Walking Away

Sometimes, the best thing to do is just walk away.  A lesson my mother taught me years ago when I faced adverse situations or difficult people.  Now, I am the mother and I’m still learning this lesson.  It seems counterintuitive to walk away from your own kids.  But, this morning, that is exactly what I had to do.  Not because I was angry.  Not because she told me to leave.  But because she needed me…too much.

Every mother of a kindergartner understands the difficult choice you make to send your kids to school after five years of keeping them safely under your wing.  You make the decision, not because it’s the easiest for you but because it’s the best choice for them.  The easiest thing for me today would have been allow my kids to sleep until their chosen wake up time, leisurely feed them breakfast, and make our own schedule for the day.  The easiest thing for me would have been to grab my tearful girl and hug the stuffing out of her.  Or better yet, take her by the hand and bring her home, which is exactly what we both wanted in that moment.  She wanted her mommy.  I wanted to comfort her.  But the biggest challenge of motherhood is letting go.  It’s providing them with safe opportunities to practice the skills you have taught them.  It’s helping them to stand on their own feet.  To be confident to make their own decisions, to navigate their own little world.  I know she is in the best place to begin to do that.  As much as I love being the center of her world, I have to let her depend on herself and, more importantly, on the One who has promised to never leave her nor forsake her.

See, when I walked away, I didn’t leave her alone.  I left her in the hands of a God who loves her and will care for her better than I could ever hope to. 

Not a moment will go by today that I won’t wonder what she’s doing or how she’s doing.  The next six hours will drag on, no doubt.  But I am anticipating the hugs and smiles she’ll inevitably have when she runs to me and tells me she had a great day!  So, I suppose I can stop crying.

I Hate Running

Simply stated, I hate running. I always have and, despite any attempts to change, now know I always will.   I can run but I don't enjoy it.  Because of that, I don't care to get any better at it.  Even in recent years as distance running seems to have grown in popularity and I am inundated with pictures and Facebook posts of friends finishing marathons and knocking out five mile runs before breakfast, I can't make myself like running.  I have striven to understand the psyche of a runner.  The thrill of pounding the pavement with nothing but miles stretched out before you.  Even as these thoughts enter my mind I can feel the pain of shin splints returning and experience a sudden burning in my lungs.  Don't get me wrong,  I admire the dedication and drive of runners.  I aspire to it.  But I hate running.

Growing up, one of my best friends was a runner.  She joined the cross-country team at our high school (voluntarily, by the way) and loved running mile after mile until she was so sick she wanted to die.  Somehow that motivated her to keep going.  While we were SO alike in almost every other way, this was one aspect of her nature I couldn't hope to understand.  I, on the other hand, ran an 11 minute mile in junior high.  Not because I couldn't run but because I didn't want to.  I started strong, but eventually the desire to stroll and chat with my friends eclipsed the desire to get to the finish line.  That gene that intrinsically motivates one to run for sport somehow eluded me.  I see no reason to run a distance unless being chased by a bear or facing some other horrifying demise.  I am well aware of the health benefits of running and I enjoy the occasional surge of endorphins.  But I hate running.

I have established that I was not designed to enjoy mile after mile after mile of monotony.  I am not a runner.  I am a sprinter.

Sprinting is different than running.   Yes, it employs the same muscles and movements.  But, sprinting includes short bursts of energy towards a visible finish line.  Sprinting is reactive.  Sprinting involves intensity.  Sprinting doesn't include pacing.  Sprinting is short-lived.

I can run fast and run hard when the end is in sight.  I can give all that I have for short amounts of time.  I am intense and competitive and a sprinter needs to be.  I am a sprinter.

But I've always been told life is a marathon.  And sprinters aren't suited to run marathons.  Marathons require stamina, patience, and pacing.  Marathons require remaining focused on the goal when it isn't in sight.

Here we are on the outset of 2013 and I feel like a sprinter at the start of a marathon. I have no doubt I can and will start fast and hard.  I might even take the lead out of the gate.  But, my burst of energy will quickly run out.  I'll quit running and walk for a while until I get another burst of motivation.  Then I'll take off again with the same intensity.  But when that runs out, I'll stop and walk again.  Eventually, I'll get to the finish line, but it will be way behind the other runners.

So this year my resolution is simple.  I'm not making a list of things I hope to accomplish by year's end.  I have one goal in mind and that is... to stop viewing life as a marathon. 

That doesn't mean I don't hope to accomplish anything.  I have a "to do" list that's 26 miles long.  It doesn't mean I won't set goals for myself.  It just means that I will have to set smaller more attainable goals.  What do I hope to accomplish this week,  maybe this month?  I don't need to worry about the next step until I'm poised to take it.  I'll face this year as a series a small races I know I can finish and finish strong and I'll leave the marathon to the runners.  Because, after all, I hate running.

Back To School

It's that time of year again and I'm facing it with more trepidation than my 2nd grader.  Perhaps it's the fact that he'll be leaving in a few hours to spend the day elsewhere.  Perhaps I'm remembering easier times when I didn't wake up to the jolting scream of an alarm clock (oh wait, that was just yesterday, wasn't it?).  Whatever the case may be, I can't help but feel a bit sad today.

I remember D's first day of preschool.  We had just moved back from Little Rock and I was so thrilled to be handing him off to two very capable and loving friends of ours.  With a baby in the house and a very pregnant and tired mommy, he wasn't quite getting all the attention and stimulation he needed.  I knew that he would love his preschool experience and blossom so much.  I was right.  But I still cried when I dropped him off.

I remember his second 1st day of preschool.  He was not at all nervous.  He hopped out of the car and ran to get in line without so much as a goodbye.  I cried that day too, but for different reasons.

There's a strange paradox in the life of a mother.  Somewhere we get caught between wanting to keep our kids close, to control all they hear and see, to protect them.  Somehow we think that because no one will love them like we do that no one else can love them.  For me, the struggle comes in knowing that the best thing for my son is allowing him to step out of our home, to spread his wings, to explore.  Not because I don't want to keep him close, but because I know that I won't always be able to keep him close.  Holding on to him will hinder him.  He is the type of kid who will only go if he knows it's okay.   I have to show him that it is.  I read somewhere once that if you truly love someone, it means loving them enough to be happy for them even when you can't share in their happiness.   It means allowing them to do something they enjoy, something that's good for them, whether or not you're a part of it.

I remember D's first day of Kindergarten.  He was nervous.  I was a wreck.  I knew he was in capable hands.  I had heard great things about his teacher and had complete peace about leaving him in her care.  But I still cried when I dropped him off.  

I worried the entire day if he would be able to adjust.  Now he would be responsible to go to the bathroom without me there to remind him.  He would be responsible to eat his own lunch and purchase his own drink.  How could he possibly adapt from having me there to help meet his every need to being so self-sufficient in such a short amount of time?  Somehow he did, and he did it with ease.  Not only did he survive Kindergarten, but I watched him thrive.  He took chances he wouldn't ordinarily have taken under my watchful eye.  He learned how to make friends and be a friend.  Most importantly, he learned he could do it on his own.

I remember his first day of 1st grade.  This time, he was used to his school.  He saw familiar faces when he walked on campus.  His teacher was sweet and fun and loved her job.  I knew she would love him too.  But, I still cried when I dropped him off.

This time, he didn't need me to hold his hand in line until he walked inside the building.  He knew the drill and walked confidently into his classroom.  He looked forward to learning and was excited for a new year.  In first grade, he learned that he was capable.  He soared academically!  He made new friends and still kept the old.  He loved his "beautiful teacher" and looked forward to seeing her every day.

Now here we are on the cusp of second grade.  Same school, same drill.  We've been there and done that.  D is excited to go back to school.  He's excited his best friend is in his class again.  He's excited to eat in the cafeteria.  He's excited to play on the playground.  He's excited to go back to music and art.  He's excited about science and reading.  And although, he's voiced his concern about multiplication, I'm confident that he'll rise to the occasion and grasp it with as much ease as he has everything else.   He's going to have a great year!  But, I'll still cry when I drop him off.

Settling Down- Part 1

"It's time for you to get married and settle down".  Has anyone been plagued by this statement or some form of it as much as I have? I heard it again the other day and haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

Who was the first person to coin the phrase "settle down"?  I would really like to know.  Why?  Because that person needs to be severely beaten for filling our minds with such inaccurate and lofty perceptions of married life. 

Settling down is a phrase highly misused. I have been married for 9 years and have three children under the age of 6. I haven't "settled down" since 2002. I am now busier than I've ever been and feel more manic than ever before. This isn't what I signed up for.   What happened to settling down in wedded bliss, enjoying quiet evenings at home with your love, swinging on a porch swing sipping iced tea on summer evenings.  Okay, maybe those images are a bit extreme and not exactly what I had in mind when I said, "I do".  But they do, fairly accurately, describe settling down.  As if life is supposed to be calm and serene after the wedding bells ring.

True, in most cases, adults spend their single years perusing bars and engaging in the club scene, moving from one relationship to another.  So I suppose "settling down" would require significant decrease in alcohol consumption and one committed, monogamous relationship, minus the grinding techno music.  But in my circle that wasn't the norm. 

My friends and I graduated from high school and moved on  with our lives in a fairly respectable and responsible manner.  We enrolled in college some to get a degree and, admittedly, some to find a husband.  Those of us who didn't get married in college or right after started our careers, moved away, moved back, traveled, and ultimately enjoyed our singleness.  Then slowly, one by one, we started to get married and "settle down", albeit, what we were settling down from, I still don't know.  Was it the weekend trips to the beach?  The quiet evenings at home watching a movie?  Leisurely afternoons at the mall?

Now don't get me wrong, it's not like life turned upside down the day after the wedding.  We adjusted really quickly and settled in to married life rather well.  But settling in is different than settling down.   Settling in refers to adjusting to living with one another, setting up your home, and continuing to get to know one another on a deeper level.  Settling in happened.  Settling down did not.

Suddenly you have twice as many relationships, twice as many bills, twice as much laundry, twice as many car problems.  The stress in your life has just grown exponentially.  Throw in the responsibility of maintaining your own house and it can be a bit overwhelming.  But, you learn to deal.  You learn to juggle with a few more balls and before you know it, everything is busy but moving smoothly.  Once again, you've settled in.  

And then you have kids...

Mom Hats

So often I find myself torn between two personalities:  The strict mom who keeps her kids in line so as to keep them out of trouble, keep her home in some semblance of order, and maintain a shred of her own sanity, and the "fun" mom.  The mom who throws caution to the wind, allows her kids to imagine, explore, and create, and realizes that time is precious and "things" just don't matter.

I diligently try to find an appropriate balance between the two.  There are times I can let go, give them some leeway, and let them have fun.  Today I was determined to be THAT mom.  So when my daughter, sweetly adorned in her apron and chef's hat, asked if she could use one of my bowls, I willingly gave it to her.  And, because I was wearing my "fun" mom hat, I threw in one of my new bamboo spoons for her to play with as well.

All proud of myself, I returned to the task at hand, happy to see my kids entertained and feeling special to be using Mom's special things.  And then this happened...

Is This Thing On?

It's 6:00 in the morning.  I've already been up for an hour and half, awakened by a poor sick boy with a climbing fever.  I returned to bed convinced I would fall asleep almost immediately and then it happened.  That thing that always happens when I awake prematurely.  My brain turns on.  I spent the next 45 minutes contemplating life, creating an agenda for the day, arguing politics, defending my faith...all in my head.  At 5:15, I conceded and got out of bed.  I will openly admit I was tempted to pick up my Kindle Fire and continue a losing game of Words With Friends.  However, convicted by a statement my husband made last night, I decided to resurrect my blog instead.  Man, it's been a long time since I've been on here!

I'm not sure why I go through periods of blogging silence when writing is so cathartic for me.  One would assume, at this crazy stage of life, I would be blogging incessantly.  But alas, I find myself smack dab in the middle of a blogging drought. 

What has been going on thus far in 2012?  I wish I knew.  I could easily swear the holidays just ended and yet here we are on the brink of Spring Break.   We had a January. I know this because my calendar had the cutest winter scene on it for 31 whole days.  I know there was a bout with step throat in our house for a few of those days, but other than that, I'm at a loss.  February was a little more eventful.  We celebrated our 9th anniversary by cancelling a much needed tropical beach vacation.  (Truth be told, we traded in one beach vacation for another that will come later in the year)  But we did enjoy a lovely evening out.   Our extended family has been through a myriad of medical and surgical procedures from dogs to dads. And I kissed my early 30s goodbye and jumped on the fast train to 40.

So there you have it.  The Oronas in  2012.  Clearly this post is not about quality content.  But doesn't my blog look pretty?

Happy Anniversary

Can't help thinking about my sweet grandparents on what would have been their 70th wedding anniversary.  I'm so grateful for the 60 years they got to celebrate together in this life, but can't help but smile thinking of the insurmountable joy and celebration they are experiencing every moment of eternity.  Everything here pales in comparison.  So thankful that I don't have to miss them in sadness, but can look forward to seeing their smiling faces again!