three hundred words a day. april 3. you can't take it back.

In Arizona, when you file for divorce and there are children involved, the state requires that you attend a six hour parenting class. Prior to going, it seemed like a ridiculous formality to me since my children were in their late teens at that point and I felt certain that regardless of whatever else I had failed at, parenting was probably not up there in the top five.

I signed up for the class, and even picked a location as far from my house as I could - hoping that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. Which backfired, of course since I ended up taking class with someone I knew who was doing the very same thing - trying to get as far away from the reality of their situation as possible.

The first few hours went by and we kept hearing terms that I never dreamed would ever pertain to me - co-parenting, child support, custody - and as I looked around, I kept asking myself how the hell I even got here. I was mad. Maybe mad is not descriptive enough here, but in the interest of not going on a tangent about all the feelings you feel during divorce right now, I'm going to keep it at mad.

There was also a little part of me that wanted Big J to hurt because I was hurting. I wanted the littles with me, only with me. I was in blame mode and punish mode and in my early-divorce mind, Big J should have to shoulder that hurt. In hindsight and after much work, I realize that our divorce was equally our faults and that we were equally to blame, but remember, this was early on.

Images and scenarios flitted through my head as the videos droned on and on and I tried to keep focused. And then I heard what I believe to be one of the most profound statements ever made about divorce and children.

Never demean the character of your ex-spouse to or in front of your children. Remember, they are half you, but they are also - half your spouse.

You couldn't have hit me any harder over the head if you'd tried. And while I had not made it a practice to belittle their father, I am fairly certain that the littles knew I was in pain and knew that their father was as well.

Words spoken in anger are generally the ones we wish we could take back, and while I have had my share of nasty moments, I made a promise to myself that day that I would never put either of my littles in a position of having to chose which parent to love.

It has been a long road, in fact there were some super rocky times during the whole process where I was burning up the airwaves between my heart and heaven on a more than frequent basis. But never to my littles, and as the healing for all of us continues, I am thankful that at least they won't have to deal with having to un-hear words spoken in anger that I wished could be taken back.

xxo.

three hundred words a day. july 2.

I frequently tell my littles that they are lucky to have me as their mother.

To be honest, the exact words are more along the lines of... with grades like yours, you are lucky you got me for a mother.

Not that I am not concerned with their grades.  Not that I do not encourage them to do well.  Not that I do not begin each and every day entreating them to be the best that they can be. 

It just seems to me as if there is some sort of disconnect between my hopes for my littles' and their own hopes for the future.

Which is entirely normal, I am finally, humbly, learning to accept.

What we want for our children is oftentimes what they want the least and the more I push them, the harder they push back.  For awhile, when they were small and I was bigger, they were mine.  But time has passed and now they are big and I am the small one.  Now they have voices.  Now they have opinions. 

And more often than not, I am finding those opinions to be profound.  And grounded.  Not in the expectations I have created for them, but in the freedom I have given them to make decisions on their own.

And as suddenly as that, the tables turned.  Instead of them learning from me, I find myself being the one that is listening, learning from the certain wisdom that only the young possess. 

I remain hopeful about their grades.  I am their mother, after all.  I remind them.  I encourage them.  I do what I know that I should.  That will never change.

But somewhere, deep down, I realize I've been mistaken. 

Deep down, I realize that it is actually me who is the lucky one.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day seventeen

day seventeen - every other wednesday

Every other Wednesday is my favoritest day of the week.  Want to know why?  Well, I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but what the hey, you know just about all there is to know about me as it is.  Judge if you must.

Every other Wednesday, Gloria comes to my house.  Gloria is my cleaning lady and she has been coming to my house for more than twelve years, every other Wednesday.  My mom originally found Gloria, I'm not even sure where, but through every move and at every home that Big J and I have lived in over the years, Gloria has come without fail.  Every other Wednesday. 

And believe it or not, she has never missed a day in over twelve years of working for me. 

I'm so grateful for Gloria, I can't begin to even tell you.  She is really, really good at what she does, whereas I am not.  I am a really good picker-up-er, and an even better putter-away-er (never to be found again-er) but deep-clean-er, um, unfortunately - no.  And when you're just a bit ADD and you work from home and you can't have mess or clutter around or you get distracted and go off on some tangent and nothing ever gets done, well, believe me when I say that having a Gloria is truly a Godsend.

Periodically, every other Wednesday is difficult because the littles are home.  They try, really hard, I know they do, to stay out of Gloria's way - but, well, they're teenagers and the words clean and teenager are, I am here to tell you, not synonymous.  I spend most of those Wednesdays following them around from room to room encouraging (yes, nagging) them to pick up that thing they just left on the counter or pick up their shoes which are in the middle of the floor...  you get the picture.

Imagine my surprise, today then, when the sounds of music wafted into my office and I realized that my littles were not creating havoc in my soon to be completely clean house, they were instead - sitting in the living room, just hanging out together.  Soon to be adult brother and sister, no fighting, no bickering - just singing and playing the guitar.  Keeping each other busy while Gloria does her thing.

So grateful, honestly.    There are just not enough words in the whole wide world for how I feel about these two.

Every other Wednesday. 

My most favoritest day ever.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day fourteen

day fourteen - rest

I was supposed to run today, long, but I didn't feel like it.  I was tired and maybe its age, maybe its that I am finally getting smarter, whatever - but I listened to my body and instead, I rested.  No running, no crossfit, no yoga, no strength training, no rush rush rush - no nothing.  Just rest.

It was nice.

Sometimes I beat myself up about missing a workout or taking a day where all I do is just hang out.  It feels lazy, almost. Slovenly.  Like if I take that one day, it might turn into two, then three, then four... you get the picture.  I don't like those thoughts, so I just keep going.  Doing.  More.

But then I think that even God had to rest on the seventh day, right?

And if it is good enough for God, it should be good enough for me, right?

And then days like today come, when I'm tired and I need the rest, both physically and mentally, and I actually listen to my body and I get to do things for which I am truly grateful, like watch my baby girl play volleyball all day, or spend time some quality time with Big J, or laugh and joke with Little J without the pressure of having to... go, go, go. 

And I realize that those days are getting fewer and farther between and they will be gone before I know it as my littles head off to college and no matter how much I might fight it, that rest now and then is a good thing.   A really good thing.  Like it was today.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day two

day two - my littles

I'd heard stories about what it was like to have children. You know those stories, the ones about how you will love them so much, how you would do anything in your power to protect them, to care for them, to grow them.  I had heard them all and I remember thinking, absolutely, I will love them.  Of course, I will love them.  But, I have to be honest with you, I don't think I completely understood the depth or breadth, the sheer and utter magnitude, of that kind of love until the very moment I held Little J in my arms for the first time.

I have loved people in my life.  I mean, really, really loved them.  I love Big J, more than I think he will ever know.  I love my parents, my family, my friends.  We all have people in our lives that we say we love, truly, madly, deeply, but as I looked down at Little J, and again at Frankie on the day she was born, in those moments, the meaning of mother's love became clear.  Very simply, my heart was no longer my own.  It belonged to them, to my littles, wholly and completely, and it will until the day I take my very last breath. 

God made me, exactly how he made me, so that I could be their mother.  He made me to care for them, to cherish and hold them, to teach them and guide them and grow them up in this world.  He made me specifically to love them.  He knew just exactly what they would need.  He knew that they would need me and that only I would do. 

And yet, for as much as they needed me and only me, He knew just exactly what I needed as well.  He knew that I would need littles that would challenge me, that would make me think, that would question me, listen to me, exasperate me to no end and make me swell with pride, oftentimes in the very same instant.  He knew that I needed littles who would hug me and allow me to hug them, in private, in public, no matter when or where the mood strikes.  He knew I needed littles who could tell me they were sorry, who would hold my hand, who would make me laugh out loud, who would sing with me, pray with me, listen to me, walk with me, share with me, break my heart and mend it back up again, littles who would love... me.

God knew. 

He knew I needed Little J, exactly as he is.  He knew I needed Frankie, precisely as she is.  Deep down, I know He knew because He knows everything, and yet, each day I cannot help but marvel at the absolute perfectness of it all. 

He knew. 

And today, for that, and for them, for my littles, I am so very, very grateful.  Especially today.