thirty days with a grateful heart. day nineteen.

day nineteen.  o holy night.

I love Glee.

I even love this season when things are all discombobulated and there are a gazillion new characters and I'm having a really hard time figuring out where they're going storyline-wise, anyone else??

I either laugh or cry with each episode, I mean, seriously - there's so much going on - but with.out.fail - I sing.  Oftentimes at the top of my lungs to the great annoyance of anyone who happens to be watching along with me.

Lately, though, I've taken to recording it and watching it by myself while the house is quiet during the day, simply to avoid the inevitable begging and pleading from the littles... will you please stop singing???

Just recently, I watched one of the shows I had taped and although it is past Christmas, and the title of the episode, Swan Song, doesn't really sound Christmasy at all - imagine my i-lovelovelove-christmas-nusic delight when Rachel sang O Holy Night.

Sooooo good.

It made me wish I could sing like that just once in my life.  And grateful, since me becoming a singing diva is about as likely as hell freezing over, that I can at least listen to her do it.  On Glee.   Over and over again.  As many times as I like thanks to the magic of Direct TV.

Have you seen the Grease episode?

xoxo,
momo



thirty days with a grateful heart. day eighteen.

day eighteen.  morning, momo!

This girl and me, we have history. 

 



History that spans decades.  And friendships.  And believe it or not, men.

In the beginning, I was a little afraid of her.  Some of our history made it that way. 

And then one day, we sat on the beach, just the two of us, talking, and I realized just how very much I wanted her in my life.  Needed her in my life.

Partly because she made me laugh, like pee my pants kind of laughing. 

Partly because she is no drama, ever.  And in a town where drama reigns supreme, she is an anomaly.

Partly because she's so damn cute, I mean look at her.  I just want to squeeze her.

Partly because I can tell her anything and she will never judge me.  Ever.

Partly because she lets me wear her clothes.  And omg, are they cool! 

Partly because, every single morning for years, she has greeted me via text with morning, momo!  Every single morning. For years.

Partly because she believed in me when I needed someone to believe in me.

But mostly I love her just because she just gets me.  Really gets me.

And for that, I will be ever grateful.

I love you, Murph.  Marry me?  ;)

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart. day seventeen.

day seventeen.  out of the mouth of babes.

There are days when I, like most parents, think my littles have to have been abducted by aliens, their actions so contrary to what I know I have spent their lifetimes trying to teach them. 

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, I get so incredibly frustrated, wondering why, oh why do they not understand?  Why do they not see?

And just when I think I must be at the very end of my rope with them, they do something that surprises me.  That encourages me.  That gives me... hope that they will be the compassionate and loving adults I have taught them to be.

It is on days like that, on days like Christmas, when for the first time ever, my littles gave me a gift that they not only sought out, but purchased and wrapped all on their own.  And when that gift is opened, it reveals the truth.  That what I have been hoping and praying for, for them, for so many years, has become reality.

They see. 

But not only do they see, they also get... me.  Which, in my humble opinion, is more than any parent could ever hope for, don't you agree?

I am...
capable
acceptable
forgivable
valuable
lovable

I am... enough.

So grateful for their lesson today, my friends.  Merry Christmas.

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart. day sixteen.

day sixteen.  talking 'bout my guy.

Last year, during my thirty days, I wrote about my dad. 

I wrote about what an incredible father he has been to me, what an incredible husband and grandfather and patriot and friend.

I wrote about how much I love him and how proud I am, every day, to be his daughter.

I wrote about the lessons he has taught me, about love and commitment.  And about the values he instilled in me, like honesty and integrity and kindness and loyalty.

I wrote about the way he loved my mother, with his entire heart and soul.  And about how he cared for her when she was dying, with gentleness and patience and gratitude for her presence in his life.

All those things are no less true today than they were last year.  If anything, the feelings and emotions I have for my father have been magnified by his gentle presence by my side these last few months.

Because even at this age, I am still learning new lessons from him.  Lessons about love.  About family.  About parenting.  And patience. 

I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am for him and for his belief in me - especially lately when there have been more than a few moments when I haven't really had much faith in myself.

Thank you, daddy.  You are my heart.

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart. day fifteen.

day fifteen.  angels we have heard on high.

 

 

Every year, my mother would purchase three Christmas ornaments.  They were always angels and there were always three of them.  I don't believe my sisters and I put two and two together, at least I know I did not, until my father decorated his Christmas tree for the first time after she passed away.

 

He pulled the angels out, divided them up, and gave each of my sisters and me a box. 

 

She'd been buying them for us. 

 

One for each of us. 

 

Every single year.

 

We do that, you know.  Mommas.  We do... things for our children that they never even realize we are doing.  Some big, some small.  Some obvious.  Some not so.  My momma's angels were one of those things.

 

Without really discussing it, my sisters and I have continued the tradition.  One year, Teresa bought them. A few years, Crista.  Last year I bought ceramic angels for the three of us - with hair painted the color of each of our own.  We never discuss whose turn it is.  We never even really talk about it, but every single year, there are always three new angels.

This year, I didn't forget, exactly.  I thought about them.  I thought as the oldest, I should buy them this year, it might make me feel better.  I even went as far as to put three angels into my cart from a store online.  I just... never completed the purchase. 

I don't know why exactly.  Maybe I figured it wasn't so bad if we skipped a year.  Maybe I figured we all had so much going on that they might forget this year too, and that would be ok, I mean - its not like this year is all that... normal, you know?

But, my sisters?  They didn't forget.  No, they wouldn't forget. 

So thankful.  So grateful, for this beautiful angel that came in the mail when I needed her most, but even more so today for those other angels my momma left me, my sisters. 

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart. day fourteen.

day fourteen.  the white house.

I love running in the Phoenix Mountain Preserve, the pmp, as we affectionately call it, because there is so much wonderful running to be had.  Flats and climbs and rocks and sand, you can literally (and I have) run for hours back in there and incredibly enough, you're also smack dab in the heart of the city. 

And although each of the trails has an actual name I believe, as I've run with friends back there, I've learned the local nicknames as well.  We have jj out and back and the rachel loop and honey ridge  and reunion point, the devil's backbone and four peaks.  I love them all, but for some reason, the white house holds a special place in my heart.

Just to the east of the first peak off the 32nd street trail, high up in the preserve is this white house.  I don't think anyone lives there now, and she just sits up on a mountain by herself - acting as somewhat of a landmark to runners who might not be sure which way to turn once they're inside the preserve.

We don't run that way very often unfortunately, but on days when I want a little extra mileage or days when I just need to clear my head a bit - I head up her way. 

Maybe it is the little climb up to where she is.  Maybe it is that suddenly the air seems a little bit clearer once you're there.

Whatever it is - her magic always does the trick - and today was no exception. 

Grateful.

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart. day thirteen.

day thirteen.  the thinker.

Little J is my thinker. 

With a worldview that tends toward the black and white. 

And as much as I would like to believe that he is just like me, that the apple doesn't fall far from the proverbial tree, in this respect, we differ a bit.

But when we disagree, when the possibility looms that the differences between us could begin to create a wedge, that is when I do what I must do, as his mother, and... step back.

Take a deep breath, and listen.  Validate, and respect.

And simply assure him that no matter what he says, no matter how it hurts, no matter how we may disagree, no matter what - that I love him, that I am ever grateful for him, that his place, in my heart, is safe. 

And maybe, in the end, that is all he really needs to know.

xoxo,
momo