to fit the entire Duggar family! We picked up our jaws from the ground, and started to set up. Coffee hadn't started working yet, some people were trying to be the "boss" and well, no one was getting paid so we didn't exactly appreciate the attitude. Finally we started to see runners coming up.
Our station was Mile 8 of 13.1. The front of the pack fit the stereotypical picture of a runner: fit, faster than a speeding bullet, and "in the zone". Most didn't want any water, others wanted us to throw water at them to cool them off. They went by us rather quickly, we were all in awe to see them disappear as quickly as they approach our table, like a bunch of gazelles. Some of them you could hardly hear breathing.
Then the middle of the pack started to show up, the real people, people like you and me who enjoy running and don't care if they ever win a medal. They are just loving it.
Some of them thanked us for being there, for cheering them on, for getting up so early to help out. I saw several people I knew, some from work, others whom I had trained with for the Chicago marathon.
The back of the pack were mostly walkers, but boy, can they walk! They smiled, they were just happy to be there, and didn't seem bothered by the fact they still had 5 miles to go before they could claim their medals. They were happy to be doing it.
I have to say the volunteers at our station were awesome. We never discussed it but when the first runners showed up, we started to cheer for them, as they came up the hill to our water stop. And we didn't stop until the very last person passed our water stop. We cheered them on in unison, which was very cool, because up until that morning, most of us had never met.
As I was there, watching, serving, I realized why I got up so early that day: I have been in their shoes. I know how important it is to hear a stranger call your name, cheer you on, tell you they believe you can do it. Saturday, I was one of those strangers for a lot of people. By the time they came to our stop, they had gone 8 miles and still had 5 more to go. That's where their minds would start to take over their bodies, and they'll have to pull the strength out of somewhere to finish.
For some, this was their first 13.1 miles. They had never done it before, and probably weren't sure if they could finish it. I wanted to offer some support, to let them know that finishing 8 miles was a big accomplishment and they could complete the rest.
A lady told us we were the best water stop so far, because we were cheering everyone on. She thanked us for that. That felt pretty good, I have to admit.
When we finished, we went back to the finish line to find my sister and her husband. Along the way, we passed some of the runners in their last mile towards their goal. One of them said "Oh, there you are again" and smiled. We cheered them on as we passed them and told them the finish line was close.
It was a great experience. Having been in the shoes of a runner before, I know how good it feels to have complete strangers line up the streets and cheer you on as you battle to conquer your goal. You may think it's not important if you are there or not, but runners notice the expectators and the volunteers, and they are thankful for you.
So next time there is race in town, like the MS Blues Marathon, consider coming out and cheering. You may be surprised how good it feels to know you made someone's day.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Discovering Navarre Beach
Our annual family vacation this year was to a destination that most people haven't really heard of: Navarre Beach, Florida.
The first time I heard of it was in 2004 in a Southern Living Magazine. It talked about how beautiful and quiet it was, and how appropriate it was for families with kids. I filed it somewhere in my brain for future use.
You see, back in 2004, I had an irrational fear of the ocean. I'm not sure when or how it started but the first time I went to the beach I realized I was terrified of it. The sound of the waves, the feel of the sand slipping away under my feet, I simply could not handle it.
It wasn't until last year that I decided to face my fear. My children are growing up, and they had never seen the ocean. I wanted them to see it for the first time during our vacation to my homeland, Panama.
It was there, in front of the Pacific Ocean, and facing 12 ft waves that I faced my fear and conquered it. I'm not even sure how it happened. I just stood there, took a deep breath, and allowed the sounds to enter my soul, and I kept telling myself everything was fine. Before I knew it, a sense of calm came over me and I was able to enjoy my time there.
So I began to plan our first official "beach vacation" earlier this year. My criteria for selecting a beach was simple: it had to be within a reasonable driving distance, the water had to be beautiful, and the lodging options affordable. I asked beach lovers about it, most of them recommended places like Destin, Panama City Beach (which was on top of my list simply because it reminds me of my beloved Panama), Gulf Shores.
While I was doing my search, I remembered that article in Southern Living, and started researching Navarre Beach. Before long we had picked it as our destination.
I started to look for places to stay that were affordable, and not on a high rise building. I have 2 children who believe they can fly, so I wanted to make sure they weren't going to pull a stunt while on vacation.
We were fortunate enough to come across this townhouse . The price was reasonable, the location was great, so we made the deal, put down a deposit and prepared for our vacation.
We arrived at Navarre Beach on May 30, in the late afternoon. It didn't take very long for us to realize we had picked the right place and the right house. The beach was gorgeous, the water had a blue-green hue to it, and the sand was so white. The kids were in awe, and so were we. The house was more than we had expected, had more amenities than we could have ever imagined, including bicycles for us to ride around the Santa Rosa Island, beach chairs, toys for the kids, and even a cart to help us carry our stuff to the beach. The place is beautifully decorated (no tacky stuff there), and so comfortable. We fell in love with this place. The best part (as if being on Navarre Beach wasn't enough), the master bedroom had an awesome view of the Gulf.
We spent a week doing absolutely nothing more than relaxing. The kids enjoyed it beyond belief and so did I. It was exactly the place I was searching for, there were mostly families at the beach, it wasn't crowded, and it was beautiful. We came back ready to plan our next trip to Navarre Beach.
I know most people go to some of the other more popular beaches where there is tons to do, and the crowds are big. But if you are looking for a place to relax, with an unbelievably beautiful beach, Navarre Beach may be for you. ;-)
The first time I heard of it was in 2004 in a Southern Living Magazine. It talked about how beautiful and quiet it was, and how appropriate it was for families with kids. I filed it somewhere in my brain for future use.
You see, back in 2004, I had an irrational fear of the ocean. I'm not sure when or how it started but the first time I went to the beach I realized I was terrified of it. The sound of the waves, the feel of the sand slipping away under my feet, I simply could not handle it.
It wasn't until last year that I decided to face my fear. My children are growing up, and they had never seen the ocean. I wanted them to see it for the first time during our vacation to my homeland, Panama.
It was there, in front of the Pacific Ocean, and facing 12 ft waves that I faced my fear and conquered it. I'm not even sure how it happened. I just stood there, took a deep breath, and allowed the sounds to enter my soul, and I kept telling myself everything was fine. Before I knew it, a sense of calm came over me and I was able to enjoy my time there.
So I began to plan our first official "beach vacation" earlier this year. My criteria for selecting a beach was simple: it had to be within a reasonable driving distance, the water had to be beautiful, and the lodging options affordable. I asked beach lovers about it, most of them recommended places like Destin, Panama City Beach (which was on top of my list simply because it reminds me of my beloved Panama), Gulf Shores.
While I was doing my search, I remembered that article in Southern Living, and started researching Navarre Beach. Before long we had picked it as our destination.
I started to look for places to stay that were affordable, and not on a high rise building. I have 2 children who believe they can fly, so I wanted to make sure they weren't going to pull a stunt while on vacation.
We were fortunate enough to come across this townhouse . The price was reasonable, the location was great, so we made the deal, put down a deposit and prepared for our vacation.
We arrived at Navarre Beach on May 30, in the late afternoon. It didn't take very long for us to realize we had picked the right place and the right house. The beach was gorgeous, the water had a blue-green hue to it, and the sand was so white. The kids were in awe, and so were we. The house was more than we had expected, had more amenities than we could have ever imagined, including bicycles for us to ride around the Santa Rosa Island, beach chairs, toys for the kids, and even a cart to help us carry our stuff to the beach. The place is beautifully decorated (no tacky stuff there), and so comfortable. We fell in love with this place. The best part (as if being on Navarre Beach wasn't enough), the master bedroom had an awesome view of the Gulf.
We spent a week doing absolutely nothing more than relaxing. The kids enjoyed it beyond belief and so did I. It was exactly the place I was searching for, there were mostly families at the beach, it wasn't crowded, and it was beautiful. We came back ready to plan our next trip to Navarre Beach.
I know most people go to some of the other more popular beaches where there is tons to do, and the crowds are big. But if you are looking for a place to relax, with an unbelievably beautiful beach, Navarre Beach may be for you. ;-)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Nine years
Today, my husband and I are celebrating nine years of marriage. Time has flown by, if it wasn't for the fact our kids are getting older, I wouldn't know it has been this long since we said I do.
We met at the least likely of places, at least I think so. I was working out and then he walked in. Our eyes met for a brief moment and that voice in my head simply said "this man is going to change your life".
And so he has, and only for the better.
I knew I was going to marry him a month after we started dating. He had asked if he could join me at church that morning, and as I was praying next to him, I just knew. A year and half later we were husband and wife.
The last nine years have brought lots of wonderful times, and its share of trying times.
We have brought into this world 3 amazing people who fill our days with laughter, joy, tantrums, and their share of messes.
We have faced our kids' illnesses, emergencies, and happy birthdays, and we have learned together how to be the best parents we can be.
He is my best friend. He knows me like no one does, and loves me in spite of my flaws. He knows when to give me room to unwind, when I need a hug, and when I just want to cuddle.
We are each other's ying yang, I suppose. I'm more reserved, more private, an introvert, and he has never met a stranger. We are different in a lot of ways, but we are one in the things that really matter. I am a better person because I've spent the last nine years of my life with him.
He makes me laugh like no one can, he makes me feel pretty even when I'm walking around in pajamas and my hair is a mess; he knows what makes me tick, what angers me, and what makes me happy. There is no one I rather spend my life with.
Thank you for being my best friend, my companion, my lover, the father of my children, my only one.
I love you.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
To my niece
1991. There are a lot of things I don't remember about that year. I barely remember the people who were in my classes in high school, or what fashion styles were "in". I don't even remember my birthday that year.
But there is day I have not forgotten, even after all these years: March 10, the day I became an aunt.
She came into the world on a beautiful spring day. It was a Sunday. As I heard the news of her arrival, I looked out the window and saw the bluest sky. I wanted to remember that day, so one day I could tell her what a beautiful day it was the day she was born.
She was a joy to be around from the start, and I was lucky enough to live with my sister during the first months of her life. I helped take care of her, and enjoyed every minute I spent with her.
The years have passed, and that sweet girl has now become a young woman. She is everything one could have dreamed, she is intelligent, beautiful, kind, humble, giving, loving; the list could go on.
I've had the privilege to watch her grow up and overcome obstacles along the way, and become the person she is today.
In a week, she will be graduating high school. It seems like only yesterday I saw her for the first time, and now she is getting ready to begin the next phase of her life. There are so many things I want to tell her but simply can't find the right words.
I want her to know how very proud I am of her, of the person she has become, and how much I admire her. There have been hurdles along her path that many people could have used as excuses. Instead, she has risen above them, set her goals high, and achieved them.
I want her to know how proud I was the night it was announced she had the highest GPA of her class, how every time I think of the little girl she was, and how far she has come, the tears fill up my eyes. Of how thankful I am to have her in my life, to have her setting a good example for my own children, and how big are the shoes she has left for them to fill.
I want to tell her how much I love her, but even that doesn't seem enough to express how I feel.
I want her to know how thankful I am for the bond we have; that she can always come to me no matter how much distance separate us, or how long it has been since we last talked.
I want to tell her the rest of her life is just around the corner. That the years she spends in college will help her become the adult she is destined to be.
I want her to know that there will be obstacles along the way, some will seem insurmountable, but most of them seldom are.
I want to remind her to believe in herself and in the power of her dreams. I want her to know the measure of success is not in material possessions, but rather in the happiness you feel from having lived your life to the fullest.
I want her to know every day will bring a lesson; and it's up to her to learn from it.
That life should be lived without regrets, that there is a lesson in every moment, and that she should cherish all the good ones because they are the ones that will carry you through the tough times.
I want to tell her how much I'm going to miss her, how incredibly proud I am of her, and how much she means to me.
Thank you Stephanie for the gift you are to me.
But there is day I have not forgotten, even after all these years: March 10, the day I became an aunt.
She came into the world on a beautiful spring day. It was a Sunday. As I heard the news of her arrival, I looked out the window and saw the bluest sky. I wanted to remember that day, so one day I could tell her what a beautiful day it was the day she was born.
She was a joy to be around from the start, and I was lucky enough to live with my sister during the first months of her life. I helped take care of her, and enjoyed every minute I spent with her.
The years have passed, and that sweet girl has now become a young woman. She is everything one could have dreamed, she is intelligent, beautiful, kind, humble, giving, loving; the list could go on.
I've had the privilege to watch her grow up and overcome obstacles along the way, and become the person she is today.
In a week, she will be graduating high school. It seems like only yesterday I saw her for the first time, and now she is getting ready to begin the next phase of her life. There are so many things I want to tell her but simply can't find the right words.
I want her to know how very proud I am of her, of the person she has become, and how much I admire her. There have been hurdles along her path that many people could have used as excuses. Instead, she has risen above them, set her goals high, and achieved them.
I want her to know how proud I was the night it was announced she had the highest GPA of her class, how every time I think of the little girl she was, and how far she has come, the tears fill up my eyes. Of how thankful I am to have her in my life, to have her setting a good example for my own children, and how big are the shoes she has left for them to fill.
I want to tell her how much I love her, but even that doesn't seem enough to express how I feel.
I want her to know how thankful I am for the bond we have; that she can always come to me no matter how much distance separate us, or how long it has been since we last talked.
I want to tell her the rest of her life is just around the corner. That the years she spends in college will help her become the adult she is destined to be.
I want her to know that there will be obstacles along the way, some will seem insurmountable, but most of them seldom are.
I want to remind her to believe in herself and in the power of her dreams. I want her to know the measure of success is not in material possessions, but rather in the happiness you feel from having lived your life to the fullest.
I want her to know every day will bring a lesson; and it's up to her to learn from it.
That life should be lived without regrets, that there is a lesson in every moment, and that she should cherish all the good ones because they are the ones that will carry you through the tough times.
I want to tell her how much I'm going to miss her, how incredibly proud I am of her, and how much she means to me.
Thank you Stephanie for the gift you are to me.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The sound of music
I'm probably one of the few people who have never attempted to play an instrument. I would have loved to play piano, and I still think before I get older, I'd like to give it a try.
But for now, my daughter is the only musician in our house. She has been taking piano lessons since August of last year. She likes it, and she is good at it. Seh can memorize a piece rather quickly, which really amazes me. Sheet music look like a bunch of squiggly lines to me.
Sunday was her very 1st piano recital. She was nervous and excited, and at one point said she felt like "butterflies were coming out of their pupa inside her belly". I was surprised she actually knew what a pupa was. :)
She was the second one to play at recital, and didn't seem to be nervous at all as she sat on the grand piano on the stage. She began to play Chugga Chugga Choo Choo by Elisabeth Gutierrez.
That's when I lost it and began to cry. Where did the time go? It was just yesterday I brought this tiny child home and became her mom. Now she sits in front of a grand piano, and makes music.
But for now, my daughter is the only musician in our house. She has been taking piano lessons since August of last year. She likes it, and she is good at it. Seh can memorize a piece rather quickly, which really amazes me. Sheet music look like a bunch of squiggly lines to me.
Sunday was her very 1st piano recital. She was nervous and excited, and at one point said she felt like "butterflies were coming out of their pupa inside her belly". I was surprised she actually knew what a pupa was. :)
She was the second one to play at recital, and didn't seem to be nervous at all as she sat on the grand piano on the stage. She began to play Chugga Chugga Choo Choo by Elisabeth Gutierrez.
That's when I lost it and began to cry. Where did the time go? It was just yesterday I brought this tiny child home and became her mom. Now she sits in front of a grand piano, and makes music.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Folding Machine
I hate house chores. I really do. Growing up, my family had a maid until I turned 13. By then, my 2 oldest sisters were gone to college, and my parents decided they didn't need a maid any longer. So my sister Glenda and I became the maids. We did our own laundry (NO washing machine), and kept the house clean (no carpets, we had to sweep and mop).
So I guess that's why I hate doing chores. The one thing I can do without complaining is the dishes. Our dishwasher decided to retire a few months ago, and even though my husband wanted to find a replacement, I talked him out of it. Doing dishes actually relaxes me.
Laundry is my biggest enemy. There is a never ending mountain of dirty clothes to be washed, baskets of laundry to be folded. It is time consuming, and I rather do something else with my time. Even though my laundry experience has come a long way since my teenage years, I still dread doing it. I guess doing the laundry for 5 people doesn't make it any easier.
As I was folding clothes this afternoon, I was thanking whoever invented washing machines and dryers, when it occurred to me, no one has invented a folding machine. Now, I would be willing to pay anything to have a folding machine where I could just throw the clean clothes, and they'd come out neatly folded and just ready to be put into the drawers.
So to any inventors out there, please invent a folding machine. I'm sure there are thousands of us out there who would love to own one.
So I guess that's why I hate doing chores. The one thing I can do without complaining is the dishes. Our dishwasher decided to retire a few months ago, and even though my husband wanted to find a replacement, I talked him out of it. Doing dishes actually relaxes me.
Laundry is my biggest enemy. There is a never ending mountain of dirty clothes to be washed, baskets of laundry to be folded. It is time consuming, and I rather do something else with my time. Even though my laundry experience has come a long way since my teenage years, I still dread doing it. I guess doing the laundry for 5 people doesn't make it any easier.
As I was folding clothes this afternoon, I was thanking whoever invented washing machines and dryers, when it occurred to me, no one has invented a folding machine. Now, I would be willing to pay anything to have a folding machine where I could just throw the clean clothes, and they'd come out neatly folded and just ready to be put into the drawers.
So to any inventors out there, please invent a folding machine. I'm sure there are thousands of us out there who would love to own one.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Wacky happenings
It has been a month since I last posted on this blog. I guess you could say the "blogger block" was more than I could surpass.
I decided to change the layout and title of this blog so I can (hopefully) feel more inspired to blog daily.
You can file this under "strange", "eccentric", or just plain crazy. Take your pick.
Our offices moved to a new, much nicer building last year. A lot of us lost our hard wall offices and ended up in a "workstation", aka: cubicle. Rules were published as to how our workstations should look and what was acceptable to display and what wasn't. Common sense would tell most people that certain things (bikini calendars for example) are better kept at home.
A "new" person moved to our hall recently. She really isn't that new (she has been here for a year already) but we had not seen her in our area before. A few days after her move, one wall of her cubicle was covered with a type of material often used to cover casseroles that normally will be cooked in the oven. Do you get the hint? Aluminum foil.
I later heard through the grapevine the reason this person covered the wall is to prevent radiation from the laser printer on the other side from harming her unborn baby. I personally had never heard of laser printers giving off any type of radiation. I guess that explains why my children glow in the dark. HA!
Anyway, fast forward to a month later, when this person and I crossed paths in the hallway. I noticed her pants had a funny print on them. Not being a fan of prints, I took a closer look, only to realize the prints were stars, clouds, and cows. Yes, cows. These are pajama pants, my friends.
The pants have made an appearance for the past two weeks, just about every day. While I understand pregnancy can be a rather uncomfortable time in a woman's life, I was pregnant twice before, and never came to work in my pajamas. I may have worn flip flops when my feet were too swollen to fit into anything else, but never came to work in clothes I would wear to bed.
Why do I care, you ask? Because we have a dress code. Some of us dress more business like than others, depending on what we do. Sometimes I wear jeans if I'm going to do sampling, other times I wear skirts, heels. Very seldom do I wear suits, unless I have a meeting. I guess you could say we have a very relaxed dress code because we all have very different job functions.
But nowhere in the dress code does it say pajamas are acceptable for anyone, regardless of the job function. Unless yours is "sleeping on the job".
So that has been the highlight around here, everyone wondering how long it will before we get a memo reminding everyone what the appropriate office attire is. Of course, once the memo comes out, the only person who won't read it or abide by it will be the one who needs to do it the most.
I decided to change the layout and title of this blog so I can (hopefully) feel more inspired to blog daily.
You can file this under "strange", "eccentric", or just plain crazy. Take your pick.
Our offices moved to a new, much nicer building last year. A lot of us lost our hard wall offices and ended up in a "workstation", aka: cubicle. Rules were published as to how our workstations should look and what was acceptable to display and what wasn't. Common sense would tell most people that certain things (bikini calendars for example) are better kept at home.
A "new" person moved to our hall recently. She really isn't that new (she has been here for a year already) but we had not seen her in our area before. A few days after her move, one wall of her cubicle was covered with a type of material often used to cover casseroles that normally will be cooked in the oven. Do you get the hint? Aluminum foil.
I later heard through the grapevine the reason this person covered the wall is to prevent radiation from the laser printer on the other side from harming her unborn baby. I personally had never heard of laser printers giving off any type of radiation. I guess that explains why my children glow in the dark. HA!
Anyway, fast forward to a month later, when this person and I crossed paths in the hallway. I noticed her pants had a funny print on them. Not being a fan of prints, I took a closer look, only to realize the prints were stars, clouds, and cows. Yes, cows. These are pajama pants, my friends.
The pants have made an appearance for the past two weeks, just about every day. While I understand pregnancy can be a rather uncomfortable time in a woman's life, I was pregnant twice before, and never came to work in my pajamas. I may have worn flip flops when my feet were too swollen to fit into anything else, but never came to work in clothes I would wear to bed.
Why do I care, you ask? Because we have a dress code. Some of us dress more business like than others, depending on what we do. Sometimes I wear jeans if I'm going to do sampling, other times I wear skirts, heels. Very seldom do I wear suits, unless I have a meeting. I guess you could say we have a very relaxed dress code because we all have very different job functions.
But nowhere in the dress code does it say pajamas are acceptable for anyone, regardless of the job function. Unless yours is "sleeping on the job".
So that has been the highlight around here, everyone wondering how long it will before we get a memo reminding everyone what the appropriate office attire is. Of course, once the memo comes out, the only person who won't read it or abide by it will be the one who needs to do it the most.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Libraries
I took my daughter to the library early Saturday morning. This was my second trip in a very long time. I almost hate to admit it had been years since I had stepped foot in our local library.
I have a million excuses, some reasonable ones like their hours and my work hours don't coincide, I like to keep some of the books I read; others are not so reasonable: I simply have not made the time.
My daughter loves the kid section so she quickly settled in her space at the library and suggested I find something for me "to read" if I felt so inclined.
As I was walking amidst the rows of books, I discovered why I love libraries and how much I had missed them. There is something magical about that place, so much knowledge contained within those pages. As I browsed through the books, I began to wonder the history of each volume found on the shelves. Was it gift? Who donated it? What were they like?
I managed to find a couple of books and a couple of CDs to bring home with me, as did my daughter. We are making plans on going back next Saturday to get more books, and so she can get her very own library card.
I hope her love for books will remain as she gets older. I wonder if she feels the magic of the library the moment we walk in. I hope that magic remains with her forever.
I have a million excuses, some reasonable ones like their hours and my work hours don't coincide, I like to keep some of the books I read; others are not so reasonable: I simply have not made the time.
My daughter loves the kid section so she quickly settled in her space at the library and suggested I find something for me "to read" if I felt so inclined.
As I was walking amidst the rows of books, I discovered why I love libraries and how much I had missed them. There is something magical about that place, so much knowledge contained within those pages. As I browsed through the books, I began to wonder the history of each volume found on the shelves. Was it gift? Who donated it? What were they like?
I managed to find a couple of books and a couple of CDs to bring home with me, as did my daughter. We are making plans on going back next Saturday to get more books, and so she can get her very own library card.
I hope her love for books will remain as she gets older. I wonder if she feels the magic of the library the moment we walk in. I hope that magic remains with her forever.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Family
It's funny how a simple word can be defined in so many different ways.
Out of curiosity, I went to Merriam Webster to see how it was defined. The first definition listed said " a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head".
In reality, there are so many definitions of family, each of us has a different one, taught to us by our parents, and grandparents. There are blended families, single parent families, multiracial families, the list goes on.
So what do you consider family? What's your definition?
In all honesty, I can say I hadn't thought about what family really meant to me until recently. And it wasn't until recently that I realized that it doesn't mean the same to everyone. I guess when it came to "family" I am still a child, I still believe that everyone has a family just like mine.
Even more surprising I have realized that even two people, who have shared the same parents and somewhat similar upbringing (one raised in one country, the other in a different one) can have two completely opposite ideas as to what family is, and what roles family plays in your life.
Family to me has always been sacred. These are the people who know me best, and who are the closest to my heart. They include my parents, my sisters, my cousins, my aunts, grandparents. The bonds we share cannot be shattered, they are the ones I go to when things are going great and when things fall apart.
Inside that family core, there is that bond of sisterhood I share with my sisters. These women are my best friends, the ones I can say anything to, and know they will love me in spite of my mistakes. When I needed someone to stand up for me, they have been there. When I needed someone to share my happy moments, they have been there. When things have gotten rough, they are ready to listen, and offer advice. When I am making a mistake, they are the first ones to point it out, even when they know I will get mad.
There is no other relationship like the one I share with them. There are no other people in this world who could understand what we've shared, the struggles we have seen, the triumphs we have achieved. These women, all in their own ways, have helped me become the person that I am.
Even when we allow weeks to go by without a phone call, even when we get wrapped up in our busy lives and we don't talk often enough, I always know they are just a phone call away. I never hesitate to call if I need them because I know they will always be there. They are part of that most intimate part of life I call "private".
Not everyone feels that way about their family, or their siblings. Funny how I'm just now realizing that.
I believe that my children will probably define family and brotherhood based on what we teach them. They will follow our example and our teachings. I just hope they can always feel they are important parts of each other's lives. I hope they always feel comfortable talking to each other, sharing their most intimate thoughts, without fear. I hope they know that when things get rough, they can count on one another. I hope they can be honest with each other in the good times and the bad.
I hope they remember to love each other unconditionally.
Out of curiosity, I went to Merriam Webster to see how it was defined. The first definition listed said " a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head".
In reality, there are so many definitions of family, each of us has a different one, taught to us by our parents, and grandparents. There are blended families, single parent families, multiracial families, the list goes on.
So what do you consider family? What's your definition?
In all honesty, I can say I hadn't thought about what family really meant to me until recently. And it wasn't until recently that I realized that it doesn't mean the same to everyone. I guess when it came to "family" I am still a child, I still believe that everyone has a family just like mine.
Even more surprising I have realized that even two people, who have shared the same parents and somewhat similar upbringing (one raised in one country, the other in a different one) can have two completely opposite ideas as to what family is, and what roles family plays in your life.
Family to me has always been sacred. These are the people who know me best, and who are the closest to my heart. They include my parents, my sisters, my cousins, my aunts, grandparents. The bonds we share cannot be shattered, they are the ones I go to when things are going great and when things fall apart.
Inside that family core, there is that bond of sisterhood I share with my sisters. These women are my best friends, the ones I can say anything to, and know they will love me in spite of my mistakes. When I needed someone to stand up for me, they have been there. When I needed someone to share my happy moments, they have been there. When things have gotten rough, they are ready to listen, and offer advice. When I am making a mistake, they are the first ones to point it out, even when they know I will get mad.
There is no other relationship like the one I share with them. There are no other people in this world who could understand what we've shared, the struggles we have seen, the triumphs we have achieved. These women, all in their own ways, have helped me become the person that I am.
Even when we allow weeks to go by without a phone call, even when we get wrapped up in our busy lives and we don't talk often enough, I always know they are just a phone call away. I never hesitate to call if I need them because I know they will always be there. They are part of that most intimate part of life I call "private".
Not everyone feels that way about their family, or their siblings. Funny how I'm just now realizing that.
I believe that my children will probably define family and brotherhood based on what we teach them. They will follow our example and our teachings. I just hope they can always feel they are important parts of each other's lives. I hope they always feel comfortable talking to each other, sharing their most intimate thoughts, without fear. I hope they know that when things get rough, they can count on one another. I hope they can be honest with each other in the good times and the bad.
I hope they remember to love each other unconditionally.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The call of the pavement
If you have known me for a while, you probably know I trained for a marathon a couple of years ago. I was not a runner, I just read an article in the newspaper and thought that was something I wanted to add to my list of accomplishments.
Training was rigorous, but fun. I made great friends, and learn a whole lot about myself and about how much I can achieve if I'm willing to push myself beyond my known limits.
I didn't get to finish my first marathon. I didn't quit, the marathon quit on me. It was extremely hot in Chicago and they had to cancel the race after one death and several wounded.
The months after the marathon were very disappointing. I kept trying to tell myself there was nothing I could have done, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking: what if my pace had been faster?, what if I had lined up towards the front of the pack, would I have been able to finish? Even though my family and friends kept telling me I had accomplished my goal because I had completed a 22 mile run, it just didn't feel the same.
The past two years, I've been trying to talk myself into getting back in the race. I've been trying to convince myself to lace up my running shoes, and go out and run. I just have not found that motivation inside of me that makes me want to run.
The last few weeks, I've started to feel that little flame inside of me. I've begun to remember what it felt like to run, to feel the rush of adrenaline, to just enjoy nature.
I can hear the pavement calling me. I am starting to feel that urge that only runners can understand, that need to get out and push yourself beyond the limit one more time. I've actually read my Runner's World magazine, rather than putting it aside because I felt it's meant for runners, and I'm just not one of them.
I can hear that calling. I am ready to lace up my shoes and just run. There will be another marathon, another chance to prove to myself that I have what it takes to finish 26.2 miles.
But right now, I just want to feel like a runner again.
Training was rigorous, but fun. I made great friends, and learn a whole lot about myself and about how much I can achieve if I'm willing to push myself beyond my known limits.
I didn't get to finish my first marathon. I didn't quit, the marathon quit on me. It was extremely hot in Chicago and they had to cancel the race after one death and several wounded.
The months after the marathon were very disappointing. I kept trying to tell myself there was nothing I could have done, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking: what if my pace had been faster?, what if I had lined up towards the front of the pack, would I have been able to finish? Even though my family and friends kept telling me I had accomplished my goal because I had completed a 22 mile run, it just didn't feel the same.
The past two years, I've been trying to talk myself into getting back in the race. I've been trying to convince myself to lace up my running shoes, and go out and run. I just have not found that motivation inside of me that makes me want to run.
The last few weeks, I've started to feel that little flame inside of me. I've begun to remember what it felt like to run, to feel the rush of adrenaline, to just enjoy nature.
I can hear the pavement calling me. I am starting to feel that urge that only runners can understand, that need to get out and push yourself beyond the limit one more time. I've actually read my Runner's World magazine, rather than putting it aside because I felt it's meant for runners, and I'm just not one of them.
I can hear that calling. I am ready to lace up my shoes and just run. There will be another marathon, another chance to prove to myself that I have what it takes to finish 26.2 miles.
But right now, I just want to feel like a runner again.
Friday, March 6, 2009
What I hope to teach my kids
There are times when I wonder what my children will remember about me when I'm gone. Will they think I was fun? Will they remember our vacations, and the times we spent watching their favorite movies over and over again?
More importantly, what lessons will they have learned from me? What do I hope will be my legacy in their lives?
I hope to teach my kids to:
Respect life, all life, big and small, rich or poor, human and non-human. Every living thing deserves to be treated with respect.
Respect yourself. Your body is a temple, treat it as one. Respect your ideas, and the person you are and never sell yourself short.
Love life, laugh often, and learn at every opportunity.
No one can put you down unless you let them. Believe in the potential hidden inside of you.
Have faith in something bigger than you. Call him God, or whatever you like, but believe in something bigger than your imagination.
Believe in the power of your dreams. Never give up, no matter how unattainable they seem, never stop believing.
Stay close to your siblings. Even if they drive you crazy, they will defend you against anyone and will stand by you when things are not going well.
Never forget your ancestors and the sacrifices they made. You are able to dream bigger because of the foundation they laid for you. Honor them by going one step further than you think possible.
Travel as much as possible, and respect other cultures. You are not better, embrace the differences.
Check boxes in a form do not describe who you are. Race doesn't matter, neither does gender, religion, or money. Integrity is what counts.
Everyone has a gift. Find yours and share it with the world.
Keep an open mind. Even if you disagree with someone's religion, political views, or philosophy of life, show them respect. It's our differences that make this world interesting.
And when the times come to share your life with someone, and raise kids, make sure love is what guides everything you do.
More importantly, what lessons will they have learned from me? What do I hope will be my legacy in their lives?
I hope to teach my kids to:
Respect life, all life, big and small, rich or poor, human and non-human. Every living thing deserves to be treated with respect.
Respect yourself. Your body is a temple, treat it as one. Respect your ideas, and the person you are and never sell yourself short.
Love life, laugh often, and learn at every opportunity.
No one can put you down unless you let them. Believe in the potential hidden inside of you.
Have faith in something bigger than you. Call him God, or whatever you like, but believe in something bigger than your imagination.
Believe in the power of your dreams. Never give up, no matter how unattainable they seem, never stop believing.
Stay close to your siblings. Even if they drive you crazy, they will defend you against anyone and will stand by you when things are not going well.
Never forget your ancestors and the sacrifices they made. You are able to dream bigger because of the foundation they laid for you. Honor them by going one step further than you think possible.
Travel as much as possible, and respect other cultures. You are not better, embrace the differences.
Check boxes in a form do not describe who you are. Race doesn't matter, neither does gender, religion, or money. Integrity is what counts.
Everyone has a gift. Find yours and share it with the world.
Keep an open mind. Even if you disagree with someone's religion, political views, or philosophy of life, show them respect. It's our differences that make this world interesting.
And when the times come to share your life with someone, and raise kids, make sure love is what guides everything you do.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
It's just hair
As you have probably guessed, today's blog is about hair, and also about lessons learned, and knowing what's truly important.
A couple of weeks ago, I had an appointment with my regular hairdresser to get a haircut. She wasn't there when I showed up, and I ended up making an appointment with a new hairdresser. I figured it would be ok, after all it's just hair and I didn't want anything out of the ordinary.
I arrived at the new place on time for my appointment, only to be met by a stare. I guess I wasn't what they were expecting? Whatever. Sat down and waited. Finally, after 20 minutes waiting, it was my turn. I showed the hairdresser the picture, she got ready to begin, and then it happened. She cut the first piece. As I felt the razor go through my hair, I knew this haircut would be a disaster.
She cut that first piece really short, shorter than I wanted it. There is no way to fix that mishap except to cut the rest of the hair the same length and let it all blend in. I walked out of there with the worst haircut of my life, and mad that I had to pay for it.
If you saw me, you'd probably say it looks fine. Except this is not what I wanted and paid for.
I was feeling pretty blue last night after I washed the bottle of hairspray off my head. I looked in the mirror and realized just how bad it really was, how much styling it would take to make the hair look ok (at least to my standards), and was about ready to ask my husband for the clippers so I could finish the job and join him in the world of baldness.
That's when the voice in my head whispered something to me: Think of the women who are battling cancer, who have lost their hair, who are wishing theirs were as long as yours is right now.
I felt pretty ashamed. There I was, dwelling on my stupid hair, worrying about what people are going to think of it, completely absorbed in my own pity party.
I said a prayer for all those women who are cancer survivors, who are currently fighting cancer, and those who lost their battles. Many of those women are family, friends, coworkers.
I decided to make a donation in the same amount I paid for this haircut to the American Cancer Society, in honor of all women who have lost their hair during their battle with cancer.
I am still mad at the hairdresser for messing it up and still expecting me to pay for it. But I'm no longer upset over the hair I lost. I am thankful because I'm healthy and before long, my hair will grow back and all this will be just a bad memory.
I'm also thankful for the lesson I learned: it's just hair.
A couple of weeks ago, I had an appointment with my regular hairdresser to get a haircut. She wasn't there when I showed up, and I ended up making an appointment with a new hairdresser. I figured it would be ok, after all it's just hair and I didn't want anything out of the ordinary.
I arrived at the new place on time for my appointment, only to be met by a stare. I guess I wasn't what they were expecting? Whatever. Sat down and waited. Finally, after 20 minutes waiting, it was my turn. I showed the hairdresser the picture, she got ready to begin, and then it happened. She cut the first piece. As I felt the razor go through my hair, I knew this haircut would be a disaster.
She cut that first piece really short, shorter than I wanted it. There is no way to fix that mishap except to cut the rest of the hair the same length and let it all blend in. I walked out of there with the worst haircut of my life, and mad that I had to pay for it.
If you saw me, you'd probably say it looks fine. Except this is not what I wanted and paid for.
I was feeling pretty blue last night after I washed the bottle of hairspray off my head. I looked in the mirror and realized just how bad it really was, how much styling it would take to make the hair look ok (at least to my standards), and was about ready to ask my husband for the clippers so I could finish the job and join him in the world of baldness.
That's when the voice in my head whispered something to me: Think of the women who are battling cancer, who have lost their hair, who are wishing theirs were as long as yours is right now.
I felt pretty ashamed. There I was, dwelling on my stupid hair, worrying about what people are going to think of it, completely absorbed in my own pity party.
I said a prayer for all those women who are cancer survivors, who are currently fighting cancer, and those who lost their battles. Many of those women are family, friends, coworkers.
I decided to make a donation in the same amount I paid for this haircut to the American Cancer Society, in honor of all women who have lost their hair during their battle with cancer.
I am still mad at the hairdresser for messing it up and still expecting me to pay for it. But I'm no longer upset over the hair I lost. I am thankful because I'm healthy and before long, my hair will grow back and all this will be just a bad memory.
I'm also thankful for the lesson I learned: it's just hair.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sleep
Whoever came up with the saying "Sleep like a baby", obviously did not have twins.
All the things you've heard about twins are probably true. They are each other's best friends, they do everything together, miss one another when they are apart. And they are definitely like day and night, at least mine are.
They are fraternal twins, so of course they don't look alike; and from the day they were born they have been acting differently.
Cade is the oldest (by a whole minute) and was the bigger baby weighing 5 lb 1 oz at birth. Both he and his brother were the same length, but Braden was only 4.5 lbs at birth. The first few days in the NICU, Braden was always awake. He would look for me every time I spoke and was always moving, alert. Cade slept most of the time, he just couldn't be bothered to visit with his parents.
Braden came home first. He learned to eat first, and was sent home a few days before his big brother. Then Cade came and our life became a chaotic blessing. Diapers everywhere, bottles, and sleepless nights.
We figured once they started sleeping through the night, we would be able to catch up on our sleep. We are still wondering if these kids come with an OFF button.
Braden is a night owl. He stays awake for hours after we put him in bed, talking, singing, laughing. Once he decides that it's time for bed, he is out and doesn't wake up until next morning, usually after 9 AM.
Of course, his brother is the opposite. Cade goes to sleep right away. Then he proceeds to wake up several times during the night, calling my name. Many times all he wants is to know I'm there. We've tried everything, Benadryl makes one hyper, and it doesn't work for Cade. We tried no naps, we tried putting them to bed later.
So I finally decided three years without sleeping through the night is enough. I'm tired of competing with Pete the raccoon (who hangs out in my backyard). I'm tired and it's time these kids go to bed and stay in bed until the sun comes out the next morning.
I ordered some herbal remedy that suppose to help. I just hope it does, and doesn't have the opposite effect on them.
Then again, if it does make them hyper, I'll just take the herb and call it a night.
So next time someone says they slept like a baby, feel free to smack them. Apparently no one told my kids what "sleeping like a baby" meant.
All the things you've heard about twins are probably true. They are each other's best friends, they do everything together, miss one another when they are apart. And they are definitely like day and night, at least mine are.
They are fraternal twins, so of course they don't look alike; and from the day they were born they have been acting differently.
Cade is the oldest (by a whole minute) and was the bigger baby weighing 5 lb 1 oz at birth. Both he and his brother were the same length, but Braden was only 4.5 lbs at birth. The first few days in the NICU, Braden was always awake. He would look for me every time I spoke and was always moving, alert. Cade slept most of the time, he just couldn't be bothered to visit with his parents.
Braden came home first. He learned to eat first, and was sent home a few days before his big brother. Then Cade came and our life became a chaotic blessing. Diapers everywhere, bottles, and sleepless nights.
We figured once they started sleeping through the night, we would be able to catch up on our sleep. We are still wondering if these kids come with an OFF button.
Braden is a night owl. He stays awake for hours after we put him in bed, talking, singing, laughing. Once he decides that it's time for bed, he is out and doesn't wake up until next morning, usually after 9 AM.
Of course, his brother is the opposite. Cade goes to sleep right away. Then he proceeds to wake up several times during the night, calling my name. Many times all he wants is to know I'm there. We've tried everything, Benadryl makes one hyper, and it doesn't work for Cade. We tried no naps, we tried putting them to bed later.
So I finally decided three years without sleeping through the night is enough. I'm tired of competing with Pete the raccoon (who hangs out in my backyard). I'm tired and it's time these kids go to bed and stay in bed until the sun comes out the next morning.
I ordered some herbal remedy that suppose to help. I just hope it does, and doesn't have the opposite effect on them.
Then again, if it does make them hyper, I'll just take the herb and call it a night.
So next time someone says they slept like a baby, feel free to smack them. Apparently no one told my kids what "sleeping like a baby" meant.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Music, Life, Lent
This past weekend Candace participated in her first music festival, hosted by MC. It wasn't really a competition, the children (adults too!) had a chance to display their musical talents in front of judges and get scored on their performances.
We left the house early enough to pick up her grandmother and arrive at MC on time for her 11:30 appointment. Just as we walked into the building, she informed me "she wasn't so sure about that" anymore. By "that" she meant playing for a judge.
She was obviously nervous, she has been playing less than a year, and she had to play in front of a complete stranger. We told her to pretend this judge was her piano teacher and she was at practice. As we waited for her turn, other kids who take classes from the same teacher, showed up and tried to ease her nerves. Then it was her turn. She was not too thrilled that we couldn't be in the room with her, but we were right outside.
I have to admit I was as nervous as her until I heard the notes streaming through the door. She did a great job! I was so proud because I know how much heart she had put into getting this done. Yesterday she had her weekly lesson and the teacher gave her the score sheet with comments from the judge. The comments were more suggestions than criticism and they ended with "Great Job" and a Superior score, the highest you could get.
Now we are getting ready for recital. As we practice the pieces she'll play, her favorite audience (her brothers) will be listening and cheering her on. They probably feel (as I do) that she plays the music of angels.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This time of the year always brings back lots of childhood memories. Lent and Easter were very important parts of our lives.
Throughout my life, I have observed Lent every year, sometimes casually, other times with full reverance. This year is one of those times when I'm determined to do it the right way.
So, the first thing most people ask is "what are you giving up for lent?". It should be a sacrifice, so I chose coffee. Nourishments of the gods, and what keeps me going every single morning. But I depend on coffee to function, and that's never a good thing. I could easily get the same boost of energy from exercising in the morning. That's where the sacrifice will be found because I have a hard time rolling out of bed every morning.
I keep remembering something I read a few weeks back. If you are a Christian, then you believe your body is the place where the Holy Spirit dwells. I want my body to be in its best shape so it can properly host such important tenant.
So I'll go to Mass tonight and have ashes smeared on my forehead. Hopefully the journey won't end on Easter, and will continue throught the year.
We left the house early enough to pick up her grandmother and arrive at MC on time for her 11:30 appointment. Just as we walked into the building, she informed me "she wasn't so sure about that" anymore. By "that" she meant playing for a judge.
She was obviously nervous, she has been playing less than a year, and she had to play in front of a complete stranger. We told her to pretend this judge was her piano teacher and she was at practice. As we waited for her turn, other kids who take classes from the same teacher, showed up and tried to ease her nerves. Then it was her turn. She was not too thrilled that we couldn't be in the room with her, but we were right outside.
I have to admit I was as nervous as her until I heard the notes streaming through the door. She did a great job! I was so proud because I know how much heart she had put into getting this done. Yesterday she had her weekly lesson and the teacher gave her the score sheet with comments from the judge. The comments were more suggestions than criticism and they ended with "Great Job" and a Superior score, the highest you could get.
Now we are getting ready for recital. As we practice the pieces she'll play, her favorite audience (her brothers) will be listening and cheering her on. They probably feel (as I do) that she plays the music of angels.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This time of the year always brings back lots of childhood memories. Lent and Easter were very important parts of our lives.
Throughout my life, I have observed Lent every year, sometimes casually, other times with full reverance. This year is one of those times when I'm determined to do it the right way.
So, the first thing most people ask is "what are you giving up for lent?". It should be a sacrifice, so I chose coffee. Nourishments of the gods, and what keeps me going every single morning. But I depend on coffee to function, and that's never a good thing. I could easily get the same boost of energy from exercising in the morning. That's where the sacrifice will be found because I have a hard time rolling out of bed every morning.
I keep remembering something I read a few weeks back. If you are a Christian, then you believe your body is the place where the Holy Spirit dwells. I want my body to be in its best shape so it can properly host such important tenant.
So I'll go to Mass tonight and have ashes smeared on my forehead. Hopefully the journey won't end on Easter, and will continue throught the year.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Life Purpose
Getting older sometimes has its perks (you can buy beer) but it also has it downfalls (wrinkles, gray hairs). For some reason, being a year older and closer to the prime of my life has made me think about my life, career, and put things in perspective. Plus having setbacks at work has helped my epiphany too.
I love what I do. I've never doubted that I chose the right career path, being an engineer is something I love. I also know I chose the right field, protecting the environment is something of a calling, I guess you could say. I have poured my heart, soul, and knowledge into this field, into being the best engineer in my area, and have always felt I needed to do more so that my contribution be more valuable to my employer.
Then setbacks happen. You begin to see, that no matter how many cracks there are on the glass ceiling, the ceiling is not budging. You keep trying, you try yet again, and the disappointments keep coming.
I'm not a quitter. I set goals, follow through with them, no matter how difficult they are. I'm not bragging, it's just how my brain functions. It's a curse, I guess you could say because I'll get so wrapped up in finishing the goal, that sometimes I miss the whole picture.
Then it happened, another setback at work. I had poured my heart and soul into a project that I thought would be awesome, and it was turned down. Not even given a chance to discuss it, and present it, just simply turned down.
Rejection hurts specially when you have invested part of yourself into a project, when the project is more than just work, when it is something you truly believe would benefit all parties involved.
I was upset, until now.
Maybe I've been looking to apply my talents in the wrong places. Yes, I am a good engineer, and I am good at my job. But being an engineer is only job. It's not who I am. Perhaps all those other talents I have been blessed with were not meant to be shared in this setting.
I was blessed with the ability to conquer my hatred of math, and pursue a degree most people don't ever dream of attempting. I was blessed with the intelligence to see it through, and a job that lets me apply my knowledge and protect the environment.
But that's just part of me. I have so much more to offer and for the longest time I've been trying and trying to use my other talents at work. I have prayed, I have cried, I have fought, and the whole time I forgot that sometimes an answer to a prayer is simply no answer.
All of a sudden, the glass ceiling is not important anymore. I still love my job, my career, and I plan to continue in this path until I retire, God willing. But perhaps I am meant to share the rest of me in other venues where those other talents can be best utilized.
Who I am is bigger than the career I chose. I am a Sunday school teacher and have discovered how much I enjoy working with kids, and I can apply those talents in place where my rewards are smiles and the knowledge I have "planted the seeds" in them. I am mother, I am a wife, a sister, a friend, and I have the chance to share my talents in all those roles.
So now I embark into the journey to find those other places where I can help others and use my talents. It won't be at work, that I know now. I probably won't be paid for it either. But I guess that's where the difference lies between your job and your life purpose. Your life purpose fulfills you and completes the person you are and that is its own reward.
I love what I do. I've never doubted that I chose the right career path, being an engineer is something I love. I also know I chose the right field, protecting the environment is something of a calling, I guess you could say. I have poured my heart, soul, and knowledge into this field, into being the best engineer in my area, and have always felt I needed to do more so that my contribution be more valuable to my employer.
Then setbacks happen. You begin to see, that no matter how many cracks there are on the glass ceiling, the ceiling is not budging. You keep trying, you try yet again, and the disappointments keep coming.
I'm not a quitter. I set goals, follow through with them, no matter how difficult they are. I'm not bragging, it's just how my brain functions. It's a curse, I guess you could say because I'll get so wrapped up in finishing the goal, that sometimes I miss the whole picture.
Then it happened, another setback at work. I had poured my heart and soul into a project that I thought would be awesome, and it was turned down. Not even given a chance to discuss it, and present it, just simply turned down.
Rejection hurts specially when you have invested part of yourself into a project, when the project is more than just work, when it is something you truly believe would benefit all parties involved.
I was upset, until now.
Maybe I've been looking to apply my talents in the wrong places. Yes, I am a good engineer, and I am good at my job. But being an engineer is only job. It's not who I am. Perhaps all those other talents I have been blessed with were not meant to be shared in this setting.
I was blessed with the ability to conquer my hatred of math, and pursue a degree most people don't ever dream of attempting. I was blessed with the intelligence to see it through, and a job that lets me apply my knowledge and protect the environment.
But that's just part of me. I have so much more to offer and for the longest time I've been trying and trying to use my other talents at work. I have prayed, I have cried, I have fought, and the whole time I forgot that sometimes an answer to a prayer is simply no answer.
All of a sudden, the glass ceiling is not important anymore. I still love my job, my career, and I plan to continue in this path until I retire, God willing. But perhaps I am meant to share the rest of me in other venues where those other talents can be best utilized.
Who I am is bigger than the career I chose. I am a Sunday school teacher and have discovered how much I enjoy working with kids, and I can apply those talents in place where my rewards are smiles and the knowledge I have "planted the seeds" in them. I am mother, I am a wife, a sister, a friend, and I have the chance to share my talents in all those roles.
So now I embark into the journey to find those other places where I can help others and use my talents. It won't be at work, that I know now. I probably won't be paid for it either. But I guess that's where the difference lies between your job and your life purpose. Your life purpose fulfills you and completes the person you are and that is its own reward.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Dreams
I had a dream last night, in Spanish. Why is that important? Well, most of the time, I dream in English.
The brain is a wonderful, complex machine. When I moved to the US, I knew enough English to get by. I had been taking classes in school since I was 5, and I could understand written English fairly well. The verbal part was a challenge, though. I had to think about what I wanted to say, translate it, then say it. Imagine trying to have a conversation with me back then. Plus, I could not understand what people said because of the southern accent.
As time went on, I started to " think" in English. I vividly remember the first time I had a dream in English, it was so exciting. It meant I was thinking in English. Since then, I mostly dream in English.
I guess is because it is the language I use most. Even though I speak Spanish, I use only English at work, and mostly English at home. Maybe my brain stays in "English" mode even when I'm sleep.
I've been reading a book I picked up at Paperbackswap.com (love that place). It's one of the books listed in one of those "100 books lists" circulating in facebook. I didn't know it when I requested it, but I'm glad I did. The book (The Shadow of the Wind) is great, the style of the narrative reminds of Garcia Marquez' style (my favorite author). I have been reading this book and cannot put it down.
I read until I fell to sleep last night, and for the first time in years, I dreamt in Spanish. It's like coming home to me. I don't want to lose my native tongue, and I love reading books in Spanish. I've decided to pick up more books in my native tongue.
I speak and read in English most of the time. I want my dreams to be in Spanish.
The brain is a wonderful, complex machine. When I moved to the US, I knew enough English to get by. I had been taking classes in school since I was 5, and I could understand written English fairly well. The verbal part was a challenge, though. I had to think about what I wanted to say, translate it, then say it. Imagine trying to have a conversation with me back then. Plus, I could not understand what people said because of the southern accent.
As time went on, I started to " think" in English. I vividly remember the first time I had a dream in English, it was so exciting. It meant I was thinking in English. Since then, I mostly dream in English.
I guess is because it is the language I use most. Even though I speak Spanish, I use only English at work, and mostly English at home. Maybe my brain stays in "English" mode even when I'm sleep.
I've been reading a book I picked up at Paperbackswap.com (love that place). It's one of the books listed in one of those "100 books lists" circulating in facebook. I didn't know it when I requested it, but I'm glad I did. The book (The Shadow of the Wind) is great, the style of the narrative reminds of Garcia Marquez' style (my favorite author). I have been reading this book and cannot put it down.
I read until I fell to sleep last night, and for the first time in years, I dreamt in Spanish. It's like coming home to me. I don't want to lose my native tongue, and I love reading books in Spanish. I've decided to pick up more books in my native tongue.
I speak and read in English most of the time. I want my dreams to be in Spanish.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Marriage
A long time ago, a dear friend gave me this book The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.
It's a book of poems, and I enjoyed it quite a bit when I read it. But that I'm older (and I'd like to think wiser), a lot of this book resonates true.
This year, we are celebrating 9 years of marriage. When we first got married, I guess we were the typical newlyweds, who spent every moment possible with each other. We still spend time together, we still enjoy each other immensily but we also enjoy our times alone. My husband enjoys fishing and riding his motorcycles, I enjoy a good book and lazy afternoons on the couch. I was talking to one of my sisters a few weeks back about our marriage, and she said "that sounds boring".
It couldn't be far from the truth. The other day, a single line came to mind: "Let there be space in your togetherness".
After so many years of marriage, we are comfortable with those spaces, and I believe it's what makes our marriage stronger.
Here is the section of the book on Marriage.
Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
It's a book of poems, and I enjoyed it quite a bit when I read it. But that I'm older (and I'd like to think wiser), a lot of this book resonates true.
This year, we are celebrating 9 years of marriage. When we first got married, I guess we were the typical newlyweds, who spent every moment possible with each other. We still spend time together, we still enjoy each other immensily but we also enjoy our times alone. My husband enjoys fishing and riding his motorcycles, I enjoy a good book and lazy afternoons on the couch. I was talking to one of my sisters a few weeks back about our marriage, and she said "that sounds boring".
It couldn't be far from the truth. The other day, a single line came to mind: "Let there be space in your togetherness".
After so many years of marriage, we are comfortable with those spaces, and I believe it's what makes our marriage stronger.
Here is the section of the book on Marriage.
Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
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